A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

hoping some clue would leap off the page and allow her to identify the murderer. As time slipped by, bringing her closer and closer to the evening’s meeting, she felt the helpless anger that had been growing within her since Camden’s death swell like a cresting storm wave.
    A copy of Camden’s manuscript sat on her desk. She began to read it again, but couldn’t concentrate on the typed words. Her restless mind instead traveled back to the moment in which she’d first met the charming and gregarious gossip writer at Grumpy’s.
    She continued to reminisce as she served herself a cup of decaf, and the strong, hot coffee helped quell the emotions warring within. Calmer now, Olivia was able to pick up the phone and place yet another call. This time, a phone rang on the other side of the country.
    Cosmo answered on the sixth ring. “Olivia! I thought you’d forgotten all about me!”
    “Of course not. I’ve been preoccupied but that’s no excuse. I apologize for being neglectful.” She did feel rather guilty for not checking on him sooner. “Did you hear about Dean Talbot?”
    “Who hasn’t?” Cosmo responded. “All of Hollywood is abuzz about Blakey boy. What will he do with all that money? The power? You see, when someone Blake’s age has been handed the reins to a multimillion-dollar company, one of two things will happen. The little rocker will party like the end of the earth is coming and burn out like a B-movie actress, or he’ll suddenly act older than his years to prove to the other power players that he belongs in their exclusive club. Blake’s either headed for rehab—he can share a room with his brother and Mommy Dearest—or he’s going to start wearing Brooks Brothers suits and cutting the ribbons of new hospital wings.” He paused. “And if he legally hitches his star to Heidi St. Claire, those two will be a serious power couple. Brangelina will be old news.”
    Even though she’d read Camden’s chapter on Blake, Olivia couldn’t predict how becoming the majority share-holder of Talbot Fine Properties would impact the behavior of the young musician. “Never mind the Talbots. How are you doing?”
    “Oh, I alternate between believing I can make it through this to wanting to fill my pockets with boulders and step off the end of the pier. Do you know how hard it is to find decent boulders in LA?”
    Olivia smiled sadly into the phone. “It’s going to take a long time, Cosmo.”
    “I know.” He sighed. “I’m working a lot and that helps the daylight hours pass, but the nights ...”
    “Last forever,” she finished for him.
    Cosmo sniffed. “I swear. It’s like a big, heavy cat jumps onto my chest the second I lie down. I can barely breathe, let alone sleep . I have never, ever been this tired. Or looked this bad! I’m avoiding mirrors altogether—isn’t that shocking?”
    “You are one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met and your grief is only going to add another dimension to you.” She clucked her tongue. “I fear you’re going to become so irresistible that your head will swell like a blimp and there’ll be no talking to you.”
    A laugh boomed into the earpiece. “Oh, that hurts. I haven’t used those stomach muscles since I left Oyster Bay. If only you were here I could practice the laughing bit some more...”
    “Call me whenever you want, even in the middle of the night,” Olivia invited. “I’ll put Haviland on the phone and he’ll send that ‘cat’ on your chest running for his ninth life.”
    Olivia’s call waiting signaled and she bid Cosmo a warm, but hasty good-bye. Bert Long was on the other line and was eager to inform her that Max Warfield had returned to his condo.
    “Michel, I need an eatable bribe and I need it fast!” Olivia announced as she stepped into the kitchen. “I know you’re busy but, ah, I see you have a fresh supply of truffles.”
    The chef threw his hands into the air. “If you hadn’t been through what you’d just been through, I’d tell you to shove these truffles where the sun doesn’t shine. Every table is booked for tonight and you want me to whip something up just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Is it a picnic basket this time or do you require something more sophisticated, like individual dishes served in a lacquer box?”
    “A simple truffle quiche would be perfect,” Olivia replied breezily. “I’ll leave you to it. Haviland? Let’s take a quick walk while Michel’s working his