Written in Stone (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Author:Adams, Ellery [Adams, Ellery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

All our progress is an unfolding, like the vegetable bud, you have first an instinct, then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root, bud, and fruit. Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Olivia woke to a cloudless, heron blue sky.

After opening the deck doors to invite the sea-scented air inside, she brewed coffee and transferred four cups’ worth into a small thermos, served Haviland breakfast, and stuck a peach and a granola bar into her backpack. Pulling her metal detector from the storage closet beneath the deck, she climbed over the dunes, her fingertips reaching out to touch the tufted heads of the sea oats as she and Haviland made their way to the water’s edge.

Though it hadn’t rained for the past few days, the Carolina coast was often hit with an afternoon thunderstorm during the summer months. Heavy banks of fierce gray clouds would amass with surprising speed, and within minutes, a hard rain would fall, pockmarking the sand and sending people scurrying for cover. Sheets of lightning would illuminate the sky, and the sound of water falling from the rooftops and splattering against the roads and sidewalks was nearly deafening.

But then, as if someone flipped a switch, the storm would stop. The skies would clear, the sun would reappear, and the tourists would breathe a sigh of relief. These brief storms kept the gardens of Oyster Bay green from March until November. They also stirred up the ocean, coaxing the sand from the lightless bottom to roil and shift. Other things would move then too. Shells, seaweed, trash, and trinkets would become dislodged from the wet sand’s possessive grasp and find their way onshore.

There were dozens of treasure hunters in Oyster Bay, but Olivia had a stretch of beach virtually to herself. She owned a significant portion of the spit of land called Tern’s Point. The other residents were older couples who rarely ventured over the uneven dunes, so she usually had the run of the beach.

Today, Olivia was happily alone again. With the exception of a few scuttling crabs and waterfowl, the shoreline was deserted. She walked until the lighthouse shrank behind her and then switched on her Bounty Hunter Discovery 3300. Adjusting the headphones, she slowed her pace and listened to the device’s familiar clicks, whirrs, and beeps.

The mechanical conversation was one-sided, but Olivia found it comforting. For an hour, she could shut out the rest of the world and focus on the warmth of the sun on her shoulders, the kiss of the breeze on her face, and the flashes from her metal detector’s display.

She was just about to stop for a breakfast break when the machine alerted her to the presence of precious metal. Easing her pack to the ground, she removed a sieve and a trench shovel and called for Haviland.

“Time to dig, Captain!”

The poodle bounded out of the surf, shook himself thoroughly, and trotted over to join Olivia.

According to her Bounty

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