Written in Stone (16 page)

Rawlings took the paper and quickly read it. He then passed the small sheet to Olivia.
She held it out for both Harris and Laurel to see.

Olivia scanned the typewritten lines and then read them a second time, trying to absorb
the poem’s meaning over the noise of the drums and the spontaneous hoots and hollers
coming from the audience.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying.

“The language sounds old fashioned.” Laurel had to raise her voice to be heard over
the drums.

Harris reached for his phone, but Rawlings waved for him to stop. “I know this poem.
It’s by Robert Herrick and is called ‘To The Virgins, To Make Much of Time.’” He turned
to Millay. “And I think you’re right. I believe this is meant to be a threat. Or worse.
A promise of suffering. Today, the flower, who’s got to be Talley, is smiling. But
tomorrow? She could be dead. Isn’t that what this poem is meant to convey to whoever
finds it?”

“Oh no!” Laurel squeaked.

Rawlings ignored her and locked a steely gaze on Millay. “I want you, Laurel, and
Harris to go back to the tent and wait for Talley there. Olivia and I will watch the
crowd. If someone makes a move, Haviland can react faster than we can.”

Millay touched the poodle’s head. “Don’t let anything happen to her, Captain. I don’t
care if you sink your pearly whites halfway through some guy’s calf. Just don’t let
go if you get hold of the bastard. Got it?”

Haviland sniffed and gave Millay a lick on the hand.

After the rest of the Bayside Book Writers disappeared into the tent, Olivia pointed
at the poem. “I don’t get it. Is this meant to reflect Talley’s suffering or the sender’s?”

Rawlings didn’t look at the paper. He was already too busy studying the spectators.
Olivia copied his lead.

“Let’s move around to the left a little,” he said. “I want to be able to see who has
eyes only for Talley. And I want a clear view of people’s hands.”

Once they’d repositioned themselves, Olivia did as Rawlings suggested, but it was
difficult to focus on so many people at once. All of the audience members looked enthralled,
and because the dancers were constantly changing positions onstage, she couldn’t tell
whether someone in the crowd was fixated on a particular woman. It was just as challenging
to keep an eye on hundreds of hands. For the most part, people were gripping water
bottles, drink cups, food items, or the handles of shopping bags. If they weren’t,
they were clapping or snapping their fingers in time to the drumbeat.

Facial expressions were of no help either. People smiled, made comments to friends
or family members, scolded children, and shouted encouragement to the dancers. Olivia
openly observed them, feeling particularly exposed because she and Rawlings had their
backs against the stage.

“We’re not being very subtle,” she said.

The chief nodded. “I know. I want this person to realize that we’re taking the offensive.
I want them to see that we’re prepared to defend Talley—that we’ve got our fists raised
and we’re ready for a fight should it come down to that.”

A fight. That was exactly what Olivia wanted. She longed for a confrontation, for
a chance to act, to grab hold of their foe and demand an explanation. She spent several
seconds indulging in a fantasy in which she and Haviland brought down a hulking creep
whose pockets were stuffed with time metaphors, but then the sight of a familiar face
startled her from her reverie. There, on the fringe of the crowd, stood Harlan Scott.

Olivia hadn’t seen Harlan since her fateful visit with Munin. They’d barely spoken
on the trip home and Olivia had been too emotionally spent to do more than mumble
a hasty “thank-you” and “good-bye” to her hired guide upon disembarking from his boat.

Harlan was a retired park ranger, and there was nothing unusual about his attending
a well-publicized event in the Croatan Forest. However, something about the tightness
of his jaw and the way his arms were folded over his chest bothered Olivia. He wasn’t
smiling or showing any outward sign of enjoying the performance, and his gaze was
too intense for her liking.

Turning to follow his stare, she saw that Talley had taken center stage. The young
Lumbee woman was mesmerizing the audience with her beauty and the graceful movements
of her body.

Everyone watched her with a mixture of awe and admiration.

Except for Harlan Scott.

There was a darkness in his eyes, a shadow of anger that transformed his entire being.
Olivia no longer saw the quiet, gentle man who’d tended Munin’s traps, brought her
supplies, and took care of her pottery sales. She didn’t see the courteous but reserved
guide who’d agreed to transport her across the harbor and up the creek leading to
Munin’s shack, or the cautious nature lover who’d warned her to watch out for snakes.
Forgotten were all of these attributes. The man Olivia was looking at was a complete
stranger.

Even children knew that strangers weren’t to be trusted.

And sometimes, they were to be feared.

Chapter 15

Medicine sometimes snatches away health, sometimes gives it.

—O
VID

O
livia touched Rawlings on the arm.

“Harlan Scott is here. Eleven o’clock, near the back. He’s in jeans and a Cheerwine
T-shirt. Look at his expression.”

Rawlings quickly located the retired park ranger. “Let’s move,” he said after a brief
glance.

The chief surged forward and Olivia and Haviland followed on his heels. The trio reached
Harlan just as the drumbeats ceased and the dancers lined up to take their bows.

“Harlan!” Olivia called out before Rawlings could speak. Because Harlan knew her,
she believed he was unlikely to dash off upon seeing her. “What a surprise! I thought
you were going fishing this weekend.”

“I slept too late to get a good start,” Harlan said, offering his hand to Olivia.
“Nice to see you.” He nodded at the poodle. “And you too, Haviland.”

Haviland, who clearly didn’t feel threatened, sniffed Harlan’s shoes and then sat
back on his haunches and peered around. Seeing the poodle completely at ease gave
Olivia pause. Haviland would have either uttered a low growl or kept his distance
if he’d sensed the slightest bit of aggression coming from Harlan.

“Are you all right?” she asked him. “I saw you watching the dancers and you seemed
upset.”

After a long pause, Harlan jerked a thumb at the stage. “There was a girl . . . she
looked just like Munin. I swear—they’ve got to be related. And if that’s true, then
Munin didn’t have to be alone. She had people. So why did they cut ties with her?
They left her—to be found by strangers. To be in that stream for who knows how long.
I—” He stopped abruptly and reined in his anger. “Sorry. Your friend’s going to think
I’m crazy.”

Olivia turned to Rawlings. “I’m sure he’s seen worse. This is Sawyer Rawlings, Oyster
Bay’s chief of police.”

Harlan shook the chief’s hand. “I thought I recognized you. I’ve seen your picture
in the paper a time or two.”

Rawlings inclined his head. “And I’ve heard about you too. From Olivia. But I also
read the statement you provided the Craven County Sheriff’s Department.” He averted
his eyes, feigning interest in a pair of Lumbee drummers who were laughing loudly
at some private joke. “You don’t believe Munin died of a snakebite.”

Harlan didn’t respond. He studied the chief and eventually nodded as if he’d come
to a decision. “She lived among those snakes for decades. Made her own antivenom.
And she was found by the riverbank. Not exactly eastern diamondback territory. It
doesn’t sit right with me. Not at all.”

“Then that makes three of us,” Rawlings confided.

Harlan released a long, pent-up breath. He was obviously relieved that his opinion
mattered to Rawlings. “What can be done?”

The chief pointed at the stage. “The girl who bears a resemblance to Munin Cooper?
Her name is Talley Locklear. Ever heard the name before?”

“No.”

“I see.” The chief looked pensive. “I’ve got to admit, Harlan, that with such an age
gap between the two women, I’m a little amazed that you were so certain they were
related.”

Harlan’s shrugged. “There’s no mystery here, Chief. I’ve seen a picture of Munin from
when she was young. She and this Talley girl could have been sisters.”

Olivia couldn’t remain quiet a second longer. “What was Munin wearing in the photo?
Was there anyone else with her? Did she tell you where or when it was taken?”

“That old woman wouldn’t have given me a straight answer about that picture or anything
else,” Harlan scoffed. “I gave up asking her questions years ago. I did things for
her and I got paid for my work. We’d chat about her traps and what was in the paper
sometimes, but neither one of us were big on talking. I suspect it’s one of the reasons
we got along.”

“So that’s all?” Olivia couldn’t mask her frustration and disappointment. “It was
just a candid shot showing a young woman who looked like Talley?”

Harlan’s eyes were sympathetic. “She wasn’t in tribal getup, if that’s what you were
hoping. But if that girl is Lumbee, then so is Munin. At least part Lumbee anyway.
I know she was a blend of races. Called herself a gypsy all the time and I don’t think
she was referring just to her way of life. She said there was gypsy blood in her veins.”

“But if she was Talley’s grandmother or great aunt or whatever, why would she choose
to separate herself from her family?” Olivia was thinking aloud, but Rawlings answered
her question.

“To protect them. That’s the only theory I can come up with that would explain her
living in isolation. Yet she was still close enough to keep tabs on folks through
the local papers.”

“That’s true enough,” said Harlan. “She had me pick up several of them every week.
She read every word.”

“Of course, we can only assume there’s a family connection between Munin and the Locklears,”
Rawlings said. “We have no proof.”

Olivia studied Harlan. He was clearly troubled by Munin’s death and his disappointment
over having nothing useful to offer to help Rawlings discover what really happened
to her was written all over his face.

Harlan Scott posed no threat to the Locklears. Of that, she was certain. She was just
about to open her mouth and tell him about the puzzling objects on the memory jug
when Harris came sprinting toward them hollering, “Chief! Chief!”

The speed with which he moved and terror in his eyes told them that something horrible
had happened.

“It’s Talley!” he shouted breathlessly. “She took a few hits off her inhaler and then
passed out.” He grabbed Olivia’s hand and squeezed it desperately. “It’s exactly like
your description of Willis’s collapse! Hurry!”

Without hesitation, they ran back to the tent. Inside, Olivia had to hold back the
cry that rose up in her throat when she saw Talley lying on the ground, her long black
hair fanning out around her inert torso.

“We’ve already called for an ambulance.” Laurel’s voice was hoarse with dread. “But
I don’t know what else to do.”

Millay was on her knees next to Talley, murmuring to her and stroking her hair. Tears
fell from Millay’s chin and dripped onto Talley’s dress.

Harlan moved to her other side, checked her pulse, and then bent over her chest, listening
intently. “Her breath is shallow,” he said as he stood. “We’ve got oxygen at the ranger
station. I’ll go get it.”

Olivia and Rawlings locked eyes. They were both experiencing a horrible sense of déjà
vu, but this time, their helplessness was more acute. And this time, their surprise
and shock was tinged by a white-hot anger.

“Where’s her inhaler?” Rawlings asked Harris.

Harris pointed to where Talley’s purse sat on top of a rubber storage bin. “We haven’t
touched it.”

That’s when Olivia noticed Fletcher and Annette standing in a corner of the tent.
Fletcher had a cell phone pressed against his ear and Annette was leaning heavily
against him, as if the only thing keeping her upright was the attorney’s sturdy shoulder.

“What happened?” Olivia addressed the tribal chair.

Annette shook her head. “I don’t know! She came in here after the last dance and was
having a hard time breathing, so she grabbed her inhaler and seconds afterwards she
just dropped.” Her voice trembled. “Judson ran off to find a doctor. There are a few
from home here at the powwow.” She looked doubtfully at her cell phone screen. “Fletcher’s
been trying to reach them but no one’s answering.”

At that moment, Harlan burst into the tent followed closely by a uniformed ranger
carrying an oxygen tank. Harlan placed the mask over Talley’s mouth and nose and everyone
fell silent, listening as a hiss of oxygen flowed from the tank. “Her pulse is irregular,”
Harlan told the ranger. He then placed his palm on her forehead. “Skin’s hot to the
touch.”

Olivia felt her panic rising. She turned back to Annette. “Is there some kind of medical
condition in the Locklear family? A predisposition that could explain why first Willis
and now Talley have collapsed?” She was shouting at the tribal chair, but she didn’t
care. “Could that inhaler have caused this?” Gesturing at Talley, she moved forward
until she was inches away from Annette. Towering over the smaller woman, she balled
her hands into fists. “You
must
know something!”

“I’m not a doctor!” Annette cried, her lower lip quivering. “I don’t know what’s happening
to Talley! There are genetic issues in almost all native populations, but I don’t
know which one this could be! I—”

The ambulance sirens cut her off and Olivia was suddenly struck by an idea. Last spring,
when she’d needed more information on North Carolina’s prisoner of war camps, she’d
made contact with a history professor named Emmett Billinger at the University of
North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He’d given her his cell phone number and they’d chatted
a few times since her visit to UNC’s campus. Perhaps Billinger had a colleague who’d
studied the Lumbee and could tell the paramedics why a young woman was dying for no
apparent reason.

Retreating to a corner of the tent, she dialed Billinger’s number, praying that he’d
answer. On a late summer afternoon, he could be anywhere. Golfing, playing tennis,
or taking his beloved greyhounds to the dog park. When she heard him say hello, she
nearly cried in relief.

Wasting no time on formalities, she told him exactly what she needed, and when he
assured her that in fact, the department’s chair had done extensive research on the
Lumbee and he would call him immediately, she had to bite the inside of her cheek
to keep her emotion in check.

“What is it?” Rawlings was suddenly at her side. He stroked Haviland, trying to soothe
the agitated poodle.

“Hope,” she whispered, her voice catching. “A long shot, but it’s better than nothing.”

By this time, the paramedics had strapped Talley to a stretcher and were loading her
into the ambulance. Olivia’s phone rang seconds before the gurney disappeared into
the back of the vehicle.

“It could be malignant hyperthermia,” Billinger said and rattled off a list of symptoms.

“That’s got to be it!” Olivia’s exclamation sounded more like a sob. “Can she survive?”

“Yes, if she’s given a particular drug very quickly.” Billinger sent a text containing
the name of Dantrolene, a muscle relaxant, and Olivia rang off. She’d thank him later.

“WAIT!” Olivia dashed after the paramedic who’d just climbed into the passenger seat.
She told him why Talley was suffering and showed him the text message. “Remember the
name of this drug and go!” Slamming the door, she watched the ambulance pull away
in a cloud of dust.

Millay jogged after it for a few paces and then her shoulders drooped and she slowed,
momentarily hiding her face in her hands. Roughly brushing the tears from her cheeks,
she swiveled and scanned the faces of her friends until her gaze landed on Olivia.

“What did you tell that EMT?” Her eyes shone with anger. “What do you know?”

Olivia took Millay’s hand and told her about her conversation with Emmett Billinger.
When she was done, she handed Millay the water bottle from her purse. “Drink that.
We’ve got to keep it together for Talley’s sake. We can dissect this whole thing at
the hospital, okay?”

“She can’t die,” Millay said in a very small voice.

It was highly likely that she would, but Olivia refused to consider the possibility.
“No, that won’t happen. Not this time.”

There was no need to round up the rest of the Bayside Book Writers. Harris had already
grabbed Millay’s messenger bag, and without another word, he, Laurel, and Rawlings
hurried toward the parking lot. Fletcher, Annette, and Harlan were also in motion.

“I hope there’s a quiet corner in the ER’s waiting room,” Rawlings said after the
five friends had piled into Olivia’s Range Rover. “It’s time for the lawyer and the
tribal chair to spill their secrets. I don’t care if I have to drag in every sheriff’s
deputy, every cop, and all the park rangers in the state of North Carolina to make
those two realize I mean business. They’re going to tell us everything. Or else.”

From the back of the car, Haviland growled his agreement.

*   *   *

At the hospital, Rawlings remained in the ambulance bay and immediately contacted
the Craven County Sheriff’s Department about collecting Talley’s purse and having
her inhaler tested. He offered the full resources of the Oyster Bay Police Department
and asked to be included in the investigation. Olivia didn’t know what was decided,
but left Haviland and the keys to her car with the chief. She needed to be in the
waiting room, sharing in the wordless dread that had rendered everyone silent.

Fifteen minutes later, the sheriff himself arrived. Watching through the front windows,
Olivia saw the sheriff hand Rawlings a take-out coffee cup. The two of them sat on
a bench facing the parking lot and talked for the better part of an hour. Then Rawlings
put Haviland in the back of the Range Rover and he and the sheriff made their way
inside the hospital.

The two law enforcement officers entered the waiting room at the same moment Fletcher
appeared through an entrance at the other end.

“She’s going to pull through!” he announced, his relief evident. “The doctors don’t
want us celebrating just yet because they don’t know what the full effects of her
ordeal will be, but for now she’s stable and that’s excellent news.”

The Bayside Book Writers jumped up and hugged each other and then included Annette
and Fletcher in their embraces.

“Let me call Judson,” Fletcher said after detaching himself from a teary-eyed Laurel.
“I know he’s worried sick.”

Rawlings hadn’t participated in the rejoicing, opting to watch Fletcher and Annette
from a distance. Olivia knew that he was now 100 percent cop. His feelings over Talley’s
prognosis were carefully camouflaged, and the moment Fletcher pocketed his cell phone,
the chief and sheriff gestured for the attorney to join them at a small table in the
far corner of the room.