The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Olivia could answer, the phone sitting directly in front of Estelle began to ring and she answered it with a lengthy, well-rehearsed greeting. She filled out another sheet on the pink memo pad and then, as the caller continued talking, her hand drifted to a massive desk calendar, where she idly drew a series of small hearts around Harris’s name.
    Finally, she said good-bye and replaced the receiver. She was about to speak to Olivia when the phone rang again. Estelle held out her index finger, signaling for Olivia to wait until she finished with her next caller.
    “Could you just tell me where to find Harris? It’s important,” Olivia said, placing her hand on the edge of Estelle’s desk. The phone continued to ring.
    Something ugly flickered in the young woman’s eyes, but she blinked it away and pasted on a bright smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll call him for you. But I’ve got to answer this first.”
    Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she repeated the extensive greeting she’d used on the previous caller, her pen poised over the memo pad.
    Annoyed, Olivia covertly examined Estelle’s calendar. To her surprise, she saw that Estelle had added Harris’s last name to her own and had practiced the signature over and over in the margin. Wedding bells and tiered cakes danced along any available white space, and plump hearts were scattered about.
    This evidence of Estelle’s vision of her future with Harris didn’t please Olivia at all. Harris would make a wonderful husband someday, but Olivia didn’t think that Estelle was a suitable life partner for her friend. In her mind, Estelle was merely one of the girls Harris would date to discover exactly what he was looking for in a spouse. Estelle was pretty, sweet, and bubbly, but she was about as deep as a puddle.
    She was practice for the real thing.
    And then there was Millay. The tension had been escalating between Harris and Millay ever since Estelle had entered the picture, and Olivia knew that it stemmed from the fact that the two young writers were attracted to each other. Millay had dated dozens of men, from bikers to stockbrokers, but she’d never stayed with anyone long enough to form a genuine relationship. Though Millay had an undeniable connection with Harris, Olivia knew that Harris hadn’t ripened into the man he needed to be in order to capture the beautiful bartender’s heart. He was getting closer, but he wasn’t quite there. He needed another dose of confidence, a dash of bravado, and a bit more worldly experience before he had the necessary ingredients to woo his fellow writer.
    Olivia was positive that Harris was precisely what the fearless bartender needed: someone to challenge her on a mental level, treat her tenderly, and win her respect not by possessing a muscular physique or fat bank account, but with a sharp wit and ready humor.
    “I’ll ring Harris’s extension now, but I’m not sure what the company policy is about having dogs in the building,” Estelle said, a jester’s practiced smile stretched across her face. “And what can I tell him this is about?”
    “It’s personal,” Olivia said flatly. “And you have my word that Haviland won’t soil the carpet.”
    Again, that flicker of hostility appeared in the young woman’s eyes, but she looked down at the phone and pressed some keys with manicured nails. She baby-talked into the receiver until Olivia had to step back lest Estelle see the disgusted curl of her lip.
    Harris jogged into the lobby less than a minute later. “This is so cool!” He exclaimed to Olivia. “I’ve never had a friend visit me at work before!” He scratched Haviland on the head and then noticed the canvas tote bag. “Whoa. Is that the painting?”
    Olivia nodded. “Can we go sit somewhere? An empty conference room or staff lounge?”
    “Sure.” Harris waved at Estelle. “Thanks for paging me.”
    “Anytime, sweetie,” she cooed. “And I won’t tell anyone that you’ve got a dog back there with you.” She drew a finger across her lips to seal in the secret.
    Flushing, Harris led Olivia through a warren of hallways. He poked his head in a small conference room and signaled for Olivia to enter. “This one has food left from the bigwig’s lunch meeting. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He gestured at a sandwich platter flanked by a bowl of red apples and a row of soda cans and snack-sized bags of potato chips. “It doesn’t look like much, but this is the