Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

that Olivia knew he was sound of body, if not of mind. The fake tan on Blondie’s face had paled a bit and she stood on the sidewalk, making mewing noises reminiscent of a hungry kitten, but she was fine too.
    Pouring some water into Haviland’s travel dish, Olivia transferred the poodle to the spacious rear of the Rover and put all the windows down so her dog would be comfortable. Only then did she examine the front end of her vehicle, noting that a few scratches to her metallic blue paint were the extent of the damage. Her steel bumper, which was covered by a protective rubber guard, had taken the brunt of the low-speed impact and was now striped with the Corvette’s electric orange paint.
    Olivia was just reflecting that the black and orange pattern resembled a tiger’s pelt when Dr. NipTuck marched over and began to vent his rage. Red-faced and spluttering, he called her a host of offensive names.
    “I’m terribly sorry,” she responded with absolute calm. “I saw the light turn green and I just gunned my engine. I’ve already called the police and they’re on their way. Let me gather my insurance information.” Olivia hesitated and pointed at Blondie. “Is your wife okay?”
    “What? Who?” The man’s jowls inflated until he resembled a spooked puffer fish. “Forget about
her
. Look at what you did to my
car
!”
    Blondie’s mewling grew a little louder as proof of her lack of importance hit home.
    Ignoring another stream of insults, Olivia collected her vehicle registration and insurance card from the Range Rover’s center console and then called State Farm to report the accident. She sat on the curb and talked to her agent, who was local and promised to be at the scene in ten minutes.
    A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk but Olivia shouldered past the gawkers and made her way to the stroller bearing the crying toddler.
    “Is she all right?” she asked the child’s mother.
    The woman nodded and pointed to the small red mark on her daughter’s arm. “It’s just a surface burn. My husband ran to the pharmacy down the street to get a topical ointment. He should be back any second now.”
    The little girl took a final sniff and fell silent, looking up at Olivia with distrust.
    “Would you allow me to buy her a frozen yogurt?” Indicating the shop across the street, Olivia said, “Their Peach Perfection is delicious. It’s completely natural and they serve pint-sized cups for kids your daughter’s age. They also have sorbet and regular ice cream if she’d prefer another flavor.”
    The mother hesitated, casting a brief glance at the periwinkle awnings and front door of The Big Chill. “That’s not necessary, but thank you for the offer.”
    “Actually, this is one of those times when ice cream is totally necessary.” Olivia smiled and turned back to the little girl. “I think you deserve a treat.”
    The child knew a bribe when she heard one and nodded in eager agreement. Olivia jogged across the street and ordered the kid’s cup and two shakes for the parents. By the time she reemerged from the shop, the police had arrived.
    The doctor spotted her carrying a tray of frozen treats and became apoplectic with indignation. He lunged toward Olivia and the closest cop instinctively threw out an arm to stop him. The doctor instantly shouted for the bystanders to witness what was a clear case of police brutality. He told the flummoxed officer that he would definitely be filing a lawsuit against the department, Olivia, and the entire dump of a town.
    To the officer’s obvious relief, a second cop car pulled into the loading zone farther down the street, its rotating light bar blazing. Olivia watched as Sawyer Rawlings eased out of the passenger seat, taking a few seconds to survey the scene.
    The police chief cut an imposing figure in his uniform. On his days off, he paired Hawaiian-print shirts covered with sharks, pineapples, or palm trees with tattered khaki shorts and a pair of paint-splattered sandals. But he was a different man when he was dressed in his police blues. His posture was rigid, his clean-shaven jaw set, and his eyes were masked behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Radiating authority, he walked briskly toward the irate physician, and Olivia felt a quickening of her blood. This man, this middle-aged cop with the salt-and-pepper hair, wide shoulders, slight paunch, and a fondness for chocolate milk, moved her in ways she could not comprehend.
    Rawlings walked over to