A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

was totally confused.”
    “I thought everyone knew about photon laser pistols,” Harris answered in genuine surprise.
    Rawlings laughed. “At least you’re crediting your readers with intelligence. I researched the pistol and the bolt staff on the computer and found a fascinating site on sci-fi weapons that are being developed as prototypes by the army. After looking at drawings, I was able to imagine exactly how Zenobia’s weapons operated, but you can’t expect that of all your readers. I just happen to be interested in that sort of thing.” He gestured around the room. “You’ve got to do the work for us. It would only take a sentence or two to describe the light and energy of the photon pistol or the burst of concentrated electricity from the bolt staff. Keep it short and simple.”
    Harris nodded. “I can do that. Would you write down that website for me? It sounds awesome!”
    Handing him a piece of paper, Rawlings grinned. “I figured you might ask.”
    Finishing his beer, Harris sank back against the cushions with a sigh of relief. “That went better than the last chapter. I’ve really benefitted from our meetings. When I sit down to write, I’ve got you all in my head, acting like virtual editors. It’s exciting to know you’re going to help me shape my book into something decent. Before, I was anxious about letting you guys read it. Now, I can’t wait until it’s my turn again.” His eyes shone. “If we keep going like this, we might all be ready to submit to agents in a year’s time!”
    Laurel clapped her hands and bounced up and down on the sofa. Olivia feared her friend would try to lead them in a spontaneous cheer. “Wouldn’t that be something? If one of us actually got a publishing contract? We could say, ‘I knew Harris way before he made the New York Times list.’”
    “I don’t know about that.” Harris’s optimism deflated somewhat. “Sci-fi isn’t any easy genre to break into. Millay has a better chance with young adult fantasy or the chief here with his thriller.”
    Rawlings laughed again. “You’re assuming my work is actually engaging.”
    “We’ll find out this week, won’t we?” Olivia asked. She couldn’t wait to read the lawman’s chapter. She wondered if yet another side of his complex personality would be revealed in his writing and whether she’d find it as attractive as his paintings or as repellent as the orange Hawaiian shirt he was wearing.
    As the other writers packed up and headed out into the warm night, Rawlings lingered. “How are you doing?”
    Olivia knew what he meant by the question. “I think I’ll be haunted by that man’s ruined face for quite a while.” She poured them both another splash of scotch and led Rawlings out to the back deck. They settled on wooden rockers and watched Haviland sprint down the beach to the water line. The dunes were covered in shadow as the sky continued to darken. Olivia and Rawlings listened to the buzz of insects and the whisper of the waves. The chief’s ability to cherish the silence, to sit and open his senses to the world around him, was, in Olivia’s opinion, his finest quality. She knew very few people who didn’t feel the need to fill up the quiet with the sound of their own voice.
    “I feel angry,” she spoke softly. “Over how the victim was turned from a man to a repulsive thing . Someone knew that would be the result. Only a person with a cold, deep rage could deliberately do that to another human being.”
    Rawlings let her words settle around them before replying. “He was also buried in the nude, holding a plastic toy sand shovel. Another degrading act. We couldn’t get good prints either, as his fingertips were severely damaged. Too much skin had been sloughed off by the water and wet sand. We’ll try to work on dental records come Monday, but I don’t think he visited a dentist regularly.”
    “How old was he?”
    “Barely thirty, I’d say. I thought he was older at first, but that effect was created by his rapid decomposition.” Rawlings sipped from the tumbler. “I only have the ME’s initial report, but the victim seemed to be in good physical condition. Looks like he was drugged before he was buried, but it’s unsure at this point whether he became conscious after the killer was done . . . positioning him.”
    Olivia looked at the chief in horror. “Do you mean he could have been paralyzed by the drugs or the weight of the sand but cognizant of what was