Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

existence?
    Dewey’s symbol was a silver St. Christopher’s pendant because Olivia pictured the mountain guide as someone who had the ability to lead travelers to safety. Even on a snowy night. The question was, did he lead Hicks where he wanted to go or did he lure him to his death?
    “What was up there, Professor Hicks? What did you hope to find?” she asked the assortment of beach trash and treasures, but the metal objects remained mute.
    Scooping her collection back into the jar, Olivia screwed on the lid and stood up. She walked around the living room, hoping for insight, but her efforts had only created more questions. Coming to a stop in front of a Limoges pillbox on the bookshelf, she picked up the diminutive piece, smiling a little as she touched the tiny hand-painted poodle resting on a pillow of deep blue. The French words on the bottom of the box gave her pause.
    “Devereaux is French. What did this French family do before they were forced to scratch a meager living from the land? Where did they start out?”
    Returning the box to its precise place on the shelf, Olivia picked up the phone and dialed Harris’s number.
    “I hope you’re about to tell me about some incredible Happy Hour specials. I could definitely use a Happy Hour right about now.” Harris sounded out of sorts.
    “How about coming to my house? I have beer and wine. Well, there’s a decent supply at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage anyway.”
    Harris hesitated. “We usually go there to solve problems, don’t we?” he said absently, as if he’d forgotten that Olivia was on the other end of the line. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll have a drink, and then I can tell you what I found. I spent my lunch break researching Violetta and her family. It wasn’t enough, but I did come across a few interesting tidbits.”
    “Then quit teasing me and get over here. I might even have some cheese in the fridge, and I could rustle up a package of crackers. I don’t know how fresh they are—”
    “Just dump everything you have on a plate. You know I’ll eat it. I’ll be there in ten.”
    Olivia and Haviland walked the short distance from the main house to the cottage, keeping their faces lowered against the heat of the late-day sun. The gravel crunched beneath their feet and clouds of dust trailed in their wake like diaphanous tumbleweeds.
    Olivia had just arranged a platter of food when Harris burst into the cottage. He tossed his briefcase on the sofa, yanked his tie loose, and kicked off his shoes. “It’s hot,” he complained. “And no matter how much I drink, I still feel thirsty.”
    “That’s how the drought affects your body. Here. This should help.” Olivia handed him a beer in a chilled pint glass.
    He took a greedy swallow. “So
this
is what Nirvana tastes like.”
    Olivia tried to be patient, but she was eager to learn what Harris had discovered. Edging closer to him, she drummed her fingertips on the countertop.
    Harris watched her and grinned. “Okay, I can see that you’re in no mood for small talk, so here’s what I found.” He pulled a few sheaves of paper from his briefcase. “Violetta’s family hasn’t always been from Whaley. In fact, her grandfather wasn’t born there. Her grandmother was, but Grandpa Quentin moved down South from New York City.”
    “New York?” Olivia hadn’t expected that.
    Harris nodded. “Yep. I found a record of his Whaley land purchase. He married Virginia Bumgarner pretty soon after that.”
    Olivia winced. “I can see why she took his surname.”
    “Quentin was fifteen years older than her too, the sly devil. I found all kinds of results using an online database, including birth records for their children and Josiah’s children. And a bunch of death certificates. Between the two generations there were three kids who didn’t make it past the age of eight.” He put the papers down and drank more beer. “It was really depressing to look at those documents. To read their names and wonder how they died. Did they get sick? Did they have an accident? One of the certificates listed the cause of death as ‘Drowned.’ A single word.”
    “That’s terrible.” A chill crept into the room, accompanied by the first shadows of the evening. “What about Josiah’s children? Did you find Elijah’s death certificate?”
    “Yeah. The cause of death was cited as ‘Unknown illness.’” Harris sighed. “And someone, the doctor I guess, wrote a line underneath about the deceased