A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

on the welcome mat as though he couldn’t imagine what was taking the humans so long to open the door and begin the food preparations.
    “Good evening, Haviland.” Flynn nodded at the poodle.
    Olivia watched closely as her dog sniffed Flynn’s hand and then turned away, disinterested. Apparently, Haviland’s feelings hadn’t changed. The poodle still didn’t appear the slightest bit threatened by the man.
    Relieved, Olivia walked into the living room and then laughed when the poodle began to bark at the three-dimensional tropical fish swimming across the kelly green wall. “Captain, it isn’t polite to criticize another’s person’s taste in, ah, artwork.”
    Flynn looked appalled. “Hey, now! This isn’t my taste. Those heinous fish came with the house, along with the atrocious paint colors. Come on, do you think I’d have a silver and purple bathroom?” He put his hand over his heart and groaned as though he’d been wounded. “My goal was to get the store straight before turning my attention to this place. Believe me, if those Little Nemos weren’t fastened on there with industrial strength wall anchors, they’d have been at the curb from day one.”
    He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got soda, beer, tap water, or milk that’s probably well on its way to becoming sour cream.”
    “A beer’s fine for me,” Olivia answered, thinking wistfully of the unopened bottle of Chivas Regal she had at home. “And a bowl of water for Haviland, please.”
    “Bowls are in the cabinet to the right of the sink.” Flynn placed the beer on the counter and removed a package wrapped in brown butcher paper from the meat drawer. He loaded two ears of corn, unhusked, and several types of sausages onto a platter. As he walked through the living room, he suddenly stopped.
    “I can’t believe you thought I deliberately hung those fish. What else do you think I’m capable of, I wonder?”
    There was a hint of displeasure in Flynn’s voice. Olivia tried to lighten the mood by saying, “I’m hoping you’ll enlighten me during our meal. Last time I was here, you told me about working for a pharmaceutical company in Research Triangle Park. Now tell me how you became a runner. My friend Laurel sees you pounding the pavement on a regular basis.”
    Out on the flagstone patio, Flynn lit the grill and a pair of tiki torches mounted to the backs of lawn chairs. “I know Laurel. She’s the one with the cute twins.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how women run with those monster strollers. I can barely propel my own body forward.” He put the sausages on the grill. “Truthfully, I love running. Not to be faster or stronger or for any of those health reasons. I just like to lose myself for an hour or so.”
    “I understand that feeling. Haviland and I do that every morning on our walks on the beach. But after you run, do you get to relax in the pages of one of your thousands of books?” Olivia inquired.
    Flynn moved the food around with a pair of tongs. “I don’t get much read at the store. We have a steady stream of customers most days and believe it or not, I do have to restock and ring people up and—”
    “Brew that odious coffee,” Olivia teased. “Laurel said she notices the same people exercising in the downtown area. Apparently, there’s an entire group of running addicts. Have you noticed that too?”
    “Sure. People like schedules. Runners in particular. Me? I’m a morning runner. Can’t do it at night and I’d melt if I went out midday.” He shrugged. “I guess we’re a particular lot, kind of like the folks who love my odious coffee.” He swatted the air near her leg with the hot tongs.
    “Did you happen to notice a guy posting a piece of bright red paper on the bulletin board outside the town hall this weekend?” She watched Flynn carefully for a reaction. There was none.
    “Nope.” He shook his head. “But I can be pretty clueless about things when I’m in the zone and I’ve got my music turned up loud. Is he important? This guy?”
    “I’d just like to know the guy’s name, that’s all,” Olivia answered cryptically and changed the subject.
    As Flynn had no patio furniture other than flimsy lawn chairs, they ate on a blanket on the grass. Without the presence of an ocean breeze, the air felt especially cloying. It stuck to Olivia’s arms and neck, inviting a host of bugs to circulate around her head as they searched out the source of