A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

unintentionally allowing him to take advantage of the people and the peaceful hamlet they’d grown to love.
    “Oyster Bay will recover.” Rawlings spoke softly. He walked around his desk and took the chair next to Olivia’s. He didn’t take her hand, but placed his own on the arm of her chair. “And so will we. A good night’s sleep followed by a big breakfast, a solitary walk on the beach, a beautifully written book ...” He smiled at her. “Speaking of which, yours will be the next chapter we critique, will it not?”
    Olivia’s cheeks grew warm. “In two weeks’ time, yes. We’ve decided to take this week off. Do you think you’ll be able to join us when we meet again?”
    Now Rawlings did touch the back of her hand, but only for a moment. “You can count on me.”
    Haviland woke from his nap and stretched his head toward the policeman, not wanting to miss the chance to be caressed. As the chief scratched the poodle under the chin, Olivia stood, slid her purse onto her shoulder, and returned Rawlings’ smile. “No matter what is said after the news of what’s happened here breaks, this town still counts on you, Chief.” She paused in the doorway. “And that includes me.”

Chapter 18
     
    Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, theforget-me-nots of the angels.
    —HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
     
     
     
     
     
    T wo weeks later, Olivia prepared for a meeting of the Bayside Book Writers. It was July fourth and there had been a parade in town earlier that day. For the first time since she was a child, Olivia and Haviland stood on the sidewalk and watched the spectacle.
    Standing shoulder to shoulder with Harris and Millay, the three friends waved little American flags and cheered as the Best Decorated Stroller contestants kicked off the parade. When Laurel strode past, her jogging stroller transformed with the use of Hefty bags and reconstructed wicker baskets into Blackbeard’s pirate ship, the three writers hooted and hollered in delight.
    Dallas and Dermot carried plastic cutlasses and growled “arrgghs” at the onlookers. Olivia had to laugh as she took note of their skull and crossbones bandanas, mascara-drawn goatees, and clip-on hoop earrings. Dressed as a pirate captive, Laurel hurled candy coins into the crowd. The gold foil wrapping of the chocolates winked in the sunlight, and for a moment, it seemed as though Laurel was tossing lit sparklers to the eager children lining the sidewalk. Her face aglow with pride, Laurel was by far the loveliest mother in the parade.
    The strollers were followed by tricycles and Big Wheels and Haviland howled in discomfort as toddlers rang shrill bike bells while their boisterous parents tooted air horns. Older children pedaled on the heels of this group, impatient with the slow pace. Their ten-speeds were covered with red, white, and blue streamers, flags, balloons, and quotations on liberty by America’s forefathers. One boy was dressed in a full Uncle Sam uniform and was performing tricks on his mountain bike. When he pivoted in a circle using only one wheel, the crowd shouted in amazement.
    “I’d say Sam is a shoe-in to win his category,” Harris remarked, looking boyishly exuberant.
    Millay glanced after the performing child. “What do they get for a prize? Anything good?”
    Harris nodded. “Something I’d be happy to take home. Every winner gets a gift certificate from Through the Wardrobe and a special hot chocolate mug with their name and the date printed on it in gold font.”
    Whistling, Millay stood on her tiptoes in order to spot their friend at the front of the procession. “Laurel would love that gift certificate, though her kids might need gold-emblazoned sippie cups.”
    “And low-sugar, organic, lukewarm chocolate,” Olivia added lightly.
    The friends laughed. As high school seniors drove by in decorated convertibles, jacked-up Wranglers, and pickups with oversized wheels, the majority of their passengers somewhat inebriated, Millay shot furtive glances at Harris.
    “What’s different about you?” she demanded, finally examining him outright.
    Harris didn’t appear to have heard her question. His focus, and the focus of every male spectator, had been captured by a blue convertible VW Beetle painted with silver stars being driven by a cute blonde wearing a red and white polka-dot bikini and a cowboy hat. The national anthem blared from her radio and her golden retriever, who