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

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 dedicating future performances to him.
    As she ate, Olivia continued to read about the participants of both the children and adult programs. By the time she and Haviland had cleaned their plates, Dixie returned with the check.
    “Professor Hicks was by no means old. And he must have been in decent shape to be hiking through the Appalachians,” Olivia mused aloud. “It says here that he was in his late forties. Did Lowell mention how he died?”
    Dixie nodded. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “The officials said that his death was an accident. Word has it that he went out at night, lost his footin’, and fell. Broke his neck. End of story. But when I talked to Lowell on the phone the other day, he said there was more to it than that. Somethin’ he refuses to talk about. Somethin’ that scared the tar out of him.”
    Intrigued, Olivia stared at her friend. “If Alfred Hicks didn’t slip, then what happened to him?”
    “I wouldn’t say this with a straight face if it hadn’t come straight from Lowell’s lips, but he thinks the professor was killed.” Dixie’s face was pinched and humorless. “Murdered by the light of the moon.”
    “By whom?” Olivia asked.
    Dixie leaned closer and whispered so softly that Olivia could barely hear her say, “By a ghost.”

Chapter 3
    The universe is made of stories, not atoms.
    — M URIEL R UKEYSER
    O livia knew that Dixie was fully prepared to elaborate, but when Grumpy’s face suddenly appeared around the side of the swinging door leading to the kitchen, it was clear that he wasn’t pleased. Scowling, he beckoned for his wife to come into the kitchen.
    “Lord, why do the orders have to stack up just when I’ve got somethin’ interestin’ to talk about!” she complained and skated away.
    Olivia watched the woman in the
Cats
booth stuff the table’s entire supply of sugar and sugar substitute packets into her voluminous purse before walking out of the diner. Dixie had been right in fearing the disgruntled customer wouldn’t leave a tip, for when Olivia got up to investigate, she saw that the woman had done something far worse than stiff Dixie. She’d left a single quarter sitting in the middle of a puddle of syrup.
    “What a piece of work,” Olivia muttered and dropped a five-dollar bill next to the coin but clear of the syrup. If she left a larger tip, Dixie would surmise that the money hadn’t come from the sugar thief, and she’d be offended.
    Having restored balance on Dixie’s behalf, Olivia signaled to Haviland that it was time to leave, and the pair headed down to the docks.
    “It’s already so crowded,” she told her poodle, but he didn’t seem to mind the mass of people. His warm brown eyes glinted in the sunlight, and his mouth hung open in a relaxed smile. Olivia grinned at him. “You’re just hoping Diane and the gals who groom you will be here. You’re shamelessly greedy. You just had breakfast and you’re dreaming of treats.”
    At the sound of the word, Haviland barked and quickened his pace. Olivia let him walk in front of her. The big black dog cut a path through the throng of merchants and spectators, and Olivia followed in his wake, knowing full well that she’d have to rein him in before they got too close to the shrimp stall. Haviland adored shrimp, but