A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

with me and I’m wishing she’d waited until I was done with my pancakes. I’ve been dreaming about these all week.”
    Dixie shot Olivia an accusing look. “Did you put this man off his breakfast?”
    Ignoring her, Olivia took some money from her wallet, slapped it on the table, and rose. “Have a nice day. Both of you.”
    She patted her thigh to stir Haviland, who was dozing contentedly against the diner’s wall, oblivious of the mixed emotions filling the air above his head.
    Neither Flynn nor Dixie interfered with Olivia’s leaving. She reached the Range Rover and felt an immediate and powerful sense of relief. Rolling down all four windows, she turned on the radio and pulled away from her unlawful parking space in front of a fire hydrant and headed for Laurel’s subdivision. The combination of Aretha Franklin and the autumn air sweeping into the car’s cabin tasted sweetly of freedom.
    Laurel welcomed Olivia by promising that the coffee she was in the midst of brewing would be fresh and strong.
    “I bought myself a new machine with the money from my first paycheck.” She proudly stroked the appliance’s stainless steel façade and Olivia agreed that it was most impressive. After pouring two cups, Laurel offered Haviland a bowl of water and several dog biscuits she’d purchased especially for his visit. The two women then settled at the kitchen table where Laurel had laid out three yearbooks on the sticky tabletop.
    “That’s just some jam leftover from breakfast. The boys get more on their clothes and the furniture than in their sweet little tummies,” Laurel said with a laugh, swiping at the surface with a sponge. “Here. You take my sophomore year. I’ll go over my wonderful days as a junior. When I was—”
    “Why are there only three books?” Olivia immediately cut short her friend’s high school reminiscences.
    Laurel frowned. “I think my parents have my freshman yearbook. I must have left it behind after marrying Steve and they just packed it with the rest of their stuff when they moved to Florida. I could easily picture my mom looking through it every now and then.” Laurel seemed pleased by the thought. “Anyway, I rooted around in the attic as soon as I got back from dropping off the twins this morning but could only locate these three. If we don’t find any suspicious photos in here, we’ll have to pay a visit to Ms. Glenda at the school library.”
    Olivia opened the first book and carefully scanned page after page of young faces. The photos revealed evidence of acne, thick glasses, gawkiness, mouthfuls of metal braces, minor facial scars, and one wheelchair-bound student, but nothing struck Olivia as out of the ordinary. Like any group of photographs representing a large population, there were attractive faces, unappealing faces, and altogether unremarkable faces.
    Laurel was turning the pages with agonizing slowness, chuckling over the comments written or waxing nostalgic over memories of homecoming or prom. She held one-sided conversations with the smiling visages on almost every page and even giggled a time or two, sounding very much like a teenage girl.
    “Slide over your senior year,” Olivia commanded impatiently. “I have no doubt it was unforgettable, but we’ve got a job to do. Stop reliving the glory days as a pompom shaker and search for deformities, would you?”
    “Spoilsport,” Laurel retorted and pretended to sulk, but by the time she’d reached a spread featuring the junior class candid shots, she was laughing again.
    Olivia finished scrutinizing the second book but found nothing. She insisted on paging through the one Laurel finally set aside. Finding no clues in the third yearbook, she carried her cup to the sink and rinsed a splotch of grape jelly from her wrist. “Let’s head over to Pampticoe High. I’ll drive.”
    On the way to the school, Laurel chatted about how much she was enjoying her new career and how comfortable she felt interviewing members of the Oyster Bay Police Department. “Chief Rawlings has been so kind to me. I really hope he can make it to our Bayside Book Writers meeting on Saturday. I loved his chapter! I wrote down so few criticisms that he’s going to think I’m buttering him up in order to get information for my articles.”
    The two women discussed Rawlings’ chapter and what progress they hoped to make on their own manuscripts. Olivia didn’t tell Laurel that she’d reached a writing roadblock since receiving