A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

ahead of the competition. During the awards ceremony, he was handed not one, but two cash prizes. He’d won the Sail-Powered Race and had secured a runner-up position in the Most Beautiful Boat category. Ironically, it was another bird that beat his craft: a peacock. The colorful vessel hadn’t been designed for speed, but its graceful lines and showy tail had earned its builders a tidy sum. Still, Harris was the event’s cash king. Olivia figured he’d earned several thousand dollars that morning.
    Olivia, Millay, and Laurel had watched in surprise as Harris accepted his winnings and then was promptly mauled by a young woman wearing a Harry Potter Team Gryffindor T-shirt and a pair of denim cut-offs. She pushed her way through the crowd and threw her arms around Harris. Her display of affection nearly knocked him right off his feet, but he reacted with a look of amused bewilderment.
    “This is Estelle. We work together,” Harris told the other writers and stood by uneasily as Millay and Estelle sized one another up.
    “I don’t think Harris has ever mentioned you,” Millay said coldly, veiling her dislike with a plastic smile.
    Estelle was unfazed by the cool reception. “That’s probably because I haven’t been at the company too long and Harris and I aren’t in the same division. See, he’s an artist!” She stared at Harris as though he might walk on water at any moment. “I’m just a receptionist. I got hired because of my phone voice and because I can stay calm no matter how upset others might get. I help keep our customers happy.”
    “What an exceptional talent,” Millay remarked but Laurel quickly stepped in and began to chat with Estelle about her favorite Harry Potter characters.
    Harris thanked Estelle for being such an exuberant cheerleader and then made his excuses to his coworker explaining that he needed to get going to his book writer’s meeting.
    “Oh, Harris!” Estelle clung to his arm. “You’re a writer too? There are so many sides to you! What else are you good at, I wonder?”
    Harris blushed and gently disentangled himself from the pretty woman’s grasp. “See you Monday, Estelle.”
    “Not if I see you first!” she shouted after him.
    Millay remained silent about Estelle until the other writers had finished critiquing her chapter. Olivia shared her observations first and then listened intently as Rawlings pointed out examples of well-crafted prose followed by two sections of writing requiring further work.
    “The battle scene was very well done,” he told Millay. “I had no difficulty imagining the sea witch rising out of the black waters. I agree with Olivia about closing the distance between reader and character. Tessa is fascinating but often strikes me as too collected for someone of her age and situation.” He studied his notes. “I realize the traditions of her culture prepared her to be a warrior, but I wonder if it’s wise to keep her so solitary. She has no confidante, no one to show her affection or even share a joke with. The loneliness must be affecting her, but I’m not sensing any desire to make a connection on Tessa’s part.”
    Millay sent a withering glare in Harris’s direction. “Not everybody needs to be fawned over.”
    Rawlings, who hadn’t been present for the Regatta’s awards ceremony, sent Olivia a questioning look. She gave a little shake of the head as if to say, “Leave it be.”
    “Enough of Tessa,” Millay declared regally. “I need something to eat. Harris, you got anything in that bachelor fridge of yours?”
    Harris sprang up from the plaid sofa in his living room and crossed the industrial beige carpet to the laminate floor of his kitchen. The entire apartment had been decorated in shades of light brown. Whether khaki or tan or an unattractive taupe, the walls, floors, and furniture was utterly lackluster. As though he were still living in a college dorm room, Harris had tacked a variety of posters to the walls. Most were of science-fiction movies and had seen better days. Water stains and small tears gave them a bedraggled appearance, making them the perfect accompaniment to the mismatched chairs in his kitchen, the sagging sofa in the living room, and the tattered shades on every lamp.
    “What are you going to do with your winnings?” Olivia asked Harris as he dug around inside his refrigerator.
    He emerged, examined the expiration date on a hunk of cheese, and tossed it in the trash. “I’m going to buy a