Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

could revel in the news together, she would have felt slighted. The slight would then fester into anger. Over time, it would cause a small rift between them. She could almost imagine a crack forming in the hardwood flooring beneath her feet, a fissure meant to separate Harris and Millay.
    Olivia wondered if Millay would try to repair the damage, but there was an obstinate set to her jaw, and she refused to meet Harris’s penetrating gaze.
    “This is incredible,” he said to Millay once Laurel had finally danced out of his way to share a gleeful embrace with Rawlings. The police chief had trouble returning the gesture as he was carrying two six-packs of summer ale in his right hand. After patting Laurel briefly on the shoulder, he edged around her so she could continue to bounce without causing damage to the bottles of beer.
    Millay examined the chipped purple polish on her thumbnail. “Yeah,” she said. “I thought everyone should find out together since we all started our books at the same time.”
    “Except me,” Olivia reminded her. “And at this rate, I’ll never finish mine. It’s becoming dull. If I’m bored writing it, I can only imagine what a reader would feel reading it.”
    “Sometimes dull can be refreshing,” muttered Harris, who cast a sidelong glance at Millay and then sank down into a leather club chair. He busied himself with removing his laptop from its case, placing his green ballpoint pen on the coffee table, and tidying the pages of Olivia’s chapter into a perfectly aligned pile.
    “Harris,” Millay began, but was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.
    “Pizza’s here!” Laurel cried joyfully. “My treat!”
    She returned a minute later and placed a trio of large pies onto the counter while Rawlings dug a bottle opener from his pocket. He popped off four caps, releasing a hiss of cool air and the scent of hops from each bottle, and asked Olivia to put two slices of ham and pineapple pizza on his plate.
    She shook her head. “Does your clothing have to coordinate with your food?”
    When he wasn’t in uniform, Rawlings had a penchant for dressing in Hawaiian shirts, paint-splattered khaki shorts, and leather sandals. Olivia still hadn’t become accustomed to what she dubbed his Jimmy Buffet duds and had bought him several polos and button-downs, but he refused to wear them. In fact, he retaliated by purchasing three more Hawaiian shirts brighter and more garish than their predecessors. Tonight’s had a luau theme and was covered with leis, hibiscus blossoms, tiki masks, and cocktails garnished with paper umbrellas and pineapple wedges.
    Rawlings patted his breast pocket. “This is my attempt to blend in with the tourists. It’s part of a complicated sting operation that I’m not at liberty to discuss with civilians.”
    Olivia handed him his pizza and waved away the beer he proffered. “My chapter’s on the chopping block, so I need something stronger than that.”
    “Come on, it wasn’t bad. Your writing flows well, your dialogue is in keeping with the ancient Egyptian era, and I can visualize all of your characters. The problem is that I’m not really rooting for any of them.” Millay took an enormous bite of pepperoni pizza and shrugged apologetically, whether for her table manners or her criticism Olivia wasn’t sure.
    Laurel spread a napkin over her lap and then immediately began to twist it between her fingers. She was always reluctant to criticize anyone’s work. “I agree with Millay. Olivia, you continue to evoke the setting so vividly, but during the last few chapters I’ve felt like, well, there needs to be more going on with Kamila. She seems to be losing that fighting spirit she had in the beginning.”
    Olivia turned to Harris. “What do you think?”
    “There’s not enough drama,” Harris said simply. “Or tension. You have a concubine who’s in love with a pharaoh. Okay, cool. Your gal, Kamila, needs to get knocked up to secure her place in the palace. That’s not happening, and so we worry about her fate. Great. Then, the God-King seems to be falling in love with her because she sings so beautifully, but he won’t sleep with her. That’s where you start to lose me. If this guy doesn’t find her appealing, why should I?”
    “Yeah, it’s kind of like a bunch of vampires going ape for a girl because of how she smells,” Millay added with disdain. “I want more of
you
in this woman, Olivia. Someone who doesn’t take any