A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

home.”
    He gaped at her over his coffee cup. “Why the hell would you come back ? Woman with your looks? You could have snagged yourself a rich husband and been set up in style in New York or Palm Beach. Anywhere but here! This place is okay for a week, but that is it .” He sidestepped the fisherman. “If you were my gal, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. You could sit around all day watching soap operas.”
    Olivia gave him a frosty smile. “What a tempting offer.” She then gestured at his wedding ring. “Your wife is a such a lucky woman.” Her smile became genuine as she said good-bye to Fergusson. At the snap of his mistress’s fingers, the sleeping poodle detached himself from the shadows beneath the table and leapt to his feet, barking once to illustrate that he was fully awake.
    “What the—” the tourist spluttered and coffee dribbled onto his shirt.
    Fergusson grinned, displaying a mouthful of tobaccostained teeth. “Look out, mister. That dog’s a black devil. He’ll bite your hand off if you take another step closer to Olivia. You’d best keep your distance.”
    Olivia smiled, pausing at the fixings bar near the front door. The tourist turned to Fergusson, mistakenly assuming that Olivia had left the café when, in fact, she had decided to add another splash of cream to her to-go cup.
    “What does she do in this podunk town?” the tourist asked, his back to the door. “A fine woman like that?”
    “Owns most of it,” Fergusson replied, knowing full well that Olivia was listening. He then pivoted away from the man and began to converse with Wheeler about the storm.
    However, the tourist refused to be ignored. “That harmless front isn’t heading in this direction at all. Why worry about it? Didn’t you guys listen to the weather report?”
    Fergusson put a lid on his takeout cup. “Oh, it’s comin’ all right. Too bad you’ll be gone.”
    Wheeler tried not to smile as the seaman headed for the restroom. The tourist stared after him in befuddlement and the slightest tinge of anxiety. “Pffah! He’s nuts. What are they going to do? Run out and buy batteries and bottled water?”
    “Not Fergusson,” Wheeler answered as though the question hadn’t been laced with sarcasm. “But Miss Olivia will prepare.” He winked at Olivia over the tourist’s head. “Chances are she’ll be good and ready for any storm. Wouldn’t be like her not to have a plan.”
    Again, the dismissive snort. “Come on! What would a woman like that know about weathering a major storm?”
    Pausing in the act of drying a mug with his dishtowel, Wheeler gestured at the television. Once again, the channel featured a radar image of the tropical disturbance. “She knows plenty, my friend. A hurricane is gonna form while you’re lyin’ on the beach this weekend. I know of one that started just like this one.” He lowered his voice, but the words seemed to burn their way into Olivia’s ears.
    “It came through Oyster Bay when Miss Olivia was a little girl. That storm was a monster.” Wheeler was lost in the memory. “It kicked and screamed and howled and when all was said and done, a child had lost her mama. A few other folks got killed too. Most of ’em died ’cause they didn’t respect the storm.” He finished drying the cup and picked up another. “I s’pect this one’ll claim her share of lives too. That’s the way of things ’round these parts. You either bend to nature’s power or she’ll force you to your knees.”
    Mumbling under his breath that the local population was made up of inbred lunatics, the tourist gathered his pastries, his coffees, and his impenetrable arrogance and left.
    He walked right past Olivia without realizing she was still standing there, trying to fit the lid on her cup with trembling fingers.

    Olivia and Haviland walked three blocks south to the hardware store. The streets were crowded now. Female vacationers in swim suits and sheer cover-ups shopped for sunscreen and folding beach chairs while their husbands hunted for newspapers and ice for their coolers.
    Hampton’s Hardware had occupied a prime spot on Main Street since Olivia was a toddler. Back then, when there were no parking meters and a horse-drawn trolley shuttled people from the two downtown churches to a parking and picnic area near the docks, Hampton’s also housed the town’s only post office. With the recent influx of cash into Oyster Bay’s municipal coffers, however, a new post