The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

took on a frantic look. “I totally have to get my computer and printer hooked up.”
    Laurel’s mouth had formed a perfect O of surprise. “Harris, this is wonderful ! I’d heard that Mr. Plumley was in town, but I still haven’t laid eyes on him. Do you think he’ll give you feedback?”
    Harris tried to look modest. “Yeah, I do. In fact, he said he’d love to attend one of our meetings if we were willing to have him.”
    “Seriously?” Millay asked. “Why would he want to do that? He’s already made it.”
    “Maybe he wants to share his knowledge of the publishing process with us,” Laurel suggested. “Maybe he wants to pay it forward.”
    Rawlings crossed his arms over his chest, as though pondering what it would be like to receive constructive criticism from the famous author. “I wouldn’t say no to an offer of assistance from Mr. Plumley. I truly admire his work and would enjoy hearing the story of his success.”
    “That’s three votes for him,” Harris stated, raising the fingers of his right hand in front of Millay’s face. “Your book is closest to being ready for publication. I bet Plumley could tell you a thing or two about finding a literary agent.”
    Millay gazed dreamily at her writing journal. “I do have a ton of questions about the querying process, so it’s fine with me if Oyster Bay’s own Dan Brown wants to hang out. Let’s see what he can do for us.” She turned to Olivia. “Does this mean you’ll be breaking out caviar and the top-shelf liquor?”
    Olivia wasn’t pleased. “We’re not changing a thing for Nick Plumley’s visit. Personally, I don’t care for the idea of him being there for the critique of my chapter, but I guess I’ll deal with it, as everyone else wants to extend him an invitation.”
    Having come to a decision, the group broke up. Millay left for her shift at Fish Nets, Rawlings needed to swing by the station to sign paperwork, and Laurel had to be home in time to bathe the twins and put them to bed.
    Even after taking Haviland outside for a brisk walk down Oleander Drive, Olivia felt restless. She could go home, change clothes, and get to The Boot Top in time for the evening rush, but she was reluctant to leave Harris’s house. She wanted to know why Nick Plumley found the modest bungalow so intriguing.
    “I need to do a little snooping,” she told Haviland. “You’ll have to wait another hour for dinner. I’m going to offer to help Harris unpack some boxes and see if the house wants to whisper a clue in my ear.”
    Harris was delighted to accept her offer. “Could you set up the kitchen? Not to sound old-fashioned, but women have a better sense of where stuff should go in that room.”
    “I doubt Michel would agree with that statement,” Olivia remarked with a laugh and got busy putting away dishes, pots, and pans, and Harris’s odd collection of flatware and cooking utensils.
    The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was dated. It desperately needed new flooring and a fresh coat of paint, but the cabinets were solid, and Harris had done his best to clean them. The entire room was redolent with the smell of bleach.
    When she was done setting up the room, she began to make a mental list of all the changes that would have to be made to freshen up the space. She hadn’t bought Harris a house-warming gift but decided on the spot to splurge and hire one of the men from Clyde’s team to rip up the worn and discolored linoleum and replace it with tile.
    She wandered around the rest of the downstairs but found nothing unusual in the coat or broom closets and didn’t feel she had cause to be poking around upstairs. Harris, who was putting clothes in the chest of drawers in his bedroom, might find it odd to discover her jumping up and down on the floorboards in the attic. After scrutinizing the paneling in the living room for a final time, she gave up. Haviland hadn’t picked up any alarming scents either, and the house felt as it had each time she’d visited: solid and dependable.
    Thoroughly tired now, Olivia wished Harris good night and stepped out into the warm evening. Casting a backward glance at the illuminated bungalow, Olivia decided she was going to have to investigate any and all public documents pertaining to its history. As Clyde had said, all houses had secrets.
    “Yours might be well hidden,” Olivia addressed the timeworn facade. “But I will discover it.”

Chapter 4
    At a dinner party one should eat wisely but