Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

hands around her wrists. His entire body was trembling violently.
    “What’s wrong?” Olivia said, looking him over for any sign of injury.
    Lowell’s only reply was to utter a string of expletives. He couldn’t seem to stop. They shot out of his mouth like gunfire.
    “Lowell!” she shouted. “Lowell! Is it Violetta?”
    He stopping cursing and nodded wildly. Without another word, Olivia dashed down the hall and into the conference room.
    The space felt empty, but Olivia cast a quick glance down each row as she rushed toward the small room behind the stage. Violetta was in a chair, her head tilted backward at an awkward angle, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in black waves, her eyes open wide. She stared at the ceiling, unblinking, and her tongue protruded from between slack lips. Her face and neck were blue. Olivia had the absurd thought that the shade was beautiful. It reminded her of the ocean beneath a summer sky.
    Violetta Devereaux, the famed Appalachian storyteller, was dead.
    As the truth of this washed over Olivia, she retreated two steps, covering her mouth in horror.
    This fascinating and enigmatic woman who’d breathed life into so many tales, who’d amazed audiences all over the country with her incredible voice, had been forever silenced.
    “You’ve been murdered,” Olivia whispered, forcing herself to look at Violetta’s tortured expression, blue skin, and swollen tongue once more. “Strangled.” And then she remembered that Rawlings was in the building.
    Rawlings.
She seized on the name.
Rawlings.
    She ran to him. She ran in search of comfort and safety, and to tell him that something evil had stolen into the library. At that very moment, a killer was exiting the building or hiding in the stacks or casually sipping champagne in the lobby.
    Olivia burned with anger as she rushed down the hallway. This place was sacred. Her mother had worked in this library. She’d been absolutely content here. She’d smiled brightly when she assisted patrons and hummed softly while shelving materials. This building was a sanctuary to so many, and a killer had dared to taint it with violence. Olivia wanted someone to answer for that.
    And so she ran.

Chapter 5
    I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
    — J ACK L ONDON
    R awlings saw Olivia coming. He also saw something in her expression that conveyed her urgency. Tossing his plate on the closest table, he moved to meet her.
    When they were near enough to touch, he bowed his head close to her lips so that whatever she had to say would be heard by him alone.
    Olivia grabbed his left arm with both hands. “Violetta’s dead. Someone’s killed her.”
    She could feel his body stiffen beneath her fingers. “Show me.”
    As they hurried down the hallway, Olivia had the sense that she was in an underground tunnel. The fluorescent ceiling lights cast a sickly yellow glow on the gray carpet, and the door to the conference room seemed to recede as they walked toward it. Olivia felt like she was in a Lewis Carroll story.
    “Steady,” Rawlings said. He took her elbow, and before she knew it, they’d passed the rows of chairs and were confronted by Violetta’s blue face. Olivia couldn’t help but stare at the sight as if she hadn’t seen it just a few moments ago. She expected the color to have drained away somewhat by now, leaving a doughy white in its stead, but the summer-sky hue remained. Even in death, Violetta Devereaux possessed an otherworldly beauty.
    “Did you touch anything?” Rawlings asked, reaching for his phone.
    “No.”
    Rawlings gave a series of terse instructions to the officer on the other end of the line and then stood in silence for a long time.
    Finally, he looked at Olivia. “Can your librarian friend stay calm in a crisis?”
    “She’s a rock.”
    “Good. Have her lock all the doors. No one gets in or out without my say-so. If she asks why, tell her we have an emergency on our hands, but don’t go into any detail.”
    “Understood.” Olivia hustled back to the lobby in search of Leona Fairchild.
    As Olivia hunted for the librarian, she also kept an eye out for Lowell. Rawlings would need to speak with him sooner rather than later. Pivoting this way and that, she stood on her tiptoes and studied the sea of faces in the lobby, but she didn’t see