A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

her interest even though she had access to over three hundred channels, Olivia unwrapped a candy bar made of fine Belgian dark chocolate and gazed around her living room in search of a better distraction.
    In the end, she pulled a DVD from the cabinet below her television and finally settled onto the sofa to watch the 1940 classic, Rebecca . Olivia knew every word of the film by heart but never grew tired of it. She viewed the movie at least once a year, usually when she was in a state of agitation. Somehow, the haunting presence of Rebecca de Winter and the scenes filmed at the base of the cliffs below Manderley captivated her every time.
    Rebecca didn’t let her down. When the movie was over, Olivia was finally able to fall asleep, though her dreams were punctuated with fragmented images of shipwrecks, dark and hungry waves, and a distorted, witch-like version of the phlebotomist from the lab in New Bern.
    The next morning, Olivia and Haviland took an early walk on the beach and then headed into town for breakfast at Grumpy’s before meeting Laurel. She’d barely sat down at her favorite window booth when Dixie skated over and served Olivia coffee.
    “You look like a diminutive version of the tooth fairy,” Olivia told her friend, gesturing at Dixie’s purple top, ballet tutu, and striped tights.
    Dixie curtsied. “Actually, I’m channeling the cartoon character Pinky Dinky Doo. She’s my youngest girl’s favorite. If I’d had more time, I woulda gone all out and dyed my hair pink too.” She touched the ends of her high ponytail. “But I had to settle for glitter.”
    Oblivious that Dixie was dressed in eccentric costume, Haviland made it clear that he was very glad to see the small woman. Wagging his tail, he gave her a gentlemanly lick on the back of her hand. She beamed at him.
    “Captain, you’re a shameless flirt. Don’t you fret, my darlin’, Grumpy’ll cook up something extra special for you on this fine mornin’.” Glancing over her shoulder, she put the coffeepot down on Olivia’s table. “I’m not bringin’ you a thing until you tell me what in the world is goin’ on with you and Flynn.”
    “Lately? Not a thing.”
    Dixie poked her on the shoulder. “Don’t go all mysterious on me . I’ll take this coffeepot to the kitchen and keep it there.”
    Olivia held up her hands in surrender. “Our relationship, and I use that term loosely, has run its course.”
    “My, my. Explains why I’ve been seein’ him all over town with Diane the vet.” Dixie studied her friend’s face. “You hadn’t heard that tidbit, had you now?”
    “I knew they’d had dinner once, but if they’ve gotten serious already then frankly, I’m relieved. Saves me from having to recite my it’s-time-to-move-on speech.” Olivia pointed at the pad and pencil in Dixie’s apron pocket. “I’d like something with eggs, herbs, and diced tomatoes. Perhaps half a grapefruit as well?”
    Sensing that other customers required attention, Dixie frowned and skated off. Olivia turned her attention to the Oyster Bay Gazette and eagerly read Laurel’s article about the identification of Alan Dumfries.
    Sipping her coffee, Olivia studied the photograph of the man she’d found buried in the sand. There was little resemblance between the ruined flesh and sunken eyes of the face hidden beneath a green bucket and the defiant stare and chiseled features of the portrait in the paper. Death had robbed Alan Dumfries of his strong jaw, his proud nose, and the blend of anger and arrogance in his dark eyes.
    “Why did they kill you?” Olivia asked the surly visage. “How did you screw up?”
    “Talking to yourself?” a voice questioned.
    Olivia glanced up from the paper and saw Flynn grinning over her shoulder. She tried not to be annoyed by how the man constantly appeared when she was otherwise occupied. Still, she now had the opportunity to make it clear that she was no longer interested in pursuing a relationship with him beyond that of casual friends. She indicated he should sit. “Care to join me for breakfast?”
    “I would indeed,” he answered, a smile in his gray eyes. Olivia felt a prick of doubt. Flynn was so lively, so capable of lightening even the gloomiest of her moods with his ready humor and affable manner. As she stared at him now, she had to admit that he was awfully easy on the eyes too.
    Dixie skated from the Cats booth to take Flynn’s order, betraying not the slightest surprise over finding