A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

want this job, then you should apply for it. This is the modern era, Laurel! You don’t need your husband’s permission, though it would be nice to have his support.” She tried to ease off the judgmental tone. “Aren’t the twins doing some preschool kind of thing starting tomorrow?”
    “It’s just a mom’s morning out provided by the church. The boys will go twice a week for two hours and I don’t think that would give me enough time to research and write more than one article for the Oyster Bay Gazette. ”
    Olivia considered this. “No, you’ll certainly need more free time than that.” A mischievous glint entered her eyes. “What if you told the in-laws that you needed their babysitting services twice a week so that you could do an activity that would meet with their approval?”
    Laurel frowned. “Like what?”
    “I remember you telling the Bayside Writers that Steve’s mother has always been critical of your culinary skills. Tell her that in order for Steve and the boys to dine on the best possible meals you need to enroll in a cooking class. I bet she’ll offer to babysit in a flash.” Olivia sat back, feeling smug.
    “You think I should lie ?” Laurel looked aghast.
    Olivia shrugged. “If you truly want this job, then you tell your family that you’re applying for it and that’s that or you’re going to have to bend the truth until you’re ready to stand up for yourself. They obviously see nothing wrong with you dancing like a puppet on strings. You’re late nearly every Saturday because you feel guilty leaving your family. Don’t be ashamed because you’re pursuing a dream, Laurel!” Olivia knew she was being deliberately harsh, but she wanted her friend to gain a measure of freedom. “Are you a puppet or are you a writer?”
    Laurel pressed her lips together and then yelled, “I’m a writer! They think they can control everything I do, but I’m my own person. I’m not just a mother and a wife! I’m me too! Laurel! There are things I’m good at, even though I can’t smock or cook coq au vin.” She nibbled a fingernail. “Um, where would I be taking this fictional cooking class?”
    Wordlessly, Olivia gestured around the empty restaurant.
    “Oh, you’re the best!” Laurel did one of her trademark happy hand claps coupled with a great deal of bouncing up and down on the chair. “But what happens when I burn the Thanksgiving turkey again?”
    “Leave the culinary dilemmas to me. You march right down to that newspaper and apply for that job.” She eyed Laurel’s outfit. “But go home and put something else on first. I think you’ve got maple syrup on your shirt and a piece of pancake mashed into your necklace.”
    “That would be Dermot.” Laurel examined the stains with pride and then rose slowly to her feet. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m about to deceive my family and I know it should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. I want this job and I deserve a chance to do something more fulfilling than laundry and grocery shopping!”
    Olivia wished her friend good luck and tried not to stiffen when Laurel suddenly embraced her. The younger woman then jogged out to her car, her ponytail swinging like a golden scythe.
    Haviland cocked his head and stared at his mistress.
    “What are you looking at?” Olivia demanded and the poodle flashed her a toothy smile. “You’d better not give me that ‘you’re a softie’ look if you want lamb with rice and peas! After all, this is how normal people are supposed to act. They’re supposed to listen to one another and accept hugs without turning to stone and—”
    Haviland cut her off with a quick howl that sounded much like laughter.
    “You’re right, I’ll never be quite like that, but I am trying to cast off my Ice Queen image.” She opened the walk-in refrigerator and Haviland’s ears perked up. “Maybe ‘cast off’ isn’t the best word choice. Perhaps ‘defrost’ is a better way of putting it. Ah, here’s the lamb!”
    Pressing his snout against Olivia’s palm, Haviland searched for bite-sized cubes of juicy lamb and, sensing they were close at hand, began to shift his front paws in anticipation.
    Once Olivia had satisfied her poodle’s hunger, she satiated her own by fixing a spinach salad with lamb, feta cheese, and pecan crumbles accompanied by a side of pita wedges toasted with a sprinkling of Parmesan and fresh basil. She never prepared meals like this in her own home, but there