A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

they began to lose their advantage.
    “Oh, dear.” Laurel watched her husband through a pair of hot pink binoculars. “His partner said they should have made the boat shorter, but Steve insisted on adding more bristles to the brush.”
    A bright blue boat resembling a congenial killer whale passed by Steve’s toothbrush and a snarling shark to capture first place. Steve’s boat came in third, but he and his first mate were too busy shouting at one another to notice. Watching Laurel’s red-faced spouse, Olivia wondered if he had serious anger issues.
    As though reading her thoughts, Laurel spoke hastily. “He’ll shake it off. This is supposed to be just for fun, right?”
    Olivia ignored the question. “Laurel, what did you tell the editor of the Gazette ?”
    “That I needed more time to finish a major story,” Laurel answered after a long pause. Lowering her binoculars, she met Olivia’s stare. “I said that I had to interview April Howard before I could write a complete piece about the robberies.” She looked back out at the harbor. “Several papers have sent crime reporters to speak to April, but she’s refused to talk. I’ve been thinking about calling her. I feel like it’s my duty to do what I can to stop these crimes, that it’s my responsibility, just like caring for my kids or keeping the house clean. Does that sound ridiculously self-inflated?”
    Shaking her head, Olivia said, “No, it doesn’t. You’d like to wear more than one hat. You want a rich home life and a fulfilling career too. That doesn’t make you a self-centered person. It simply means you wish to share your gifts with a wider audience.”
    Laurel blinked away tears. “Why do you have so much faith in me? No one else does. I told Steve that I wanted his parents to watch the twins so I could be a reporter and not Paula Deen and he just laughed.”
    “Look at those boats,” Olivia replied soothingly. “They’re made of cardboard, tape, and glue. They don’t look like they’d float, let alone speed through the water, but with a little ingenuity and determination, there they are.”
    “Who would have thought being compared to a piece of corrugated cardboard could be so flattering?” Laurel managed a grin.
    At that moment, Millay dashed through the crowd toward Olivia and Laurel, her face glowing with excitement. “Harris is here! And you will not believe his boat! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
    “Where is it?” Olivia asked, raising her binoculars.
    “I see him! He’s tacking toward the starting line!” Laurel shouted. “Oh, Millay! It’s breathtaking!”
    Irritated to be the last to know what her friends found so amazing, Olivia took a step forward and adjusted the focus on her binoculars. She found Harris’s glimmering boat.
    The bow was a gracefully curved griffin’s head with a sunflower yellow beak and shining black eyes. A pair of lion’s legs formed the stern and the vessel’s rudder was in the shape of a tail. The entire boat had been painted gold, and Harris had added rhinestones to the griffin’s feathered neck and had made a set of sails out of an iridescent fabric.
    “I sewed the wings,” Millay whispered. “I didn’t even know what I was making. Harris gave me the material and a bunch of instructions. I thought he’d totally lost it using that filmy-looking stuff, but now . . .”
    “He painted Tessa on the stern!” Laurel bounced up and down on the dock. “What a lovely tribute to your character.”
    Grinning, Olivia watched the wind catch the griffin’s sails. The golden boat soared through the water as if it could truly take flight. “I know I’ve said this before, Millay, but I’m going to say it again. That boy has got it bad.”
    Millay rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But guess what? If he was trying to get my attention, then he’s got it. For once in my life, I am seriously impressed by a man.”

Chapter 12

    Widow: that great, vacant estate!
The voice of God is full of draftiness,
Promising simply the hard stars, the space
Of immortal blankness between stars
And no bodies, singing like arrows up to heaven.
    —SYLVIA PLATH

    M illay sulked through the length of their Bayside Book Writers’ meeting, and Olivia sensed her foul mood had less to do with the minor criticisms she received and more to with her response to seeing Harris receive the adulation of his pretty coworker.
    Harris’s griffin boat had crossed the finish line yards