A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

that.”
    Tenderly rewrapping the small painting in its protective layer of butcher paper, Olivia moved closer to Jeannie. “Why didn’t he give this to me himself?”
    “Oh, some stuff and nonsense over having to be on duty right up until the start of your writer’s meeting and that wasn’t the time or the place to give it to you anyhow and blah, blah, blah.” Jeannie shook her head in exasperation. “The man cares for you. It’s plain as day, but he’s afraid of having feelings for anyone after what he went through with his wife.”
    “If he doesn’t feel, he won’t get hurt.” Olivia understood his rationale.
    Jeannie nodded. “I suspect you know a bit about that fool notion.”
    She began to tape the corners of the butcher paper together and then slid the painting into a grocery bag. She set the bag gently on the table and smoothed the paper as though she were petting a cat.
    “I was a teenager when your daddy went missing. I remember seeing your grandmother’s fancy car motoring through town. I figured she must be a movie star to have her own driver.” Jeannie smiled at the memory. “Do you know what? I was actually jealous of you. You rode off in that big, black car and it seemed so glamorous to me, like you were going to live a real life while the rest of us stayed here and rotted.” She reached out and touched Olivia’s arm. “I was a silly girl then. But after you came back, I wish I’d had the guts to walk up and tell you that I’d wondered about you over the years, that I’d always prayed you were okay.”
    Embarrassed by the other woman’s sincerity, Olivia looked away. “I did lead a glamorous existence to some extent. I ate croissants at a sidewalk café near the Eiffel Tower, climbed on the pyramids at Giza, felt the spray of Victoria Falls on my face . . .” She trailed off. “But I would have traded it all for another day with my mother or to have had a brother or sister. Someone to share a bedroom with, to whisper to when we were supposed to be asleep.”
    The loneliness of her childhood—all those years spent with only imaginary playmates as she drifted from room to room or wandered the grounds of one of her grandmother’s several mansions—came back in force. Jeannie must have recognized the sadness flit over Olivia’s features and immediately sought to dispel the gloom.
    “Well, you’re back where you belong now,” she declared brightly. “And I hear you bought the old cotton mill.” Jeannie gestured vaguely in the direction of Olivia’s new property.
    Grateful for the change of subject, Olivia nodded. “Yes. My offer was accepted yesterday. I plan to open a crab house this spring.”
    “That’s good. More jobs for the locals and another of the town’s landmarks that won’t slide into the sea.” Jeannie’s attention was caught by a girl dancing to a bluegrass tune coming from the radio at the next booth. “Are you going to have music?”
    Olivia smiled. “Oh, yes! Live bands, a cappella groups, jazz ensembles, all kinds of music.”
    Jeannie scrawled something on a piece of scrap paper. “You call me when you’re ready to book bands. My son’s been doing church gigs for the past two years and he’s pretty good. His band can play anything from The Rolling Stones to Jimmy Buffet to Dave Matthews. Cody’s a high school sophomore but has been putting away money for college since he was in the third grade.” Her eyes shone with pride. “Me and his father had two years of junior college and that was enough for us, but Cody wants to be like his uncle Sawyer.”
    “Not a bad role model,” Olivia answered and then stepped away to allow a new wave of customers to view the chief’s paintings. “It’ll take months to get the place ready, but I promise to put your son’s name on the top of the audition list. What’s his band called?”
    “Excelsior,” Jeannie said and then shrugged. “Whatever that is.”
    A man in overalls seemed frightened to approach the table where Haviland stood so Olivia put a hand on the poodle’s collar, drawing him closer to her side. “Excelsior means ‘ever higher.’ I wonder if Cody’s read the Longfellow poem with that title.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised. My brother is always buying that boy books and CDs and sports gear. Spoils him rotten.” Olivia wasn’t fooled by Jeannie’s pretense of disapproval. “Sawyer would have made a fine daddy, but I guess that just wasn’t part of the Lord’s plan.” She