Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

storytelling to celebrate the tribe’s victory at the Battle of Hayes Pond.”
    “What’s that?” Fred wanted to know.
    “I’ll read you a direct quote,” Rawlings said. “‘The Battle of Hayes Pond occurred after Klan leader James “Catfish” Cole decided to put the Indians in their place. Calling his fellow Klansmen to arms, he gave them instructions to gather in the small town of Maxton. Very few responded, while the Lumbee showed up en masse, sending the KKK packing and turning their rally into a night of shame and regret. The Lumbee typically commemorate their victory during the month of January, but due to a history of inclement weather, tribal elders voted to hold the event in conjunction with the annual powwow.’” He looked up from the screen. “If we want more details, we can read about the battle on the Lumbee’s official website.”
    Olivia sighed. “I don’t get it. What does this have to do with Munin?”
    “The battle occurred in 1958. According to the medical examiner, Munin was in her early seventies at the time of her death. She could have been at the rally.” Rawlings reached for the computer mouse. “Maxton’s in Robeson County, about a hundred and seventy miles from her house at the edge of the Croatan Forest.”
    “Maybe she had roots in Robeson County,” Fred suggested. “Everyone’s from somewhere. I don’t know this lady from Eve, but she must have seen something terrible to have ended up living all alone in a swamp.”
    “Was the battle very violent?” Olivia wondered aloud.
    Rawlings let loose an uncharacteristic snort. “Hardly. The Klansmen were outnumbered ten to one and there was a single gunshot. The bullet knocked out the only source of light, which had been rigged up in the middle of the field. The bad guys scattered, and Cole, the KKK leader who started the whole thing, ran off. If this source is credible, Cole’s right-hand man departed in such a hurry that his wife was left behind to fend for herself.”
    Olivia shook her head. “What a gem.”
    Rawlings kept his eyes on the screen. “The lady ended up driving her car into a ditch. Ironically, it was the Lumbee who came to her aid.”
    Fred whistled. “Damn, I bet things were pretty chilly between her and her man for a long time after that.”
    Olivia glanced at her watch. She and Rawlings needed to leave if she was going to make it to the food festival’s opening. “Thank you for everything, Fred. I’ll take the jug and show it to the people at the Cedar Point campground this weekend. If Munin has a connection to the Battle of Hayes Pond or to the Lumbee tribe, someone will know her name or recognize one of the items on the jug.”
    “I hope so,” Fred said. “I’m going to lend you a milk crate I’ve attached to a dolly. With a little cushion of bubble wrap, you’ll be able to wheel that jug across the state without so much as a chip.” He smiled. “And when you return the dolly, you can tell me what you found out.” He gestured around the shop. “I haven’t been involved in such an intriguing mystery since Duncan got into a customer’s car. The young couple drove all around town without knowing he was in the backseat. Nearly crashed when a fire truck went by, sirens blaring, and Duncan started to howl like the world was coming to an end.”
    “I promise to fill you in,” Olivia said. “It’s the least I could do.”
    Fred began to rewrap the jug and then paused. “That high school ring is a solid clue, you know. The rest of the school’s name is buried in the clay, but I’d bet the shop that it’s perfectly legible.”
    Olivia knew what he was implying. “I can’t break it. Not yet. Smashing that jug won’t change Munin’s fate and I . . . I just can’t destroy the last thing she created.” She swallowed, trying to find a way to explain her reluctance. “Munin won’t be buried under a marble angel or a grand tombstone. She’ll be cremated and stuck in a potter’s field. To me, that’s no tragedy. When you’re dead, you’re dead. But what bothers me is that there’s no one to mourn her. To keep her memory alive.” She laid her hand lightly on the jug. “In a sense, this is her grave marker. Her epitaph. And she gave it to me.”
    Fred touched her hand, his kind eyes filled with understanding. “I get that. Believe me, I do. I’ve seen families come to blows over a loved one’s treasure. Sometimes, by possessing a thing someone else made with the strength