A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

caught stealing in this county. Apparently, he preferred to break into cars, but I think it’s safe to assume he graduated to home burglaries. He must have done a few jobs with the Cliché Burglars before they killed him.” She paused thoughtfully. “Actually, they’re more like the Cliché Killers, aren’t they?”
    “The Cliché Killers. Yes, that seems more accurate.” Taking a sip of her scotch whiskey, Olivia murmured, “I guess Alan was the third wheel. If he had no connection to the families who were robbed, I’d bet this bottle of Chivas Regal that he was just a lackey.”
    “Maybe he was murdered because he broke a rule or something,” Laurel theorized. “Or the thieves in charge couldn’t trust him in the end.”
    “Plausible,” Olivia agreed. “But it doesn’t give Rawlings much of a lead. It’s a step forward, something tangible for you to print in the paper, but knowing Alan Dumfries’ name doesn’t answer the who or the why in this case.” She shook the ice cubes in her glass. “Do you have your high school yearbooks handy?”
    Laurel hesitated. “I think they’re in a box in the attic. Why?”
    “I think our villain may have attended Pamplicoe High.” Olivia described how she’s overheard one of Rawlings’ officers connecting the victims to the school. “We should look through them for anyone with a physical abnormality.”
    “That sounds so mean !” Laurel protested. “But I agree, though I can’t do it now. I have to make something for dinner or Steve will say that I can’t balance having a job with my responsibilities at home. Come over in the morning. The twins will be at preschool until twelve thirty. We can look through my yearbooks and then drive over to the high school if need be. The librarian, Ms. Glenda, has been there for ions. She has an uncanny memory for name and faces.”
    Olivia refilled her glass, trying not to think of how much she’d rather find out the results of her lab test and formulate a plan based on the results instead of going through page after page of Laurel’s yearbooks. Her treasured tomes were undoubtedly filled with girlie signatures, hearts, x ’s and o ’s, smiley faces, and the usual gushing promises to remain best friends forever. Olivia had left her own yearbooks in her boarding school dorm room, having made no close friends. Even as a teenager, Olivia planned for an adulthood of solitude. All relics of her school days, whether they were report cards, art projects, or ribbons from horse shows, had been discarded at the end of every term. She didn’t want to look back. It was simply too painful. The only way to survive was to move stubbornly forward, forging no human connections.
    “I’ll see you at nine,” she told Laurel and hung up.
    Glancing at Rawlings’ painting of Haviland, Olivia raised her glass in salute. Here was evidence that she had become much more sociable since her school days. Repeating the Virginia Slims slogan, she declared, “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

Chapter 15

    We grow tired of everything but turning others into ridicule, and congratulating ourselves on their defects.
    —WILLIAM HAZLITT

    A fter consuming two liberally poured cocktails, Olivia decided it would be unwise to drive back into town just to spend the rest of the evening milling about her restaurant.
    Instead, she ate a salad of endive, roast chicken breast, crumbled blue cheese, and apple slices on the deck. She then poured herself another drink and watched the sky darken. Haviland roamed the beach until the first stars came to life on the night’s blue black canvas. Only when her arms grew chilled did Olivia collect her poodle and return indoors.
    Though her body was tired, thoughts whirled around Olivia’s mind with the disruptive force of a thunderstorm and she knew sleep would prove evasive. She moved from one activity to another—wondering if the police were closing in on the thieves, planning how she’d react should her blood test reveal that her father was alive and imagining what Rawlings was doing at the moment, whether he was at the station or at home, perhaps searching through case files again and again.
    In an attempt to still her mind, Olivia tried to read. However, the book she’d begun earlier in the week was too frivolous for her current mood. Casting the paperback aside, she turned on the television and flipped from one reality show to another. Marveling that she couldn’t find a single thing to capture