Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

think she’d like to see you before she and Grumpy head home.”
    Olivia bid Leona goodnight. As soon as she and Rawlings were out in the hall, she said, “Did you find Lowell?”
    He shook his head. “I sent an officer to the B&B and one to the Weaver residence. No sign of him at either location.”
    “It doesn’t look good for him,” Olivia said.
    “No. Running never looks good,” Rawlings agreed.
    When they reached the lobby, Dixie was sitting on a wooden bench, idly spinning the wheels of her left roller skate around and around with the flat of her hand. She jumped up when she saw Olivia and the chief.
    Olivia paused and touched Rawlings on the arm. “Call me when you can.”
    “I will.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you all right?”
    “Sure,” she lied, gave him a little smile and walked away.
    Dixie waited for Rawlings to leave before speaking. “Lord have mercy, ’Livia! Folks are whisperin’ that Violetta was killed and that Lowell might have had somethin’ to do with it.” Her ale-brown eyes grew moist. “He’s done bad things, but he wouldn’t go and kill anybody!”
    “Have you seen him?” Olivia asked.
    Dixie looked hurt. “No. Not since the show. I was sure he’d find me straight off, actin’ all high and mighty because he’s workin’ with the famous Miss Violetta, but he never made it to the lobby. Next thing I know, Violetta’s dead and he’s gone.”
    Grumpy slung an arm around his wife and propelled her through the doorway. “Come on, babe. He’s sure to call you. He doesn’t know anybody else in this town, and he’s probably real shaken.”
    “You go get the car, shug.” Dixie scooted out from beneath his arm. “I wanna talk to Olivia for a sec.”
    Grumpy bent down, kissed Dixie on the crown of her head, and walked into the parking lot. The shadows had deepened around the cars, and a scattering of wispy clouds covered the moon. The night felt old, and Olivia was eager to get home.
    “What don’t you want to say in front of Grumpy?” she asked Dixie.
    “That Lowell could be hidin’ in the woods near my place,” she said. “He’s got a record, ’Livia. He’s goin’ to expect folks to point a finger at him.”
    Olivia studied her friend. “And if he is there when you get home? What will you do?”
    Dixie’s jaw tightened in anger. “What would you do if it was your brother?”
    That gave Olivia pause. Would she deceive Rawlings to protect Hudson? How far would she go to shelter someone she loved, even if it meant breaking the law? “I don’t know,” she admitted.
    “That’s the difference between us, then,” Dixie said. When Grumpy pulled up with the car, she climbed in without saying goodnight. The door slammed and the engine growled. A pair of red taillights glared at Olivia through the darkness.
    • • •
    The next morning Olivia was jolted awake by the persistent ringing of the phone and, assuming the caller was Rawlings, she answered. Laurel was on the other end of the line, and she didn’t sound happy.
    “You sent me home!” Laurel cried indignantly. “I’m a reporter! A reporter who’s been scooped thanks to you.”
    Olivia lay back on the pillows. Her body felt stiff and sore, as if she’d run for miles without stopping. Her mouth was dry and gritty. She drank some water from the glass on the nightstand while Laurel ranted.
    “Are you even listening?” her friend demanded.
    “I’m sorry that I told you to go home,” Olivia said, her words hoarse, her voice ragged. She took another swallow of water. “But the cops wouldn’t have let you back into the library anyway. You’d have waited outside until all hours of the morning to get a few aggrandized statements from members of the audience. No one could have told you anything of import.”
    “But I still could have broken the story,” Laurel protested, but with less heat. “Anyway, it’s done now. You sound terrible, by the way.”
    “I’ve felt better. Perhaps if I’d had more sleep . . .” She let the accusation hang in the air.
    Laurel sighed. “Guess we’re even now. Listen, I have a bunch of background material on Violetta—stuff I’d compiled for her article. Do you think the chief could use it?”
    “Absolutely. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to read it too.” Olivia closed her eyes for a moment, blocking out the sunlight and Haviland’s plaintive look. The poodle was hungry, and it was well past breakfast time. “I saw her