Read Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery) for Free Online

going to pursue Laurel anymore? I thought she was the butter to your grits, the salsa to your tortilla chips, the vanilla ice cream to your apple strudel?”
    “Stop it! Enough with the food clichés,” Michel pleaded. “Part of me will always care for Laurel. She is an angel among women and her husband isn’t worthy of her, but she doesn’t see me as a potential lover. She never will.”
    Putting a hand on Michel’s shoulder, Olivia spoke with rare tenderness. “I don’t know why you chase people who aren’t free to love you, but you deserve someone to call your own. You’re a fine man, Michel. You could make the right woman very happy.”
    Moved by her words, Michel simply nodded.
    Olivia took the piece of paper from his hand and flattened it on the nearest countertop. “I’ll speak to this producer. I want certain things in writing before a film crew invades my restaurant.”
    Michel knew that his employer was wary of the media, regardless of what form it took.
    “I know you’re doing this for me,” he murmured quietly. “Not for the business. It doesn’t need the Foodie Network. I do.”
    His eyes grew moist and for a moment it looked like he might throw his arms around Olivia, but he recognized that she wouldn’t welcome a grandiose display of emotion.
    He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his chef’s jacket and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said simply. And then, unable to resist a bit of theatricality, added, “Everything you said to me about love is true. I’m getting older. It’s time for me to have a grown-up relationship. It’s time for me to be happy. And it’s time for you to be happy too.”
    Olivia looked up sharply.
    “Oh, yes,” Michel continued softly. “You’ve had enough loneliness to last two lifetimes. Let the past go.”
    Her fingertips moved to where the starfish pendant was concealed beneath the fabric of her dress. Michel knew the history of the necklace. He knew that Olivia’s mother had died during a hurricane and that the loss still haunted her.
    Michel grabbed her gently by the wrist, preventing her from making contact with the starfish. “You don’t need that anymore. You have a new family. Me, your writer friends, Dixie, Rawlings.”
    Olivia gave Michel a small, grateful smile, squeezed his hand once, and then let it go. After calling Haviland, who’d been waiting for her signal by the back door, she disappeared into the sanctuary of her tiny office.
    Soon she heard Michel begin to hum a tune in a robust and merry tenor. The sous-chefs had obviously relaxed and the rhythms of the kitchen resumed. Olivia could once again hear The Boot Top’s unique melody: the hiss of steam, the blades of knives kissing the wood cutting board, the entwining of Spanish, French, and North Carolina accents.
    Olivia sighed in contentment. This was the music of her here and now. And it was beautiful.

Chapter 3
    A town is saved, not more by the righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it.
    —H ENRY D AVID T HOREAU
    T he little Boston Whaler bounced across the harbor, leaving a narrow trail of white foam in its wake. Flecks of salt water speckled Olivia’s face, hair, and hands, but she didn’t mind. Neither did Haviland, who licked at the air and smiled widely. The poodle enjoyed a boat ride even more than a car trip because he could stand on the deck. He was so content that he appeared to have forgiven Olivia for strapping him into a canine life jacket.
    For her own part, Olivia had refused the boatman’s offer of a life jacket. She wanted to feel the wind ripple her clothing and gently chafe her skin. Besides, the harbor was calm today and the man working the shift and throttle levers handled them deftly, his alert gaze constantly sweeping from east to west in search of approaching vessels.
    She’d found her ride to the creek that ran alongside the eastern boundary of the Croatan National Forest by asking questions at the docks on Friday afternoon.