Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

bittersweet chocolate.
    “I’m going outside for some air.” Olivia took her water glass and headed for the kitchen. Without asking permission, she breezed through the swing doors into the narrow space, surprised to find it empty of both cooks and waitstaff. Shelley had hired servers from a local catering company for her grand opening, and they were all busy in the main room, but where was the dishwasher? The assistant pastry chef? Or sous-chef?
    The kitchen was a mess. The sink was full of stainless steel bowls coated in dried caramel, jam, buttercream, and chocolate in every shade of brown. The remnants of crushed nuts, chopped fruit, and mint sprigs were strewn across the cutting board, and every burner on the commercial stove was obscured by a dirty pot or sauté pan.
    “Shelley’s going to be up very late tonight,” she said, unable to stop herself from picking up a bag of flour that had toppled from the counter onto the floor. “She needs to hire some full-time help.”
    Like many of the stores lining the streets of downtown Oyster Bay, Decadence had a small concrete patio out back where the merchants and their employees would take smoke or lunch breaks. Shelley had placed a pair of Adirondack chairs, a picnic table, and a potted hibiscus on hers. The plant didn’t look like it had long to live, but Olivia decided to prolong its existence by dumping the contents of her water glass into its bone-dry soil.
    She went into the kitchen, refilled the glass, and repeated the process three times before the soil was moist to the touch.
    “I think it’s a hopeless cause,” a voice said from the alleyway behind the shop, startling Olivia.
    “Damn it, Flynn.” She scowled at the handsome, middle-aged owner of Oyster Bay’s only bookstore. “Is this how you spend your evenings? Creeping among the town’s garbage bins?”
    “Only when beautiful women are nearby,” he replied nonchalantly and sat down at the picnic table. “Is this how you spend yours? Dressing to the nines and watering half-dead plants?”
    Olivia studied the man who’d once been her lover. He was as carefree and confident as usual. His mouth was always on the verge of curving into a smile, and there was an ever-present gleam of mischief in his eyes. A textbook extrovert, Flynn loved to swap gossip with his customers and play with their children in the bookstore’s puppet theater. He was lively and friendly and fun. Everyone liked him. He was everything Olivia was not, and that’s what had initially drawn her to him. However, their strong physical attraction hadn’t been enough to hold them together, and they’d both moved on to form more meaningful relationships with other partners.
    “What are you thinking about right now?” Flynn asked. “You got this look on your face. Like you’d gone back in time and wanted to linger there a moment. Perhaps you were reminiscing about us?” He raised his brows and smiled a little. “We had some electric moments, didn’t we?”
    Trying not to let him see how accurate his guess was, Olivia joined him at the picnic table. “Where’s Diane? It’s a Saturday night in June. The stars are shining, the ocean breeze is blowing, and the town is stuffed to the gills with tourists. So why aren’t you out wining and dining your girlfriend?”
    “Because we had a big fight,” he said without the slightest trace of emotion. “And because I wanted to talk to you.”
    “Oh?” Olivia’s tone was guarded. “In the middle of Shelley’s event? How did you know I’d be here?”
    Flynn shrugged. “It was a sure bet that she’d invite you. Any small business owner with half a brain would. Do you know how many new customers I’ve gotten because you recommended my store?”
    “I love Through the Wardrobe.” Olivia was careful to praise the shop, not its proprietor. “I’d do anything to see it flourish. A town without a bookstore is an empty shell of a place.”
    Beaming, Flynn leaned toward her. “I’m so glad you said that. It makes it easier to ask you for a big favor.”
    Olivia gestured for him to continue.
    “The
Gazette
and I are partnering to sponsor a storyteller’s retreat next month for the Southern Storytellers Network. It’s for people all over the region who make their living performing folktales. I’m going to schedule some children’s programs at the shop, and the paper will arrange for adult performances at the library.”
    “This sounds wonderful, Flynn,” she said