The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

her.
    “Chivas Regal over ice.” Julesy, the bartender, put Olivia’s drink on a white paper napkin featuring The Bayside Crab House logo and then started to clean off the bar with quick, efficient strokes.
    “Another for the chef, if you would,” Olivia said, envying the girl’s energy. She didn’t seem tired at all, even though she’d been racing from one end of the bar to the other all night, serving glasses of frothy microbrews and an array of colorful frozen cocktails. Julesy was Gabe’s cousin and had the same all-American good looks as The Boot Top’s barkeep. With her sun-streaked hair, tanned skin, athletic figure, and sincere smile, she’d been an immediate hit with the crab house clientele.
    “Let’s pour a round for the staff,” Olivia suggested to Julesy’s barback, a reserved Hispanic man in his early twenties. “I’d like to raise a toast to an amazing night.”
    Julesy nodded in approval. She and Raulo began to line up pint glasses and fill them with a light summer wheat beer. The color was beautiful, reminiscent of sunrise at the beach or the vibrant gold of crisp corn.
    Olivia kicked off her pumps and curled her toes over the rung of the barstool. The live band, which had played Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley songs for the past three hours, had mercifully turned off their amps and mics. They’d have to return tomorrow night and perform the entire set again, yet they seemed in no hurry to leave. In fact, the atmosphere in the restaurant was downright festive. Even as the bone-tired waitstaff wiped tables and swept the floor, they laughed and chatted animatedly as though they hadn’t just pushed their bodies to the limit over the past eight hours.
    When Hudson entered the bar area, he was met with a round of applause and shrill whistles. He waved off this show of praise, his dark eyes glimmering with pleasure. He clinked glasses with Olivia and took a generous swallow of Chivas Regal.
    “Best tips I’ve ever made,” the waitress named Angie told one of her coworkers. “If every weekend’s like this, I’ll be able to pay for graduate school.”
    “And I can quit the gym,” the waiter replied, and the pair raised their pint glasses in Olivia’s direction. She gave them a regal nod over the rim of her tumbler.
    Confident that her employees could finish closing the restaurant without her watchful eye, Olivia picked up her shoes, said good night to Hudson, and collected a groggy Haviland from the office. At home, she managed to brush her teeth and wash her face before falling into bed. She slept, but her dreams were filled with images of lobster claws and paintings of a forest in winter.

    The next morning, Olivia woke late, filled a thermos with coffee, and took Haviland down to the beach for a walk. Saturdays were traditionally treasure hunt days, but her muscles still ached from last night’s exertions and she didn’t feel like toting the metal detector or trench shovel.
    After the leisurely stroll, she showered and dressed in a gauzy cotton sundress in an indigo hue and a pair of silver sandals and headed into town for brunch at Grumpy’s. She brought her laptop along out of habit but never actually removed it from the case. Her meal of eggs Benedict with a side of sliced strawberries was constantly interrupted. By this time, word of Nick Plumley’s death was all over town, and Dixie wanted to hear every detail. The Oyster Bay gossip chain had somehow gotten hold of the fact that Olivia had discovered the body.
    Cautioning her friend that the writer’s demise was still under investigation, therefore preventing her from sharing certain aspects of the case, Olivia managed to satisfy Dixie’s curiosity by describing how she’d smashed the window with Plumley’s patio chair. “But there was nothing I could do to revive him.”
    At that point, Olivia abruptly stopped speaking. There was no way she was going to mention the book pages stuffed into the writer’s mouth.
    Dixie, who was clad in a frayed denim skirt, rainbow tube socks, and a T-shirt reading, “Ms. Pac-Man for President,” dropped into the seat opposite Olivia. Using a spoon, she examined her feathered hair in the reflection and flattened a stiff, heavily gelled lock back into submission. She then studied Olivia with a solemn expression. “You’re just one of those people, ’Livia.”
    “What does that mean?” Olivia growled.
    Dixie shrugged, never the slightest bit flustered by Olivia’s gruffness.