A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

of ecstasy delivered by the rush of wind through his nostrils.
    As the afternoon passed into evening Oyster Bay remained dark. Olivia sat at The Boot Top’s bar, surveying the mast lights on the boats in the harbor as she sipped a glass of Chivas Regal.
    “Nothing to do but wait,” she said to the empty restaurant.

    By Thursday, people spoke of Ophelia as though she were a distant relative who’d come in for a holiday weekend, behaved poorly, and then mercifully departed, leaving the house in disarray.
    When power was restored to the business district Thursday morning, the townsfolk milled about the shops and eateries comparing their hurricane woes. Many were still without electricity but had gratefully returned to their jobs and daily routines.
    Hoping Steve was busy filling a cavity, Olivia called Laurel at home.
    “Are we on for today?” she asked her friend and then realized she shouldn’t have opened the conversation with that line. If she’d been more sensitive, she would have asked if Laurel had recovered from the shock she’d received over being present when a woman of similar age and circumstance suddenly, tragically, became a widow.
    Laurel didn’t answer immediately. “I’ve been thinking about the whole reporter thing, Olivia. I’ve been acting like my life is missing something, but I have this beautiful house and a husband who provides for me. Seeing April at that hospital . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “I should learn to count my blessings, not complain about them.”
    “Who says those should be limited?” Olivia demanded. “I understand your being upset. Afraid even. But, Laurel, do you want other women to go through this or do you want to help the police catch these bastards and put a stop to future murders?”
    One of the twins whined in the background. “I’m sorry, but I need to take care of Dermot.” Laurel clearly wanted to get off the phone. “You do the interview if you want. I’ll e-mail you the address. Meanwhile, I am going to cook a delicious dinner for my family, even if it takes me all day to do it!” The sound of whining escalated into a full-blown howl and a second high-pitched voice joined in.
    Haviland’s ears lifted in alert.
    “I gotta go!” Laurel shouted and hung up.
    Olivia scowled at the phone. “Well, how do you like that?” She drummed her long fingers on the kitchen counter and recalled the chief’s promise to compare notes with her that evening. If she didn’t interview the other burglary victim, she might not have any useful information to impart and she very much wanted to be able to provide Sawyer Rawlings with a solid lead at the most and a few possible theories or relevant clues at the very least.
    Picking up the phone, Olivia made another call. “Did I wake you?” she inquired genially when a very groggy Millay grunted out a hello. It didn’t take long to fill the young woman in on the role Olivia wanted her to play. “You’re sharp and you can read people, which is a surprising attribute for someone in their mid-twenties.”
    “I’m a bartender,” Millay reminded her irritably, still half asleep. “If I didn’t have that skill, I couldn’t pay my rent.”
    “So you’ll come with me?”
    Millay produced a muffled grunt. “It’s either that or do laundry. I’ll be your wing man.”
    Pleased, Olivia had a final thought. “And I hate to say this, being that I admire most expressions of individuality, but could you strive to dress more conservatively for today’s interview?”
    Snorting, Millay replied, “Just for you, I’ll take out one or two eyebrow rings.”
    “That would be a start,” Olivia answered and rang off.
    An hour later, Olivia pulled in front of Millay’s apartment complex. When her young friend waved in greeting, Olivia almost failed to recognize her. Millay was wearing a simple black skirt, sandals with a wedge heel, and a short-sleeved white blouse beneath an argyle vest. Her hair was pulled under a beige cap and, instead of her customary black eyeliner, deep purple eye shadow, and crimson lipstick, she wore very little makeup. Olivia was struck afresh by the girl’s beauty.
    “Not bad,” she said as Millay hopped into the car and reached around to pet Haviland.
    “I only do this in the name of Truth and Justice,” Millay answered. “And I’m not going anywhere without coffee, so swing into the Exxon on our way out of town.”
    Olivia was horrified. “You’re going to drink