Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

their way out of the poverty of a small mountain town. How many disappointments had they known? How many dangerous words had they heard and repeated? How many had they turned into stories?
    On impulse, Olivia walked to the stern and handed Toby the lightning glass. “I’d like you to have this. For luck.”
    His eyes went wide and then dropped to the fulgurite. “The heat required to make this is incredible—it’s the kind of pressure needed to produce a diamond. A fulgurite is better than a diamond to a weather freak like me. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take good care of it.”
    Olivia waved good-bye as she and Haviland disembarked.
    Halfway to the car, Olivia came to an abrupt halt. “Could it be?” she said out loud, her brows furrowed. And then she turned to stare out over the water. After a long moment of reflection, she hurried to her car and drove away.
    • • •
    Grumpy’s Diner was quiet when Olivia and Haviland entered. A few men sat at the counter fueling themselves for a long day of manual labor with sausage, eggs, hash browns, toast, and Dixie’s famous coffee, but all the booths were empty.
    Olivia barely recognized Dixie when she skated out of the kitchen with a basket filled with paper napkins and silverware. There was a noticeable absence of hot pink, glitter, frills, stripes, or lace on her outfit. She wore a denim skirt, tube socks, and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt.
    “Hey,” Olivia said, making no move to sit at her usual booth even though Haviland had already settled on the vinyl cushion and was gazing out the large picture window.
    Easing the basket from Dixie’s hands, Olivia pulled her friend close and put her arms around her. Because Dixie was on roller skates, the embrace ended up being more forceful than Olivia had intended.
    “No need to mug me!” Dixie scolded, pushing herself backward. Her grim face looked a little brighter, however. “You manhandle the chief like that?”
    Olivia smiled. “Whenever I get the chance.”
    Dixie pointed at the basket. “You gonna set the tables?”
    “Yes, I am. I’ll work while you talk.” Olivia placed four napkins at each booth and was in the middle of putting forks down when Dixie touched her on the arm.
    “There’s isn’t much to report. Lowell’s not gettin’ better.”
    Olivia stopped what she was doing and looked at her friend. “I imagine it’ll take time for his body to recover. From what Rawlings told me, he came awfully close to . . .”
    Dixie held out her hand. “Don’t say it.” She gestured at the utensils. “Keep on with this. I’m gonna grab you a coffee.” She jerked her head in Haviland’s direction. “And a few scrambled eggs for the handsome gentleman in the window booth. You know I like ’em furry.”
    When Dixie returned, Olivia had finished setting the tables and had taken a seat across from Haviland. She watched as the men at the counter left en masse, thanking Dixie on their way out. One of them lingered behind. Hands in pockets, he said, “We’re all praying for your cousin, Dixie. If you find out who’s responsible, you let me know. We’ll see that justice is done.”
    Dixie nodded. “Thanks, Bill.”
    When he was gone, Dixie sat down next to Haviland and served him a platter of eggs. “Don’t worry,” she said to Olivia. “I’m not gonna let them form a lynch mob. Those fellows mean well, but they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer. Shoot, they’d probably rough up the wrong person. The mayor or a minister or some homely-lookin’ grandma.” She grinned briefly and then quickly grew solemn again. “Have you learned anythin’ new? About Violetta or those storytellers?”
    In between sips of Dixie’s fortifying coffee, Olivia told her everything that had happened the night before.
    When she was done, Dixie shook her head in disbelief. “Flynn? You think you know a person and then—Jesus!” She shook her head again. “But he wouldn’t hurt Lowell. Why would he?”
    “For the treasure,” Olivia said. “I have no doubt that it exists. I also believe that Alfred Hicks was killed because of it. And none of the likely suspects—Flynn, Amabel, and Greg—have cast-iron alibis for the night Hicks died. As for where they were when Lowell was attacked? Rawlings is looking into that. He was up while it was still dark this morning, making a list of what he had to do to put an end to this mess.”
    “I’ve been thinkin’ about Lowell’s story,” Dixie said. “I didn’t