A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

him sitting across from Olivia moments after her friend had claimed that she and Flynn were finished. “Your tomato and mozzarella omelet will be out shortly, ma’am,” Dixie said to Olivia and winked as she shot off toward the kitchen.
    Olivia gazed at Flynn over the rim of her coffee cup. “The word around town is that you and Diane have become friendly.”
    “She’s a fun gal,” he replied nonchalantly. “Except when she’s loading me down with endless amounts of reading material on raising kittens. Life as a single parent.” He sighed theatrically. “It is so hard.”
    Olivia laughed. “Have your little felines been given names?”
    “Oh, yes. Digory and Polly, after the children in C. S. Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew .” Dixie arrived in the middle of Flynn’s sentence, carrying Olivia and Haviland’s meals as well as a cup of coffee for Flynn.
    “My kids entered your contest, but I think they wanted to name your cats after video game characters or pop stars.” She fluffed the lowest ruffle of her tutu. “And my youngest boy was real set on you callin’ one of them Chinese Takeout.”
    Flynn chuckled. “I should have given him an honorable mention for creativity, but you’ll be happy to know that the winner is from a family facing hard times. When I told this kid that he’d won and could pick out fifty dollars worth of books, he grinned from ear to ear. One of the books he chose was a dictionary. He said his folks didn’t see a need for one, but he’d been asking for this particular book since his sixth birthday. I sold him a leather-bound version at cost and he petted the thing like it was a puppy.”
    Dixie wiped a tear from her eye. “You’ve gone and made my mascara run. Shame on you, Flynn McNulty.”
    “Will you forgive me long enough to put in an order for Grumpy’s apple pancakes?
    “I suppose I might.” Dixie sniffed and skated away.
    Olivia cut into her eggs, allowing a vent of steam to escape from the molten mozzarella interior. “Returning to the subject of you and Diane . . . I wanted you to know that I am—”
    “Madly jealous?” Flynn reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “She and I are friends. You’re the only woman I want to make burnt toast for in the morning.”
    A movement close to the window drew Olivia’s attention. She looked outside to see Rawlings, in uniform, carrying a cardboard beverage tray filled with coffee. He handed the tray to the officer in the passenger seat of a double-parked cruiser and then hustled around to the driver’s side, sunlight winking off his mirrored shades.
    “Damn it all!” Withdrawing her hand from Flynn’s, Olivia took a bite of her food and chewed mechanically, her gaze fixed on the police car. When it turned out of sight, she sighed. What had Rawlings seen? She and Flynn holding hands like the lovers they’d been? After all, she was the only one who knew she no longer wished to have a physical relationship with Flynn, as she hadn’t managed to break it off.
    I’ll make things clear to Flynn first and then I’ll tell Rawlings he caught a glimpse of our final moment of intimacy.
    Flynn was watching her curiously. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours? World domination, complex mathematical problems, physics formulas, the plot of a future bestseller?
    Olivia put her fork down. “I asked about you and Diane because I wanted you to know you are free to pursue a relationship with her. Not that you needed my permission, because you and I never set parameters as to what we were to one another, but I think she’s lovely.”
    “Why do I have a hunch that parameters are about to be firmly put into place,” Flynn murmured unhappily.
    “I find in these situations that it’s best to be completely honest,” Olivia said matter-of-factly. “What we have isn’t working for me anymore. Let’s part amicably and continue our book discussions fully clothed in the future.”
    In the heavy silence, Dixie arrived with Flynn’s pancakes. She prattled away as he spread several pats of butter across the surface of the stack and then poured liberal amounts of warm, pecan-flavored syrup on top of the butter. When he failed to laugh at Dixie’s joke or take a single bite of his breakfast, she put her hands on her hips and gave him a frank stare. “What’s wrong with your food?”
    “There could never be anything amiss with your fine fare,” Flynn answered dramatically. “But Olivia just broke up