A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

he stepped over the threshold into the cottage’s cozy living room.
    Olivia watched the lawman with interest. She knew Rawlings was a voracious reader, but he had turned out to be a skilled critic as well. Most of his comments were phrased as questions, and she wondered if he interrogated suspects with the same gentleness he’d displayed when pointing out flaws in the other writers’ work. She sensed he was eager to turn his attention to Harris’s chapter but was too much of a gentleman to leave Laurel’s question unanswered.
    “I can’t say that I am aware of any updates regarding the burglaries,” Rawlings finally replied.
    “Burglaries?” Laurel’s eyes went wide. “There’s been more than one?”
    “We have two open cases. One in your neighborhood and another that occurred in Sandpiper Shores several weeks ago. Similar items were taken and there was no sign of forced entry.” He gave Laurel’s hand a paternal pat. “We’ll apprehend the thieves, don’t you worry. Just keep your doors locked and your eyes open.”
    “The chief’s got more serious bad guys to chase than a few TV-swiping cat burglars, right, Chief?” This from Millay, the Asian American bartender who wrote young adult fantasy. Millay was an exotic beauty, with full lips, dark brown eyes, and tea-hued skin. The girl seemed to deliberately mar her loveliness with brow piercings, hair tint, and heavy makeup. Tonight, for example, she wore her customary knee-length leather boots, thigh-high striped socks, a metallic miniskirt, and a T-shirt bearing a “Little Miss Sunshine” iron-on. Her hair was gelled into sharp points that hovered over her shoulder, and each tip had been dyed an electric plum. Her eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner and she wore a thick coating of lipstick in a dark cherry shade. Examining her chipped nail polish, she gave the chief a falsely nonchalant glance. “Heard something pretty nasty washed up on the Point today.”
    Rawlings clearly knew that he was being baited but couldn’t prevent the corners of his mouth from pulling down in irritation. “Has one of my men been tweeting about life on the Oyster Bay police force again?”
    He tried to keep his voice light, but Millay shook her head. “Nah. I heard it standing in line behind some grandma in Stop ’n’ Shop. She was whispering about it to one of her bingo buddies. It’s gotta be all over town by now. Those biddies don’t have anything better to do with their time.” She tossed her skull-covered messenger bag onto the sofa. “She also told me I looked like a child of Satan and asked me if my mom knew I dressed like this.”
    Instead of claiming the gossip to be false, Rawlings fixed Millay with a soft gaze. “We haven’t been able to ID the man. Will you keep an ear open to the talk circulating in Fish Nets over the next few days and let me know if anyone mentions a local having gone missing?” He leaned forward slightly, as though he and Millay were the only people in the room. “That woman may not understand your fashion sense, but I know you’re bright and observant no matter what you wear. I could use your help. Unofficially, of course.”
    “Yeah, sure. No sweat.” Millay’s eyes twinkled. She was clearly pleased to be given the chief’s trust but didn’t want to let it show. The patrons of her smoke-filled drinking den weren’t as loose-tongued as the senior citizens shopping at Stop ’n’ Shop, but they often shared confidences with Millay. The young woman pretended she was uncomfortable with her role as confidante and chalked it up as an occupational hazard. “Goes with the territory,” she’d told them months ago. “I hear stuff their wives, best buddies, and ministers don’t even know. You give a man enough to drink and suddenly he’s your best friend.”
    Olivia supposed there was some truth to that, but she also imagined that Millay’s beauty had more than a little to do with the number of secrets she became privy to over her eight P.M. to two A.M. shift.
    “Did I miss anything?” Harris asked as he walked in and helped himself to a beer.
    Olivia pointed at the pages she held in her hand and shot Laurel a warning look. It was time to get down to business. “We were just jawing a bit, but now that you’re here we can begin. Grab some food and settle in.”
    Harris took an unusually large slug of beer and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The science fiction writer was thirty but didn’t look