A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

happening?”
    Rawlings nodded. “I don’t mean to upset you. In fact, I’m only talking to you about the case . . . well, because it helps me. I’m being selfish. You’re a smart woman, Olivia, and I trust your discretion. I used to tell my wife details about open investigations because she’d ask a question or make a comment and I was able to see things more clearly. The story would start to unfold, to reveal its beginning and middle. There’s always a story behind every crime. And even though I’m there at the ending, it’s my job to discover the source. That’s how I catch the bad guys.”
    Haviland bounded up the steps, pressed his wet nose against Olivia’s hand, and raised his ears. “You can play for a little longer,” she told him and the poodle dashed away again, his black coat blending into the darkness. “There’s another thing about this crime that strikes me as odd.” She gestured in the direction of the isolated stretch of beach. “Why here? Was the killer counting on a remote spot to avoid the chance of a passerby coming to his victim’s aid?”
    Rawlings puckered his lips in thought. “I don’t believe he chose the Point for that reason. The murderer was very particular. He brought his victim to a place of few inhabitants, but where eventually, the body would be found. He wasn’t trying to hide what he’d done. In fact, he staged a scene. He also cleared any traces of his presence from that scene.”
    “Did the neighbors hear anything? A car or boat motor?” Olivia asked.
    “Nothing.”
    Olivia listened to the ocean’s murmur against the shore. The steady rhythm raised another question in her mind. “If he wanted the tableau to be found intact, he took a big risk. The tide would have ruined it had I not set out on my morning walk when I did.”
    Rawlings grunted and then eased himself out of the rocking chair. He walked to the railing and held on to the wood with both hands. It was the pose of a man searching for answers in the distance and Olivia imagined the chief spent less of his time looking at crime scenes, written reports, and photographs and more of it engaged in active thought. She also realized it was not a job for an impatient man. Like now, Rawlings was forced to wait for clues to come to light.
    “The killer might not be a seaman, but I think he’s a local. He banked on someone living on the Point to take a walk over the holiday weekend and come across that body.” Rawlings turned and stared at Olivia. “I just hope he hasn’t been watching that beach, gathering info on who took their strolls and when. I don’t like the idea of him hiding somewhere nearby with a pair of binoculars.”
    Olivia glanced past him to where her poodle was splashing in the shallows. “Me either.” She squared her shoulders and rubbed at the raised flesh on her arms. “But even if he did, I don’t mean anything to him. I discovered his find. I played my part. He’d have no more use for me.”
    “We’re dealing with a clever and manipulative individual.”
    “And a very angry one. The murderer hated the man he buried in the sand. He was disgusted with him.” She exhaled.
    They fell silent after that, each reflecting, and not for the first time that day, on what had provoked the killer and how he had channeled his rage, shaping it into a ruthless and premeditated crime.
    “Well, I’d best get going. I could sit here all night, but I’d like to review the few facts I’ve got in the case file before falling asleep in front of the television.” Rawlings smiled at her.
    “Of course. I wish I could be of more help.” Olivia took his tumbler and walked him to the front door of the cottage, calling for Haviland as she did so.
    After the chief had gone, she loaded the soiled plates and glasses into the tiny dishwasher in the cottage’s kitchen and turned out the lights. She locked up and then she and Haviland made their way up the sandy path through the dunes to her stone and wood Low Country-style home. Inside the living room, the most noticeable feature was the bank of windows facing the ocean. A few stars burned through the night haze but the moon wasn’t visible. Searching for it out the nearest window, Olivia was suddenly aware of being alone.
    Usually, she cherished her solitude, but now she felt strangely vulnerable. She knew part of this unfamiliar feeling was a reaction to the murder, but there was something about seeing Chief Rawlings drive away that had her