A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

a soft, overly ripe banana and typed the letters into Google’s search box.
    “Global Electric Motors. That’s a bit too modern for this object, I’d say. Graphical Environment Manager. A relatively new term. So is this reference to documentation for PCs.” She continued to scroll down the list of results, bypassing references to gem mining, gem shows, and the county of Gem, Idaho. “None of these fit.”
    Haviland put his paws up on the counter closest to the cooktop and sniffed.
    “Your polenta! Forgive me, my dearest.” Olivia removed the top saucepan and scooped the contents into a ceramic bowl on his elevated feeder. “It’s still too hot. Let’s rinse off our mystery box and see if the rust is gone while your breakfast cools.”
    The poodle watched eagerly as Olivia dumped the vinegar into the sink, rinsed the silver box, and gingerly dried it with a paper towel. Squinting, she eased back the lid and smiled. “Here’s something! It says ‘G.E.M. Brooklyn, New York. Made in U.S.A.’” She shut the lid and turned the case over in her hand. “Looks like a patent number here.”
    Olivia returned to her computer and refined her search. “Gem pawnbrokers in Brooklyn, Acme Smoked Fish on Gem Street in Brooklyn, Gem Auction Company. Brooklyn. No, no, no!”
    After pouring herself a second cup of coffee and serving Haviland his polenta, she decided to switch tactics. Logging on to eBay, she typed in the exact words found inside the silver lid.
    “Eureka!” she yelled and Haviland barked in excitement. “G.E.M. safety razor. Produced between 1912 through 1979 in Brooklyn. Formerly known as G.E.M. Cutlery Company of New York.” Olivia showed her poodle their metal container. “This piece of steel is a shaver head, Captain. It’s missing its blade and the handle too. According to this auction, it’s worth a whopping twelve dollars.”
    Haviland lowered his head and closed his eyes, clearly ready for a post-meal nap. Olivia stroked the smooth metal of the shaver head. “Now, now. We don’t do this for profit, Captain. You don’t have to act so disinterested. It’s the adventure we’re after.” She shut the lid of her laptop. “You lick your bowl clean, I’ll get dressed, we’ll put this little gem in ajar, and then we’re off to the furniture store.”
     
     
    The sun had seared away all traces of the fog by the time Olivia turned from her gravel drive and climbed onto an empty stretch of gray blue asphalt the color of a heron’s plumage. On the narrow street marking the northernmost end of the compact town of Oyster Bay, there was once a plethora of vacant stores and available parking spaces, but ever since Time magazine had hailed Oyster Bay as one of the nations “Top Ten Best-kept Vacation Secrets,” their half-deserted berg had been overrun with tourists.
    Pale-legged vacationers descended like a locust swarm to trample the natural beauty of the shoreline, watch birds through thousand-dollar binoculars, sample Southern country cooking until their buttons burst, and host drunken deep-sea fishing trips for their rich friends. In their wake, they left behind mounds of garbage, soiled linens, crisp, inconvenient hundred-dollar bills, and a sour taste in the mouths of the yearlong residents.
    Despite this influx of new faces and businesses, Olivia had to drive for more than an hour to reach a decent furniture store. She quickly selected two sofas and a pair of oversized club chairs in warm fabrics, a room-sized sea grass rug, and breezy curtains in a shimmering ecru.
    Trouble arose, as Olivia expected it to, when the designer informed her that the furniture would take eight to ten weeks to be delivered and that the items on the floor were absolutely not for sale.
    “How would we be able to show how wonderful this sage and almond checkered fabric looks on our club chairs if it wasn’t in the store?” the woman questioned rhetorically.
    “Perhaps there is another equally attractive chair in your warehouse?” Olivia suggested, placing a fat roll of twenty-dollar bills into the woman’s hands. “And I would certainly make it well worth the while of the gentlemen delivering my new furnishings if they could arrive at my cottage, say, by five this afternoon?” Placing her credit card and a calling card bearing her name, address, and phone number on the designer’s desk, Olivia met the other woman’s eye.
    “I’m going to check on my dog,” she announced. “I’ll be back in to