A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

amusement in his voice was occluded by the grim look in his eyes as he watched the paramedics push a loaded gurney into their vehicle. After bidding Olivia a brief good night, he walked off to query one of his officers.
    Olivia and Haviland stayed where they were. Unwittingly, Olivia caught a glimpse of the lower half of the body. The feet were splayed beneath a white sheet, stretching it from toe to toe so that it appeared as though Dean Talbot had a fin.
    “He wouldn’t have made a good merman,” Olivia informed the night air. “That man loved land. He wanted to own it, carve it up, and leave it unrecognizable. Land can’t fight back the way the sea can.” She rubbed Haviland behind the ears and turned away from the ambulance. The poodle rubbed his chin along her leg and barked twice. “Yes, Captain. We’ll go see Michel now.”
    As she drove toward the welcoming illumination of town, Olivia whispered, “You’re out there, aren’t you?”

Chapter 13
     
    O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?
    —PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
     
     
     
     
     
    O n Monday morning, Olivia and Haviland were enjoying breakfast at Grumpy’s when they noticed Laurel jog past the window, pushing a double stroller. Her ponytail streamed behind her like a palomino’s mane.
    “Look at her go,” Olivia remarked to Dixie. “Seems more like hard labor than exercise. That contraption must weigh more than Laurel does.”
    “In about twenty minutes she’ll go flyin’ by again. Does the same loop every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She’s runnin’ late this morning though.” Dixie glanced at her purple Swatch. “She’s usually come and gone by the time you drag your lazy ass in here for coffee and eggs.”
    Scowling, Olivia held out her empty mug. “Fortunately, I’m not forced to wake up at dawn to attend to the endless needs of young and helpless humans. It’s one of the many reasons I’m relieved to have avoided motherhood. Might my lazy ass have a refill, please?”
    With a toss of her feathered hair, Dixie skated off for the coffee carafe. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me,” she murmured upon her return.
    Olivia watched the steam from the carafe rise over the table, only to be obliterated by the downdraft created by the languid whirling of an overhead fan.
    The diner was full of strangers. Olivia recognized only the elderly couple in the Starlight Express booth and a middle-aged woman reading a Barbara Kingsolver novel at the counter. Judging by their dress and the bulky camera bags partially tucked underfoot, the remaining patrons were journalists and photographers.
    “That’s a rather vague statement,” she said to Dixie, observing as the curl of white cream she poured into her coffee morphed into a warm, pecan hue. “Haviland and I did find something on our walk this morning, but it’s not interesting from a monetary standpoint. See for yourself.”
    Olivia passed Dixie the quarter she and Haviland had dug up on the beach. There had been an extremely low tide that morning, providing a rare opportunity to use the Bounty Hunter over areas of sand normally covered by water.
    “It’s just one of them state quarters.” Dixie was unimpressed. “New Hampshire. ‘Live Free or Die.’ I find these every night sweepin’ up.”
    “Turn it over,” Olivia directed.
    Amused, she watched as Dixie’s thin eyebrows climbed up her forehead. The morning sun highlighted the shimmery purple shadow covering every centimeter of skin from Dixie’s lids to her ruthlessly plucked brows. “It’s like somebody just took an eraser to it,” she breathed and ran her fingertips over the quarter. “But that’s not what I was hintin’ at when I said you were holdin’ out on me. Let me get these city folks their food and I’ll be back to worm the details out of you.”
    Dixie plunked the quarter onto the table. As she’d pointed out, one side was engraved with New Hampshire’s Old Man of the Mountain and the state motto, but the reverse was utterly blank. There wasn’t the slightest indication that George Washington’s profile had ever been etched into the front of the coin. No words remained. Not a single letter had escaped the scouring of sand and sea. It was smooth as glass.
    Olivia slipped the anomaly back into her pocket and sipped her coffee, watching Dixie deliver platters of omelets, peach pancakes, and Belgian waffles to customers. She then slid side dishes of hash browns, sausages, bacon, and