A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Caesar

    T he meeting of the Bayside Book Writers never occurred. Laurel was the first to telephone and give her excuses. With the storm making its presence known in the form of rain and a persistent wind, the young mother felt she’d better say at home and tend to her children and nervous in-laws.
    “I’ll be honest with you,” she said in a hushed tone. “Steve also gave me a major guilt-trip over leaving the twins with him and his folks twice in one day.”
    Olivia couldn’t suppress a harrumph. “Oh, please . You brought home a gourmet meal, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, but I haven’t served it yet.” Laurel sounded much meeker than she had during the interview with Christina Quimby. “Maybe after they taste Michel’s food they’ll start pushing me out the door in the future.”
    “Don’t count on it,” Olivia grumbled. “And what about your interview with the other robbery victim? Are you still going to pursue that or are you going to wait for your husband’s permission?”
    Stung, Laurel became defensive. “Actually, I’m going next Thursday, once Ophelia’s moved through. It isn’t easy, you know. Lying to my husband.” She paused. “Or trying to keep everyone happy. It’s really very hard.”
    Olivia was in no mood to enter into a conversation concerning the problems faced by today’s mothers, so she promised to join her friend on Thursday’s interview and then got off the phone. She knew she had treated Laurel callously, but couldn’t help feeling annoyed by her friend’s vacillating will. Now thoroughly out of sorts, Olivia was relieved when Millay was the next to call and cancel.
    “I need to make some money before the bar blows away, so I’m not going to waste time eating mini quiches and sipping vino with you all,” she stated with her usual frankness. “I’d come if there was work to be done, but the chief dropped the ball big-time this week.”
    For a moment, Olivia almost explained why the chief had failed to send the group his chapter, but then thought better of it. Let Rawlings keep the anniversary of his wife’s death to himself. He would have to explain his involuntary sabotage of tonight’s meeting to the writer’s group in person. “May your tip jar overflow,” Olivia told Millay.
    It didn’t take long for Harris to call and bow out too.
    “You don’t need to explain,” Olivia said as soon as she heard his voice. “Everyone else is jumping ship. Honestly, I doubt Rawlings will be ready for next week’s meeting either. With the storm’s arrival and the clean up afterward, he won’t have a second to catch a breath, so we’re going to skip his turn and let Millay go next. She assured me her chapter was almost ready and she’d e-mail an attachment to the group late Sunday evening.”
    Harris grunted. “She’d better send it in the morning. I’ve got a Facebook friend who works for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and he says that Ophelia’s going to double in width over the next twenty-four hours. We’ll lose power by dinnertime.” Pleased to share the insider information, Harris went on to tell Olivia the other natural disasters his cyber-friend had accurately predicted. “I’m glad I live in an apartment away from the water. No need to worry about flooding or downed trees. The power outages will be a drag, but I’m charging two laptops in preparation. After they die, it’ll just be me, a case of Slim Jims, some not-so-cold brewskies, and a fierce game of Risk between me and the guys in 4C.”
    It was impossible to be gruff in the face of Harris’s boyish enthusiasm. “Good luck in your pursuit of world domination,” Olivia said. “And don’t underestimate the value of Australia.”
    “Never!” Harris agreed. “I will capture the continent in your honor, fair maiden.” He paused. “On a serious note, be careful. If the road from the Point to town floods, you could be stranded for days.”
    Touched by his concern, Olivia resisted the urge to lecture him on her high level of self-sufficiency. “Never fear, my friend. I have food, a generator, excellent company, and a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Sistine Chapel to work. If Michelangelo hid any codes on that ceiling,” she joked, “I’ll have plenty of time to find them.”
    “Man, you are so cool,” Harris declared before hanging up.
    Olivia wasn’t ready to hunker down until conditions notably worsened, so she and Haviland drove to The Boot Top.