A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

excitement.
    Olivia hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before the metal detector indicated another coin possibility. However, after digging through the less yielding soil, she unearthed a second shotgun shell.
    “Was someone picking off your relatives with a twelve gauge?” she demanded crossly of a curious gull and shoved the spent shell in her bag.
    Overtly disregarding her customary rule to stop after a single find, Olivia continued to move the Bounty Hunter back and forth in a gentle sweep as she and Haviland turned toward home. A few hundred yards along the road, the buzz signaling yet another coin echoed in Olivia’s ears. She almost ignored it.
    Haviland barked impatiently. He was ready for his breakfast, but Olivia wanted the ground to provide a distraction from Camden’s death, the upcoming Planning Board meeting, and her inability to complete the chapter describing Kamila’s reception by Pharaoh’s other concubines.
    “We’ll go to Grumpy’s this morning, Captain. If you help me dig.”
    Together, the pair set to work. After moving about a foot of dirt, Olivia sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow.
    “Nothing!” she shouted in annoyance. Rising, she scanned the displaced soil with the metal detector and, when the panel blinked red, spooned the dirt into a sifter. Furiously shaking the dirt free, she ended up with several large pebbles, a twig, and a corroded circle the size of a penny.
    Surrendering, Olivia dumped the unknown coin into her bag and increased her pace so that by the time she reached her house, she felt completely spent. After refreshing Haviland’s water bowl and taking a quick, tepid shower, Olivia grabbed her laptop and drove into town.
    Dixie had a sixth sense when it came to her regular customers. She always seemed to know when they’d arrive and what they were in the mood to eat. Olivia’s usual table by the window had been wiped clean and set up with gleaming utensils, a spotless coffee cup, and a glass of tap water without ice.
    Haviland jumped onto the booth across from Olivia and, after greeting Dixie with a toothy smile, focused his gaze on the passersby on the other side of the window.
    “Florentine egg-white omelet for you, ma’am?” Dixie asked, her small hands looped under a pair of pink suspenders. The unlikely accessory was clipped to the waistband of a purple crinoline skirt, under which Dixie wore a pair of white spandex shorts. Frowning, she held up her pointer finger. “Nope. You don’t feel like eggs today. You want some comfort food. Something sweet and buttery. Am I right?”
    “As usual,” Olivia agreed. “I’ll be decadent and have the Oyster Bay French Toast.”
    “With a side of carcinogenic bacon?”
    Olivia smiled. “Yes, please.” She examined the pieces of fabric covering her friend’s forearms and elbows. “Are those arm socks?”
    “Arm warmers ,” Dixie corrected. “They’re all the rage with the teenage girls. I borrowed my daughter’s just to see what all the fuss was about. Any luck on this morning’s treasure hunt?”
    Haviland issued a muffled bark.
    “Two shotgun shells and a coin. The coin’s soaking, but from what I could see, it’s an Indian Head penny. Can’t read the date yet.”
    Dixie shook her head. “That’s a lot of effort for a penny, isn’t it? No wonder you stay so damned thin. Let me put your order in and then I’ll come back and fill you in on some gossip you’ll find very interesting.” With a wink, she skated off to the kitchen.
    Booting up her laptop, Olivia tried to immerse herself in her ancient Egyptian setting. She imagined Kamila bathing in a cool, shallow pool filled with floating lotus blossoms. Afterward, she’d rub her skin with costly oils and drape herself in the thinnest linen shift. Sitting on a low stool in the morning’s sunshine, Kamila would comb out her long, black tresses as she watched an ibis strut around the lush, private garden.
    Just as Kamila was attempting to make friendly overtures toward a group of three older concubines, Dixie returned with Olivia’s bacon and a platter of meat and eggs for Haviland.
    “So,” Dixie began. “You know Grumpy’s got a cousin who works at the airport?”
    “Grumpy’s got a cousin working in every profession in the county,” Olivia remarked.
    Dixie smirked. “Probably three counties. But this cousin likes to tell us when the fancy planes come in. He keeps a list of them in a notebook. Writes down the rich