Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

at one of the nation’s most successful television networks and a partner at this lending firm, he was also her biological father. She stared at the familiar and completely foreign face belonging to Charles Wade, twin brother of Willie Wade, the man who’d raised Olivia until the day he abandoned her in a fog-shrouded dinghy and sailed away to lead a different life.
    “I told you to never come back to Oyster Bay,” she growled at her biological father’s photo. “What are you going to do with a bookstore?”
    Olivia hadn’t planned on contacting Charles Wade ever again, but now she knew that she’d have to break her own vow. She wanted to see that Through the Wardrobe not only remained open, but also became a successful independent bookshop, no matter the cost. She needed to do this for Flynn.
    “I’ll deal with you later,” she promised her father’s grinning image and then closed the website so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “I have something much more important to do.”
    Checking her watch, Olivia swore and slid the deck door open. “Come on, Haviland. Rawlings will be here any second. His shift was over ten minutes ago!”
    Together, she and Haviland hurried down to the beach. Despite her discovery that her father was the new owner of Flynn’s building, Olivia’s mood was still buoyant. Nothing could put a damper on this day.
    Humming, she set up the umbrella and folding chair Rawlings had placed in the same spot a week ago. She then unfolded a second chair and positioned it next to the first.
    While she worked, Haviland raced through the surf. He swam a little and then bounded out of the water, barking at the gulls flying overhead. Olivia knelt in the damp sand close to the edge of the waves and carefully arranged shells until they formed letters.
    When she heard the sound of Rawlings’ car engine, she stood up, dusted sand from her legs, and took a seat under the umbrella.
    “Go get him, Haviland.”
    Issuing a final bark to the gulls, the poodle charged over the dunes and disappeared from view. Several minutes later, Olivia could hear Rawlings’ voice as he spoke to Haviland.
    And then he was there, smiling down at her, his pond-green eyes glinting with gold. “Ah, you’ve found a mermaid.” He directed his words to Haviland. “Well done, boy. I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful surprise.”
    “You left a pretty big surprise for me under this umbrella,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “You also asked me a question. And I’m ready to give you an answer.”
    Rawlings seemed to steel himself for her reply. “Should I have a seat?”
    Shaking her head, Olivia pointed at the water. “It’s down there.”
    Rawlings hesitated for a moment and then walked toward the ocean. When he reached the collection of shells, he stopped. He stood motionless for a heartbeat and then swung back around to face her.
    He didn’t say anything. He merely opened his arms in invitation.
    Laughing joyfully, Olivia ran into them. Rawlings embraced her, spinning her round and round until they ended up dancing through the seashells, which Olivia had used to spell out a single word.
    The clams, scallops, lightning whelks, sand dollars, and moon snail shells had spoken Olivia’s answer on her behalf.
    And the answer was “Yes.”

Dear Reader,
    Thank you for spending time with Olivia Limoges, the Bayside Book Writers, and the other colorful characters of Oyster Bay, North Carolina.
    Now I’d like to invite you to visit another unusual and intriguing small town. Havenwood, the fictional hamlet featured in my Charmed Pie Shoppe mysteries, is located in an isolated region of northwest Georgia. Home to heroine Ella Mae LeFaye, a pastry chef with an uncanny ability to enchant her food, Havenwood is filled with quaint shops, delightful eateries, and a host of magical residents.
    To whet your appetite, please enjoy a chapter from the forthcoming Charmed Pie Shoppe mystery, Pecan Pies and Homicides .
Happy reading,
Ellery Adams

“D o I have icicles hanging from my beard?” asked a small elderly man as Ella Mae LeFaye ushered him into her pie shop. She tried to shut the door quickly against the cold, but a breath of winter stole inside. The other customers hunched their shoulders and shivered as the brisk air snaked under the collars of their heaviest sweaters. Cradling their coffee cups, they launched into a fresh round of complaints about the record lows northwest Georgia had been