The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

vinyl seat, granting the diners in the opposite booths a clear view of her leopard-print panties.
    “Hurry up, babe.” The man in madras shorts began to walk away without waiting for his companion. He popped a toothpick in his mouth with one hand and jiggled a set of keys with the other. Using his elbow to push open the door, he let it go without bothering to see if his lady friend was behind him. She wasn’t. The door slammed in her face, and she jumped back with a little shriek. Jutting her lower lip into a collagen-enhanced pout, she followed her man out of the diner.
    “High-caliber clientele,” Olivia teased Dixie after she’d cleared the couple’s table.
    Dixie wasn’t happy. “Cheap bastard. Doctors are the worst tippers.”
    “How did you know he’s a physician?”
    “The caduceus on his key ring.” Dixie pointed out the window. “And the vanity plate on his I-am-not-well-hung-mobile.”
    Olivia had been too absorbed rereading the latest chapter of her novel to notice the atomic-orange Corvette parked outside Grumpy’s Diner. She peered at the showy convertible as the man settled into his seat and revved the engine. The vanity plate read NIPTUCK.
    “Having seen the missus, perhaps the plate should say ‘I Inflate You,’ ” Olivia said. “You could use the number eight and the letter U to save space.”
    “Lady Watermelons is not the missus,” Dixie corrected. “I saw a picture of the missus and the doc’s three kids when he opened his wallet. Such a cliché. Why do they come here anyway? Why not go to Vegas or Cancun?”
    Olivia shrugged. “He wants to show off his car. See?”
    The object of their derision was donning sunglasses as the Corvette’s soft top folded back. The doctor glanced around, making sure he’d captured the interest of a few passersby before turning on the radio. The plate-glass window above Olivia’s booth began to vibrate as the Corvette’s speakers pounded out a thundering bass.
    Dixie shook her head in disgust. “Pathetic.” And then her eyes narrowed angrily. “She’d better not do what I think she’s going to do.”
    Olivia looked at the blonde, who’d pulled back her arm and was preparing to throw her takeout cup into a trash can on the sidewalk. At the same moment she launched the cup, the doc flicked his used toothpick into the street, put the sports car in drive, and launched out of the parking spot. The cup missed the rim of the receptacle by several feet and bounced off a lamppost, splashing coffee onto a parked car, the newspaper box, and the bare legs of a teenage girl. The girl shouted, her face registering pain and surprise.
    Dixie swore through gritted teeth as the orange Corvette raced out of view.
    “Maybe the witch can put a curse on those two cretins,” Olivia suggested, sharing Dixie’s indignation over the couple’s behavior. It was bad enough that they’d both blatantly littered, but to drive on after splattering a young woman’s legs with hot coffee bordered on criminal conduct.
    Collecting Haviland’s empty plate, Dixie put a hand on the black curls of his head and sighed. “I wish all humans had your manners, Captain. But the spell thing isn’t a bad idea either. We just need to hop a boat, cross the harbor, head up a creek borderin’ the Croatan National Forest ’til it ends, and hike a trail for a few miles.”
    “She’s hardly Oyster Bay’s witch then,” Olivia noted.
    “Born and bred,” Dixie retorted. “Anyway, what kind of mystique would she have if she lived in a beachfront condo? A shack in the swamp is way better for business.”
    This statement peeked Olivia’s interest. “What kind of business?”
    Delighted to have her friend on the hook, Dixie was just about to answer when Grumpy rang the order bell in the kitchen. The breakfast rush was nearly over, but the family of four in the Evita booth was casting expectant glances at Dixie. When she skated over with a tray laden with stacks of buttermilk pancakes, sizzling sausage patties, cinnamon-laced French toast, and an omelet the size of a beret, their eyes grew round with appreciation.
    “That should hold ’em for five minutes,” she said, coming to an abrupt stop at Olivia’s booth, her silver tutu billowing as she applied the brakes. “Back to the witch. Her name is Munin, and one of my cousins went to see her over the weekend.” Dixie pulled a stray thread from her left tube sock and lowered her voice. “He and his woman want a baby real