A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

covered with her copies of Laurel’s notes from the interview with Christina Quimby and Millay’s from their meeting with Sue Ridgemont earlier that day. Olivia piled newspaper clippings on area robberies on the spare chair under which Haviland dozed.
    The laptop was less than a month old and Olivia wasn’t familiar with the nuances of the new program bundle. She’d bought the lightweight machine online and had had no problem figuring out how to write and save documents, send and receive e-mails, or print, but she didn’t know how to create a chart showing comparisons between the robberies. If she weren’t so impatient, she would have invested time in reading the program’s Help section. Instead, she called Harris.
    “Where are you, my resident IT genius?” she asked.
    Harris shouted over the loud hip-hop music playing in the background. “In the car! I just got off work! I’m rolling with the windows down and, uh, hold on a sec . . .” Abruptly, the music ceased. “Sorry, I can hear you now.”
    “Can you change into your superhero costume, come down to Bagels ’n’ Beans, and rescue me? I need to make a spreadsheet on my computer.”
    Clearing his throat, Harris responded in a lower octave. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Let me pick up my cape and Lycra tights and I’ll be right there. But I will exact a price for my services. The Firewall Avenger only operates after an eight-hour day when fueled by an Asiago bagel with cream cheese and a large mocha latte.”
    “A small sacrifice in exchange for wearing tights. Your request shall be granted.”
    Once Harris had polished off his snack and was busy creating Olivia’s chart, she pivoted in her seat and sent several withering looks in the direction of a group of high school girls at the other end of the narrow room. Within seconds of Harris’s arrival, they’d been attempting to gain his attention by giggling, shrieking, and taking photos of him with their cell phones.
    “Harris. Would it bother you if I scattered that collective of hormone-crazed Hannah Montanas over there? I’m sure it’s nice to have a throng of pretty admirers, but I cannot concentrate in the face of all that hair flipping and squealing. It would be quieter in a slaughterhouse.”
    Glancing over his shoulder, Harris met the laughing gazes of four pairs of eyes and immediately turned back to Olivia. “They’re probably just making jokes about my skin. I’m used to it. I ignored girls like them all through high school. It really doesn’t bother me anymore.”
    Touching his hand, Olivia forced him to look up from the screen. “Harris, your rosacea has gotten remarkably less noticeable. A few more treatments and you’ll be as unblemished as a Hollywood starlet. Those girls are staring at you because they think you’re cute. Fine. Hot. I’m not familiar with teenage lingo. Most of them speak Text Message—all abbreviations and code. LOL, BFF, WTF.”
    Smiling, Harris ventured another glance at the girls, causing them to redouble their giggling. “How are you going to get rid of them?”
    “I’ll pretend we’re an item,” Olivia said with a wry grin. “Just act like you’re attracted to older women.”
    Harris produced a feline growl, causing Haviland to jerk his head off the floor. “Oh, I do like the cougars.” He put a placating hand on the poodle’s neck. “I am totally kidding, my friend. Please don’t bite any digits off. I need every one of my lightning-fast keyboard fingers.”
    Once Olivia had shooed away the gaggle of girls, the two friends concentrated on their task. Harris created a spreadsheet that included the thieves’ method of entry, the items taken from each house, the day of the week in which the robbery occurred, and a complete list of services each family used.
    “The houses were entered through the garage or the back door,” Olivia noted when he was done. “And in each case, the thieves were neat and particular about what they wanted.”
    “They prefer jewelry and electronics,” Harris agreed. “But I’d imagine bling and hi-tech toys are easiest to unload to a pawn broker or some other shady third party.” He pointed at the screen. “I’d try to track the art. Those paintings are unique, and if these guys are looking for quick, fast cash, then they’re not traveling too far to sell the pilfered stuff.”
    Olivia was impressed. “That’ll be the first point I raise to the chief, if he hasn’t thought of it already.”