Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

making sure he’d captured the interest of a few passersby before turning on the radio. The plate glass window above Olivia’s booth began to vibrate as the Corvette’s speakers pounded out a thundering bass.
    Dixie shook her head in disgust. “Pathetic.” And then her eyes narrowed angrily. “She’d better not do what I think she’s going to do.”
    Olivia looked at the blonde, who’d pulled back her arm and was preparing to throw her take-out cup into a trashcan on the sidewalk. At the same moment she hurled the cup, the doc put the sports car in drive and launched out of the parking spot. The cup missed the rim of the receptacle by several feet and bounced off a lamppost, splashing coffee onto a parked car, the newspaper box, and the bare legs of a teenage girl. The girl shouted, her face registering pain and surprise.
    Dixie swore through gritted teeth as the orange Corvette raced out of view.
    “Maybe the witch can put a curse on those two cretins,” Olivia suggested, sharing Dixie’s indignation over the couple’s behavior. It was bad enough that they’d both blatantly littered, but to drive on after splattering a young woman’s legs with hot coffee bordered on criminal conduct.
    Collecting Haviland’s empty plate, Dixie put a hand on the black curls of his head and sighed. “I wish all humans had your manners, Captain. But the spell thing isn’t a bad idea either. We just need to hop a boat, cross the harbor, head up the creek borderin’ the Croatan National Forest, and hike a trail for a mile or so.”
    “She’s hardly Oyster Bay’s witch, then,” Olivia said.
    “Closest thing we’ve got,” Dixie retorted. “Anyway, what kind of mystique would she have if she lived in a beachfront condo? A shack in the swamp is way better for business.”
    This statement piqued Olivia’s interest. “What kind of business?”
    Delighted to have her friend on the hook, Dixie was just about to answer when Grumpy rang the order bell in the kitchen. The breakfast rush was nearly over, but the family of four in the
Evita
booth was casting expectant glances at Dixie. When she skated over with a tray laden with stacks of buttermilk pancakes, sizzling sausage patties, cinnamon-laced French toast, and an omelet the size of a beret, their eyes grew round with appreciation.
    “That should hold ’em for five minutes,” she said, coming to an abrupt stop at Olivia’s booth, her silver tutu billowing as she applied the brakes. “Back to the witch. Her name is Munin and one of my cousins went to see her over the weekend.” Dixie pulled a stray thread from her left tube sock and lowered her voice. “He and his woman want a baby real bad but it’s just not happenin’. They’ve both been checked out and there’s nothin’ wrong, medically speakin’. Been goin’ on five years since they started tryin’. Munin is kind of their last hope.”
    Olivia dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “And can they expect a healthy set of triplets nine months from now?”
    “I reckon not,” Dixie replied. “See, Munin doesn’t take cash or checks. You have to bring her somethin’ that’s real precious to you to get her help. If the witch doesn’t think what you brought is special enough, she won’t lift a finger for you.”
    “What does she do with the objects?”
    Dixie shrugged. “Who knows?”
    Impatient to return to her manuscript, Olivia offered to tell Laurel about Munin. “The big shot of the
Oyster Bay Gazette
staff might not cover the story herself, but maybe one of the Features writers would be interested.”
    With a scowl, Dixie picked up Olivia’s empty plate. “I’m not tellin’ you about the witch so that you can turn her into a Disneyland attraction. I’m only tellin’ you about her because she sent a message back with my cousin.”
    “For you?”
    “No.” Dixie piled Olivia’s silverware and crumpled napkin on top of the dirty plate. “For you.”
    Bomb dropped, Dixie skated off to the kitchen with her tray. She then tarried at the two remaining tables, filling water cups, delivering a fresh syrup jug, fetching extra napkins, and exchanging small talk.
    Haviland stood up, yawned, and stretched, indicating he’d had enough of the diner for one day.
    “Just a few more minutes, Captain,” Olivia promised her dog. “Let me strangle the resident dwarf and then we’ll be on our way.”
    As though sensing her friend’s ire, Dixie lazily coasted back to the window booth. “Ah, so