Written in Stone (2 page)

“I am
not
going to respond to this woman’s summons,” Olivia said. “It’s probably a scam, though
more creative than most, I admit.”

The family of four ambled out the door, waving at Dixie before leaving. Her mouth
formed a smile, but her ale brown eyes were troubled. “Munin said you wouldn’t agree
at first. That was part of the message. I was supposed to wait for you to refuse and
then tell you the rest. I wonder how she knew . . .”

Her impatience morphing into full-blown annoyance, Olivia growled, “Oh, please! What’s
the magic word, then? What’s going to convince me to hire a boat and douse myself
in mosquito repellant so I can waste an entire day finding some crazy hag?”

Dixie gestured at the hollow in Olivia’s throat. Resting there was a golden starfish
pendant attached to a delicate gold chain. Olivia’s mother had given it to her only
child shortly before her tragic death. Since reclaiming the necklace from the dollhouse
in her childhood room, Olivia wore it every day. She touched it during moments of
uncertainty or distress. It was her talisman.

Knowing that she was pointing at a sacred object, Dixie swallowed hard and then continued.
“Munin said she has your mama’s starfish and if you want to know why, you’ll have
to come. And soon.”

Olivia reached her hand out for Haviland and he obediently moved closer. Her fingers
sank into his soft curls and her tilting world steadied itself. “This is a hell of
a way to start my day,” she grumbled, overpaid Dixie for breakfast, and strode out
into the sunshine, one hand gripping her laptop case, the other curled protectively
around the gold starfish on her neck.

*   *   *

After settling Haviland into the passenger seat of her Range Rover, Olivia headed
for home. It was late in the day for a walk on the beach, and the August sun seared
the pavement, coaxing shimmering waves of heat into the stagnant air, but she wanted
to make contact with the water, to wade ankle deep for a few moments.

The downtown streets were clogged with vacationers in rental cars. Low-end convertibles
and minivans eased through the business district, drivers scouted out eateries and
boutiques or searched for a prized parking space.

Though she was accustomed to summertime traffic and knew that the crowded town meant
that both of her restaurants would be filled to capacity for the remainder of the
season, Olivia felt a sudden pang of longing for winter.

Oyster Bay possessed a quiet beauty during the somnolent stretch from November to
March. It never turned bitingly cold, but grew gray and blustery enough to chase the
tourists away. The sparkling sea became flat and lusterless. Sluggish waves rolled
onto chilly sand beyond the decks of vast, empty beach houses. Without the calls of
Canada geese and the shrieks of gulls, there was a hush along the shore. A few sandpipers
still waded into the shallows, trilling softly, and terns picked their way over perfectly
formed scallop shells that would have been instantly placed in a child’s plastic bucket
had they drifted above the water line during a balmier season.

Olivia saw plenty of kids now. Holding hands with their parents, they skipped down
the sidewalk, sun kissed and content. Some carried dripping ice cream cones big enough
to spoil their lunches while others held rainbow pinwheels that spun obediently in
the salt-laden breeze.

At one time, the vision of a multitude of children wouldn’t have moved Olivia in the
slightest, but now she smiled and her thoughts turned from the witch to her niece
and nephew, Caitlyn and Anders.

“We should get them some new books,” she said to Haviland.

The poodle, who’d been poking his head out the window in hopes of receiving a welcome
rush of air, turned his cocoa brown eyes to Olivia and issued a derisive snort.

“I know we just bought a small pile, but one can never have too many books.” She sighed
as the Suburban in front of them idled through the entire the green light. “But we
won’t go to Through the Wardrobe today. Flynn’s got that ridiculous puppet show scheduled
this morning.” A wicked gleam flashed in her eyes. “I should encourage Laurel to bring
the twins to see it. I bet they’d attack the puppeteer. They’re still completely enthralled
with pirates, you know.”

Haviland, who undoubtedly connected the word “twins” with two pairs of sticky hands
that pulled his fur and grabbed his tail in a most undignified manner, uttered a low
growl before sticking his head back out the window.

Olivia was just about to tease her dog some more when the light turned from red to
green again. Before the Suburban could lumber forward, an orange Corvette rocketed
down the left turn lane, passed the SUV in the middle of the intersection, and began
to ride the bumper of a Mini Cooper.

“Bastard,” Olivia grumbled, instantly recognizing the car and its driver.

The Suburban turned right at the next corner and Olivia was stuck behind the plastic
surgeon. His music continued to drown out all other sounds, and Haviland whined in
discomfort. Dr. NipTuck and his mistress drew both curious and disapproving stares
from the pedestrians. Feigning disinterest, they slapped their palms against the car’s
tan leather in time to the bass-heavy music. The blonde lit a cigarette while the
self-satisfied physician took sips from a mega-sized fountain drink and crept even
closer to the Mini’s tiny bumper.

Traffic inched down the street and the more Olivia observed the Corvette’s occupants,
the more irritated she became. When the Mini stopped instead of racing through the
next yellow light, the doctor laid on his horn and made impatient gestures with his
free hand. Blondie tapped cigarette ash onto the road and Olivia could see the flash
of her complacent smile in the sports car’s side mirror.

The anger that had come to life after Dixie had delivered the witch’s message regained
its hold over Olivia. As she watched the occupants of the orange Corvette, she fumed
over the realization that some enigmatic old woman living in a virtually inhabitable
swamp had successfully manipulated her. She could not stop thinking about Munin and
her mother. What was their connection? And how had the witch known about the necklace?

Olivia had worn her starfish necklace every day of her girlhood until she’d abruptly
hidden it inside her dollhouse.

“Why did I ever take it off?” she demanded aloud, furious that her sharp memory could
not provide an answer. Although she distinctly recalled pulling away the tiny fireplace
in the dollhouse’s living room and stuffing her treasure into the small cavity she’d
carved within, she couldn’t remember what event had influenced her to hide it in the
first place.

The noise from the Corvette prevented her from concentrating and she glared at the
back of the tourists’ heads, wishing she could bore holes into their skulls with a
single, venomous look.

This fantasy turned to very real outrage when the doctor blatantly tossed his extra-large
plastic take-out cup onto the road. It bounced against the asphalt, and the lid became
dislodged. Ice cubes ricocheted in all directions and the bright red straw rolled
to a stop in the middle of the double yellow line.

“Bastard!” Olivia repeated, her lips tightening. No one littered like that in her
town. Fuming, she considered her options. She could report the infraction to the police,
but doubted they’d respond. Because the revenue generated from tourism kept many Oyster
Bay families afloat during the off-season, the authorities were reluctant to inconvenience
visitors over minor infractions.

Haviland, who also had his gaze fixed on the orange car, bared his teeth.

“You’re right, Captain. It’s up to us. At the next light, I will calmly get out and
tell that jerkoff to pick up his trash. If he argues, you can flash him your most
fearsome snarl.”

Olivia’s plans for a peaceful resolution were quickly ditched, however, the moment
Blondie finished her cigarette.

The next few seconds moved in slow motion. Blondie pushed a final plume of smoke into
the air and then pulled back her arm. Olivia saw the movement and was reminded of
a television close-up of a quarterback preparing to throw a winning pass. Unlike a
highly focused athlete, Blondie hadn’t aimed for a spot in the distance where she
wanted her missile to fall. In fact, as she released the cigarette butt, still glowing
orange at one end, she turned to speak to the doctor.

Olivia watched in horror as the lit stub careened toward the sidewalk. The object
in its path was a stroller whose occupant was a chubby-cheeked toddler dressed in
a pink sundress. Her fist was closed around a mermaid doll and her bare legs swung
out before her as though she were running in place.

Before Olivia could call out a warning, the cigarette struck the child’s right arm,
just above the wrist, before dropping to the sidewalk. The child opened her eyes wide
in shock and then her face crumpled, her mouth forming a huge O as she howled in pain.

All Olivia could see was Anders as a newborn, fighting for survival in a hospital
NICU. The sight of her tiny nephew hooked to tubes and wires as if he were a human
marionette replaced the little girl’s round, healthy body. Over the music, Olivia
heard only a child’s cries and was transported back to that time of fear and dread,
to those long hours when she didn’t know whether her brother’s son would survive.

Reliving those moments of helplessness, Olivia’s grip on the steering wheel turned
white-knuckled. While the little girl’s parents knelt by her side to examine the angry
red mark on her arm, Olivia pushed her foot against her accelerator petal until it
hit the floor.

The Range Rover leapt forward. Three thousand pounds of metal plowed into the fiberglass
body of the orange Corvette and a sickening
crack
resounded above the hip-hop music.

Olivia applied the brakes and cast a quick glance at Haviland. His custom-made canine
seat belt had done its job, and though he was unsettled, he was also unhurt.

Putting the Range Rover into park, Olivia leaned forward to gain a clear view of the
damage. The back of the Corvette looked like a crumpled soda can. The taillights were
splintered and a large chunk of fiberglass had been violently detached from the frame.
It sat like an amputated limb behind the left rear tire.

The plastic surgeon’s license plate was mangled beyond recognition and the car’s speakers
abruptly stopped broadcasting any sound.

Olivia examined the wreckage and smiled. “Thanks for visiting Oyster Bay. We hope
you enjoyed your stay.”

Chapter 2

The smaller the mind the greater the conceit.

—A
ESOP

O
livia maneuvered the Range Rover to the side, put on her hazard lights, and phoned
the police. She reported the location of the accident and assured the operator that
no one had been injured.

“You may have to treat a bruised ego,” she added too quietly for the dispatcher to
hear.

Her declaration that no one was hurt was factual, for Dr. NipTuck immediately hopped
out of his wrecked car, bellowing in rage as he examined the damage to his Corvette.
He gesticulated and cursed with such vigor 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 the doctor and held out his hand in introduction. Olivia couldn’t
hear him speak, but she knew he’d address the civilian in a pleasant, courteous voice.
The chief’s soft-spoken, almost humble manner didn’t diminish his authority, however.
In fact, it often increased it.

Olivia never tired of watching Rawlings take command of a situation. He did so now
by giving the doctor his full attention, listening to the angry physician as if no
one else existed. Rawlings didn’t take a single note and remained completely calm
while the other man gesticulated, spat, and cursed.

After a few moments, the chief approached Olivia, his face unreadable. She nearly
looked away, suddenly discomfited by her rash behavior.

“If you wanted to see me, you could have just called,” Rawlings growled.

“But this is more unpredictable,” she quipped. “Keeps things spicy. I was just following
one of
Cosmo
’s
recommendations.”

Rawlings pulled off his sunglasses and jerked a thumb at the trashed Corvette. “Somehow,
I doubt I was on your mind when you stomped on the gas pedal.”

Shrugging, Olivia said, “He deserved it. I’d do it again given the chance.”

With a slight shake of the head, Rawlings peered over Olivia’s shoulder and she was
warmed by the realization that he was checking on Haviland.

She nearly smiled at him, but then had a strong feeling that half the town’s population
was studying them. The junior police officers had ceased writing reports or shooing
bystanders away from the intersection and were staring at their chief with unconcealed
interest.

Olivia didn’t like it. She was an extremely private person and had kept her burgeoning
relationship with Rawlings under wraps. The only places they’d shared meals or drinks
in public had been at one of her restaurants. She’d convinced the chief to spend most
nights at her place instead of his house in town, and was rarely seen with him during
the day.

“We’re like a vampire couple,” he’d observed one evening as they drank cocktails on
her deck and watched the surf curl onto the shore beneath a sickle moon.

“Not really. Vampires are always young and beautiful,” she’d countered.

Rawlings had taken her hand. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Olivia had left her chair and settled onto his lap, her long legs curling around his
waist. She’d kissed him and he’d run his strong fingers through her hair, which was
the same white gold as the moonlight. Eventually, he’d led her inside and up the stairs
to the bedroom.

Now, in the bright summer sunshine, Olivia didn’t know how to behave around the chief,
especially since her lack of judgment had brought him here. She’d exposed them both
to public scrutiny and she began to regret her decision to punish the obnoxious tourists.

Glancing around again, Olivia noticed that the stares of the locals were mostly well
meaning. These were not the calculating looks of the paparazzi who’d trailed after
her throughout her twenties and early thirties, snapping countless photos of Olivia
with her latest beau. She’d dated models, actors, a minor royal, and several Fortune
500 executives, but no one ever lasted beyond a month or two. No one had ever taken
her breath away. Not until she’d met Sawyer Rawlings.

“Excuse me, sir.” The toddler’s mother tapped Rawlings on the arm. “I think I know
how this accident happened. You see, my daughter’s arm was burned when the woman in
the Corvette threw her cigarette toward the sidewalk.” She was deliberately sticking
to the facts. “Catherine, my little girl, is okay. It’s just a tiny surface burn,
but when it happened she screamed really loud. She’s not even two and the pain took
her by surprise,” she added apologetically. “Anyway, I think this lady saw the cigarette
butt hit my daughter and got distracted.” She smiled at Olivia. “Sorry, but I didn’t
catch your name before.”

“I’m Olivia Limoges. And this is Chief Rawlings.”

Rawlings was studying the woman with concern. “Are you certain your daughter is all
right, Mrs. . . . ?”

“Cimino. Lori Cimino. Yes, Cat’s fine. But I wanted you to know that I don’t think
this would have happened if that woman hadn’t tossed her cigarette butt into the street.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cimino. Would you be willing to fill out a report on the incident?
I believe this individual needs to be taught a lesson about littering.”

The woman nodded, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Olivia understood
exactly how she felt and examined her nails before Rawlings could see how satisfied
she was over how things were turning out. But he was shrewder than she thought.

After asking Mrs. Cimino to wait in the shade until he interviewed the Corvette’s
passenger, Rawlings pointed a stern finger at Olivia. “I cannot condone your behavior,
Olivia. I suspect you saw the child get injured and, acting impetuously and without
consideration for anyone’s safety, used your vehicle as a battering ram.” His eyes
flicked over the front of her Range Rover and he seemed amazed by the lack of damage,
but his look of disapproval quickly reappeared. “I’m going to have to write you a
citation.”

“Fair enough,” Olivia said and lowered her voice to a soft, husky whisper. “Is that
all you’ll do to punish me?”

If Rawlings was taken aback by the question, he didn’t show it. “Next time I come
over, I’m bringing my shackles.” He winked, slid his sunglasses back on, and headed
over to speak with the doctor and his mistress.

Olivia returned to the sidewalk and exchanged small talk with the Cimino family. They
were just discussing the best way to enjoy a filet of flounder when the doctor marched
around the front of his car and slapped the blonde across the face. The sound reverberated
and the crowd held a collective breath, stunned.

The blonde covered her cheek with her palm and began to sob. Rawlings rushed to her
side with the alacrity of a much younger man. He had the physician on the ground and
his wrists cuffed before the other cops moved a muscle. Kneeling on the asphalt, Rawlings
murmured to the doctor until the man became docile and still. Passing him off to one
of his officers, the chief approached the blonde and offered her his hand. She grasped
it, sagging against his wide chest.

Olivia’s previous aversion toward the woman vanished, and she pitied the doctor’s
mistress. She’d changed her body, her face, her hair, and her style of dress to please
her companion. He’d rewarded her with a weekend trip to a seaside hotel, a string
of belittling remarks, and at least one slap in the face.

“Poor thing,” Lori Cimino echoed Olivia’s thoughts. “Jerks like that are everywhere.
I almost ended up with a guy like that. You get trapped into thinking you can’t do
better, that you aren’t worthy of respect. Or happiness. It takes a strong woman to
just walk away, to believe that you can make it on your own.” She glanced at her husband,
who was holding their daughter in his arms and planting loud, smacking wet kisses
on her neck and shoulders while she giggled in delight. “By the time I met Tony, I
knew who I was and what I wanted, but some women never get to that point.”

Olivia considered Lori’s words. She too had known women who’d deliberately invited
destructive men into their lives and then spent their days bemoaning their situation.
It had once been impossible for her to comprehend why these women didn’t leave the
louts, but she now knew that people were often anchored to negative relationships
by fear.

Her fingertips reached for the starfish pendant. Was it fear that kept her from responding
to the witch’s summons? Olivia shook off the notion. She was scared of nothing.

Picking Rawlings out of a group of policemen, she knew that this was no longer the
truth. What she felt for him truly scared her.

*   *   *

Back at her low country–style house overlooking the ocean, Olivia showered and changed
into a navy sheath dress and a long Paloma Picasso silver chain necklace. The starfish
pendant was tucked underneath the neckline of the dress, but as Olivia stood in front
of the bathroom mirror applying bronze-tinted eye shadow and a ruddy beige shade of
lipstick, she pulled out the gold starfish and stared at her reflection.

“Mother,” she whispered and closed her eyes. She sensed that the images she’d stored
of Camille Limoges were romanticized, and she didn’t dwell on the rose-colored memories
too often, but there were moments when a montage of pictures would play across the
movie screen of her mind and she intentionally got lost in them.

Right now she was remembering having been caught by a late autumn thunderstorm when
she was six years old. In the aimless, dreamy manner of a lonely child, she’d walked
far down the beach, all the way around the Point where she could no longer see the
roof of the lighthouse. A squall had swept in from the Atlantic, soaking her within
seconds. Her pigtail braids had funneled water down her thin chest and skinny legs
and her sneakers had squelched as they sank into the boglike sand.