Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

visor. It’s just him that’s gone.”
    “And his cell phone?”
    Grumpy produced his own. “We’ve both called him a bunch. No answer.”
    Rawlings studied his notepad. “I think we’re dealing with two possible scenarios. The first is that Mr. Reid, uh, Lowell, got into a car belonging to someone he knows and that the dogs are responsible for the spilled bait and cooler. The second possibility is that he was taken against his will.”
    Dixie put her hands over her eyes, but Grumpy gently pulled them off. He held her small hands in his massive ones and forced her to meet his gaze. “No chance he was grabbed with the dogs out, Dixie. They know he’s family.” He looked at Rawlings. “Lowell had to have gone by choice. He’d had to have told the dogs to back down. And we’ve got a loaded shotgun behind the front door. All of our kids know how to use it and so does Lowell.”
    “But who does he know in Oyster Bay?” Olivia asked and glanced at Rawlings. “Do you think he drove off with Greg Rapson?”
    Dixie frowned. “Who’s that?”
    “One of the storytellers in town for the retreat,” Rawlings explained. “He taught a class at the jail where Lowell was incarcerated. Your cousin was one of Mr. Rapson’s students.”
    “Lowell’s been to more than one jail, Chief,” Dixie grumbled. “Was this the most recent place? In the western part of the state?”
    Rawlings nodded.
    “That’s when he promised he was gonna straighten up.” Dixie sighed. “He took all kinds of classes, read books, and when his sentence was up, he landed that job with Violetta. I thought he was gonna be okay. That everything would be okay. Until he came here. Until he brought somethin’ evil to our door . . .”
    “Let’s go back to your place,” Rawlings suggested and slid off his stool. “I’d like to take a look around. In the meantime, I’ll call this in and have my officers keep an eye out for Lowell.”
    Olivia noticed that he didn’t try to comfort Dixie or offer her any assurance that Lowell was all right. His failure to do so told Olivia that he took Lowell’s disappearance seriously.
    “I’ll lock up real quick,” Grumpy said and went into the kitchen, Dixie’s untouched coffee cup in his hand.
    Olivia followed Rawlings to the door. Haviland lingered, nudging Dixie’s leg with his nose. She buried her face in his fur, running her hands along his strong back. “Are you going to call Greg Rapson?”
    “No,” Rawlings said. “I need to examine the scene first. Grumpy’s right. Between the dogs and the gun, it would have been very difficult to have taken Mr. Lowell against his will.”
    Olivia felt chilled. “And yet you’re calling their home a scene.”
    Rawlings waved his hand in dismissal. “Only out of habit. The man could be anywhere, Olivia. For all we know, he could be hanging out in a bar with the other storytellers. He must know quite a few of them after working with Violetta.”
    “You don’t believe that he’s having tea and crumpets with them any more than I do,” Olivia said softly, not wanting Dixie to overhear. “Lowell was scared. He wanted to run, to hide. Because he poses a threat to someone. He saw a killer that night on the mountain, and he must know something about Violetta’s treasure or whatever you want to call it. She trusted Lowell with the secret of her blue skin, right? So what other secrets did she trust him to keep?”
    Rawlings considered her words. “The manner in which Violetta was killed makes me believe that her attacker wanted her to be aware of the fact that she was about to die. He might have pretended that she would live if she did as she was told or provided him with information. But he came prepared with that plastic bag. He was always going to murder her. If Mr. Reid knows something of import, then he was a fool not to tell me, because Violetta’s killer has had time to prepare for a second interrogation.
If
that’s what’s going on here. Right now all I have are a few dead minnows.”
    Olivia pictured the tiny fish flopping about on the brittle grass, their gills pulsing as the last of their precious water was sucked into the thirsty ground. “What should I do?”
    “Stick with your plans for this evening. Find out how the storytellers spent their afternoon. Find out which of them know Mr. Reid. Listen to their gossip and banter and watch their faces. And when they’ve had plenty to drink, ask them about Violetta. And the treasure.” He