A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

her, his warm exhalations fell onto the pale skin just under her left earlobe. The Priestess of the Initiates began to chant in a clear voice that was carried to every girl and hooded Pusher by means of powerful magic.
    “The man behind Tessa took a step toward her. She drew in a quick breath. A pair of strong hands closed around her arms.
    “She stiffened. Her time was running out faster than the grains of sea salt in her nanny’s hourglass.
    “ ‘Do not be afraid, beauty.’ The man’s rough whisper momentarily distracted Tessa from the ancient words of the Mistress. It’ll be over soon, for better or for worse. May the gods show pity on you lasses.’
    “Then, he lifted his voice so that it mingled with the Priestess’s and those of the other men. ‘You fall or you fly. We keep the blood pure. This is the way of the Gryphini. This is the way of the Gryphon Warriors.’
    “The man pressed his hands against Tessa’s shoulder blades.
    “He pushed her off the cliff.”
     
    The sound of the ringing phone jolted Olivia out of the narrative. She hadn’t realized that she’d edged closer and closer to the computer screen as she read Millay’s opening paragraphs. Haviland was watching his mistress intently, waiting for her to continue.
    Irritated, Olivia checked her caller ID and recognized Michel’s number.
    “We have a problem,” he announced. “Our entire order of shrimp was delivered less-than-fresh for the second time in a row. I refused to accept it and will never buy from those bastards again, but I can’t leave now to visit the docks. Olivia, I must serve my shrimp grits with prosciutto this evening. A little bird told me one of the food editors from Coastal Living plans to stop by the restaurant this evening. You’ve got to get me the freshest, plumpest, most succulent shrimp in the sea and you need to get it now !”
    Olivia glanced at her watch. “Never fear, Michel. I’ll take care of our crustaceous dilemma.”
    Reluctantly, she printed Millay’s chapter in hopes of reading it before bed. Next, she hurriedly selected a pair of black slacks, a shimmery lightweight pullover in silver, and a pair of metallic sling-back sandals from her bedroom closet. She hung the ensemble on the dry cleaning hook in the Range Rover.
    “To the shrimp docks we go, Captain,” she said and opened the passenger door for Haviland.
    The poodle jumped into the car, his puffy tail waving in excitement.
    Roaring down the dirt road, Olivia left a screen of dust and sand behind her. The shrimp docks were ten minutes south of town and Olivia worried that the trawlers would either still be out on the ocean or would already be emptied of their payloads. The majority of the shrimpers left before dawn to return late in the afternoon. Olivia was hoping to catch a crew just pulling into the dock. As luck would have it, that’s exactly what she saw as she parked in a hasty slant in the gravel lot.
    “We’ve got cash,” she murmured as she removed a bank deposit envelope from the glove compartment. “And we’ve got ice.” She glanced at the large cooler in the back of the Rover. “You’d better wait here, Captain. These macho men might exhibit poodle discrimination and I can’t afford to return without shrimp.”
    Haviland fixed his eyes on the dock, eager to accompany Olivia.
    “Don’t worry. I’ll leave your window completely open just in case you need to leap out and sink your teeth into one of their calves.”
    The poodle leaned forward in his seat and stuck his snout into the salty air.
    Normally, Michel oversaw the purchase of fresh food for The Boot Top, but Olivia often accompanied him on his trips to farm stands, herb gardens, and various commercial fishing docks. Michel was meticulous in his selections. He poked, prodded, and scrutinized every piece of fruit, cut of beef, or squirming lobster with an agonizing slowness. Even Haviland grew impatient with Michel, nudging him on the hip with his black nose in a futile attempt to hurry the persnickety chef along.
    Confident that she could be as discerning as Michel, Olivia walked down the dock, shielding her eyes against the winking reflection of sunlight bouncing off the water. The roar of the incoming trawler’s motor died down and the vessel coasted toward the dock. With feline grace, a man with a faded baseball hat leapt from the bow onto the dock, a bowline held loosely in his hands.
    Ignoring Olivia, he secured the line to a cleat and then raced