A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

offered his hand to assist Olivia down. She accepted reluctantly, but Haviland disregarded the steps altogether and jumped onto the dock with an anticipatory bark.
    “Yes, Captain,” Olivia whispered to him. “Another adventure awaits us.”
    Shouldering her overnight bag, Olivia hastily thanked the yacht’s captain, eager to be alone for a moment to gather courage. He said good-bye and hurried off, eager to complete his wife’s errand.
    From her vantage point on the dock, Olivia could see the brown clapboard walls of the eatery and the second-story windows of the house that the Salters had converted into guest rooms.
    Olivia stared at the windows, watching the waning light dance upon the panes. On the other side of one of those sheets of glass, behind the glimmering farewell of daylight, was her father. Her throat tightened and she looked away, taking in the tranquility of the village and the sleepy inlet. She stood like this for several minutes, drawing courage from the clang of mooring lines and the gentle rocking of sailboats at anchor.
    Finally, she walked forward, her eyes returning again and again to the lighthouse. It was incredibly strange that her father had taken up residence so close to another lighthouse. He had deserted his home, his daughter, and the memories of his wife. And yet here he was, still tied to the ocean, working in a town interdependent on the sea, living in the lee of another lighthouse.
    “Did you really escape?” Olivia wondered aloud. “Or did our voices float to you across the water? Mother’s and mine. Did you see our faces in the tidal pools? In the glassy water before you pulled the shrimp nets in?”
    Olivia fell silent, knowing that she was describing how she’d been haunted by the ghosts of her past.
    She gave Haviland a brave smile and then stepped into the restaurant.
    The décor was casual to the point of neglect. There were scarred wooden picnic tables and chairs, mismatched barstools, old fishing nets slung across the rafters. A few customers were at the bar, getting an early start on a long night of drinking. A television set was tuned to ESPN, and a woman stood at the end of the bar, refilling catsup bottles and saltshakers.
    Upon seeing Olivia, she wiped her hands on her apron and murmured something to the old man sitting closest to her.
    “Can I help you?” she asked with guarded friendliness.
    Olivia examined the woman. She was barely thirty, but toil and worry made her appear older. Her brown hair hung limply down her back and her watery blue eyes were wary. Glancing at Haviland, she placed a protective hand on her swollen abdomen.
    “Are you Kim Salter?”
    The woman nodded. “You must be Olivia. My husband said you would probably come.” Her tone was apologetic. She pointed at Olivia’s sling. “What happened to you?”
    “That’s not important.” Olivia clenched her jaw, her blue eyes darkening with intensity. She disliked being short with the woman, especially since she was both tired and pregnant, but it couldn’t be helped. “I came to see my father and I want to see him now .”
    “I’ll get Hudson.” Kim turned and hurried through a swing door leading into the kitchen.
    Olivia didn’t wait around for Hudson Salter to emerge from within. She didn’t trust the man and she didn’t want to give him the chance to manipulate her in any way.
    Bursting into the kitchen, she found him boiling a pot of stone crab claws while a little girl carefully cut a lemon into tidy wedges. Hudson, whose back was to the door, had been speaking to his wife but immediately broke off and swung around to face Olivia. His cheeks were flushed from the steam billowing out of the stockpot and his eyes were hooded and unreadable. He glanced between Olivia and Haviland and then wiped his hands on his apron.
    “Caitlyn,” he said in a deep, authoritative tone. “Take those lemons out to the bar. Kim, you go on too.”
    Kim seemed about to protest, but a steely glare from her husband silenced her. Putting a gentle arm around Caitlyn’s bony shoulders, she led the girl out of the kitchen. They both gave Haviland a wide berth.
    “I suppose we need to come to terms before you’ll let me see my father,” Olivia stated, dropping her purse on an unused cutting board. She pulled out her checkbook and wiggled it impatiently. “How much?”
    Hudson was clearly taken aback. “This isn’t the time to talk about money. I’ve gotta fill this order and then I’ll bring