Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

looked down at Olivia’s arm. “Yeah . . . sorry . . . I didn’t . . .” He held out his hands in surrender. “Sorry.”
    Shoving his chair back, he got up, took a moment to steady himself, and then lurched toward the hostess stand. A young woman holding a stack of menus darted out of the way just as Flynn stumbled over the base of the sign reading, “Please Wait to Be Seated.”
    Luckily, a tall ginger-haired man caught hold of Flynn before he completely lost his balance.
    Millay swore under her breath. “As if we didn’t have enough drama, in walks Harris.”

Chapter 12
    Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.
    — E DNA S T. V INCENT M ILLAY
    E veryone at the table watched as Harris helped Flynn regain his balance. Once he stood upright again, Flynn clapped Harris on the back, produced a wobbly smile for the customers waiting to be seated, and strode out of the restaurant. After a moment’s hesitation, Harris followed him.
    As soon as the two men were gone, Amabel turned to Olivia. “How dare you?” she hissed, furious. “We came here tonight thinking we were being treated to a meal by a fan of our art form. Instead, you invited us to dinner in order to spy on us for the police?”
    “I’m not ashamed of my actions,” Olivia replied heatedly. “A woman has been murdered. Violetta Devereaux was invited to Oyster Bay to attend the same retreat as the rest of you.” She waved her hand, incorporating all the storytellers in the gesture. “Now she’s dead, and inexplicably, none of you seem to know a thing about it.” Her eyes blazing, she stared at Amabel. “Her ending was a cruel one too.”
    “Aren’t you guys worried about your own safety?” Millay demanded. “No one’s been taken into custody, so the person sitting next to you could be a killer. If it were me, I’d be propping furniture against my hotel room door at night.”
    Mariah squeaked and Ian patted her hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
    Sue looked from one storyteller to the next. “I never thought about any of us being in danger. Who’d want to hurt me? I’m just a performer.”
    “Isn’t that all Violetta was?” Olivia asked.
    Ian shook his head. “No. She was larger than life. Everyone knew her name. Some college professor even wanted to write a book about her.”
    “Alfred Hicks,” Olivia said. “Was he a colleague of yours, Amabel?”
    Amabel took her purse off the back of her chair and got to her feet. “I’m done being cross-examined by you, Ms. Limoges. Why don’t you do us a favor and mind your own business?”
    Olivia felt a searing rage course through her. “This is
my
town. My mother worked in the library where Violetta was killed. The current librarian has suffered a heart attack over this tragedy. I’m not some bored socialite looking for a thrill. I want to restore peace to Oyster Bay and to its people, so this
is
my business.” When Amabel opened her mouth to speak, Olivia held up a warning finger to silence her. “And yes, I’m fully aware that it’s not my place to investigate. I’d gladly step back and let the police handle this mess, but wherever they turn, they’re met with lies, half-truths, and omissions. The clock is ticking.” She looked at the other storytellers. “You’d think Violetta’s own sister would be interested in seeing that justice was done, wouldn’t you?”
    Mariah glanced from Olivia to Amabel and gasped. “That’s why your eyes remind me of hers. You’re Violetta’s sister?”
    “Allow me to introduce you to Mabel Devereaux,” Olivia said. “I don’t know why she’s kept her connection to Violetta a secret, but I suspect she’s made a habit of keeping secrets.”
    “Don’t we all?” Greg said blandly and tossed his napkin onto the table. “Thank you for a most entertaining evening, Olivia. I think I’ll turn in.” He was about to bid Millay goodnight when Harris came up behind her.
    Sensing his presence, Millay swiveled in her chair. “This is not a good time.”
    “Let’s just get it over with,” Harris said, ignoring her. “I’m sick of our breakup happening bit by bit. You won’t rip the Band-Aid off, so I will.”
    “Harris—” Millay began.
    “She doesn’t love me,” Harris informed the stunned storytellers. “Nothing I can do about that, right? So I might as well face facts.”
    Kenneth offered him his microbrew.