Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

park and hand out maps.”
    Haviland trotted in front of Harlan and Olivia called him to heel. The grass they were passing through had grown dense and a canopy of tree limbs shaded the ground, creating a perfect hiding place for snakes. The trail Harlan was following had been little used and Olivia only recognized it as a trail at all because no mature vegetation grew where they walked.
    Amazed by how quickly she felt completely removed from civilization, Olivia glanced back over her shoulder. The water was no longer visible and she felt slightly claustrophobic by its disappearance. “Isn’t it unusual for Munin to be living on public park land?”
    “She doesn’t. A little stream runs between her place and the park. I doubt the latest crop of rangers even know she’s there.”
    Olivia wanted to pepper Harlan with a dozen questions. Where did Munin come from? Had she just materialized in the swamp one day? What did she eat? How did she keep clean?
    But it wouldn’t be long before she’d discover these answers for herself, so she kept quiet, watching Harlan swing his carved stick out before him, creating a steady
swoosh, swoosh
as it moved through the grass.
    They kept on like this for some time. The trees grew denser, the cypress giving way to loblolly pines, black walnuts, and red oaks. The ground was now leaf covered and firmer underfoot and Harlan picked up his pace.
    They rounded a bend and Olivia saw a narrow creek and then a building that reminded her of a cross between a frontier cabin and a crude wigwam. The walls of the structure were made of logs, but the roof was rounded and had been covered with pieces of sheet metal. There was a corrugated metal door and a single window covered by a rectangle of dirty canvas. A pair of rain barrels was positioned beneath the round roof and a goat was standing near the open front door, as if waiting to be invited in.
    “Let me go first,” Harlan said and rapped against the metal. He paused for a heartbeat and then stepped inside. Olivia heard an exchange of hushed voices and placed her hand on Haviland’s neck. He was staring at the goat with interest, but he didn’t bark.
    Never one to remain still, Olivia walked around Munin’s house, examining a large garden where tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, beans, carrots, squash, and a variety of lettuces grew in abundance. A mesh fence formed a protective perimeter around the neat rows of plants, and aluminum pie plates dangled from the fence top, catching glints of fractured sunlight.
    Beyond the garden was a lean-to sheltering a potter’s kick wheel and a primitive kiln made of stacked bricks. Turned black by wood smoke, the kiln was empty, as was the overturned produce crate used as a drying rack. A crust of clay had been left on the wheel and a few crude tools protruded from a metal pail.
    “She’s ready.” Harlan’s voice startled her.
    Olivia swung around quickly, tensing. “How will you know when it’s time to take me back?”
    He held up a burlap sack. “I’m going to check on her traps. I expect you’ll be done by the time I’m done.”
    And with that, he marched into the woods, making almost no noise.
    Olivia took a deep breath, stood a fraction taller, and walked toward the witch’s house. She knocked on the metal door, received no answer, and after waiting another moment, entered.
    Her feet encountered a creaky wood stair and then another, leading her down into the near darkness of Munin’s home. Haviland followed, his nails clicking against the planks, nose quivering with interest. Olivia noticed how cool the air was in the dimly lit space. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the near darkness, but she found the scents—the rich sweetness of damp soil and of clusters of dried herbs hanging from the rafters—most welcoming.
    The witch was standing in front of a bookshelf loaded with jars, the glow from a single candle illuminating her face. She was small framed and slightly stooped, with weathered skin and white hair shot through with strands of black. She wore a shapeless blouse over baggy trousers, and when she moved, the jewelry on her ankles rattled. Her feet were bare and brown with caked mud, but her hands were clean, with beautiful, slender fingers. Munin looked terribly fragile and incredibly strong all at once. Her eyes, dark as a crow’s, studied Olivia in return.
    Haviland approached her cautiously and sniffed at the hem of her pants. The witch didn’t even