A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

chat over a cup of coffee. Can someone look after your kids on such short notice?”
    April issued a dry chuckle. “They’d love to get away from me for a few hours, trust me. I’ve been selfish to keep them close to me. When they’re around me, they feel guilty about playing or laughing at things on TV. My kids are better at grief than I am. They’re more resilient and more hopeful that they can be happy again one day.”
    “I think it’s easier for them to put their feelings aside for periods of time,” Olivia agreed. “But they experience grief as deeply as you do. They just might not be able to express how it’s affecting them.”
    “One day you’ll have to tell me how you know so much about this subject,” April answered. “But I’ll send the kids to Tina’s. She’s wanted them to come over for pizza for days and they could use a change of scenery. I’ll see you in an hour.”
    Pleased, Olivia whistled for Haviland and set off for Bagels ’n’ Beans. When she reached the café an hour later, Wheeler was in the process of handing over the reins to a pair of high school students.
    When he saw Olivia, he stopped and pointed at her arm. “You givin’ your blood away, ’cause I could use a fresh supply. Mine feels like it’s movin’ slower and slower through these droopy ol’ veins.”
    Olivia dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “That’s total nonsense. You’ll outlive us all.” She placed her drink order and then smiled at the feisty octogenarian. “Where are you off to now?”
    Wheeler grinned. “I got a date. First one in a decade too. Her name’s Esther. I met her on the computer.”
    Olivia couldn’t mask her disbelief. “You’re cyber-dating?”
    “When it comes to women, I’m better at writin’ than talkin’.” He shrugged. “I just hope she looks like her picture. She’s a dead ringer for Betty White.” Wheeler stooped to pet Haviland and then strolled out the door, his jaunty step belonging to a man a quarter of his age.
    “Betty White, huh?” Olivia laughed and settled back in her chair. Haviland curled up by her feet and closed his eyes, worn out from his exertions at the park.
    Sipping her cappuccino, Olivia stared out the front window and felt a rush of affection for the town and its inhabitants. Somehow, just being back in Oyster Bay dissipated a fraction of her anxiety over the blood test results.
    The bells hanging from the front door tinkled and April Howard walked in, a black portfolio case tucked under her arm. She spotted Olivia and made her way to the table, pausing to glance at the black-and-white photographs for sale on the wall above Olivia’s head.
    “These are new,” she said. “Last time I was here there was a display of watercolor paintings.”
    “Wheeler told me he couldn’t put up pieces of art fast enough during the Cardboard Regatta. Even with all the vendors selling comparable wares dockside, the tourists bought everything he had hanging on this wall.” Olivia studied the photographs of downtown, which had been taken during the busy season. She liked the movement captured within each shot—how the people on the sidewalk and the cars on the street appeared to be in motion even though the camera had rendered them permanently immobile.
    Directly over her cafe table was a head-on shot of Grumpy’s façade. It showed a trio of teenage girls in shorts and bikini tops, a pair of children holding pinwheels, several women with shopping bags, and a cluster of locals chatting alongside the diner’s door. It was a quintessential summer day in Oyster Bay—a glimpse of small-town Utopia.
    April was also staring at the photograph. “My folks want me to move back to Ohio, but I could never leave this place. I fell in love with Oyster Bay on a day just like the one in that photo. Felix and I were here for a weekend getaway. On Sunday, while we were packing to go, I told him I wanted to move here and start a family. And we did.”
    “I grew up here, but I remember coming back to town after being away for a long time. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in ages.” Olivia pointed at the portfolio. “May I?”
    “Of course.” April jerked her thumb toward the counter. “I’m going to order a complicated drink so you’ll have time to look that over without me staring at you.”
    As the espresso machine gurgled and sputtered, Olivia examined April’s designs and was satisfied by what she saw.
    “Give her a takeout