A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

the vial of blood from Will Hamilton. It was now impossible to dream up plot lines focusing on Kamila, her fictitious Egyptian concubine, in the face of such poignant real-life drama. Luckily, Laurel was brimming with ideas for a contemporary romance novel and discussed these for the remainder of the ride.
    Pampticoe High was bustling with activity when Olivia and Laurel stopped by the front office to collect visitor badges. Students were in the middle of changing classes and poured through the dingy hallways, talking, laughing, shouting, and slamming lockers. Half of the teens wore ear buds and listened to music as they moved while another large percentage was talking or texting on cell phones.
    Olivia thought back to the boarding school she’d attended—the strict dress code, the rule of silence when in public areas, the insistence on politeness and proper etiquette at all times. Had these students attended Olivia’s school, most of them would have been immediately hauled off to detention for inappropriate dress and the use of foul language, their electronic devices confiscated and all privileges revoked.
    “This is a different world,” she commented under her breath after an oblivious young man barreled into her and then shuffled off without so much as an apology.
    Ms. Glenda’s domain was refreshingly quiet and orderly. Olivia only had to watch the woman interact with a single student to see that she ruled the library with a blend of softness and steel. She was also remarkably unsurprised by Laurel’s request that she recall the names of former students with notable physical deformities.
    “A nice young police officer asked me the very same thing yesterday afternoon,” Ms. Glenda whispered, removing her reading glasses to clean off a smudge on the left lens. “It was no small feat to consider the unusual birthmarks, burns, scars, missing limbs, additional fingers or toes, and excessive overbites of two decades worth of students!” Having finished with her glasses, she put them back on and gazed at Laurel with interest. “I see your experience with the school paper eventually blossomed into a career. Journalism suits you, my dear. I’ve followed your recent articles with pride, knowing I once taught you how to conduct research.”
    Laurel blushed prettily. “You certainly did, Ms. Glenda. Believe me, your coaching has come in handy more than once over the last few weeks.”
    Ms. Glenda preened and Olivia suspected the woman deserved every accolade she received. It couldn’t be easy to instruct the group of unruly miscreants Olivia had seen in the school’s hallway. “I don’t know why the police were interested in my memories of days gone by, but I suspect it has something to do with the Cliché Killers. Didn’t you come up with that nickname? Quite catchy.”
    Nodding modestly, Laurel held her blank notebook page in the air. “I think we’re chasing down the same lead. Were you able to assist the police?”
    “Not at first.” Ms. Glenda indicated they should follow her into the stacks. She pulled a yearbook from the shelf, found the page she was looking for, and then held it open against her chest with the blue cover facing outward. “I thought I’d be of no help until the officers used the words ‘cliché’ and ‘tease’ in the same sentence. Two faces quickly surfaced in my mind.” She studied Laurel. “Surely you remember a student being teased for the strange sounds she made when she tried to talk. Does the phrase, ‘cat got your tongue’ help you remember?”
    Laurel began to shake her head, but then stopped. She paled and reached for Ms. Glenda’s yearbook. The librarian pointed to a group of photographs featuring the senior class. “See there? It says, ‘Absent from this group: Andrew Davis and Ellen Donald.’ ”
    “Ellen Donald.” Laurel’s words were barely audible. “I remember her now. Oh! I may have . . . I believe I joined in when the older girls made fun of her.”
    Ms. Glenda seemed satisfied by the admission. “Her older brother was Rutherford. He graduated three years ahead of Ellen and was also severely tongue-tied.”
    Olivia accepted the yearbook and put her finger on the place where Ellen’s photograph should have appeared on the page. “Wasn’t their condition reparable?”
    “I imagine so.” Ms. Glenda reclaimed the yearbook and shelved it, clearly signaling that she didn’t want to discuss the matter any further.
    “Can you provide us with