A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

magic. I need to think about how to handle Max Warfield.”
    Instead of jumping to his feet when he heard the word “walk,” Haviland continued to rest on the floor, his drowsy eyes tracking his mistress. Olivia studied him. “You’re right. You shouldn’t overdo it. But no more snacking either. I need your canine intuition to be finely honed for the remainder of today and your mind is at its sharpest when your stomach isn’t stuffed.”
    Olivia left the restaurant and headed for the docks. The heat of the afternoon sunlight poured down on her head and shoulders, but she was remarkably comfortable. Born in mid-July, she was a child of summer and had always welcomed its arrival and rarely wilted even on the hottest of days.
    Jethro Bragg’s houseboat was at its slip, but the small motorboat he used for clamming was gone. As she stared at the water, listening as it lapped against the dock’s wooden pylons, she wondered how Jethro had been coping since his release from jail.
    An old man carrying a tackle box drew up alongside her. He jerked a gnarled finger toward the ocean. “If you’re lookin’ for Jethro, he’s out collectin’. But you should come down to his oyster fry tonight. Five dollars a plate and you’ll never taste a better bite of shellfish in your life. The boy’s got the touch.” He glanced sideways at Olivia. “And he’s a good lad, no matter what some folks say.”
    “I would very much like to sample his cooking and I’m glad to hear that he’s got loyal friends in town,” Olivia answered honestly and continued on her walk. She turned away from the docks and walked around a dilapidated warehouse behind the marina. It had recently been put back on the market after the original buyer had been unable to secure the loan necessary to repair the faulty wiring and plumbing, replace the rotten roof, and remove the asbestos hidden behind the moldy walls.
    Olivia stood still, carefully scrutinizing the two-story structure. It occurred to her that Oyster Bay could do with a lively casual restaurant. Brew pub meets crab shack. That would appeal to both tourists and locals. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and continued musing. Balcony seating. Checkered tablecloths. Plenty of televisions in the bar for the sports fanatics.
    With images of the boisterous eatery filling her head, Olivia returned to The Boot Top to collect Haviland, a bottle of her second-best Bordeaux and a white cheddar and truffle quiche for Bert Long.
    Michel handed her a white shopping bag for the food and the wine. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it can’t involve taking it easy since you need to bribe someone with my food. Don’t you think you should go home and put your feet up after what happened last night?”
    Olivia patted her chef’s hand, which was covered with dozens of small scars and burns. “Thank you for being concerned, but the person I’m going to see might know who came after Haviland. Someone sedated my best friend, Michel. I could have lost him. There’s no chance of my turning the other cheek.”
    “Be careful then.” He pointed at Haviland. “And keep your guard up, Captain. We are way too busy to have the two of you sleeping it off at the vet’s office again.”
    Noting the slight flush in his cheeks, Olivia wagged a finger at the chef. “So that’s how you knew what happened so quickly! You’re dating someone at the Canine Cottage, aren’t you? No? Perhaps the lucky woman is Diane’s pretty assistant? She’s not married, is she?”
    Michel picked up a cleaver and advanced on her. “Don’t you have some place to be?”
    “I do.” Olivia eyed the sharp tool. “And if I didn’t have my rifle in the car, I’d ask to borrow that.”
     
     
    The Ocean Vista condos were completely booked. Most of the parking spaces were occupied by SUVs and minivans stuffed to the roof racks with pool floats, boogie boards, and beach toys. There were convertibles and pricey sedans here and there, but Olivia sensed the Ocean Vista properties catered primarily to families.
    As she walked around the perimeter of the rectangular structure, searching for number two-twelve, Olivia could hear the joyful screeches and splashes of children playing in a pool nearby. The strains of Bob Marley floated from the same direction. The combined sounds formed a jubilant and carefree melody, yet Olivia remained unaffected by the atmosphere, her mouth set in a firm, determined line.
    She walked