Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

killers ’round my kids. Much as I’d like to smother them half the time, I don’t want them in danger because Lowell’s here.”
    Olivia took her car keys out of her purse and shook them. In response, Haviland appeared from the far corner of the yard, a tennis ball clamped between his teeth. He dropped it at Olivia’s feet, panting and smiling. She tossed it for him and he raced off, a blur of black against the brown and yellow grass. “I’ll drive Lowell to the station. In the meantime, put your dogs on long leads and make sure your guns are loaded.”
    Dixie managed a tight smile. “What good’s a rifle against a ghost?”
    • • •
    Rawlings called Olivia at five that afternoon and asked to meet her at The Boot Top’s bar. She was already at the restaurant, and having been subjected to one of Michel’s monologues on his girlfriend’s attributes, she was primed for a cocktail.
    Gabe, The Boot Top’s bartender, served Olivia her drink a few moments before the chief sank into the leather club chair next to hers. Rawlings scooped up a handful of mixed nuts, chewed feverishly, and swallowed. “Sorry, but I’m starving. Had to skip lunch today.” He filled his palm with more nuts.
    “Let me get you something.” Olivia signaled a passing waiter and placed an order. By the time she returned her attention to Rawlings, he’d emptied the bowl of cocktail nuts. “How are you?” she asked.
    He smiled at her. “Now I know that you love me. You asked about me before the case.”
    “Aren’t the two intertwined?”
    He sighed. “I suppose they are. And I’m frustrated because this is a frustrating case. We have a hundred suspects and no obvious motive. The ME is supposed to report to me within the hour. He told me the cause of death was asphyxiation, but he wouldn’t elaborate. Said there was an abnormality he had to research before sharing his findings.”
    Gabe approached their table carrying a glass of ice water in one hand and a platter of assorted cheese, olives, and sliced meat in his other. “I’ll be right back with some fresh bread.” Gabe smiled at the chief. “Would you like something else to drink?”
    “No, thanks. I’m still on the clock.” Rawlings watched the bartender walk away. “That kid gets better looking every day.”
    “He says it’s the surfing, but I think it’s because he’s young, sun-kissed, and content. Contentment is very attractive. It’s why every bar stool will be occupied tonight.”
    The chief popped a wedge of Brie into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “He’s sincere too. People respond to that. I’ve spent too many hours today with individuals who pretend for a living—who wear costumes and makeup, and can trick us into believing they feel something they don’t.”
    “Are you referring to the storytellers?”
    “It was exhausting to gather their statements.” Rawlings took a long drink of water. “They couldn’t give a straight answer. Every phrase was embellished. Every reply a soliloquy.”
    Olivia helped herself to a square of Havarti with dill. “Were you able to track down all the attendees?”
    Rawlings nodded. “For the most part. We drafted a seating chart while we were still in the library. Mrs. Fairchild showed us where she sat the VIPs, including you, my dear, and the rest of the guests helped identify their neighbors. We have a few more preliminary interviews to conduct, but they’ll be done by the end of the night.”
    Gabe returned with warm bread and two servings of bacon-wrapped shrimp stuffed with basil and garlic.
    “And what about Lowell?” Olivia speared a shrimp with her fork. “Were you satisfied with his story?”
    The chief shook his head. “Not by a long shot. He could be playing me. While he told a convincing tale about being frightened, it’s not enough to distract me from what I consider to be very suspicious behavior. The bottom line is that he fled from a crime scene. For the moment, I’ve decided not to bring him up on charges for that, but only because he came to the station voluntarily. Though Lowell told me that you had a hand in getting him there. Well done.”
    Olivia waved off the compliment. “Lowell genuinely believes that Alfred Hicks was murdered. I don’t know exactly what he saw, but it scared him, and he doesn’t seem the type to spook easily. I also think there’s more to this treasure business than a professor’s desire to publish Violetta’s stories.”
    “I agree. I’ve