A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Service, and Neat as a Pin Yard Care,” Rawlings said.
    “Such obvious clichés! How did I miss them?” She tried to recall the names of the lawn services Harris had typed onto their spreadsheet.
    “You didn’t.” Rawlings soothed. “In every case, the families took advantage of the free yard cleanup offered on the flyer, but none of the homeowners were impressed enough by the work to hire the men again. The Ridgemonts were the only ones who tried to call and set up another job, but after no one replied to their voice mail messages, they forgot all about the subject.”
    Olivia chuckled. “That certainly sounds like Sue Ridgemont. Lovely, but a bit absentminded.” She grew serious again quickly. “So this was how the thieves were able to break into the homes in broad daylight. They posed as yard men and parked their truck in the driveway. One of them broke into the house while another crew member mowed the lawn. The neighbors wouldn’t hear a thing over the noise of a mower or weed whacker.”
    “Precisely,” Rawlings agreed. “And the free service included a tune-up of the irrigation system. Therefore, in nearly every case, the homeowners willingly left their garage doors open. In these subdivisions, the sight of a landscaping truck and unfamiliar men testing the sprinklers would be totally commonplace. Though they were working in plain sight, they were nearly invisible.”
    Olivia had to admire the forethought of the burglars. “They could carry stuff from the garage to their truck without anyone batting an eyelash. What a clever scam.”
    Rawlings grunted. “They should have stuck with pilfering TVs. Killing Felix Howard has made them number one on the department’s hit list. We’re going to interview every existing lawn-care company in the county. Anyone who’s registered a trailer within fifty miles of Oyster Bay will be visited by a man or woman in blue.”
    “I know you will. At least Laurel’s husband is in the clear. What was he like during questioning?”
    “Um,” Rawlings stalled. “Let’s say that he was rather indignant over having to provide us with details about his comings and goings and leave it at that. I wish he’d never been on our radar in the first place. We’re going to get these guys, Olivia, I promise you that.”
    “Make sure to give Laurel an exclusive on the story. She’s going to be a hell of a reporter.” Olivia removed the casserole dish from the microwave and gave its contents a stir while Haviland danced back and forth in anticipation. Waving a potholder over the steaming casserole made of lean ground lamb, brown rice, and cheese, Olivia shook her head at Haviland, indicating that he’d have to wait a minute for it to cool.
    “And I hear you make a superb photographer. Perhaps you’ll have your own booth at the next Cardboard Regatta,” Rawlings quipped.
    Horrified, Olivia realized that she had yet to thank the chief for the painting he’d made for her. She hurried to do so and then told him that it hung in a prominent place in her kitchen. “It’s on the wall behind the coffeemaker and is one of the first things I see every morning. Now I can actually crack a smile before I’ve had a single sip of coffee.”
    “That is a compliment.” Rawlings paused. “Olivia, when this case is over, you and I . . .”
    A silence followed and Olivia knew he was searching for the words to acknowledge the attraction between them. She too wanted to address the feelings he’d awakened in her, but not over the phone. She wanted to be alone with Rawlings, perhaps on a blanket on the beach with only the stars and the sea bearing witness as she made herself vulnerable to him. Most of all, she wanted Rawlings to be near enough to touch, and at the moment, he felt very far away.
    Olivia broke the charged silence, changing the subject by telling the chief about Will Hamilton’s call.
    “Don’t make a move until I wrap up this case,” Rawlings directed. “I don’t want to appear at our next writer’s meeting to find that you’ve driven off to catch the ferry to Okracoke. You shouldn’t go there alone, Olivia.”
    “And miss the chance to finally critique your chapter?” she said. “Never. I’m switching to my red pen just for you.”
    She heard the voice of another police officer in the background. Olivia caught the words “victims” and “Pampticoe High” and then Rawlings told her he had to go.
    Olivia glanced at her watch. The chief was at work and