Read The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery) for Free Online Page A

nurse swept over her at the memory.
    Kim looked down at the floor, discomfited by the topic, but Caitlyn moved forward and took hold of Olivia’s hand. “But I’m glad she wrote it, because my daddy found a sister,” she whispered and then immediately retreated to the floor and buried her small fingers in Haviland’s fur.
    After the Salters left, Olivia stood in the doorway of her office, studying Michel’s face as he shoved a live lobster deep into a pot of boiling water.
    Nothing struck her as being amiss.
    But I’ve been wrong before, Olivia thought and returned to the bar for a refill.

Chapter 3
    As for my next book, I am going to hold myself from writing it till I have it impending in me: grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.
    —VIRGINIA WOOLF

    O livia came home from an exhilarating inspection of the refurbished harborside warehouse that would soon become The Bayside Crab House and brewed a pot of strong coffee. Carrying the coffee and a white chocolate chip biscotti to her desk overlooking the ocean, she printed out Laurel’s chapter, uncapped the green pen Harris had given each of the writers to use for critiques, and began to read.
    No one ever explained what was meant by happily ever after.
    I asked. Through a champagne haze, I voiced the question during my bachelorette party. My married friends exchanged lopsided, knowing smiles and murmured vague replies about the rewards of serving my husband wholesome meals, creating a home of my own, and giving birth to children.
    But there was something in their eyes that betrayed their words. It was an indistinct flash, a hesitation brought on by self-doubt. I didn’t recognize what their looks meant at the time. I believed my friends were just searching for thoughtful answers.
    In reality, of course, they were simply considering how much to lie to me the eve before my wedding, before I would walk down the aisle, white rose petals scattered at my feet.
    They kept their secrets close. The wives.
    It was my first lesson.
    Later, after I became one of them, I checked off the list of the requirements they’d deemed necessary for me to live happily ever after. I cooked my husband meals that could outshine any restaurant’s, I decorated our home until it resembled a magazine spread, and I gave birth to three healthy children.
    When nothing magical happened to my marriage after our third child entered the world, I began to work harder at my job. I gardened, ran for miles to turn my body into a toned work of art, and coordinated the social events sponsored by my husband’s company. I even got us accepted to the finest country club in town. My husband finally got to play golf on the course of his dreams.
    And still, not a speck of glimmering fairy dust rained down onto our marital bed. There were no sparks of enchantment in my husband’s eyes when he looked at me across a candlelit table. He didn’t reach for my hand in the dark movie theater or whisper his hopes and fears across my pillow before we drifted off to sleep. We made love like it was a chore on Saturday’s to-do list. My husband never murmured my name.
    Somehow, I had failed.
    Olivia put down her pen, too stunned to make a single mark on Laurel’s paper.
    “What is this?” she asked, flipping to the next page and skimming over the lines. “What happened to the duchess? She was falling for the highwayman. He was on his way to collect the ransom from the duke. Laurel had set up an ambush. This is supposed to be the ambush scene!”
    Reaching for her computer mouse, she clicked on Laurel’s e-mail. Olivia hadn’t bothered to read her friend’s note. Too interested in seeing what would befall the rakish highwayman, she’d just opened the file and printed out the chapter. Now she carefully read Laurel’s note.

    Dear Bayside Book Writers:
    I am not sending any more chapters about the duchess. I’m shelving that project for now. I just didn’t feel