Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

low and anxious. “I’m not gonna call the cops. I’m callin’ you.”
    “Has he said anything?”
    Dixie snorted. “Yeah. He said he wanted a beer. And then he said that he wanted another one. And another one after that. He’s as rattled as a loose shutter in a hurricane.”
    Olivia tried to control her impatience. “Has he said anything of significance?”
    “He told us about Violetta. About findin’ her. And about runnin’ away.”
    “Why did he take off?”
    Dixie hesitated. “He said he needs a place to hide. That if he doesn’t, he’ll be next.”
    “He knows the killer’s identity?” Olivia couldn’t conceal her eagerness.
    Another long pause. “He says it’s the ghost. The one from the mountains that pushed the professor off the trail,” Dixie said. “I have no idea what to make of it. You’d best come over. He might talk to you. But just you.”
    Olivia didn’t reply immediately. Dixie was asking her to have a friendly chat with the suspect in a murder investigation. She also wanted her to keep Lowell’s whereabouts from Rawlings. Olivia hated to deceive him, but she saw no other choice. Someone needed to hear Lowell’s story, especially if he was prepared to go underground like a crab scuttling into a burrow. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said.
    “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he did it.”
    Olivia heard the doubt in her friend’s voice. “Are you sure?”
    “No.” She hung up.
    Reaching down to wake her sleeping poodle, Olivia held her hand on Haviland’s soft head. “It’s time for you to morph into guard-dog mode, Captain.”
    Haviland sprang to his feet, instantly alert. Olivia felt a powerful rush of affection for him. She leaned over and kissed his black nose, breathing in the scent of his fur. He smelled of salt water and sunshine.
    She then led her dog outside into the heat. And quite possibly into peril.

Chapter 6
    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow.
    — M ARY F RYE
    T he Weaver’s double-wide was at the end of a gravel road lined with loblolly pines and wax myrtle. Their yard was a southern redneck cliché. Scattered in between copses of weeds was a rusty sedan on cinder blocks, a kennel with a chain-link fence, stacks of tires, a flipped wheelbarrow, and an assortment of mismatched lawn chairs in various degrees of disrepair.
    Dixie occupied one of three molded-plastic chairs positioned beneath a green awning that was attached to the roof of the mobile home. She raised her hand in greeting as Olivia pulled her Range Rover to a stop next to Grumpy’s Harley.
    Olivia let Haviland out and he raced to Dixie. He licked her once and then sniffed her all over, as if he could smell her anxiety. She whispered briefly to him, and then stood up and walked to her outdoor refrigerator.
    “Beer?” she asked Olivia, fishing out a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
    “No, thanks. I’d love a glass of tap water though.”
    Dixie turned to the trailer and hollered, “Come on out here, Lowell! And bring a glass of water with you! The McDonald’s cups are clean!”
    “McDonald’s?” Olivia raised a brow and took the chair next to Dixie’s.
    “They’re old as the hills, but we love ’em. They’ve got pictures of the Hamburglar. My kids were wild about him when they were little.”
    Olivia shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “You have lived a very sheltered life, my friend.” The door to the double-wide creaked open, and Lowell poked his head out. After peering nervously around the yard, he joined Dixie and Olivia under the awning. He presented Olivia with her water without meeting her inquisitive gaze. She thanked him and examined the glass she’d been given.
    “See?” Dixie pointed at a dwarflike figure dressed in a black-and-white prisoner’s uniform and a black cape and hat. “That pint-sized bandit ran around stealin’ hamburgers. He was Lowell’s hero when we were kids. I used to have a whole set of these, but my boys have broken half of ’em.”
    Considering Lowell had served more than one jail sentence for robbery, Olivia found it strange to be drinking from a glass decorated with a cartoonish thief.
    As if reading her mind, Lowell gave her a wry smile. “Not only am I better looking than that guy, but I went after much cooler stuff. A patty of defrosted meat stuck between a pair of stale buns? He