Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

hanging over the second fire. Willis explained how to make each dish and described why each food item was significant to the Lumbee. He was a humble and engaging performer and completely overshadowed Allen Murray and all of the contestants of the previous show.
    “I’m going to finish up by making some pumpkin seed candy for dessert,” he said, giving the audience a winsome smile.
    “They’re going to steal this kid and take him back to New York,” Olivia whispered to Rawlings. “He’s a natural. I can easily picture him hosting a multicultural cooking show.”
    Olivia looked over Willis’s head to where Michel was squatting near the tent’s entrance, well out of camera range. His mouth was pinched and his eyes were dark. Olivia recognized the expression. Her head chef was consumed by envy. Again. “Michel is going to be impossible to be around after this.”
    But after Willis finished his demonstration to a round of hearty applause, Michel jumped forward to help his underling collect his pots and utensils. Olivia, Rawlings, and Haviland followed both chefs inside the tent.
    “I am never cooking in this outfit again,” Willis said and dropped into a folding chair. He unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water and drank it down in one go. When he was done, he wiped his forehead with a dishtowel and sighed. “I was totally worried that drops of sweat were going to fall into the stew pot.”
    “You seemed perfectly comfortable working over an open fire wearing eight layers of clothing,” Olivia told him.
    Michel snorted and then pointed at the dolly, clearly hoping to shift the focus away from Willis. “What’s that?”
    Rawlings lifted the memory jug onto the table.
    “I’m trying to find out something about the woman who made this,” Olivia said, her eyes on Willis. “Have you ever heard the name Munin Cooper?”
    Willis shook his head, his expression neutral. He reached for the jug with eager fingers and then hesitated. “Can I touch it?”
    “Of course.” Olivia watched him carefully as he examined the jug, but he didn’t seem to connect with any of the objects on it. He was merely curious. She directed his attention to the KKK medal. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about. The
Gazette
mentioned something about the Lumbee celebrating a victory over the Klan at the Battle of Hayes Pond, right?”
    Willis nodded, his eyes flashing briefly with pride.
    Olivia pressed on. “Have there been any other incidents between your tribe and the KKK? More recent ones, perhaps?”
    Now a shadow crossed the young man’s features and his eyes flashed a darker shade of brown, turning nearly black for a second before he shrugged his shoulders and fought to appear impassive. “I guess, but nothing as big as Hayes Pond. I wasn’t even born then, but I’ve heard that the Klan hated us even more after that night. They got their asses handed to them and they never really got over it. Still harassed my people whatever way they could, but it was all small stuff.”
    “Like what?” Rawlings asked.
    “Rocks through windows. Slashed tires. That kind of crap,” Willis said, shifting in his seat. Olivia didn’t know if it was the heat or the subject of conversation that was making him uncomfortable.
    Rawlings subtly morphed into cop interview mode. He began by establishing a rapport with Willis by telling him some boyhood memories of how the minorities in Oyster Bay had been mistreated. He leaned close to Willis, lowering his voice as though he were sharing a special secret. Then, ever so gently, he turned the focus back on Willis. “Did anything like that ever happen to your family?”
    Willis squirmed in his chair. He reached for the dishtowel again and hid his face behind it. “Not really,” he said after dragging the cloth from his forehead to his neck. The movement made it appear like he’d been trying to erase his own expression, but fear lingered in his eyes like tiny white sparks glowing in the wood of a quenched fire.
    “Look, I gotta run. My sister’s waiting for me at the other campground.” He stood and cast a brief, anxious glance at the memory jug. “I hope you’ll come watch some of the dancing. And my sister’s a crazy good storyteller. She performs at two.”
    “We’ll be there,” Olivia promised. It was obvious that Willis wasn’t going to open up to them about whatever he was frightened of and she didn’t want to put pressure on him in the middle of the festival. Resolving