Free Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) by Ellery Adams Page B

stay at our place.”
    “We don’t have any room,” Grumpy said, his voice a low growl.
    “Two of the kids could sleep in a tent in the yard. They love bein’ in the open air.”
    Grumpy frowned. “Yeah, because then they can sneak out with their friends and get into all sorts of trouble. And we’d never know they were gone unless one of their brothers or sisters decided to rat on them.”
    Olivia knew that the Weaver children were a handful. Each of their four or five kids—Olivia was constantly forgetting how many they had—seemed to be more mischievous than the next.
    “It seems to me that Violetta needs Lowell around for more than just performances,” she said, hoping to distract the married couple before their argument could escalate. “He handles her bookings too.” Olivia pointed at Dixie’s roller skates. “Since I haven’t seen him in a pair of those, does Violetta do all the driving or does Lowell have a modified car?”
    “He was one of the first dwarves I knew with a pedal extender,” Dixie boasted. “Put it on his car himself when he was only seventeen. He was always good with tools.”
    “Yeah, especially with lock picks and bolt cutters,” Grumpy muttered, and Dixie gave him a slug to the stomach.
    Olivia pointed at Dixie’s glass. “I think you need a refill. See you two later.”
    Dixie raised her brows. “Where are you goin’? The chief’s still here, so are you runnin’ home to warm up the bed for him?”
    “I’m on a mission,” Olivia replied. “One you’ll read about in the
Gazette
, I hope.”
    Leaving Dixie to mull over her enigmatic statement, Olivia stepped into the humid night.
    The chill she’d felt inside the library instantly became a memory, and she shucked off her sweater. By the time she reached her Range Rover, she was already thirsty. Tossing her sweater on the passenger seat, she leaned against her car and drank from the tepid bottle of water she kept in the center console. As she rehydrated, she gazed at the dull-gray sky.
    “Everything looks washed out,” she murmured to herself. The moon was as colorless as sand, and even the stars seemed to have lost their luster, turning as dry and gritty as the rest of the North Carolina coast.
    Olivia decided to ask Violetta if she knew any stories about drought once Laurel was done with her interview. She sipped her water and reflected on how she could apply Violetta’s advice to her novel. After ten minutes passed, and then another five, she grew restless.
    “Where are they?” she demanded of the silent parking lot.
    The lights from the library shone in the darkness, and swarms of gnats and moths gathered around the streetlamps lining the sidewalks. Olivia’s gaze followed one of the lit paths that curved behind the library. Wondering if Violetta was waiting for her by the staff entrance, she tossed her empty water bottle onto the passenger seat and headed for the back of the building.
    However, she saw no sign of Lowell or Violetta, and when she tried the door that led into the conference room, it was locked. She found that strange. After all, she’d seen Lowell exit through it twenty minutes ago.
    Olivia was rapidly becoming irritated. Laurel would undoubtedly have reached the lighthouse keeper’s cottage by now and would be pacing the floorboards in anticipation. The thought increased Olivia’s indignation.
    “Hello!” She pounded on the door. “Lowell? Violetta?”
    She put her ear against the warm metal and listened for the slightest sound, but she heard nothing.
    “Damn it all,” she muttered and strode around to the front entrance again. Shoulders squared, she pushed through the boisterous crowd. She was just about to break free from the press when a hand closed around her arm.
    “I thought you’d gone,” Rawlings said.
    She shook her head. “I’m supposed to have left, yes. Violetta told me to wait in the parking lot, but she’s never come out.”
    Rawlings shrugged. “She’s an artiste.