Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

table had been with Violetta Thursday night. Not one of them had given themselves away with a guilty glance or a fleeting look of anguish.
    If not them, then who?
Olivia thought.
Lowell? Had he been his boss’s lover? Or had Violetta invited someone from her past to her room? Grumpy? Flynn?
    Olivia didn’t want to imagine either scenario, but she knew she and Millay had stumbled upon a significant detail. Violetta had been with someone two nights before her murder.
    “So she had sex with someone,” Olivia said to Millay. “Big deal. Some guy wanted her and she wanted him. The real question is, who
didn’t
like her? Who hated her enough to make sure she’d never tell another story?”
    “That’s what I don’t understand,” Kenneth said with feeling. “She was the best of us. Who’d want to silence her?”
    Amabel dropped her fork against her salad plate. “The best of us? Please. She had a voice that carried and a nifty blue light. That’s about it. Any of us could do what she did. As a matter of fact, I intend to do just that.”
    “You do have the same eyes,” Greg pointed out, and Amabel shot him a dirty look before tossing back another shot of whiskey.
    “Wow, that’s true!” Sue exclaimed. “You could almost pass for her sister.”
    Amabel glared at the other storyteller. “Yeah. Almost.”
    “You didn’t like Violetta, did you?” Mariah pointed her bread knife at Amabel. “You’re just oozing negative energy. Are you one of those women who can’t handle it when another female rises to the top?”
    Olivia could have kissed Mariah.
    “If the woman deserves to rise, then I’m all for it,” Amabel said, sneering. “If she’s not worthy of her laurels, then I tend to be resentful. And Violetta wasn’t worthy.”
    “Why not?” Ian wanted to know. “She was a poor girl who made good.”
    “She was as cold as a winter night,” Amabel whispered. “She stepped over people on her way out of those mountains. She broke people and never looked back to see the damage she’d done.”
    A hushed silence fell over the group. Olivia and Millay exchanged excited gazes, and Olivia found that she was holding her breath. They were on the cusp of a revelation, she was certain of it.
    But before anyone else could speak, Amabel’s attention was drawn to the hostess stand. Olivia followed her gaze and saw Flynn McNulty give the hostess a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading in their direction. His gait was awkward and his eyes glinted dangerously.
    “He’s hammered,” Millay said softly.
    When Flynn walked right over to Olivia and threw his arms around her, she knew that Millay was correct. Flynn smelled like the inside of Fish Nets at the end of a long, hot Saturday night. She tried to pry his arms off, but they wouldn’t budge. “Olivia! Gorgeous, sexy, brilliant Olivia!” He kissed her on the cheek. Once. Twice. Wet, sloppy kisses. “Do I owe you my thanks for the grilling I was given by your boyfriend? For two hours! Hm?” He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. Olivia jerked her head away and managed to extricate herself from his embrace.
    “Stop it, Flynn. You’re drunk. Now sit.” She shoved him toward the chair Millay had pulled out.
    He dropped into the seat with a laugh. “So what are you doing with these fine folks? Conducting a little undercover work for the Oyster Bay Police Department?”
    Amabel stared at Olivia suspiciously. “I thought you worked here.”
    Flynn threw back his head and let out a humorless laugh. Helping himself to Greg’s drink, he finished it in three swallows and then pointed at Olivia. “She owns the whole place, Amabel. This is Olivia Limoges. Restaurateur. Socialite. Heiress. Patron to the arts. Girlfriend to the chief of police.” Looking around at the storytellers’ shocked faces, he chortled. “Oh, she didn’t mention any of those things?”
    “I’m trying to find out who killed Violetta,” Olivia said simply, never taking her eyes from Flynn. “You only care about yourself, but—”
    “What do you know?” he asked, roughly grabbing her arm. “What the hell do you know?” His fingertips pressed into her flesh, but she refused to let him see that he was hurting her. “I loved her,” he whispered so softly that Olivia barely heard him.
    And then Fred was standing over Flynn. He put his hand on Flynn’s shoulder and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I think you should let go of the lady now.”
    Surprised, Flynn