A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

of their bestselling authors.
    The sounds of Bob Seger’s “The Fire Inside” burst forth from the radio. The appliance was angled so the speakers faced the cement door leading outside. Olivia walked toward the open door but paused to examine Flynn’s CD collection first. She found people’s tastes in books and music to be very telling. Flynn’s selected artists included Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, the Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Who, Bread, Creedance Clearwater Revival, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, and John Coltrane. When her eyes fell on the last pair of CDs in the small rack, she took an involuntary step backward. Flynn owned both of Blackwater’s albums, even though his musical taste didn’t seem to reflect an interest in Blake Talbot’s brand of punk rock.
    Olivia opened each of the jewel cases and pulled out the CDs. No notes or scraps of paper bearing sinister instructions fluttered to the floor. She replaced the two CDs, feeling foolishly paranoid and acutely anxious all at once.
    What do I really know about this man? she thought as she moved forward to find him.
    Stepping over the threshold, Olivia saw him and abruptly stopped.
    Flynn had stripped off his button-down shirt and hung it from the handle of a small moving dolly. Clad in a snug white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular arms and back, Flynn was engrossed in breaking down empty boxes. Wielding a box cutter, he sliced through packing tape using deft, deliberate movements. He then stomped heavily on each box, driving the heel of his foot against the cardboard so that it collapsed in a single, defeated motion.
    Olivia focused her gaze on Flynn’s face, watching the tight clench of his jaw and the fixed determination in his eyes as he worked. After finishing another three boxes, he sheathed the box cutter, put it in his pocket, and reached for the bottle of beer he’d had sitting in the shade of the Dumpster. Looking up, he spotted Olivia in the doorway.
    Time crawled as he stared at her without seeming to actually see her. It was as though his mind had been miles away and had been suddenly forced back to the here and now. Blinking, a hesitant smile appeared on Flynn’s face and he headed toward Olivia, signaling that he needed to turn down the radio’s volume. She stood aside as he came into the stockroom and switched off the music, perturbed by the vacant look she’d just seen in his eyes.
    “Are you one of those people who don’t believe in the modern device known as the telephone?” His tone was playful, making Olivia doubt whether she was reading too much into the far-off thoughts of a man busy with menial labor.
    “I prefer to speak to people in person,” Olivia replied. She glanced outside. “Are you almost finished?”
    Flynn hesitated and then nodded. “I’ve done enough work for today. Have you had dinner yet?”
    “Actually, that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Do you have plans for tonight?”
    “Only to fire up the grill so that I can prove to my neighbors that I’m a real man even though I don’t own a pickup or a chain saw.” He gave her a pleading look. “Having a beautiful woman on my patio won’t hurt either, so if you like Italian sausages, corn on the cob, and watermelon, I’ve got enough for two.”
    “Well, if your cooking abilities are anything like your decorating tastes ...” Olivia trailed off, recalling the interior of Flynn’s house.
    Flynn’s laugh bounced off the cement walls “Let me just lock up back here and tell Jenna she can scoot. Did you get a chance to meet her on the way in?”
    Olivia nodded. “Yes, she’s lovely. However, she might be too nice to kick out your last customer. He looks like he’d like to spend the night here.”
    “The teenager reading graphic novels?” Flynn asked. “That’s Alan.” He flicked a life-sized cardboard cutout of Dan Brown on the nose. “Alan will leave when I start turning the lights off. Meet you out front.”
    Olivia browsed the poetry section while Flynn finished with his closing tasks. Once she’d returned to the Rover and began following Flynn to his home, Haviland whined in protest.
    “This is a fact-finding mission,” Olivia explained to the unhappy poodle. “And there will be sausages for dinner.”
    As though he understood the word sausage, Haviland bounded out of the car and across Flynn’s lawn in a blur of black fur. He eagerly sniffed at all the shrubbery surrounding the front porch and then sat on his haunches