The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Laurel. “By now, Chief Rawlings will probably have a press release ready, but let me tell you what happened from my point of view and then you can zoom over to the station to get a quote. And, Laurel, we can forget about critiquing my book on Saturday.”
    “Why?”
    Gesturing at the newspaper article, Olivia said, “Because we need to help the police track down a murderer instead.”

    While the employees of The Bayside Crab House began their trial run, Olivia made phone calls to Harris and Leona Fairchild. Without telling the librarian why she wanted to dig deeper into the background of the former inhabitants of Harris’s house, Olivia asked her how to find out more about the families. The computer-savvy librarian provided her with a simple solution.
    “These days, most public records are available online. You can look up birth, marriage, and death certificates, criminal records, background checks, property values, and even the names and ages of other residents in the household. The further back you go, the fewer the details, but it’s a start.” She gave Olivia the URL. “You can often pay to get more information, especially from some of the genealogical sites. I’ll give you the one I prefer.”
    Armed with this information, Olivia began to delegate tasks. She asked Millay to research the White, Carter, and Robinson families during her shift break at Fish Nets, and if she couldn’t complete the task that night, to return to it the next day. Millay had heard of Nick Plumley’s death only moments before Olivia’s call, but she had no idea that foul play had been involved.
    “How is Harris taking it?” Millay inquired with marked indifference, but Olivia wasn’t fooled. She knew her friend was genuinely concerned.
    “He’s understandably disturbed. After all, the painting came from his house, and Plumley had clearly been searching for it there. Harris is worried that the killer might come looking for it too.”
    Millay was silent for several moments. “Someone needs to find out more about Plumley. So he wanted this painting. Whatever. He didn’t even have it in his possession when he was killed. There’s more to this murder than some old piece of art. It’s got to be about Heinrich Kamler or Plumley. And I mean the man, not the writer. We need to know his background as well as getting the four-one-one on the people who used to live in Harris’s house.”
    “Agreed,” Olivia answered readily. “I’m putting Harris in charge of that. He has the necessary computer skills to hunt for the sort of biographical tidbits not included in the inside flap of The Barbed Wire Flower ’s book jacket.”

    By the time the grand opening celebration of The Bayside Crab House got under way Friday night, Olivia was already exhausted. During yesterday’s trial run, both the wait and kitchen staff had made inexcusable blunders, and Olivia could only pray that having Hudson back in the kitchen, working his magic amid the cacophony of shouting, chopping, and sizzling, would eradicate some of her stress. In fact, when she saw him that afternoon, his face flushed by a geyser of steam billowing from a lobster pot, he was the picture of contentment.
    “How’s Anders?” she asked.
    He gave her a small smile as he dumped a load of crabs into a steamer basket. “He’s doing fine. Thanks . . . for being with him. I’m . . . You’re a good sister.”
    Olivia was spared from having to respond because, at that moment, a flustered waitress burst through the kitchen’s double swing doors, leaving them to flap in her wake like untethered sails in a squall. “Ms. Limoges! The bar’s totally full and it’s only five thirty! We’ve got a huge line of customers waiting outside. What should we do?”
    Hudson and Olivia exchanged satisfied looks. “Pace yourself, Angie,” Olivia told the girl. “It’s going to be a long and profitable night.”
    Her prediction was correct. The restaurant was packed from the moment it opened until well after midnight. Olivia helped out wherever she could; refilling empty glasses, clearing tables, and making small talk with customers. Despite the crowd, the kitchen stayed on top of all the orders, and every dish was presented before the expectant diners warm and fragrant with freshness.
    Olivia’s feet were throbbing by the time the last patron left. While the weary waitstaff began their closing duties, she took a seat at the bar and sent one of the waiters to ask Hudson to join