Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

ten. We could sew, weave, chop wood, do our own laundry, and cook. Willis was way better than me in the kitchen but I had him on log splitting. Mine would go right down the middle every time.” Her eyes had grown glassy and Olivia knew Talley was miles and years away from them.
    “Talley,” she whispered, gently pulling the young woman away from her memories. “We’re so sorry about Willis. My friend Millay and I have come to work in your booth today. Is that all right?”
    She looked lost. “I don’t know. What would I do then? I need to keep busy until the dancing starts or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She put her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.
    “I understand,” Olivia assured her. “Why don’t you show us how to write receipts?”
    Relieved to be able focus on her business, Talley showed Olivia and Millay where she kept the cash box, receipt book, and shopping bags. She then dug an inhaler out of her purse and gave herself a quick dose of medicine.
    “The air’s terrible today,” she murmured. “It’ll be tough to dance later.”
    While festivalgoers looked over the baskets, Millay sat next to Talley in a folding chair at the back of the booth. “I wish I could make something that reflected my cultural heritage,” Millay said. “Both my parents are from mixed-race families, so they could have shown me all kinds of things, but they never did.” She continued to hold the berry basket in her hands. “This must feel so good. It’s like a cord tying you to generations of Lumbee.”
    Talley nodded. “I don’t know what my life would have been like if I didn’t have my people. We take care of each other. That’s why I couldn’t stay away today. I need this. I need
them
.”
    Seeing Talley choke up, Millay grabbed the younger woman’s hand and squeezed. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
    The booth suddenly became crowded with customers, and soon all three women were too busy collecting money and putting baskets into shopping bags to talk.
    After they’d sold half a dozen baskets, Talley turned to Millay. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
    Millay shook her head. “Nope. No tough guys to stand up for me or an older sister to warn me how nasty the other girls were going to be because I look different.” She paused. “Speaking of different, we met your chief this morning. She seems like a very cool chick.”
    Talley nodded. “She looked in on us all the time after my mom died. And she totally helped us navigate this crazy land lease deal.”
    “The whole tribe will benefit from this thing, right?”
    “Our tribe’s pretty big,” Talley said. “Some of us will get jobs from the deal; some, like the chief, are investors, so they’re hoping to make a profit. The bottom line is that once Golden Eagle opens, there’ll be more money in Maxton. Most folks are pretty happy about it.”
    “Are there non-Lumbee investors?” Millay asked casually.
    “Sure. Fletcher Olsen, a lawyer most of us know, and other local businessmen. The biggest loan is coming from the bank.”
    Millay rearranged a few baskets. “You said most folks are happy about it. Who isn’t?”
    Talley averted her glance. “People who don’t like seeing my tribe flourish.” She began to organize the receipts, making it clear that she didn’t wish to elaborate.
    Olivia sidled closer to the pair of dark-haired women. “Annette mentioned that your house was recently vandalized. Do you think it had something to do with this deal?”
    Talley pinched her lips together.
    Millay leaned closer to her. “Hey, it’s happened to me too.” She listed some of the offensive names she’d been called in high school and told Talley how much it had hurt to be ostracized by her peers. “So tell me about what they said to you.”
    “It’s happened a few times—graffiti, a busted mailbox, toilet paper in the trees—but most of that was when I was a little kid. Things were quiet for so many years that I forgot about being targeted or whatever you want to call it. But while Willis and I were at the bank signing papers, someone visited our house.” She paused, steeling herself. “Our cars were spray-painted.” Talley locked eyes with Millay. Her gaze was haunted. “Nit, half-breed, pie face, squaw humper, redskin, scalper, filthy Injun, dirty crow.” Pink spots had bloomed on her cheeks. “And bush nigger. All written in big, black letters. Looking at them felt like . . .”
    “You’d been