Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

into her goat. Don’t know how that works, but without that goat I’d be six feet under.”
    “Antibodies,” Olivia murmured, impressed by Munin’s ingenuity. “The goat produced antibodies as a response to the venom.”
    Harlan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Anyhow, I make deliveries for her now and then and I’ll run folks out to see her if they want to go. It’s the least I can do.”
    “How often do people seek her out?”
    The shore was closer now and Harlan slowed the boat until it was barely coasting forward. Olivia could see the mouth of the creek opening up before them. It resembled a wide river now, but she knew enough about the waterways of the North Carolina coast to predict that the shallow banks would draw close together without warning and then continue to narrow until even the diminutive Whaler would be unable to progress any farther.
    Once Harlan had set his craft on a course favoring the right side of the creek, he pushed his faded baseball cap back on his head and scratched his brow. “Less and less,” he said, answering Olivia’s question. “And they all look the same. Full of fear and hope and a little desperation. Sometimes she has answers. Sometimes not.”
    “Do I seem desperate?” She kept her tone light, but there was a hint of hesitation in her voice.
    Harlan’s gaze took in the thick underbrush of the salt marsh and the cypress trees rising in the distance. “Everybody is at one point or another. That’s when folks seem to need Munin most.”
    His reply silenced Olivia and she felt less confident as the open water dropped away behind them. The land seemed to be gathering them close, squeezing the small craft deeper into a world ruled by insects and birds. It didn’t take long for the noises of these creatures to overpower the sound of the boat’s motor. Haviland barked once as a blue heron took flight from the creek’s edge. Otherwise, he was quiet, as if sensing that they were heading toward a strange and possibly hostile destination.
    Eventually, the water became tinged with eddies of mud, and Harlan tilted the motor toward the boat deck and coasted toward the left bank. He waited until the bow nearly kissed a slope of grass-speckled dirt and then jumped to the shore. A wood gatepost had been set into the ground and he secured the Whaler’s line to it using a figure-eight knot and then offered Olivia his hand.
    She hopped onto the ground, feeling ungainly in her high waders. Haviland leapt with more grace beside her and immediately began to track an interesting scent in a clump of tall grass. The air was dense with the sawing of cicadas and the buzz of flies and mosquitoes, and the ground was teeming with armies of ants and beetles.
    Harlan shouldered a heavy canvas bag and then grabbed a walking stick from inside the boat and made a final adjustment to his baseball cap. “We’ll follow the creek for a spell and then turn inland.”
    Olivia fell into step behind him, her eyes on his walking stick. It had been hand carved and featured a rattlesnake winding along the shaft. The head formed the stick’s handle and Harlan’s fingers fell over a black marble eye, leaving the other to stare at the outside of his right thigh.
    “Did you carve that?” she asked over the din of the insects.
    He didn’t turn around to answer. “No, I don’t have the knack for it. I bought this from a Lumbee Indian who sells his carvings to raise money for his lodge.”
    “Is he local? I thought most of the Lumbee tribe lived in Robeson County.”
    “They do, but they migrated from this neck of the woods once ages back. I went to one of their powwows a few years back, but I won’t have to travel if I want to go this year. They’re having a big one in the forest in two weeks.” He darted a quick glance at her over his shoulder. “You should go. They sell all kinds of crafts and there’s storytelling and dances too.”
    Olivia had no intention of going, but out of politeness asked Harlan when the event would take place.
    “Two Saturdays from now. There’s some food festival going on at the same time. It’ll be a real circus around here.”
    Olivia knew about the Coastal Carolina Food Festival. “My brother signed up to run a food tent on Saturday. He thinks it’ll bring our restaurant lots of new business.”
    Harlan shrugged. “There’ll be a crowd, that’s for sure. Thank Christ I’m retired. I’ll be at home watching a fishing show while the rangers show folks where to