Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Talley’s petty cash box and receipt book. She’ll fill you in on what to do. Thank you for your help.”
    Abandoning his take-out cup, Fletcher took the chief by the elbow and steered her to the exit. Judson trailed behind, looking more like a penitent child than a man in his fifties.
    “That went well,” Millay said after they’d gone.
    “You’re being sarcastic, right?” Laurel asked and then turned to Olivia. “What were those pills, Olivia? The ones Annette had in her purse?”
    Olivia made a hurry-up gesture at Harris. “Can you look up the name before I forget it?”
    He whipped out his phone. “Hit me.”
    She spelled the drug and Harris found a useful result within seconds.
    “It’s prescribed for people with bipolar disorder,” he said, raising his brows. “The chief’s taking an antipsychotic?”
    Olivia shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. The label did say A. Stevens.”
    Millay tugged on Harris’s sleeve. “What does it do? The drug?”
    “It’s basically a mood stabilizer.”
    “Do you think this is relevant?” Laurel asked. “To Willis or Munin or anything?”
    “I don’t know,” Olivia admitted. “But both Annette and Fletcher were wearing rings from Littleton High.”
    “I noticed that too!” Harris exclaimed proudly. “Their graduation years are safely stored in my massive brain. Now we just have to see if they match the year on the ring on the memory jug.”
    Laurel bit her lip. “That means breaking it, doesn’t it?”
    Ignoring her, Olivia’s gazed into the middle distance. “Why did Fletcher raise the possibility that Willis didn’t die because of an arrhythmia?” She blinked and turned to Harris. “What are the side effects of this olanzapine stuff?”
    Harris squinted as he read the tiny font on screen. “There’s the usual list: dizziness, restlessness, drowsiness, dry mouth, weight gain, constipation, and lack of sex drive.” He elbowed Millay. “Bummer, huh?”
    Millay said, “Depends on who your sex partner is.”
    “Go on,” Olivia said impatiently.
    “Okay. According to this website, there’s a chance that these meds can cause something called neuroleptic malignant syndrome. This can result in some super fun symptoms like muscle rigidity, high fever, irregular pulse rate, sweating, and irregular heartbeat.” He pushed out his chest. “Man, I feel like Dr. House.”
    Olivia didn’t hear his last comment. She’d gone back in time to the previous day and was kneeling beside Willis again, feeling his fever-hot skin and the strange tautness of his arm muscles.
    “So the official cause of death was an irregular heartbeat.” Laurel’s voice shook a little. “But what if someone . . . ?” She trailed off, looking at her friends. No one completed her thought.
    Harris shoved his phone back into his pocket. “We’d better talk to Rawlings. If we’re considering the possibility that Willis was murdered, he needs to know.”
    “I agree, but whatever went down—and I’m not sure anything did—it went down outside his jurisdiction,” Millay said. “He can’t walk around the campground interrogating people.”
    “Maybe not,” Harris replied. “But I’d rather be investigating with the chief than selling baskets. There might be a killer on the loose.” He hesitated. “Then again, there might not be. We have no idea what’s going on.”
    Laurel opened her notebook. “So far, I’ve got these key words written down: Munin, KKK, Lumbee, Locklear deaths, land deal. We still need a better picture of the Locklear family.”
    Olivia’s phone buzzed. She examined the new text message and touched Laurel on the shoulder. “We’re about to learn all there is to know. Rawlings is waiting for us at the Cedar Point campground entrance with a folder’s worth of info on the Locklears. And we’ve got our own news to share with him.”
    Millay held out her hand. “Don’t back out of the parking lot just yet. If I have to stay awake for the rest of the day
and
have our meeting tonight, then I’m gonna need a double espresso.” She looked thoughtful. “And maybe a six-pack of Red Bull.”
    * * *
    Rawlings was pacing around the campground entrance when the rest of the Bayside Book Writers arrived. Olivia carried the memory jug in her arms, eschewing the crate and dolly. Even though the bubble wrap stuck to her warm skin, the press of the jug’s curve against her chest and stomach felt good. She liked being able to hold on to something solid,