Read Online Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) by Ellery Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ellery Adams
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stand a chance.”
Clearly taken aback, Laurel looked at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed.
Olivia wanted to learn more about the intriguing storyteller too, and so she decided to help Laurel obtain an interview. “I sense that Miss Violetta values her privacy,” she said to Lowell. “Would she agree to a phone conversation?”
Lowell shook his head. “She doesn’t do phones. That’s why I’m in charge of her bookings and travel arrangements.”
This gave Olivia pause. Was it possible that Violetta faced strangers only when in her entertainer persona? Did she suffer from a complex social phobia perhaps? “Would it help if Laurel sat in a different room?” she asked on a whim. “They could speak through a crack in the door.”
“Sorry, lady, but it’s not gonna happen. My boss—”
“I’ll see you.” Violetta’s voice swept over them like a wind. It was cool and strong and musical. “But not here. I need a dark, quiet place, and I gotta be able to smoke.”
Olivia thought quickly. “I have a small cottage on the beach. You’d have to drive there, but it’s private and you can sit on the back porch. The moon is weak tonight so there’s very little light . . .”
Violetta didn’t answer. Millay and Harris exchanged looks as the silence stretched on and on. Lowell had stopped what he was doing and was staring at Olivia in surprise.
“I’ll come,” Violetta finally said. “But I don’t want an audience. Just you, gal.”
“Laurel’s the reporter. I’m just her friend.” Olivia wondered if she should have let Laurel do the talking.
This was followed by another long silence.
“Lowell and I will follow you to this cottage by the sea,” Violetta commanded softly. “Give me ten minutes. I need to collect myself first.”
Olivia looked at Lowell and nodded. Laurel clasped her hands over her heart and scooted into the aisle, gesturing for the rest of the group to pass.
“Do not start jumping up and down,” Olivia warned in a low whisper.
Grinning, Rawlings promised to meet her at her house after the reception. He then congratulated Lowell on a great show and strode from the room.
“Well, since we’re not invited to your private party, I’m going to toss back a few glasses of free booze and then head into work.” Millay saluted Olivia and sauntered off.
Harris hesitated for a moment and then followed her.
Onstage, Lowell closed the lid of the trunk and began to slide it across the floor toward the ramp in the back.
Laurel turned to Olivia, her eyes shimmering with excitement. “You have no idea what a big deal this is! Thank you! Thank you! I have to call Steve and tell him I might be home late and then jot down some key questions. Oh, Lord, I cannot believe it. See you at the cottage?” Without waiting for Olivia to respond, she dashed up the center aisle and disappeared through the doorway.
Lowell had gone outside through the fire exit close to the stage, leaving Olivia alone. She walked to the back of the room and dimmed the lights again. She wanted five minutes to think about how Violetta’s brand of storytelling magic could breathe life into her dying manuscript. Taking a seat in the middle of the room, Olivia could still sense Violetta’s presence. It lingered like the fresh, metallic scent following a summer rainstorm.
Suddenly, she felt chilled again. Rubbing her arms, which had erupted in gooseflesh beneath her cotton sweater, she turned to her right and saw a figure sitting across the aisle.
“There’s always one person who doesn’t leave,” Violetta said. “Somebody like you who wants to soak up the power of the stories for just a little bit longer.”
Violetta didn’t sound the same as she had onstage. Her speech was no longer clear and crisp. It was now the mumbled cadence of her native mountain drawl. It wasn’t seductive or hypnotizing, but Olivia still hung on to every word.
“I was hoping to learn your secret,” she confessed. “I’m writing a
Clearly taken aback, Laurel looked at the floor. Her cheeks were flushed.
Olivia wanted to learn more about the intriguing storyteller too, and so she decided to help Laurel obtain an interview. “I sense that Miss Violetta values her privacy,” she said to Lowell. “Would she agree to a phone conversation?”
Lowell shook his head. “She doesn’t do phones. That’s why I’m in charge of her bookings and travel arrangements.”
This gave Olivia pause. Was it possible that Violetta faced strangers only when in her entertainer persona? Did she suffer from a complex social phobia perhaps? “Would it help if Laurel sat in a different room?” she asked on a whim. “They could speak through a crack in the door.”
“Sorry, lady, but it’s not gonna happen. My boss—”
“I’ll see you.” Violetta’s voice swept over them like a wind. It was cool and strong and musical. “But not here. I need a dark, quiet place, and I gotta be able to smoke.”
Olivia thought quickly. “I have a small cottage on the beach. You’d have to drive there, but it’s private and you can sit on the back porch. The moon is weak tonight so there’s very little light . . .”
Violetta didn’t answer. Millay and Harris exchanged looks as the silence stretched on and on. Lowell had stopped what he was doing and was staring at Olivia in surprise.
“I’ll come,” Violetta finally said. “But I don’t want an audience. Just you, gal.”
“Laurel’s the reporter. I’m just her friend.” Olivia wondered if she should have let Laurel do the talking.
This was followed by another long silence.
“Lowell and I will follow you to this cottage by the sea,” Violetta commanded softly. “Give me ten minutes. I need to collect myself first.”
Olivia looked at Lowell and nodded. Laurel clasped her hands over her heart and scooted into the aisle, gesturing for the rest of the group to pass.
“Do not start jumping up and down,” Olivia warned in a low whisper.
Grinning, Rawlings promised to meet her at her house after the reception. He then congratulated Lowell on a great show and strode from the room.
“Well, since we’re not invited to your private party, I’m going to toss back a few glasses of free booze and then head into work.” Millay saluted Olivia and sauntered off.
Harris hesitated for a moment and then followed her.
Onstage, Lowell closed the lid of the trunk and began to slide it across the floor toward the ramp in the back.
Laurel turned to Olivia, her eyes shimmering with excitement. “You have no idea what a big deal this is! Thank you! Thank you! I have to call Steve and tell him I might be home late and then jot down some key questions. Oh, Lord, I cannot believe it. See you at the cottage?” Without waiting for Olivia to respond, she dashed up the center aisle and disappeared through the doorway.
Lowell had gone outside through the fire exit close to the stage, leaving Olivia alone. She walked to the back of the room and dimmed the lights again. She wanted five minutes to think about how Violetta’s brand of storytelling magic could breathe life into her dying manuscript. Taking a seat in the middle of the room, Olivia could still sense Violetta’s presence. It lingered like the fresh, metallic scent following a summer rainstorm.
Suddenly, she felt chilled again. Rubbing her arms, which had erupted in gooseflesh beneath her cotton sweater, she turned to her right and saw a figure sitting across the aisle.
“There’s always one person who doesn’t leave,” Violetta said. “Somebody like you who wants to soak up the power of the stories for just a little bit longer.”
Violetta didn’t sound the same as she had onstage. Her speech was no longer clear and crisp. It was now the mumbled cadence of her native mountain drawl. It wasn’t seductive or hypnotizing, but Olivia still hung on to every word.
“I was hoping to learn your secret,” she confessed. “I’m writing a
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