Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

prices were already on the rise. Everywhere Olivia went, whether to the docks, her restaurants, or to Grumpy’s Diner, the talk was all about rain. There wasn’t a man, woman, or child in Oyster Bay who couldn’t name the date of the last significant precipitation, and the television meteorologists offered no hope for any in the near future. Anxious exchanges between women at the grocery store were made in low whispers so the tourists wouldn’t overhear, and fearful expressions were instantly transformed into polite smiles whenever a visitor drew close.
    “When are we gonna get a storm?” a woman asked the cashier at the hardware store. She was in line in front of Olivia and had a plastic rain barrel in her cart.
    The man glanced around to make sure no out-of-towners were present before replying. “Dunno. The wife says not ’til after the Cardboard Regatta anyhow,” he said, mentioning the popular boat race that took place during the first weekend of July each year. “She’s lived here all her life, and it’s never once rained for that race. That’s a good thing too, seein’ as cardboard and strong rains don’t mix.”
    The woman paid for her purchase and turned to Olivia. “You can smell a storm comin’ before the rest of us, seein’ as your place is out on the Point. Is anythin’ brewin’ out there? Anythin’ at all?”
    Olivia thought about her early morning walk. As was her custom, she and her poodle, Captain Haviland, had gone treasure hunting on the beach. They’d passed under the shadow of the lighthouse and meandered half a mile north before Olivia had unslung the metal detector from her shoulder and turned it on. The sand had refused to yield a single trinket, however, and the sun had risen so quickly and with such intensity that Olivia had turned for home without finding so much as a bottle cap.
    “There’s nothing on the horizon. Even the breeze felt dry,” she told the woman. “There was no scent to it at all. It was like all traces of water have been burned away.”
    The woman nodded. “We’ve got to wait a spell, that’s all. Most of us have been through this before. We didn’t shrivel up and die then, and we won’t now.”
    The conversation continued until Olivia was nearly late to her weekly meeting of the Bayside Book Writers. Fortunately, the group had chosen a supper of pizza and cold beer, so there wasn’t much she needed to do to prepare the lighthouse keeper’s cottage for their arrival.
    Chief Rawlings volunteered to bring the beer, and Pizza Bay would deliver the pies, so all Olivia had to do was turn on lights and set out plates and napkins.
    Millay was the first to arrive. She walked into the living room where the writers usually gathered, tossed her skull and crossbones messenger bag onto the sofa, and pulled a crumpled paper from the pocket of her sequined miniskirt. With a heavy sigh, she held it out to Olivia. “I got this in the mail the other day.”
    Olivia took a moment to study Millay’s face, but her friend’s expression was unreadable. Taking the letter, she smoothed it flat and read the single paragraph. After rereading it once more, she laid the letter reverently on the counter.
    “You’ve been offered representation by a literary agent? This is amazing.” Olivia shook her head in wonder. “When did you get this?”
    Millay shrugged and averted her eyes. “Two days ago.”
    Surprised, Olivia said, “Have you researched the agency? Is it bona fide?”
    “Yeah,” Millay replied in a thin voice. “They represent lots of well-known YA authors and a bunch of other genres too. That’s why I sent my query to them. I just never thought . . .”
    “Millay, I know this is huge.” Olivia saw the vulnerability in her friend’s dark eyes. “Daunting even. But your book is ready. It’s worthy of publication. You’re worthy.”
    Millay looked unconvinced. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll probably just get my hopes up, and then none of the publishing houses will buy it. It’ll get passed around from editor to editor until it has nowhere left to go. Then what?”
    Olivia laughed. “And I thought
I
was a pessimist. Come on, this is cause for celebration. Any one of us would kill for this letter. This offer. Let’s break out the champagne.”
    “But this is going to change everything,” Millay said, finally meeting Olivia’s eyes. “Our whole dynamic was about the five of us finishing our novels. I didn’t believe I’d get to this step so