Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

one sip of water and then asked me for a refill. Demanded crisp bacon and then told me it was too crunchy to eat. Ordered white toast and then wanted to know why I didn’t serve her wheat. Bet she’ll leave me a crap tip too.” She stood and gave her tank top an irritated tug. “She’s lucky I’m not the type of waitress who spits in people’s food.”
    She skated off, leaving Olivia to read the
Gazette
. Haviland looked out the window and seemed perfectly content to watch the passersby.
    The paper was filled with short articles about the day’s boat race and included numerous photographs of previous winners and their vessels. The regatta had increased in size each year, and because local merchants contributed to the cash prizes, the competition had grown fiercer than ever. So many entrants had tried to circumvent the construction rules that each craft had to be vetted by a special committee within twenty-four hours of the race.
    This event was almost as well attended as the actual race and hundreds of bets were placed the moment the boats were unveiled. Of course, the authorities couldn’t openly condone gambling, but Chief Rawlings and the rest of the force had chosen to pretend that they didn’t know about the money exchanging hands on the docks, in the bars, and in the back room of the hardware store.
    “Which horse are you gonna back?” Dixie said as she returned with Haviland’s food and a frittata for Olivia. “Harris’s? That boy sure knows how to build a boat. Oh, Grumpy wanted me to tell you that you’ve got cherry tomatoes, goat cheese, fresh basil, and corn mixed in with your eggs. Enjoy.” She put Haviland’s plate on the floor. After he jumped down to eat, she took his seat, folded her hands, and wriggled a little with excitement. “My cousin’s here for the storyteller’s retreat. I haven’t seen him for ages. Probably because he’s been in and out of jail since we were kids.”
    Because her mouth was full, Olivia registered her surprise by lifting her brows.
    “What? Doesn’t everyone have a few thugs hangin’ on the family tree?” Dixie chuckled. “Lowell’s pretty harmless as criminals go. He’s just never been fond of payin’ for things. He’d see somethin’ he wanted, and if he couldn’t afford it, he’d steal it. Most of the time he avoided gettin’ caught, but the older he got, the more darin’ he grew.”
    “So how is he involved in the retreat? Is he going to move through the audience picking pockets?”
    Most people would have been offended by the question, but Dixie let out a roar of laughter. “Don’t give him any notions, you hear?” She flipped the
Gazette
to the back page, pointing to the list of performer biographies. “See? Here he is. Lowell Reid. He’s Miss Violetta’s assistant. Takes care of her bookings, costumes, and props.”
    “That’s a far cry from larceny,” Olivia said. “You must be proud of him for straightening out.”
    “I am, but I’m a bit confused too. Last time I heard from his mama she told me that Lowell had been arrested. He was locked up somewhere in the western part of the state, and after he finally got out, this Violetta lady hired him. Lowell’s mama said she was gonna be real famous soon because some college professor was writin’ a book about her and the history of Appalachian folktales. Unfortunately for her, he died before he could finish his work. See.”
    Dixie pointed at a photograph of a middle-aged man seated in a cabin in the woods. Clutching a notebook and pen, he appeared to be deep in conversation with a very old woman. As Olivia studied the photograph, Grumpy stuck his head out of the kitchen and signaled for Dixie to pick up an order. She excused herself, leaving Olivia to wonder how the professor, whose name was Alfred Hicks, had died. The paper didn’t mention the cause of death, but storytellers from the Appalachian region were quoted as saying they were shocked and saddened by his loss and were