Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

willing to send for the doctor and get him the medicine. Ma said that folks rarely sent for a doctor. They cost too much, and times had been especially tough for the Devereauxes. Still, Ira told my ma that Josiah was really rich. Kept some secret stash buried in the heart of some trunk. Ira didn’t know where it was, or she’d have dug it up herself. But he wouldn’t fetch it. Said it was cursed and he wouldn’t touch it even to help his own son.”
    Olivia was hanging on his every word. “And because Elijah didn’t get the help he needed, he died?”
    “That’s what Ira believed, and when Violetta found out about all this, she went half-crazy. Said she’d never look on her pa’s face for the rest of her days. Her ma’s neither. Folks say her hollers echoed up and down the mountain. And then she left home for good.”
    He slid the pancakes into the middle of a white plate and lined the sausages up on the side. “She never went back. Even when her folks died.”
    “And her sisters? Did your mother know what happened to them?”
    Grumpy nodded. “They got married and moved west. Utah and Oregon, I think. Except the sister closest to Violetta in age. She became a college teacher. Said she was going to have a better life than her folks did. I knew her as Mabel, but my ma said she changed her name. I can’t remember what she said. Anna. Annabelle. Something highbrow sounding.”
    “Amabel?”
    “That’s it.” Grumpy rang a bell, signaling that an order was ready for pick up. “How’d you know?”
    Olivia pointed to where Laurel sat. “Laurel interviewed her last night. Amabel’s here. In Oyster Bay. I find it very strange that she hasn’t admitted to being related to Violetta. Even worse that she doesn’t seem upset by the fact that her sister’s been murdered.”
    Grumpy wiped his hand on his apron. “Sounds like she’s got something to hide.”
    “Yes, it does.” Olivia didn’t think Amabel was the only one. “People have come to our town with their stories. But it seems they’ve brought their secrets along too.”

Chapter 8
    If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
    — S HEL S ILVERSTEIN
    W hen Olivia told Laurel that Amabel Hammond was Violetta’s sister, Laurel nearly spat out a mouthful of tea.
    “What kind of journalist am I? How did I miss that?” she cried and pushed away the remains of her muffin.
    “Amabel isn’t her legal name. It’s Mabel. I assume she got married,” Olivia said. “Look, what’s important is that you learned there’s no love lost between Amabel and her sister. I think you should tell the chief everything you, Amabel, and Greg talked about last night.”
    Laurel put some bills on the table. “I’ll call him on the way to Through the Wardrobe. Pay up. You should come too.”
    “Why?”
    “Amabel and Greg Rapson are doing a joint program for the kids there in fifteen minutes. Steve’s bringing the boys so we can blend in while spying on the storytellers.”
    Olivia added more cash to Laurel’s pile. “I hope they’re not putting on a puppet show,” she joked.
    Laurel scooted out of the booth, Haviland close on her heels. “What do you and Millay have against puppets?”
    At the mention of Millay’s name, Olivia decided it would be a good idea to have her join their investigative party. After years tending bar, she was adept at reading people.
    “You’re kidding, right?” was Millay’s response when Olivia called her.
    “No, I’m not. We must get to know this woman quickly. Rawlings will look into her alibi, but she’s already been deceitful by omission. I doubt she’ll volunteer anything of significance to the police. After all, she failed to mention that she was Violetta’s sister.”
    “She’s
what
?” Millay asked, and Olivia knew she was hooked. “Fine. But I don’t exactly blend in with the soccer moms, you know.”
    “They don’t matter. Only the storytellers do, and you’re on the road to becoming a published novelist. That’s sure to impress them. You all tell tales. Yours are just in print form.” Olivia opened the Range Rover’s back door and gestured for Haviland to jump in. He did his best to look offended when Laurel sat in the passenger seat.
    “I’ll meet you there, but I’m not talking up my book to these people,” Millay said. “And I’m only coming because Violetta was awesome and I’m pissed off that she was killed. Nothing else would convince me