A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

conversation.”
    Rawlings grinned. “You shoot straight from the hip, don’t you? Now I know he’s got plenty of female fans, but do you have a crush on him too? Sure he’s rich, powerful, and handsome, but he doesn’t strike me as your type.”
    “He’s not,” Olivia hissed, eying the real estate tycoon from her peripheral vision. Dean Talbot had the bronzed, unlined skin of someone who regularly frequents both tanning salons as well as the plastic surgeon. His hair fell in thick, silvery waves and he was lean without being too thin.
    More interested in examining the screen of his BlackBerry than his surroundings, Dean settled into the chair behind Olivia while Max stepped up to the bar to order their drinks.
    “And get me some peanuts or something. I’m freaking starving,” Dean commanded. His voice was nasal and tinged with a Brooklyn accent.
    Olivia saw Max’s shoulders stiffen and silently wondered if the man resented the orders he was given. The moment Max set a tumbler in front of his boss, Dean popped out of his seat. “I’m going to take a leak. See to those peanuts, would you?”
    Before Max could answer, Gabe come around from behind the bar with a glass dish filled with a mixture of cocktail peanuts, sesame sticks, and wasabi-dusted dried peas. Max, who was busy dialing a number on his cell phone, nodded at the bartender. As soon as Gabe turned away, Max spoke angrily into the phone.
    “Are you sure you’ve picked the right guy? He’s already screwed up big-time! Have I backed the wrong horse? You said you had it all worked out!” He paused. “Yeah, it passed, but there’s still the damned Planning Board.”
    Olivia and Rawlings exchanged curious looks.
    “Look, kid. You know why I agreed to this. Just hold up your end and everything will be fine. And remember, you can’t do anything without me . If I get so much as the slightest vibe that you’re trying to screw me over I will crush you like—” Max immediately stopped speaking. Olivia heard him snap his cell phone shut.
    Raising her tumbler, Olivia could see Dean returning in the reflection of the glass. Behind her, she heard the rattle of ice and a loud swallow as Max took a deep sip of his gin and tonic.
    “Ah, snack mix!” Dean exclaimed as though Max had presented him with a chest stuffed with fine jewels. “What would I do without you?”
    “You’d be just fine, sir,” Max replied affably.
    Dean laughed. “You’re probably right.” There was a pause in which Dean likely consumed several handfuls of the snack mix. “I saw the most interesting movie trailer during my flight down,” he said next. “I think Blake’s little girlfriend was the star. Pretty little thing, though I prefer my women to have more curves and more . . . experience. You seen her TV show? That girl is going places.”
    Their talk ventured into the realm of movies and television and Olivia no longer bothered to listen in.
    Rawlings glanced at his watch. “I shouldn’t keep you. I know you have dinner plans.” He pushed his empty glass away but made no move to stand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but it never seemed to be the right time.”
    Olivia’s heart drummed. Was the chief going to make a romantic overture? Or inquire about her painful past? She wrapped her long, elegant fingers around her tumbler and nodded in encouragement.
    “I value your opinion, Olivia, and before I made a fool of myself in front of your writer friends I wanted to see whether your critique group would welcome another member.” He cleared his throat. “Meaning me, of course.”
    This was hardly the question Olivia had expected. Relieved, she let forth a rare giggle. “But we’re the Bayside Book Writers, Chief, ah, Sawyer. Don’t you write poetry?”
    The chief’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I read many genres, including poetry, but I started penning a mystery a few years ago and I’d love to bring it out of the drawer and see what the group thinks of the first few chapters.”
    Olivia believed Rawlings would make an excellent addition to their group. After all, with Camden gone, Harris was the only remaining male. Besides, Olivia was particularly fond of the mystery genre. She didn’t enjoy them as much as historical fiction, but they ranked a close second. “I don’t see why not,” she replied. “I’ll run it by them prior to this Saturday’s meeting.”
    “Good.” Rawlings stood up and gave her a little bow. “Of