A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

that theory because it meant that he didn’t want to be found, that he deliberately let his daughter believe that it was the fog and the whiskey and the angry seas that had claimed his life.
    She traced the bumpy coastline on the computer screen. Was it possible? Could her father be alive? Could he be as close as Wilmington?
    “How do you know who I am?” she asked the anonymous writer angrily, jabbing at the paper with her letter opener. The blade landed near one of the holes, slicing it neatly all the way to the edge. It was satisfying, and for a moment, Olivia was tempted to cut the entire letter to shreds, to stab and slice it until she could convince herself that it had never existed.
    “But it does exist and I need to decide what to do about it.” She put the opener away in the drawer and held the letter under the light. “No Harvard graduate here. Either that, or this writer doesn’t proofread.” Missing apostrophes, spelling errors, and the use of capital letters throughout seemed to emphasize her initial reaction about the author; that he or she didn’t put pen to paper very often.
    “ ‘He’s been with us for thirty years,’ ” she repeated the line aloud. “Who is ‘us’?” She took a drink. “Who the hell is ‘ us ’!”
    Anger swelled inside her, but she held it in check. She needed to think straight. Why would this person approach her after all this time? Either the letter writer needed money or her father did. When Olivia’s grandmother died, leaving the Limoges oak-barrel fortune to her only relative, Olivia, news of the young woman’s incredible wealth had been in all the papers.
    For years, paparazzi kept tabs on her every move, but she had eventually escaped to the one place they wouldn’t bother to track her. She returned home and became a businesswoman, homeowner, and solid member of the community. She no longer jetted around the world, dated famous bachelors, or dressed in haute couture. Therefore, she was no longer interesting to the press, but her name was still well known. People could find Olivia Limoges if they looked hard enough.
    “I could risk the money,” she said to Haviland, who was giving her his full attention. “That’s not a problem. I just don’t want to be made a fool of.”
    Once again, she turned back to the computer. She did a Google search for RB of Wilmington, North Carolina, but found nothing. However, when she typed the address into the search box, she was directed to a Yellow Page listing. RB’s address was actually a mailbox located in a UPS store.
    “That tells me nothing!” she banged on the keyboard in frustration. Downing the rest of her drink, she stood behind her desk chair and grabbed the cushion until her knuckles turned white. “What can I do?”
    The poodle grunted and turned in circles by the door. He was ready to leave and his mistress’s edginess was wearing on him.
    Noting Haviland’s discomfort, Olivia grabbed the letter, shoved it back into the envelope, and turned off the office lights. “There’s only one person who can advise me about this enigma. Come along, Captain. Off to the police station.”
    When they pulled into the police station parking lot, Haviland yipped in excitement. He was very fond of Greta, Oyster Bay’s attractive canine officer. The two dogs had met on several occasions and had always exchanged dignified but affectionate sniffs, nose rubs, and tail wags. Olivia sensed that Haviland had been gravely disappointed when they didn’t run into Greta on Saturday, as she and her fellow officer were out on patrol.
    There was no sign of Greta in the police department’s lobby and the female officer manning the reception desk had her hands full with a truculent tourist. The furious man waved a parking ticket while releasing a torrent of insults. Though the officer did her best to remain composed, it was clear that she wouldn’t stay calm much longer.
    Suddenly, the red-faced man tore the ticket into tiny pieces and threw them on the counter, jabbing his index finger inches away from the woman’s face. The officer’s eyes blazed with indignation. She picked up her phone and requested backup. Taking advantage of the distraction, Olivia opened the door to a hallway. She and Haviland slipped inside and hurried past office doors until they reached the one bearing Sawyer Rawlings’ name in brass.
    Olivia knocked and waited.
    “This had better be good,” Rawlings growled from within. When he saw Olivia