Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

while the wyvern’s were black with a rainbow sheen. Their tails were entangled too—one ended in a tassel of fur while the other was a pointed spade. Glimmering claws skimmed the water, and two sets of wings—one a soft white and the other a deep indigo—reached high into the air.
    “Who’s rowing with him?” Laurel asked.
    “Some guy from work,” was Millay’s flat reply.
    Laurel turned to stare at her. “You can’t still be mad at him. Not after seeing that boat. He made that for you.”
    Olivia guessed that Millay wasn’t angry with Harris. She just wasn’t in love with him anymore. That realization made her feel guilty. The guilt led to anger. And Millay had no idea what to do with that anger.
    “Let him have his day,” Olivia whispered to her.
    Millay’s dark eyes flew open wide, and then she nodded slowly. “I will.”
    The women watched in anxious silence as the boats lined up at the starter buoys. When the blast of an air horn signaled that the race had begun, Laurel leapt from her chair. Screaming and clapping wildly, she cheered for Harris without pause.
    Millay remained seated until Harris’s fantasy craft tacked around the final buoy. On the last stretch of open water, the contestants battled ferociously. Harris had broken away from the rest of the pack, but his lead was slim. The Viking longboat, the yellow duck, and the pirate ship were riding closely in his wake.
    All the spectators were on their feet now, including Olivia and Millay.
    “Come on, Harris,” Millay muttered, gnawing at her thumbnail.
    Harris pulled ahead by half a boat length and the crowd roared. He stopped rowing for a moment, waved, and yanked on a rope hanging from the wyvern’s neck. A stream of green fire burst forth from its mouth, whipping the spectators into an even greater frenzy. However, during those few seconds in which he’d stopped rowing, the Vikings had caught him and now the two crafts were in a dead tie.
    With only six lengths to go, Harris’s boat caught fire.
    It happened without warning. At first, there was a lick of green flame on top of the wyvern’s head, and then a loud
whoosh
echoed across the water. Both the gryphon and wyvern were on fire, their heads and torsos engulfed in orange and yellow. All signs of the magical green fire were gone. Now, traditional flames blackened the intertwined creatures, melting them together as bits of charred cardboard dropped into the ocean.
    “Get out!” a woman cried, but Harris wasn’t abandoning his burning vessel. Even after the fire raced along the gunwales and his first mate dove overboard, Harris kept rowing.
    Laurel reached for Millay’s hand and clasped it tightly. “Why doesn’t he jump? He’s going to get burned!”
    Olivia’s heart was in her throat. What was Harris thinking? There was no longer any chance of victory, and without his crewmember, he couldn’t even row straight. He was dashing from port to starboard, slapping his paddle into the water and giving it a furious push before switching sides. He had to stand to row in order to avoid the flames, and no matter how valiant his efforts were, they were utterly futile.
    “He’s sinking!” a man shouted, and Olivia saw that it was true. The heads of the warring beasts had collapsed, inviting a rush of salt water into the shallow hull.
    Harris hurled his oar away and stood completely still as the Vikings flew toward the finish line.
    “What the hell are you doing?” Millay murmured. Her dark eyes were fearful. “It’s over. It’s over, you idiot.”
    As if her voice had carried across the harbor, Harris turned to the shore. He folded himself over in a deep, courtly bow. And then, he put his palms together and dove into the water.
    The Viking longship severed the golden ribbon tied between a pair of buoys, and the blasts of multiple air horns cut through the air. The crowd resumed its raucous cheering, but Olivia, Laurel, and Millay sat in anxious silence.
    Horns continued to sound as the second and third place boats crossed the line.
    “They’re pulling him out.” Laurel had her binoculars pressed to her eyes and was pointing to the spot where Harris’s boat had been. It was completely gone from view. “Do you want to look?” she asked Millay.
    “No,” she said. “I’m out of here. He’s going to be totally mortified by what happened, and my being around will just make it worse. See you tonight.”
    Laurel watched her go and then sighed. “That was such a