A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

I’d like to proceed with my writing.” She crossed her arms and looked at Ford. “Could you tell me more about the group’s schedule and assignments?”
    “Excellent canapes, my dear.” Camden saluted her with his refreshed wineglass. “Thus far, we’ve congregated every other week, but we’ve all decided to meet weekly in order to make more progress. We each take turns having our work reviewed. Soon enough, it’ll be your turn to bring us copies of your masterpiece, Olivia.” He picked up a stack of papers from an end table. “Lucky for you, I’ve brought my pages tonight so you can take out all of your aggressions on my humble prose.” He grinned at her. “This gives you an entire week to sharpen your pencil, my dear. Don’t worry, I take criticism very well.”
    Olivia sniffed.
    “Oh, but don’t worry. We’re not really mean to each other.” Laurel had misinterpreted the noise as anxiety. “We say lots of nice things too!”
    Millay rolled her eyes. “And that’s a waste of time if you ask me! We’ll never get better if we just sit around blowing smoke up each other’s asses. When it’s my turn, be as harsh as you want.” She pointed a slim finger at Olivia. “Bring it, sister!”
    Harris, who had been stealing glances at Millay all evening, dusted the crumbs from a prosciutto and gruyere pinwheel off his long-fingered hands and reached into a plastic bag resting next to his feet. “I had this cool English teacher in high school who never used a red pen. She said the color made students feel like they had written something wrong when her main intent was to give us helpful suggestions. She wrote comments using green ink, so I bought green pens for all of us. May we do no harm!”
    He leapt out of his chair and promptly handed out packets containing two green ballpoint pens to his fellow writers.
    “Thank you, Harris. You are so sweet.” Laurel emitted a vibe of maternal approval. “I’d much rather be criticized in green than in red. I always dress my son Dermot in green. Dallas wears blue a lot. I’m afraid red would get them even more worked up than usual. It’s such an energizing color. Why, we were practically banned from story time at the library after the day I dressed them both in red overalls!”
    After accepting Harris’s gift, Camden passed out copies of his chapter for review. “Now, I’m going to break protocol and refuse to read aloud tonight. Olivia here has an announcement to make and after she does, we’re relocating to the bar to celebrate. No work this evening, my darlings! Tonight, we make merry!”
    All eyes turned to Olivia. “Yes. Well. You all know where the lighthouse is, correct? Out on the point?” she added for Camden’s sake. “The cottage is on my family’s ... I mean, my land, and it’s currently being restored. It won’t be totally ready for another week or so but we can hold our future meetings there. At no charge, of course.”
    Camden led the group in a round of delighted surprise, and as the writers thanked Olivia, she waved them off. Warmed and slightly embarrassed by their gratitude, she suggested they follow her to the bar.
    “See? You’re not quite the Wicked Witch of the South,” Camden whispered in her ear.
    “Good evening, Gabe.” Olivia ignored Camden and focused on The Boot Top’s handsome bartender instead. “These folks are ... my friends.” How odd to be calming them that, she thought. “Please be certain to put their drinks on my tab.”
    The bartender, a young man in his late twenties with a deep tan and an attractive, all-American face, nodded in acquiescence. After serving Laurel a Manhattan, Gabe poured a generous amount of Chivas Regal over a few asymmetrical blocks of hand-chiseled ice and set the tumbler down in front of his employer.
    Originally positioned at the far end of the bar, Millay slid away from Harris and jumped up onto the stool next to Olivia. “I didn’t expect this place to be so hip,” she commented, taking a slurp of beer.
    Olivia bristled. “Why not? Because I’m so advanced in years?”
    “Huh?” Millay missed the note of sarcasm. “It’s just that my parents love coming here. It’s where they go for their special occasions, you know?” She gestured around the wood paneled bar. “They both teach at the community college and can only afford a place like this once in a while. After seeing what you charge for beer, I can see why. The year-rounders in Oyster Bay aren’t exactly