Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

this chair.”
    “Did I miss something?”
    “I’ll tell you later. Here comes Rawlings and the rest of the gang.”
    By this time, Fletcher and Judson had joined Annette in the booth. Fletcher handed Talley a plastic dry-cleaning bag containing a brightly colored dress. “Ms. Talley, you’re going to be the belle of the ball.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Olsen.” Talley took the dress and managed a small smile for Judson. “And thanks for sitting with me yesterday. I know I was a wreck.” Her eyes filled with tears again.
    Judson wiggled his finger. “None of that, young lady. You need to get your game face on. Your fans are waiting for you and I know you’re going to dazzle them just like you always do.”
    Talley hugged the dress, looking very young and very lost. “Should I close my booth? I’d like Millay and Olivia to be able to take a break and watch me dance.”
    Fletcher shook his head. “Judson and I will take over here. Why, I bet we sell every basket you’ve got.”
    As Rawlings, Harris, and Laurel drew near the booth, Olivia and Millay moved to the center of the path to meet them, ensuring their conversation remained private.
    “Did you learn anything useful?” Olivia asked.
    Laurel shrugged. “It’s hard to say. There’s quite a bit of bluster and bravado with that group. Don’t get me wrong—I think they’re all heroes for standing up to the Klan, but the stories of courage grew more and more elaborate with every person we spoke with.”
    “And Munin?” Olivia sent an involuntary glance at the bag in Millay’s arms. “Was her name familiar to anyone?”
    Rawlings frowned. “No. Just with the old-timer behind us. He’s got ten years on everyone else we interviewed and I asked him to keep thinking about her name. He has my card, so all we can do is hope he can shake off a few mental cobwebs over the course of the day.”
    Harris pointed at Millay. “Is that . . . ?”
    She nodded and Olivia told her friends how the jug had been knocked to the ground.
    “Can we see the pieces?” Harris asked eagerly.
    “Not now. I need to be with Talley,” Millay said, gesturing at Talley, who was now walking arm in arm with Annette toward the stage area. “She’ll be alone with Annette and I’m not sure I trust the woman. After all, if the lady chief wants the land for herself, it’ll go back on the auction block should anything happen to Talley.”
    Rawlings nodded. “I think it would be wise for us to keep watch over Miss Locklear for the remainder of the day. Especially since many of the elderly members of the tribe view her mother’s death with suspicion.” He indicated that they should get moving. “I can fill you in while we walk.”
    The friends kept close to each other like a school of fish heading for open waters. Danger waited in the depths and they moved hurriedly, sensing it close in around them like a dark shadow.
    Olivia was glad to be sandwiched between Rawlings and Haviland. As they progressed, the chief’s gaze swept over the faces of festivalgoers. Back and forth, back and forth he looked, as if the answers to all the riddles they’d encountered could be revealed in a suspicious glance or hostile stare.
    “Tell me about Natalie,” Olivia prompted.
    Without ceasing his observations, Rawlings reviewed what he, Laurel, and Harris had learned. “We met a few women who knew Natalie. Their stories reinforce what we’ve already heard—that she slipped on a patch of ice in the grocery store parking lot. A cashier saw it happen, raced outside, and noticed that her shinbone was sticking through her pants. He covered Natalie with a blanket and waited until the ambulance came. At the hospital, she was put under while a doctor repaired her leg and she died during the surgery.”
    “Why?” Olivia demanded. “From blood loss? Shock? Drug allergies?”
    “According to her file, I’d say it was the latter. She had an adverse reaction to general anesthesia.”
    Olivia noted the diverse faces and body types of the people in the crowd. “Some things are still a mystery. The human body isn’t a simple machine.”
    “That’s true,” Rawlings agreed. “We’re complicated. As unique as snowflakes. Or stars.”
    She smiled at him, loving that he could still pause to appreciate life’s wonders despite all that he’d witnessed in his twenty-plus years as a cop. He caught her smile and gave her a little wink.
    “Go on,” Millay said, sounding exasperated. “There’s got to be