Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

summertime traffic and knew that the crowded town meant that both of her restaurants would be filled to capacity for the remainder of the season, Olivia felt a sudden pang of longing for winter.
    Oyster Bay possessed a quiet beauty during the somnolent stretch from November to March. It never turned bitingly cold, but grew gray and blustery enough to chase the tourists away. The sparkling sea became flat and lusterless. Sluggish waves rolled onto chilly sand beyond the decks of vast, empty beach houses. Without the calls of Canada geese and the shrieks of gulls, there was a hush along the shore. A few sandpipers still waded into the shallows, trilling softly, and terns picked their way over perfectly formed scallop shells that would have been instantly placed in a child’s plastic bucket had they drifted above the water line during a balmier season.
    Olivia saw plenty of kids now. Holding hands with their parents, they skipped down the sidewalk, sun kissed and content. Some carried dripping ice cream cones big enough to spoil their lunches while others held rainbow pinwheels that spun obediently in the salt-laden breeze.
    At one time, the vision of a multitude of children wouldn’t have moved Olivia in the slightest, but now she smiled and her thoughts turned from the witch to her niece and nephew, Caitlyn and Anders.
    “We should get them some new books,” she said to Haviland.
    The poodle, who’d been poking his head out the window in hopes of receiving a welcome rush of air, turned his cocoa brown eyes to Olivia and issued a derisive snort.
    “I know we just bought a small pile, but one can never have too many books.” She sighed as the Suburban in front of them idled through the entire the green light. “But we won’t go to Through the Wardrobe today. Flynn’s got that ridiculous puppet show scheduled this morning.” A wicked gleam flashed in her eyes. “I should encourage Laurel to bring the twins to see it. I bet they’d attack the puppeteer. They’re still completely enthralled with pirates, you know.”
    Haviland, who undoubtedly connected the word “twins” with two pairs of sticky hands that pulled his fur and grabbed his tail in a most undignified manner, uttered a low growl before sticking his head back out the window.
    Olivia was just about to tease her dog some more when the light turned from red to green again. Before the Suburban could lumber forward, an orange Corvette rocketed down the left turn lane, passed the SUV in the middle of the intersection, and began to ride the bumper of a Mini Cooper.
    “Bastard,” Olivia grumbled, instantly recognizing the car and its driver.
    The Suburban turned right at the next corner and Olivia was stuck behind the plastic surgeon. His music continued to drown out all other sounds, and Haviland whined in discomfort. Dr. NipTuck and his mistress drew both curious and disapproving stares from the pedestrians. Feigning disinterest, they slapped their palms against the car’s tan leather in time to the bass-heavy music. The blonde lit a cigarette while the self-satisfied physician took sips from a mega-sized fountain drink and crept even closer to the Mini’s tiny bumper.
    Traffic inched down the street and the more Olivia observed the Corvette’s occupants, the more irritated she became. When the Mini stopped instead of racing through the next yellow light, the doctor laid on his horn and made impatient gestures with his free hand. Blondie tapped cigarette ash onto the road and Olivia could see the flash of her complacent smile in the sports car’s side mirror.
    The anger that had come to life after Dixie had delivered the witch’s message regained its hold over Olivia. As she watched the occupants of the orange Corvette, she fumed over the realization that some enigmatic old woman living in a virtually inhabitable swamp had successfully manipulated her. She could not stop thinking about Munin and her mother. What was their connection? And how had the witch known about the necklace?
    Olivia had worn her starfish necklace every day of her girlhood until she’d abruptly hidden it inside her dollhouse.
    “Why did I ever take it off?” she demanded aloud, furious that her sharp memory could not provide an answer. Although she distinctly recalled pulling away the tiny fireplace in the dollhouse’s living room and stuffing her treasure into the small cavity she’d carved within, she couldn’t remember what event had influenced her to hide it in