A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

she passed behind his chair in order to adjust the blinds so that the burgeoning sunlight didn’t fall across his eyes.
    Olivia had met Annie and her husband Roy several times. As business owners, all three were involved with the chamber of commerce. Roy and Olivia were also committee members on the town’s Planning Board. Despite the fact that the meetings were often tedious, Olivia enjoyed being in the know about the changes occurring in Oyster Bay and she suspected the Kraus’s shared her pleasure over being able to direct those changes through their voting power.
    One of the pine floorboards creaked, announcing Olivia’s presence. Annie looked up and produced a tentative smile. Annie and Roy had purchased The Yellow Lady shortly before Olivia’s return and Olivia sensed they were still uncertain what to make of the attractive and imposing female entrepreneur. Having been married for more than two decades, Annie seemed slightly wary of unattached women, as though she believed it unnatural for a woman to remain single and childless. Annie was fifteen years older than Olivia and had been raised by religious parents who placed great value upon both marriage and procreation. When the youngest of her four children left the nest, Annie didn’t have anyone to cook or clean for, so it seemed only fitting to continue those tasks for paying clientele.
    “Good morning, Ms. Limoges,” she greeted Olivia formally. “Would you care for some coffee? My dear guest is on his second pot.” She beamed at the young man.
    Cosmo stood and quickly held out a chair for Olivia. As she grew closer, he pulled her into a brief but gentle embrace. “I can see why Camden loved this town,” he declared. “Roy and Annie have been such darlings. And the room—gorgeous! Crisp, cotton sheets, fluffy white duvet cover, a pillow-top mattress, and not a framed needlepoint in sight. It looks like something I would have designed.”
    Olivia thanked Annie for the coffee. She added some of the steamed milk, stirred, and took a sip while studying Cosmo over the rim of her cup. “This is delicious coffee,” she said after swallowing the rich, creamy brew.
    It was the right thing to say. Annie’s stiff shoulders relaxed and her smile became genuine. “It’s the beans. They’re pure Kona and I grind them fresh every morning.” She paused. “I know you’re used to fancier food than this, but you’re welcome to breakfast too.”
    “The biscuits are to die for,” Cosmo said, pushing a basket toward her. “If I eat like this, I’ll have to get elastic-waisted pants.”
    Annie swatted at him with the corner of her apron. “I’ll have you know that some of us have been wearing those for years.” Her tone was indulgent.
    “I already had Raisin Bran and a banana, but if I’d known this is what you serve your guests, I would have skipped breakfast and gotten here sooner.” Olivia saluted Annie with her coffee cup.
    “Would you sit down for a minute, Annie? Please !” Cosmo pleaded. “I know we talked a bit last night—actually,
    I blubbered and you listened—but could you tell Olivia what Cam was like on ... his last day?”
    Hesitating, Annie smoothed her apron and looked to Olivia for guidance. Olivia gestured at the seat across from her own as though they were gathered in her dining room and not Annie’s.
    “Mr. Ford was a charming gentleman,” Annie began. “Kept his room ever so tidy, complimented me on my cooking (though he never ate any sweets or bread or whatnot—he was very health-conscious), and he was always humming or singing. He just filled this house up when he was in it. You couldn’t help but smile when he was around. He was a real ray of sunshine.”
    Olivia nodded. It was an apt description of Camden. “Did you see him on Saturday?”
    “Only in the morning and for a few minutes in the evening when he came in to change his clothes.” She directed a smile at Cosmo. “He wore such lovely things. Ironed them himself too. Of course, I offered to do that for him,” she added defensively. “We aim to coddle our guests here at The Yellow Lady, but Mr. Ford said ironing helped him think, so I left him to it.”
    “Well, I hate ironing,” Cosmo replied in an attempt at humor, but Olivia noticed that he’d put down his utensils and seemed unable to eat any more of the biscuit, thick-sliced bacon, or ripe strawberries on his plate.
    Annie patted the tablecloth close to Cosmo’s hand. “You don’t need to