Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

“That’s rough, man. Want my beer? I’m on my way out.”
    “We all are. Jesus. What kind of backward town is this?” Amabel gave Olivia, Millay, and Harris a disgusted glare and strode off, but Greg no longer seemed inclined to leave. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in Millay’s discomfort.
    It suddenly seemed to dawn on Harris that it was uncouth to discuss his relationship in front of an audience. Blushing from his neck to the roots of his hair, he looked at Millay and jerked his thumb toward the bar. “Should we continue this over a drink?”
    “Hasn’t he had enough?” Sue murmured to Kenneth, but Olivia knew that Harris hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. Pain had caused him to behave out of character. Pain and heartbreak.
    Millay was about to get up when Greg put a hand on her forearm, preventing her from moving. “So this is your man, eh? What’s wrong? He’s not good enough for you anymore? Not rich enough? Isn’t the lead singer of some indie rock band? No, he’s just a regular Joe, isn’t he? Decent, hardworking, but he’s missing that something you can’t even put your finger on, right? That edge. You women want to pigeonhole us. Try to control us. Freaking geld us.” He pointed at Harris. “Don’t let her try to change you, buddy. She’s the one who needs to change.”
    “Jackass.” Millay shoved Greg’s hand away and headed for the far corner of the bar. Olivia looked at Greg, marveling over his ability to flirt with a woman one second and verbally abuse her the next. She sensed his speech was personal and had little to do with Millay and Harris at all.
    Instead of replying to Greg, Harris apologized for interrupting the party, performed an awkward little bow, and walked away.
    The rest of the group gathered their belongings in preparation to leave. Mariah drained the rest of her cocktail and raised the empty glass. “No hard feelings, Olivia. You were just trying to help. And here’s my advice to the police: find out who loved Violetta.” She shrugged as if the problem were easily solved. “Take those two young lovers.” She indicated Harris and Millay, whose heads were bent together as they exchanged vehement whispers. “Is there any force in this world more powerful than the emotions they’re experiencing right now?”
    “Ian loved Violetta. Are you accusing him of murder?” Greg appeared amused by the thought.
    “No,” Mariah answered quickly. “Unless he was the man in Violetta’s room Thursday night.”
    Everyone looked at Ian. “I wish,” he said. “Seriously, I wish it had been me. Maybe she’d still be alive. But Violetta never gave me the time of day. I was just another guy who mooned over her. And even though I can perform in front of hundreds of people, I couldn’t talk to her without sounding like a total idiot.”
    “It doesn’t seem like it was easy to get to know Violetta,” Kenneth said in an obvious attempt to console Ian. “If she didn’t hang around to socialize at the end of the big events or during annual retreats, then who could have ever gotten to know her? Who among us could have anything useful to tell the police?”
    “You’d think her own sister would,” Sue said.
    The rest of the storytellers nodded. In silent unison, they stood up. With the exception of Greg Rapson, they politely thanked Olivia for the meal and left. Greg stared at Olivia for several uncomfortable seconds and then departed without saying a word.
    The moment they were all gone, Olivia headed for the manager’s office. Haviland greeted her with loud thumps of his tail, and she was tempted to drop down on the floor and lay her head against his warm, soft belly. Instead, she took a bottle of Chivas Regal out of the file cabinet and poured two fingers’ worth into her empty glass. After a fortifying swallow, she checked her cell phone for messages. Rawlings had called an hour ago to let her know that Lowell’s condition was unchanged. He told her that while Lowell’s vital signs were stable, he was in a coma.
    “He may not come out of it. Even if he does, he might not be the same,” Rawlings said solemnly. “It’s possible that his brain was cut off from oxygen for too long. There could be permanent damage, but as of this point, no one knows.” After a pause he continued. “Dixie and her family have gone home. She asked for you to get in touch with her tomorrow. And there’s one more thing. Lowell had something in his back pocket—a scrap of paper