Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery) by Ellery Adams Page A
Authors: Ellery Adams
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be in need of comfort soon. I should have known that Camille’s daughter would be the one to offer it to me. I should have known that there is hope in the next generation . . .”
And with that, she turned away.
Olivia gathered the burlap sack containing her jug and stepped from the gloom of Munin’s home into the harsh midday light. She winced, her eyes filling with tears, and motioned for Haviland to heel.
Harlan forged ahead, his walking stick brushing idly against the carpet of leaves until it gave way to the tall grass once again.
“You did a good thing back there,” he said when the Whaler came into view again. “Will you come again?”
Feeling the solid weight of the jug in her backpack, Olivia paused on the muddy bank, watching a cloud of gnats descend toward the water. “Maybe,” she said, but doubted it. There was something final about her parting with Munin.
After helping her aboard, Harlan started the motor and coasted toward the mouth of the creek. As the warm wind pushed strands of Olivia’s pale hair into the air, she stared at the desolate underbrush and blank sky and recalled a poem by Katherine Mansfield. It might have been written for the woman she’d just met.
Olivia spoke a few lines in a soft murmur, sending the words aloft on the salty breeze, unaware that, in her own way, she was delivering the witch’s eulogy.
Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tide
Breaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied.
A strange wind flows . . . then silence. I am fain
To turn to Loneliness, to take her hand,
Cling to her, waiting, till the barren land
Fills with the dreadful monotone of rain.
Chapter 4
I write for the same reason I breathe—because if I didn’t, I would die.
—I SAAC A SIMOV
A week after Olivia’s trip to the swamp, the Bayside Book Writers assembled in the comfortable living room of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage and helped themselves to beer, wine, or, in Olivia’s case, a tumbler of Chivas Regal. There was also a selection of tasty tidbits from The Boot Top to sample, including lemon and garlic grilled shrimp skewers, fried crab wontons with a ginger soy dipping sauce, roasted avocado and asparagus wraps, and prosciutto rolls stuffed with goat cheese and dates.
“Anyone else going to the Coastal Carolina Food Festival next weekend?” Laurel asked as she poured herself a generous glass of chardonnay. “I volunteered to cover Saturday’s events for the
Gazette
.”
Olivia was delighted to hear that Laurel would be attending, especially since Michel no longer had a crush on her. “I’ll be there. Michel too. We’ve been asked to serve as celebrity judges for some of the cooking competitions. Apparently, the Foodie Network will be filming several segments over the weekend. And Hudson’s going to run a Bayside Crab House tent on Saturday.”
Harris pointed a shrimp skewer at Olivia. “You get all the glamorous jobs. I have to go because my company wants to develop a new game called Koko’s Kitchen. It’s supposed to appeal to five- to eight-year-olds and there are a bunch of kid-focused cooking demonstrations at the festival, so guess who has to watch all of them to get a feel for the graphic design? Why can’t I go to Comic-Con to check out the outfits worn by barbarian warrior maidens instead?”
Millay dunked a wonton into the bowl of ginger-soy sauce and grinned at Harris. “Hey, at least you’re getting paid to hang out at a fair. I mean, do you really need to conduct much research to design cyber spaghetti or chicken tenders?” She turned to Laurel. “That’s pretty much what kids eat, right?”
Laurel nodded glumly. “I used to cook the twins all kinds of things. Their plates were colorful and oh so healthy, but now I hardly bother. All they want is mac and cheese, pizza, or Happy Meals. And I give it to them.” She sighed. “I won’t be winning a Mother of the Year award anytime soon.”
“Getting kids to try new foods is the whole point of
And with that, she turned away.
Olivia gathered the burlap sack containing her jug and stepped from the gloom of Munin’s home into the harsh midday light. She winced, her eyes filling with tears, and motioned for Haviland to heel.
Harlan forged ahead, his walking stick brushing idly against the carpet of leaves until it gave way to the tall grass once again.
“You did a good thing back there,” he said when the Whaler came into view again. “Will you come again?”
Feeling the solid weight of the jug in her backpack, Olivia paused on the muddy bank, watching a cloud of gnats descend toward the water. “Maybe,” she said, but doubted it. There was something final about her parting with Munin.
After helping her aboard, Harlan started the motor and coasted toward the mouth of the creek. As the warm wind pushed strands of Olivia’s pale hair into the air, she stared at the desolate underbrush and blank sky and recalled a poem by Katherine Mansfield. It might have been written for the woman she’d just met.
Olivia spoke a few lines in a soft murmur, sending the words aloft on the salty breeze, unaware that, in her own way, she was delivering the witch’s eulogy.
Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tide
Breaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied.
A strange wind flows . . . then silence. I am fain
To turn to Loneliness, to take her hand,
Cling to her, waiting, till the barren land
Fills with the dreadful monotone of rain.
Chapter 4
I write for the same reason I breathe—because if I didn’t, I would die.
—I SAAC A SIMOV
A week after Olivia’s trip to the swamp, the Bayside Book Writers assembled in the comfortable living room of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage and helped themselves to beer, wine, or, in Olivia’s case, a tumbler of Chivas Regal. There was also a selection of tasty tidbits from The Boot Top to sample, including lemon and garlic grilled shrimp skewers, fried crab wontons with a ginger soy dipping sauce, roasted avocado and asparagus wraps, and prosciutto rolls stuffed with goat cheese and dates.
“Anyone else going to the Coastal Carolina Food Festival next weekend?” Laurel asked as she poured herself a generous glass of chardonnay. “I volunteered to cover Saturday’s events for the
Gazette
.”
Olivia was delighted to hear that Laurel would be attending, especially since Michel no longer had a crush on her. “I’ll be there. Michel too. We’ve been asked to serve as celebrity judges for some of the cooking competitions. Apparently, the Foodie Network will be filming several segments over the weekend. And Hudson’s going to run a Bayside Crab House tent on Saturday.”
Harris pointed a shrimp skewer at Olivia. “You get all the glamorous jobs. I have to go because my company wants to develop a new game called Koko’s Kitchen. It’s supposed to appeal to five- to eight-year-olds and there are a bunch of kid-focused cooking demonstrations at the festival, so guess who has to watch all of them to get a feel for the graphic design? Why can’t I go to Comic-Con to check out the outfits worn by barbarian warrior maidens instead?”
Millay dunked a wonton into the bowl of ginger-soy sauce and grinned at Harris. “Hey, at least you’re getting paid to hang out at a fair. I mean, do you really need to conduct much research to design cyber spaghetti or chicken tenders?” She turned to Laurel. “That’s pretty much what kids eat, right?”
Laurel nodded glumly. “I used to cook the twins all kinds of things. Their plates were colorful and oh so healthy, but now I hardly bother. All they want is mac and cheese, pizza, or Happy Meals. And I give it to them.” She sighed. “I won’t be winning a Mother of the Year award anytime soon.”
“Getting kids to try new foods is the whole point of
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