A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

paper or stay up all night working on a novel, you can’t just stop. It’s not selfishness, Laurel, it’s how you’re wired. You couldn’t turn that off even if you wanted to.”
    Olivia gave Harris a nod of approval. The simple truth of his words alleviated some of the guilt she felt for pushing Laurel into a career in journalism. She took a deep swallow from her tumbler, knowing full well that it was unwise to mix whiskey and narcotics. It was her hope that the alcohol would help numb the pain in her arm enough for her to abstain from taking another dose of medicine before bed.
    Laurel put a cocktail napkin to her face and cried silently. Her friends let her be, sensing that she needed the release. They drank and reflected on the Donald siblings, wondering whether the police had collected enough evidence to ensure that the twisted siblings would be in prison for a long time.
    Eventually, Laurel’s tears ceased and she managed a wobbly smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without such amazing friends. Thanks, everybody.”
    Millay rolled her eyes in disgust, but Olivia knew the gesture was all show. “I’m way bummed I missed the action. Here I am, my finely honed kung fu skills going to waste while Olivia’s getting sliced up by some crazy slasher bi—”
    Harris cut her off. “Do you really know kung fu?”
    “I promise to phone you before the next knife incident,” Olivia said and then shot Laurel a questioning look. “Ellen and Rutherford spoke quite clearly, didn’t they? They must have gotten the operation they’d always wanted as soon as they were out of the family home.”
    Laurel twisted her napkin into a white, wrinkled snake. “I called the police station while I was at the park with Haviland and asked Officer Cook to check on Mr. and Mrs. Donald. He said they already had but he sounded funny and got off the phone in a flash. I really hope they’re unharmed!”
    “They might be okay,” Harris tried to assure her. “Ellen and Rutherford’s first act of violence was killing that Alan guy and burying him in the sand.”
    Millay looked doubtful. “As far as we know. There could be a trail of dead bodies from here to Arkansas. We don’t know that Felix’s death was an accident. The Donalds might have been aware that he was at home all along. They could have been gunning for him like they were gunning for Laurel, here.”
    Fear flickered through Laurel’s eyes and Harris scowled at Millay. “How about showing a little sensitivity? The lady’s had a scary morning.”
    Returning his frown, Millay mumbled an apology to Laurel and then focused her energy on consuming the rest of her drink.
    Haviland appeared behind the bar, having been fed a selection of gourmet goodies by Michel. The chef fussed and cooed over the poodle even after Laurel explained how Olivia had ended up with her arm in a sling.
    “I’d give you oodles of sympathy,” he told his employer briskly, “but I know how you’d react, so I’ll just skip it and say that I’m overwhelmingly relieved that the person who signs my paychecks isn’t left-handed.” Michel then tried to be extremely solicitous to Laurel, but she only smiled weakly and thanked him.
    Soon, Gabe would arrive to put the bar in order and the kitchen would be filled with steam, noise, and delectable scents. Olivia was on the verge of breaking up their impromptu party when Rawlings stepped through the front door. He nodded at the ensemble and then crooked a finger at her.
    “Could you step outside for a moment?” he asked and then turned, giving Olivia no choice but to comply.
    Millay shook her head in sympathy and jumped down from her barstool. “Oh, man. You must be in major t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I’ll do the pouring until you come back.”
    “That’s fine as long as you answer my cell phone if it rings. I’m waiting for an important call.”
    “Secretarial services will cost you extra,” Millay replied with a saucy curtsy.
    Outside, it took Olivia’s eyes several seconds to adjust to the afternoon light. Rawlings was waiting for her at the end of the path leading to the parking lot, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Upon seeing her, he quickly ended his conversation and watched her approach with close scrutiny.
    Olivia’s heart beat faster beneath the intensity of his stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? Am I about to be frisked?”
    The chief ignored her attempt at playfulness. “How’s your arm?”
    “Stitched, sore, and