Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

they’d only get burned.”
    * * *
    Olivia didn’t like Deputy Bauman of the Craven County Sheriff’s Department one bit. He spoke to her as if she didn’t understand English and made it perfectly clear that collecting her statement was a formality. The sheriff’s department was prepared to rule Munin’s death as accidental. All they had left to do was file the paperwork and wait for someone to claim the old woman’s remains. If no one did, she’d be cremated and buried in a potter’s field.
    “Did you find antivenom among Munin’s effects?” Olivia asked after Bauman was finished. Ignoring her, he closed his manila folder and slid his silver pen into the pocket of his uniform shirt. “I understood that she made her own,” Olivia continued. “Doesn’t it seem strange that she’d die of a snakebite within easy reach of a cure?”
    Bauman ran a hand over his military-style crew cut and frowned. “Harlan Scott asked us the same thing, but the deceased didn’t even own a refrigerator. Antivenom’s got to be kept cool. If she had any, we don’t know where she kept it.”
    Having conducted an Internet search on antivenom over breakfast, Olivia had already developed a theory on how Munin kept things cold. “She probably dug a hole in the floor of her house or stored vials in a watertight container at the bottom of the stream. She lived primitively, but she was clever enough to survive in isolation for decades. Did you notice any chains or ropes leading from the stream bank into the water?”
    Bauman guffawed. “Somebody’s been watching too many cop shows on TV.”
    Olivia bristled. “Did you look? Because her death doesn’t make sense and if you’re just trying to brush it aside to avoid bad press before the Coastal Carolina Food Festival kicks off, then you’re making a mistake. I have a good friend on staff with the
Oyster Bay Gazette
who’d like nothing better than to poke under the rocks you refuse to turn over.”
    “Listen, lady,” Bauman said, angry now. “We know how to do our job. We checked out the site and the ME went over the corpse. We’ve collected facts and we’re making a ruling. You want to stir up a handful of locals with some piece-of-crap story on how we weren’t thorough enough, go right ahead.” He stood up, scraping his chair against the floor, and tapped his name badge. “Got the spelling down?”
    Refusing to let the deputy see how mad she was, Olivia shouldered her purse and rose to her feet. She walked around the conference table and put herself between Bauman and the door. Slightly taller than the cocksure deputy, she straightened her spine and did her best to look down at him. “What if that had been your mother or grandmother left to die in agony? Alone. No one to hear her cries for help.” She spoke gently now, pleading with the man. “Please don’t let Munin fade into nothingness. She must have ties to someone, somewhere.”
    Bauman held her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many remains are unclaimed these days. Sometimes people don’t want to come forward if their relative is a known felon, sometimes they don’t want to pay the burial costs, and sometimes they just don’t want to deal with the hassle of it all. It doesn’t happen as much around here as it does in the cities, but it happens. We investigated this case and we’ve put out the word on this woman. I bet there’s even a death notice in your friend’s paper. That’s as far as it goes.” He gestured at the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”
    During the ninety-minute drive from the Craven County Sheriff’s Office to downtown Oyster Bay, Olivia let her anger simmer. She complained to Haviland about Bauman’s attitude, but the poodle was far too interested in sticking his head out the passenger window to pay her much attention. Eventually, she put her own window down and let the end-of-summer air whisk away some of her frustration.
    She was calm by the time she met Rawlings outside of Circa, the recently opened antique store. Olivia hadn’t met the proprietor, Fred Yoder, but his name was familiar because he leased space in the revitalized warehouse building she owned.
    As was her habit, Olivia left Haviland in the car until she could determine whether Mr. Yoder would welcome a standard poodle in his shop. Rawlings held the memory jug in one hand and opened the door with his other. They were immediately greeted by the sound of barking.
    “Duncan!” a