Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

pat and then moved closer to Olivia.
    “We need to talk,” he said, and in his voice Olivia heard an unmistakable command. He hadn’t asked her to step outside because he wanted to have an intimate personal exchange, but because he had something to tell her. Something unpleasant.
    She folded her arms defensively over her chest, as if to shield herself from whatever Rawlings had to say. “What’s going on?”
    Casting a quick glance at the house, Rawlings took Olivia’s elbow. “Let’s go down by the water.”
    Sensing that Laurel, Millay, and Harris were watching them from the living room window, she nodded and turned toward the beach. Haviland darted ahead, eager to chase the few shorebirds wading through the shallows before day gave way to night.
    The approach of twilight had painted the sky with strokes of pink and orange. The colors shimmered on the surface of the glassy ocean and the pastel hues seemed to be coming in on the tide. Olivia longed to hold on to this picture of beauty, to delay Rawlings for a moment or two.
    “I know,” he said as if she’d spoken aloud. “It’s stunning. The end of a summer day. The citrus shades will be replaced by soft purples and blues. The first star will appear out there, low on the sky, and a breeze will move through the dune grasses. It’s my favorite time of the day, Olivia, and I’d love to take your hand and walk on the beach until the moon rises, but this can’t wait. I have to ruin this moment. I’m sorry.”
    Olivia heard the regret in his voice. Steeling herself, she said, “Go ahead.”
    “Did you pay a visit to Munin Cooper last Saturday?”
    Of all the questions Rawlings might have asked, Olivia had expected this one the least. She relaxed. Hudson, Kim, and the children were safe. Her restaurants hadn’t burned down. Except for Dixie, her friends were all here in the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. Haviland was in plain sight. She could let go of the fear.
    “I did,” she said. “Why?”
    Rawlings was studying her intently. “Tell me about it.”
    Olivia paused to consider why she didn’t want to talk to Rawlings about Munin. Yes, she’d found the experience unnerving. It was something she wanted to shelve and analyze later, in the quiet hour before sleep came. She still hadn’t examined the memory jug she’d carried home that day. It was in her bedroom closet, waiting until Olivia’s time was no longer consumed with preparations for the upcoming Foodie Network taping.
    But Rawlings wasn’t making a request. He might have asked her gently, softly, but it was still an order.
    “We might as well sit. This will take a few minutes.” She found a patch of sand unmarred by scraggly grasses or jagged shells and sat, pulling her knees to her chest.
    Rawlings remained standing. He was all cop now. Not Olivia’s lover or a member of the Bayside Book Writers. He wasn’t going to sit cross-legged on the sand as though they were going to trade stories around a campfire.
    Olivia began by telling Rawlings that she’d first heard Munin’s name from Dixie. She recounted as much of her conversation with the witch as she could remember, including Munin’s ominous warning, and only faltered when she came to the moment when she’d given her treasured starfish necklace to a stranger. She did not want to put that exchange into words. It belonged to her and no one else had a right to it.
    Her fingers went to her throat and Rawlings caught the movement.
    “There’s more, isn’t there?” he prompted.
    “I gave her my necklace,” Olivia admitted with a trace of irritation.
    Now Rawlings squatted down next to her, touching her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Why? I know what that meant to you.”
    Olivia could hear the clamor of insects. She saw the crude shack and felt the moist, humid air of the swamp pressing down on her. Again, the old woman’s keen loneliness enveloped her. The terrible isolation. The yellowed newspapers. The jars of knickknacks. Munin’s gnarled hands pouring tea into chipped mugs. “I just did,” she whispered hoarsely. “It doesn’t matter why. I just wanted to.”
    “It does matter,” Rawlings said, surprising Olivia.
    Her patience at an end, Olivia got to her feet, dusting the sand from her shorts. “Why do you care that I crossed the harbor and spent an hour with this woman? How do you even know about it?”
    Rawlings sighed and stood up. “Because that woman is dead.”
    Hearing this, Olivia dugs her