A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

front of an illuminated makeup mirror. His metal-studded boots knocked aside containers of face foundation, brown eye shadow, and black eyeliner as well as an empty bottle of Absolut and a vial of amphetamines.
    “It’s time to rock, bro.” The spiked-haired drummer rattled his sticks against the doorjamb. “We got a hot crowd out there.”
    Tossing a lit cigarette onto the counter, Bradley stood. “We could be bigger than this, damn it! I’m sick of playing these shitty clubs. It’s time for a tricked out tour bus and twenty-five, sold-out, big-city shows a year.”
    “But your punk-ass old man didn’t give you the cash to back a tour, dude, so get on that stage and start singing.” Seeing the flash of anger in his bandmate’s eyes, the drummer retreated a step. “Come on, man. Just think about the fine booty we get to tap after the show.”
    The drummer departed and Bradley languidly rose to his feet. He leaned into the mirror and snarled at his reflection. “I’m not going to live like this much longer. I’m no kid. I’m in control of my own future!”
    With abrupt vehemence, he pushed the contents of the counter onto the floor. Vials of pills and makeup bounced off the floor, but the vodka bottle shattered in a loud crash. Bradley looked at the result of his rage with satisfaction. He bent over to retrieve one of the shards and, after examining his face in the fragment, muttered, “I am in control.”
    Then he strode from the room, the triangle of broken glass still clutched in his hand.
     
    Olivia tapped the end of her pen against her lip. She reviewed her notes on the earlier sections of the chapter in which she had complimented Camden on the strength of voice in the first six pages and how well he had conveyed the emotions of his characters. She also suggested that he might incorporate more setting details and questioned the choice of Bradley Talcott’s name.
    Isn’t that rather close to the young man’s real name? she had written on page one.
    Frowning, Olivia put down her pen and walked over to the window. She checked her watch and then waved at Haviland. “Let’s grab some dinner before our fellow writers appear.”
    An hour later, the members of the Bayside Book Writers began to arrive. Harris was the first to use the polished brass knocker in the shape of a starfish. It looked just like the necklace belonging to Olivia’s mother and Olivia felt it was a fitting memorial to the person she’d cherished most.
    When she opened the cottage door to welcome Harris inside, he unsettled Olivia by giving her a hug and a quick, friendly peck on the cheek.
    “This place is awesome!” he said, the ruddy skin on his face deepening a shade as he removed his arms from Olivia’s shoulders. “It’s the perfect setting for discussions. We are going to accomplish things here!”
    “That’s what I was going for,” Olivia replied with a smile, surprised at how much she had wanted Harris to respond exactly as he had. She hadn’t realized, until the moment the first Oyster Bay member had entered, how much she was looking forward to this meeting.
    Millay appeared shortly afterward, wearing a shredded Japanime T-shirt and a purple miniskirt. Her hair was now black and blue and had been styled so that the ends fell in sharp points against her neck. “I hate fresh paint smell,” she said by way of hello. “But it sure beats the diner. I used to walk out of there reeking of bacon.” She looked around. “Cool colors.”
    Olivia nodded at the compliment. She offered the pair wine or iced tea, telling them to help themselves and then settled into one of the club chairs. She felt that it was important not to act as hostess.
    “Camden’s a pretty good writer,” Harris said as he poured himself tea. “I’m a bit nervous about you guys seeing my stuff after reading his work.”
    As he chose a seat, Laurel entered the house, her cheeks tinged pink and her wheat-colored hair escaping from a loose ponytail. “Sorry I’m late! It was really hard to get out of the house. The twins dumped their bowls of spaghetti all over the kitchen floor and I had to help the babysitter get them into the tub.” She glanced around the room, her forehead creased with worry. “Were you waiting on me?”
    Millay frowned. “You’re not late, but Camden is. You know he likes dramatic entrances.” She filled a wineglass to the brim, her blue and black bangs falling into her eyes as she looked down. “This is going to