By Ellery Adams
Whereas strolling her poodle, Olivia Limoges discovers a useless physique buried within the sand. may perhaps it's hooked up to the weird burglaries plaguing Oyster Bay, North Carolina? At each crime scene, the thieves manage bizarre tableaus: a stick of butter with a knife via it, dolls with silver spoons of their mouths, a deck of playing cards with a lacking queen. Olivia realizes each one setup represents a clich?. And who higher to decode the clich? clues than her Bayside e-book Writers team?
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Extra info for A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery 02)
Fergusson grinned, displaying a mouthful of tobaccostained teeth. “Look out, mister. That dog’s a black devil. He’ll bite your hand off if you take another step closer to Olivia. ” Olivia smiled, pausing at the fixings bar near the front door. The tourist turned to Fergusson, mistakenly assuming that Olivia had left the café when, in fact, she had decided to add another splash of cream to her to-go cup. ” the tourist asked, his back to the door. ” “Owns most of it,” Fergusson replied, knowing full well that Olivia was listening.
She fastened her weapon belt, holstered her photon pistol, and twisted her fiery red hair into a Samurai’s knot. “Damn it all! ” She traced the stars of her tattoo again, as if they could somehow take her through a wormhole, to another time before the tragedy. She was sixteen years old and all alone. Her parents, her closest friends, and the man she was meant to marry were gone. Chosen Ones were not supposed to cry. Zenobia’s pride stopped the tears from coming, but there was a yawning emptiness in her chest, like a part of her had been carved out and jettisoned into deep space.
Setting the metal detector on the ground, she approached the bucket warily. ” She looked at Haviland, but he answered with an urgent bark. It was not a horseshoe crab. Olivia searched for a stick. There were none by the water’s edge, so she climbed up the dunes and came back with a dried reed stalk. She paused to tie a bandana around the bottom half of her face, her breathing becoming shallower out of trepidation. The smell spoke of death and rot and things not meant to be exposed to the harsh light of the morning sun.
A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery 02) by Ellery Adams