Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

hurricane and that the loss still haunted her.
    Michel grabbed her gently by the wrist, preventing her from making contact with the starfish. “You don’t need that anymore. You have a new family. Me, your writer friends, Dixie, Rawlings.”
    Olivia gave Michel a small, grateful smile, squeezed his hand once, and then let it go. After calling Haviland, who’d been waiting for her signal by the back door, she disappeared into the sanctuary of her tiny office.
    Soon she heard Michel begin to hum a tune in a robust and merry tenor. The sous-chefs had obviously relaxed and the rhythms of the kitchen resumed. Olivia could once again hear The Boot Top’s unique melody: the hiss of steam, the blades of knives kissing the wood cutting board, the entwining of Spanish, French, and North Carolina accents.
    Olivia sighed in contentment. This was the music of her here and now. And it was beautiful.

Chapter 3
    A town is saved, not more by the righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it.
    —H ENRY D AVID T HOREAU
    T he little Boston Whaler bounced across the harbor, leaving a narrow trail of white foam in its wake. Flecks of salt water speckled Olivia’s face, hair, and hands, but she didn’t mind. Neither did Haviland, who licked at the air and smiled widely. The poodle enjoyed a boat ride even more than a car trip because he could stand on the deck. He was so content that he appeared to have forgiven Olivia for strapping him into a canine life jacket.
    For her own part, Olivia had refused the boatman’s offer of a life jacket. She wanted to feel the wind ripple her clothing and gently chafe her skin. Besides, the harbor was calm today and the man working the shift and throttle levers handled them deftly, his alert gaze constantly sweeping from east to west in search of approaching vessels.
    She’d found her ride to the creek that ran alongside the eastern boundary of the Croatan National Forest by asking questions at the docks on Friday afternoon. After the shrimp boats had tied up their trawlers for the day, she purchased a generous amount of fresh seafood for both The Boot Top Bistro and The Bayside Crab House and then made subtle inquiries on how to reach a recluse named Munin.
    The shrimpers knew Munin only as “the witch” and none were interested in taking Olivia within a mile of her swamp, but one of the captains knew someone who would.
    “Fellow by the name Harlan Scott knows how to find her,” the grizzled seaman said. “But look out, girlie. There are wild things in that swamp. Things you won’t see comin’, things that’ll creep out of the shadows like a shark risin’ from the deep water. Bring a big stick. Maybe even the kind that fires bullets.”
    Olivia had disregarded the fisherman’s advice and left her Browning BPR rifle in the coat closet. Instead, she’d packed insect repellant, a canteen of water, Haviland’s travel bowl, a granola bar, a bag of dried beef strips, and something that was precious to her into a sturdy knapsack.
    Yesterday, she’d felt prepared to face the witch, but now, as the sun-bleached shore of the parkland grew closer and Harlan eased off the throttle, dulling the motorboat’s roar to a low rumble, she wasn’t so sure.
    She and Harlan hadn’t exchanged a single word during the crossing, but Olivia suddenly wanted to speak with her guide. She stood and moved next to him, her body close to the steering wheel. “How did you come to know Munin?” she called over the sound of the engine and the wind.
    Harlan kept his eyes fixed on the water. “I used to be a park ranger. Knew every inch of this place.” He encompassed the land before them with a sweep of his arm. “I was clearing one of the trails when I lost my footing and stepped on a fallen log. The eastern diamondback rattlesnake hiding underneath didn’t appreciate the intrusion. He bit me twice before he ever made a noise. Couldn’t radio for help because I hadn’t bothered to check my battery before heading out that morning. I hollered as loud as I could, hoping against hope that someone would hear me.”
    “And Munin did?”
    He nodded. “She saved my life.”
    Olivia hadn’t expected this. “How? I thought the venom from an eastern diamondback was lethal.”
    “She had antivenom. She’s got vials of the stuff from a bunch of different snakes. We’ve got copperheads, cottonmouths, and rattlers in the forest. Munin milked all of the poisonous ones and injected a bit of venom