The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

of chicken. “I’ve been concerned about the same thing, but we could be blowing this out of proportion. We have no facts as of this point, and we need to gather some quickly.”
    Harris opened a can of Fanta and drank a swallow. “Yeah, because I don’t want any of us to end up with pages of manuscripts crammed down our throats.” He ran his hands through his ginger-colored hair. “We need to figure out why Nick’s research set the killer off. If we don’t, I could be the next victim. This lunatic might come to my place in search of the painting or whatever connection Nick thought my house had to his story.”
    Olivia saw the fear in her friend’s face. “Chief Rawlings has asked me to investigate the history of the families who used to live in your house, and I intend to begin this afternoon. Harris, I will do everything in my power to figure out this riddle. Millay and Laurel can assist me. Laurel can dig through the newspaper archives, and Millay can help me sift through the records at town hall.”
    “I can’t just send my female friends all over town to solve this mystery while I design a fairy forest for some stupid computer game.” Harris squared his shoulders and sat up a fraction straighter. “I need to get my hands on Nick’s computer. There’s got to be a clue in his files as to why someone wanted to silence him before he could publish that sequel.”
    “Talk to the chief.” Olivia rose and carefully shouldered the tote bag. “And forget about critiquing my chapter on Saturday. We’ve got more important things to do.”
    Harris absently put a hand to his throat. “Like staying alive.”

Chapter 8
    One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted,
One need not be a House;
The Brain has Corridors—surpassing
Material Place
    —EMILY DICKINSON

    O livia and Haviland trotted down the stairs leading to the windowless lower level of the town hall building. The woman in charge of the register of deeds was examining a stack of forms when Olivia appeared at her desk. Her eyes went wide when she noticed the poodle and then her face closed off and she smacked the piece of paper in front of her with a rubber stamp.
    “You can’t have a dog down here, ma’am.” She slammed the stamp down on another piece of paper and continued her work without looking up.
    Glancing around the empty room, Olivia was about to point out that there was no one around to be troubled by Haviland’s presence, but she sensed that the government employee, with her taut ponytail and humorless eyes, was a stickler for rules.
    “He accompanies me for medical reasons,” Olivia whispered and then cleared her throat, as though it shamed her to admit to having such a serious health problem. “Hopefully, I won’t have an episode while I’m here, but I’d best not waste time. My dog is trained to seek help should I start convulsing.” She handed the skeptical clerk a slip of paper bearing Harris’s address. “I need the names of all of this home’s previous owners, please. And I’ll need to make copies of every deed pertaining to this address.”
    The woman hesitated, clearly debating whether it would require more effort to toss Olivia out or simply fulfill her request. Sighing heavily, she turned to her computer and began to type in the address on Oleander Drive.
    It wasn’t long before she presented Olivia with several pages, still warm from the printer. “Anything else, ma’am?” she asked, her mouth puckering as though she’d bitten into something sour.
    Olivia read through the sheets, recognizing names from her conversation with librarian Leona Fairchild, including the Carters and the Robinsons, the couple that sold the house to Harris.
    “There’s an owner missing from this pile,” she murmured and then retrieved a small notebook from her purse. “The White family lived there as well.”
    The clerk crossed her arms over her chest. “Not according to my records.”
    “Can you check again?”
    At this request, the woman’s lips compressed into an angry, thin line. She jabbed a few buttons on her computer keyboard and gestured at the screen. “There were no owners by the name of White at the address. Perhaps you’re mistaken.”
    Suppressing a surge of annoyance, Olivia stared at the street address and then shook the pages in her hands like they were pompoms. “You’re brilliant!” she told the startled clerk. “The house was moved during the highway expansion project. This address is only current