A Deadly Cliche

kitchen was silent, its stainless steel surfaces, pots, and utensils gleaming under the overhead lights.

Olivia inhaled the odors still clinging to the air from last night’s meal. She detected cilantro and garlic, rosemary and butter, ground mustard, fresh scallions, and a faint trace of warm apples and nutmeg. Haviland raised his snout high and sniffed eagerly, but the lingering scent of braised lamb chops refused to materialize into lunch.

“I’ll whip you up some meat and veggies in a bit, Captain. I’ve got the budget to balance and this week’s menu to review first.”

Haviland snorted, displeased to be at the mercy of the whims of his mistress. To illustrate his unhappiness, he refused to keep her company by curling up on the plush dog bed in her office. Instead, he trotted through the kitchen into the lounge and stretched out at the foot of the baby grand. The two companions ignored one another for the better part of an hour before a knock on the rear door startled Haviland into a frenzy of barking.

Assuming that a deliveryman had confused the days of the week, Olivia looked through the door’s peephole and then turned to the poodle. “It’s okay, Captain. It’s Laurel.”

Olivia opened the door and stepped aside to let Laurel in. “This is a surprise. How did you ever find me here?”

Laurel pushed a tendril of damp hair from her cheek and blushed prettily. “I’ve been stalking you since this morning. I drove to your house and then cruised through town, hoping to spot your Range Rover. When I couldn’t find your car anywhere, I decided I had nothing to lose by coming to the restaurant. Steve and the twins are at a Labor Day moon bounce party, so I have about twenty minutes left before I have to be back.”

“Has something happened?” Olivia led her friend through the kitchen and into the bar. “Do I need to start pouring?”

Laurel waved off the suggestion. “No, it’s nothing like that! I wouldn’t have bothered you at all, but you’re the only woman I’m close to who actually enjoys her work. My other friends prefer to shop, and cook, and do crafty stuff at home . . .” She sighed and pointed at one of the leather club chairs. “Can we sit down?”

Unaccustomed to social visits at the restaurant, Olivia recovered her manners and offered Laurel her pick of refreshments, but the younger woman was only interested in capturing Olivia’s full attention. “I woke up this morning and realized I don’t like being at home all the time anymore. Actually, I feel a little trapped, and what I want, well . . . I want a job!”

“Here?” Olivia was dumbfounded.

“No!” Laurel hastily replied. “No offense, but I’m done with waitressing! I worked at a Mulligans to help pay for college. I will never wear suspenders again!” She covered her collarbone with her hands as though to assure herself that the offensive accessory was no longer present.

Olivia gave a soft laugh. “What job would you like?”

“I want to apply for the part-time writer position advertised in yesterday’s paper.” Laurel’s light blue eyes twinkled. “I saw the ad and figured, why wait to become a published writer? I can start small, gain experience, and build a writing resume. I used to write for my high school paper and I loved it!”

Olivia was impressed. “Sounds like a good opportunity. So what’s the quandary?”

Turning pink with embarrassment, Laurel fiddled with the ends of her ponytail. “Steve doesn’t support my decision to work part-time and frankly, neither do my in-laws.”

“I thought they moved to Oyster Bay to help you with the twins. Let them watch the boys while you work.”

Laurel smirked. “If you count buying the most expensive and noisy toys known to man, feeding them junk food, and keeping them up past their bedtime ‘helping,’ then they’re doing more than enough, thank you very much!” She shook her head, ashamed of her outburst. “Oh my, that sounds so ungrateful, but whenever I want to do something for myself, they get really busy all of a sudden. If Steve wants to go out, then they’re over in a flash, hands filled with choking hazard toys and snacks made of twelve different kinds of sugar. But they never want to babysit if it means I get to do something just for me.”

Olivia was at a loss. She’d never had problems like Laurel’s. She didn’t have children, a husband, or in-laws. Still, her employees often came to her seeking advice concerning personal problems and she always listened intently and gave them honest counsel. Though she was unskilled at delivering her recommendations with gentleness, she made up for her directness with sincerity. In Laurel’s case, Olivia decided to be as forthright as always.

“If you want this job, then you should apply for it. This is the modern era, Laurel! You don’t need your husband’s permission, though it would be nice to have his support.” She tried to ease off the judgmental tone. “Aren’t the twins doing some preschool kind of thing starting tomorrow?”

“It’s just a mom’s morning out provided by the church. The boys will go twice a week for two hours and I don’t think that would give me enough time to research and write more than one article for the Oyster Bay Gazette.”

Olivia considered this. “No, you’ll certainly need more free time than that.” A mischievous glint entered her eyes. “What if you told the in-laws that you needed their babysitting services twice a week so that you could do an activity that would meet with their approval?”

Laurel frowned. “Like what?”

“I remember you telling the Bayside Writers that Steve’s mother has always been critical of your culinary skills. Tell her that in order for Steve and the boys to dine on the best possible meals you need to enroll in a cooking class. I bet she’ll offer to babysit in a flash.” Olivia sat back, feeling smug.

“You think I should lie?” Laurel looked aghast.

Olivia shrugged. “If you truly want this job, then you tell your family that you’re applying for it and that’s that or you’re going to have to bend the truth until you’re ready to stand up for yourself. They obviously see nothing wrong with you dancing like a puppet on strings. You’re late nearly every Saturday because you feel guilty leaving your family. Don’t be ashamed because you’re pursuing a dream, Laurel!” Olivia knew she was being deliberately harsh, but she wanted her friend to gain a measure of freedom. “Are you a puppet or are you a writer?”

Laurel pressed her lips together and then yelled, “I’m a writer! They think they can control everything I do, but I’m my own person. I’m not just a mother and a wife! I’m me too! Laurel! There are things I’m good at, even though I can’t smock or cook coq au vin.” She nibbled a fingernail. “Um, where would I be taking this fictional cooking class?”

Wordlessly, Olivia gestured around the empty restaurant.

“Oh, you’re the best!” Laurel did one of her trademark happy hand claps coupled with a great deal of bouncing up and down on the chair. “But what happens when I burn the Thanksgiving turkey again?”

“Leave the culinary dilemmas to me. You march right down to that newspaper and apply for that job.” She eyed Laurel’s outfit. “But go home and put something else on first. I think you’ve got maple syrup on your shirt and a piece of pancake mashed into your necklace.”

“That would be Dermot.” Laurel examined the stains with pride and then rose slowly to her feet. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m about to deceive my family and I know it should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. I want this job and I deserve a chance to do something more fulfilling than laundry and grocery shopping!”

Olivia wished her friend good luck and tried not to stiffen when Laurel suddenly embraced her. The younger woman then jogged out to her car, her ponytail swinging like a golden scythe.

Haviland cocked his head and stared at his mistress.

“What are you looking at?” Olivia demanded and the poodle flashed her a toothy smile. “You’d better not give me that ‘you’re a softie’ look if you want lamb with rice and peas! After all, this is how normal people are supposed to act. They’re supposed to listen to one another and accept hugs without turning to stone and—”

Haviland cut her off with a quick howl that sounded much like laughter.

“You’re right, I’ll never be quite like that, but I am trying to cast off my Ice Queen image.” She opened the walk-in refrigerator and Haviland’s ears perked up. “Maybe ‘cast off’ isn’t the best word choice. Perhaps ‘defrost’ is a better way of putting it. Ah, here’s the lamb!”

Pressing his snout against Olivia’s palm, Haviland searched for bite-sized cubes of juicy lamb and, sensing they were close at hand, began to shift his front paws in anticipation.

Once Olivia had satisfied her poodle’s hunger, she satiated her own by fixing a spinach salad with lamb, feta