By Ellery Adams
Within the small coastal city of Oyster Bay, North Carolina, you will find lots of characters, ne'er-do-wells, and even a number of celebs attempting to duck the paparazzi. but if homicide joins this curious neighborhood, the Bayside publication Writers are there to get the story... Olivia Limoges is the topic of continuous gossip. Ever due to the fact she got here again to town-a go back as mysterious as her departure-Olivia has saved to herself, her puppy, and her unfinished novel. With a bit cajoling from the eminently fascinating author Camden Ford, she is of the same opinion to hitch the Bayside e-book Writers, holiday her writer's block, or even make a number of friends... but if townspeople begin turning up useless with haiku poems left through the our bodies, a person with an aptitude for language is unexpectedly suspect. And it truly is as much as Olivia to capture the killer ahead of she meets her personal shock finishing. Watch a Video
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Additional info for A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery 01)
The dull ache in her heart throbbed to life and the image of her mother—tan, freckled, and laughing as she leapt through a fan of sprinkler water—appeared before Olivia’s eyes. It was one of the last times they’d been together, and Olivia remembered the ghost of a rainbow shimmering in the water’s mist, her mother’s long legs severing the colors, only to discover they’d re-formed instantaneously in her wake. Olivia stood, thinking that her few precious memories of her mother were as ephemeral as that summer rainbow.
Oh, but don’t worry. ” Laurel had misinterpreted the noise as anxiety. ” Millay rolled her eyes. “And that’s a waste of time if you ask me! We’ll never get better if we just sit around blowing smoke up each other’s asses. ” She pointed a slim finger at Olivia. ” Harris, who had been stealing glances at Millay all evening, dusted the crumbs from a prosciutto and gruyere pinwheel off his long-fingered hands and reached into a plastic bag resting next to his feet. “I had this cool English teacher in high school who never used a red pen.
I’m not little. ‘Little’ implies young or innocent. Like a cute puppy or a baby bird. I’m a middle-aged waitress with a litter of children and a permanent tan. I smoke and do shots of tequila and I’m not cute. ‘Sides, I haven’t been innocent since the eighth grade. And do you have any idea how much I hate havin’ to wear clothes from Walmart’s kid’s department? ” Today, Dixie was garbed in denim overalls, a green-and-white-striped T-shirt, and rainbow leg warmers. Her hair was meticulously feathered as though she were a diminutive version of Farrah Fawcett and her large, ale brown eyes were amplified by a layer of frosty baby blue shadow that spanned the entire area of skin from upper lid to brow.