Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

He trailed off and got up to rummage around in a kitchen drawer.
    “Is it a sports medal?” Rawlings asked.
    “I don’t think so,” Fred replied and there was a sudden wariness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. As Haviland and Duncan settled onto the floor for a group nap, Fred rubbed the medal’s surface with a sheet of thin paper and a pencil riddled with teeth marks. Lines resembling sun rays appeared on the paper. Fred studied his drawing and grunted. “I’ll need to research this a bit more. How quickly do you need an answer?” He gave Rawlings a shrewd look. “Is this a police matter?”
    Rawlings shifted in his chair. “Not exactly, but if you have a hunch, I’d like to hear it now.”
    Fred shook his head. “You’re the chief of police.” He turned to Olivia. “And you’re my landlady. I’m not going to identify taboo memorabilia without being sure. It would be like pointing the finger at somebody without any evidence.”
    “Fair enough,” Rawlings answered after a pause.
    Olivia touched Fred’s hand, briefly. Her dark blue stare met his sky blue one. “The case we’re working is technically unofficial, but it’s important nonetheless. To be honest, it’s personal and I’d appreciate anything you could do to help.” She handed him her business card. “If you discover anything at all, please call me. I’d love to welcome you to Oyster Bay by treating you to a meal at The Boot Top. Duncan can hang out with Haviland in my office while we drink cocktails and talk.”
    Fred accepted the card with a grin. “I’d be a damned fool to refuse that offer.”
    After thanking him for the coffee and his time, Olivia wrapped up the jug and softly called for Haviland. She and Rawlings showed themselves out, the poodle reluctantly parting from his new friend.
    “What was that about? His hesitancy?” she asked as they walked to her Range Rover.
    “Depends on what Mr. Yoder considers taboo. Could be racial, sexual, political, religious . . . Who knows?”
    Olivia slipped on her sunglasses, her gaze drifting toward the placid harbor. What could Munin have embedded into the jug to make the affable Fred Yoder uncomfortable?
    Like the water behind the warehouse, the medal’s smooth, golden exterior seemed harmless and pretty. But if it was anything like the ocean, there could be all kinds of dangers lurking beneath its shining surface.
    The image of the green serpent drawn on the western edge of one of Fred’s antique maps appeared in Olivia’s mind. Staring at the water, she held the jug just a little bit tighter against her chest and whispered the warning conveyed by the map’s fearsome symbol, “Here be dragons.”

Chapter 6
    When poets write about food it is usually celebratory. Food as the thing-in-itself, but also the thoughtful preparation of meals, the serving of meals, meals communally shared: a sense of sacred in the profane.
    —J OYCE C AROL O ATES
    T he television crew from the Foodie Network descended upon The Boot Top Bistro Monday morning. The first to enter was a man wearing a T-shirt and black jeans holding a take-out coffee cup. He was followed by several harried assistants on cell phones and a group of unshaven cameramen and sound and light technicians.
    The man in the T-shirt, who ignored The Boot Top’s staff until he’d walked around the restaurant’s bar and dining areas, turned out to be the director, Noah Wiseman. He stood the middle of the dining room in complete silence for several minutes, sipping his coffee and studying the space. Then, he abruptly turned and strode back to the entrance. He introduced himself to Olivia while examining her from head to toe. “You’ve got a good look. Not sure that dress is going to work. We might have to shoot you in the bar.” His eyes roved around the restaurant, assessing and eager, and his fingers tapped an energetic rhythm against his takeout cup.
    “Would you like to see the kitchen?” Olivia asked. “Michel has prepared a special treat for you.”
    Noah smiled at her like she was the village idiot. “I only eat raw foods, but I’m sure the rest of the crew will be delighted.” His eyes glazed over and he began to stroke his chin. “We’ll do your interview first, then Michel’s, then film some action in the kitchen, and if there’s time, we’ll get some local color shots and . . .” His fingers fell still. “There’s a lighthouse, right? People love lighthouses. And beach scenes.” He looked