A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

families.”
    The dishwasher thanked her in Spanish and then rushed forward to open the door for her. The floodlight above the door illuminated the persistent rainfall beyond the restaurant’s walls.
    Olivia and Haviland scurried to the Range Rover. The rain was deceptively gentle, like a steady and nourishing springtime drizzle. The only indication that the fury of nature was about to rend the town apart was the sickly yellow and puce tinge to the edge of the clouds.
    The drive to Flynn’s bungalow was eerie. The streets were nearly deserted and the wet pavement shimmered in the otherworldly light. Olivia passed only one car on Main Street and she could see that many of the shops had closed early. Even the streetlights lining the sidewalk seemed forlorn.
    Flynn’s Caribbean-style bungalow was a welcome sight. Every light was on and the house glowed with misty warmth, like a roaring fire viewed through an ice-crusted windowpane. Unfamiliar music drifted from the open front door. Olivia cocked her head. It sounded like Cuban jazz—a perfect mixture of vibrant rhythms blending with a seductive and smooth melody.
    “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” Flynn rose from his painted wooden rocking chair to greet her with a kiss.
    Olivia returned the kiss with unusual tenderness. “It was sweet of you to wait up for me. Your place looks like a beacon in the night.”
    “I could hardly watch mindless television knowing you were on the way, so I decided to make it clear that I was anxiously awaiting your arrival.” He dipped a widemouthed glass in salt and poured her a margarita from a nearby pitcher. Adding a lime wedge, he placed the glass on a rattan coaster and gestured at the other rocker.
    Settling into the cobalt-colored chair, Olivia signaled for Haviland to find a discreet place behind the house to take care of business. Delighted to finally be allowed a measure of freedom after being cooped up in Olivia’s office all evening, the poodle darted off the porch and disappeared into the rainy night.
    Olivia and Flynn made predictions about the storm and listened to the rainfall. Haviland returned, detaching himself from the shadows, and sat on the front mat, clearly asking to be let inside. He was ready for bed, but Olivia was reticent to break the spell being woven out of night rain, tequila, and Flynn’s jazz record.
    “So who’s this old friend you’re going to visit?” Olivia asked, wanting to linger on the porch a little longer.
    Flynn didn’t answer. Instead, he got up, walked to her, and gently pulled her out of her chair. Pressing her against him, thigh against thigh and hip against hip, he cupped her face in his hands and whispered, “Hmm, a personal question. Are we taking our relationship to the next level?”
    Olivia stiffened in his arms. “What does that mean?”
    There was a smile in Flynn’s voice as he murmured his reply in her ear. “It means that you’ll stay for breakfast. Try it just once and see how it feels.”
    Relaxing, Olivia sought his lips. They were warm and inviting. “All right,” she agreed, her voice low and deep with need. “But no stacks of pancakes or three-egg omelets. I prefer lighter fare.”
    “The best I could scrounge up would be bread and jelly,” he said with a low laugh as he led Olivia inside.

    The next morning, Olivia and Flynn ate toast with strawberry jam and drank coffee in front of the television. Ophelia had picked up speed overnight and was likely to make landfall just after dawn on Monday. As they watched, the program was interrupted by an emergency announcement. The screen turned cardinal red, and white letters appeared, alerting those throughout the county that the mayor was calling for voluntary evacuations.
    “Wow,” Flynn breathed, his coffee cup frozen midair. “This is serious.”
    Olivia carried her dishes to the kitchen. “You should get going. The roads will get crowded quickly.”
    Seeing that his mistress had no leftovers for him, Haviland moved to the door and waved his tail, obviously eager to leave.
    “I need to go home and feed the Captain anyway. He’s too much of a food snob to settle for toast.” Olivia gave Flynn a little smile.
    He put his mug down and walked her to the door. Taking her hand he said, “Are you sure it’s safe to stay out on the Point?”
    “Why? Do you want me to evacuate with you?” It had meant to be a jest, but Olivia saw a look of alarm dart across her lover’s gray eyes. Fiddling with