A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

her jasmine and gardenia perfume. Haviland didn’t seem to notice the pests as he wolfed down a bratwurst and then gave Flynn his most poignantly imploring look.
    “Forget it, Haviland. You’re having vegetables when we get home,” Olivia scolded.
    “You can’t stay?” Flynn asked casually, his eyes betraying his desire.
    Though part of her wanted to linger, Olivia was too unsettled by the discovery of the haiku and the realization that Camden’s killer had an agenda that possibly included more murders. On another night, she might have wanted comfort, to lose herself with Flynn, but tonight she wanted to go home. It was her goal to make a list of all of the facts and theories she’d accumulated about the murders and try to discern what the killer was after.
    She wanted to think and after that, she wanted to sleep, wake up early, and think some more.
    “I’m sorry, but with all these reporters in town, we’re swamped at The Boot Top. I need to be up early tomorrow to lend a hand,” she explained softy, doing her best to sound disappointed.
    Together, she and Flynn carried their plates to his kitchen. Olivia rinsed while Flynn loaded the dishwasher. When he excused himself to use the bathroom before walking her to the car, Olivia meandered back into the living room. She noticed a white hardback with a pear on the cover sitting on a side table. Curious, she bent down and glanced at the title.
    “Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness and Open Your Heart by Patricia Donegan,” Olivia read. She took a closer look at the page Flynn had marked with a Post-it note. It was a chapter beginning with what the author referred to as Allen Ginsberg’s death poem.
    To see Void vast infinite look out the window into the blue sky.
     
    Olivia flipped through the book, scanning every haiku for the familiar lines of the winter and spring poems she had now memorized. When she heard the water rush through the pipes, she slid the book back onto the table and moved toward the front door.
    Sensing her sudden discomfort, Haviland whined.
    Flynn appeared and patted the poodle’s head. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, my man.” He held the door open for Haviland and then took Olivia’s hand. “I really wish you didn’t have to go.”
    Giving his hand a quick squeeze, Olivia plastered on a smile. “We’ll get together again soon.”
    Outside, Flynn leaned his back against the Range Rover, preventing Olivia from getting inside. He reached out and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. His voice grew hoarse with hunger. “If I promise to feed those plastic fish to the equally unattractive colony of yard gnomes down the street, will you stay over next time?”
    Laughing, Olivia kissed him lightly on the lips and disengaged from his grasp. “Maybe. Thank you for dinner. If being adept with a grill makes you more macho in your neighbor’s eyes, then you are one hundred percent pure Grade-A male.”
    “Me Flynn Man!” Flynn stepped away from the car, beating on his chest like an ape. “Me get to interrogate you on our next date.” He shuffled, primatelike, around the other side of the Rover and opened the passenger door for Haviland.
    “Be safe!” he called out before closing the door and jumping nimbly onto the sidewalk.
    Olivia pulled away from the curb and glanced at Haviland. “I find those parting words a bit unsettling, don’t you?”
    Haviland barked.
     
     
    At home, Olivia kicked off her shoes and poured herself a generous splash of Chivas Regal. She let Haviland out for his nightly roam and sank onto the sofa with her notebook. She reviewed every detail she’d previously recorded about the deaths of Camden Ford and Dean Talbot.
    Ripping out the pages containing copies of the two haiku, Olivia stared at the lines. She drained her drink and jiggled the melting ice against the walls of the tumbler. “Do you have a victim in mind for your summer poem?”
    Olivia went into the kitchen for a refill and to treat herself to a few squares of dark chocolate. Chewing on the smooth, slightly bitter Belgian sweet, she paced around the spacious living room. “Bottom line: Blake Talbot has benefited from both deaths.” She spoke to her reflection in the large windows facing the ocean. “Camden no longer has the power to write anything negative about Blake and the death of Blake’s father makes him one of the wealthiest and most powerful young men in the country.”
    Returning to her