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

to Charles Wade.
    Her lack of interest in the man who’d sired her was the polar opposite to what she was experiencing now: a strong feeling of connection with the woman across the aisle. Olivia wanted to know Violetta’s secrets. No longer out of curiosity, but because she had a strange desire to befriend her.
    “When you first came onstage tonight, you said that you’d be a ghost before long. What did you mean?”
    Violetta folded her hands in her lap. “Jesus knew Judas would betray him from the very beginnin’. I was born knowin’ I’d be kissed like that one day. My Gethsemane is this town.” She fixed her blue gaze on Olivia. “But it’s a good place. I like how the water stretches on and on until you can’t tell the difference between earth and sky. Last night I saw a million stars. They were floatin’ on the water like diamonds. Bits of fiery ice.”
    Olivia smiled. “You should climb to the top of the lighthouse tonight. The view will take your breath away.”
    “Maybe I will, but for now, you’d best go on.” Violetta abruptly rose to her feet. “I’ll see you in the parkin’ lot directly.” She paused. “Remember. If you’re brave enough to put your real story down on paper, then it will speak to folks. It’ll be a gift to them. But pourin’ out your heart is only part of it. After you’re done with that bit, you’ve gotta spin the most complicated yarns you can. The best stories are equal part truth, equal part lie.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Olivia promised. “Thank you for talking with me.”
    With a nod, Violetta walked off toward the stage, and Olivia picked up her handbag and headed out of the room. As soon as she entered the hallway, she heard the din coming from the reception up ahead. The lobby had a high glass ceiling and a marble floor, so sounds echoed around the space as if they were reverberating inside a large cave.
    Edging her way through the crowd, Olivia noticed several flamboyant outfits. One woman was wearing a turquoise caftan dress and a necklace of orange beads while another was dressed like a Romani gypsy complete with hoop earrings, peasant blouse, and head scarf.
    “They must be the other storytellers,” Olivia murmured to herself, stepping to the side as a man gesticulated with a serpentine-shaped walking stick.
    Leona Fairchild was standing near the buffet table. She held a plastic champagne flute in one hand and gave Olivia a thumbs-up with the other. Olivia smiled at the head librarian, equally pleased by the event’s success, and continued winding her way past Oyster Bay’s art patrons, the library staff, and the mayor.
    Dixie and Grumpy were positioned near the rolling cart of used books for sale just inside the front doors. Dixie’s plastic flute was empty, and she was reaching for her husband’s when Olivia approached. “That was somethin’, wasn’t it?” Dixie said.
    “Indeed it was. And I can see how invaluable Lowell is to Violetta. He keeps everything moving along so that the stories can flow into each other without interruption.”
    Beaming with pride, Dixie elbowed Grumpy in the ribs. “I told you he’d straighten out.” She turned back to Olivia. “Grumpy doesn’t trust Lowell as far as he can throw him. He doesn’t like it that I’m lettin’ him 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,