Airtight Case (10 page)

“No, I don’t. When I left him at the diner, he seemed content to let Drew come to him. The only logical explanation is that after I let him out, he may have received information about Drew’s whereabouts.”

“I wonder from whom,” said Claire.

“Give it a rest, Claire,” said Marina, glaring at her.

“If it were I,” said Lindsay, “I could have saved myself a trip into town and just pointed the way to the house after he crossed the bridge.”

“This just gives you a reason for denial,” insisted Claire.

“Why would I go to all the trouble? No one was around. I could have just whispered to him that Drew was in the house.”

“I understand you’re a faculty member at the University of Georgia,” said Bill. “Why are you working for a private company as a crew member?”

Lindsay could see in their faces that this was something they all wanted to know. Whether from eagerness to change the subject or curiosity, she couldn’t tell.

“My department is paying my salary. They sent me here for a vacation.” Everyone laughed, especially Bill.

Mrs. Laurens passed around extra helpings of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and squash casserole, which kept everyone occupied for a few peaceful minutes.

“Why did you have a nervous breakdown?” asked Kelsey.

“I didn’t. But I’ve heard that a rumor is going around to that effect. I’m going to have to find out who’s slandering me and put a stop to it.” Lindsay directed her attention to Claire as she spoke.”

Claire’s face broke into a mock innocent expression. “Talk to your boss.”

“I don’t have a boss. If you mean the division head, he told you no such thing.”

“Tell them what really happened,” said Adam. “It’s far more interesting.” He winked at Lindsay and smirked at Claire.

Lindsay held her breath and gripped her fork hard. Adam didn’t know what he was asking. He thought he was helping shut Claire up. Slowly, Lindsay let out a breath, hoping no one would notice her fear. Perhaps she should tell them what happened. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t told the story before: to John, to her brother, to the police, to Derrick, to Lewis, to the doctors. Each time, the telling of it had been hard. Each telling made it more a part of her history, made it
her
story, and she didn’t want it. But it was her story and always would be.

Do it
, a voice told her.
Telling takes away its power over you, eventually
. She wasn’t completely convinced by her inner voice. Her throat tightened, but she spoke, quietly at first, making a conscious effort to open her mouth and talk. She began the story with the same objectivity as she would in giving a scientific paper, as if it had happened to someone else, as if her story was just a story.

“I went to the Primitive Technology Conference in Knoxville and gave a paper on tool markings on ancient animal bones. After the conference was over, I was driving to visit a friend in Asheville before going back to Georgia. We’d worked on sites together and I hadn’t seen her for a while. Halfway between Newport and the Cherokee National Forest two men in a pickup truck ran me off the road. I didn’t see their faces. They wore masks.”

Lindsay took a drink of tea, letting the sweet, cold liquid slide down her tight throat, hoping her hand wasn’t shaking, but she could hear the ice clinking in the glass as she drank. The people at the table stared at her.

“I tried to fight them off. I tried to run into the woods. Then . . .” She shrugged. “Then, nothing. One of them hit me with something, or perhaps tried to shoot me and the bullet creased my head.”

She touched a thin red scar on the side of her forehead. “I don’t remember. If the blow is hard enough, you don’t remember getting hit. It was never recorded in my memory.”

“My God,” whispered Erin.

“They apparently thought they had killed me. My next memory was waking up choking on dirt. They had buried me, and I had to claw my way out of the grave. Fortunately, it was a shallow grave.”

Shallow grave
, thought Lindsay. How many had she excavated in her career? And now, she had excavated her own . . . from the inside. How ironic.

“That would sure make me have a nervous breakdown,” said Sharon, after a long pause during which the only sound was the creaking of the house, like the gentle rattling of old bones.

“But that wasn’t the result,” Lindsay said. “The head injury and the trauma of the attack caused me to have amnesia. I didn’t know who I was or where I was. A truck driver found me wandering down the highway and took me to the hospital in Mac’s Crossing, the nearest town. After a couple of days, a strange man tried to claim me by showing a doctored picture of me and him together to the hospital personnel. Fortunately, I was able to escape. The FBI established my identity from my fingerprints. My boyfriend, John West, came looking for me and found me hiding in the woods in the dark. He took me home to Georgia, where I recovered my memory the following day.”

Lindsay waited for the sensation that the dark fear surrounding her was lifting with this telling of the story. But as with the other tellings and retellings, this recounting of the experience didn’t change anything. She still felt like she was smothering in a grave.

Everyone was still, perhaps afraid to speak. Claire stared at her food, twirling her fork in the mashed potatoes. Drew’s face was frozen into a concerned frown. Adam, who had unwittingly opened this can of worms, stared at the table, as if watching them squirm about. Mrs. Laurens broke the choked silence.

“What a frightening experience. I’d be at home with my doors locked. You must be a strong girl.”

“I just don’t want them to win.”

“Do you have any idea why they attacked you?” asked Marina.

“I think it was random. Maybe they’ve done it before. I don’t really know. The police are at a dead end.”

“That’s a terrible thing to have happen,” said Drew. “And here I’ve been worrying about a little process server.”

“You said someone tried to claim you,” said Kelsey. “Was it the one who attacked you? You mean he came after you?”

“I believe it was one of the men who attacked me—there were actually two of them, the other one was waiting outside the hospital. I assume they wanted to make sure I didn’t recognize them. They were never found. I couldn’t describe them, and apparently the nurse at the hospital was no help. Unfortunately, after I recovered my memory, I could no longer remember much about what had happened during the time I had amnesia.”

“Aren’t you scared?” Kelsey asked.

“Not now,” Lindsay lied. She was terrified.

Mrs. Laurens rose to get dessert. Chocolate cake, in honor of Drew’s visit.

“It’s a wonder you didn’t go completely crazy,” said Powell.

“I’m getting accustomed to adventure.” Lindsay tried to give him a convincing smile.

“You mean similar things have happened before?” Bill pushed his plate forward to make room for dessert.

“I’ve been shot, stabbed, kidnapped a couple of times, and lost in a cave. Being buried alive was a piece of cake.”
That’s right
, her inner voice told her.
Laugh at your fears and they will go away—someday.

Everyone laughed. They thought she was kidding.

“You’re serious,” said Bill after a moment.”

“Unfortunately, it’s true.”

“Exactly how do you get into these . . . adventures?” he asked.

“I’m also a forensic anthropologist. In the course of identifying skeletal remains, I sometimes become entangled in the solution of the crime.”

“What, exactly, does that mean?” Dillon asked.

“It means she doesn’t mind her own business and gets into trouble.” Lindsay could see she hadn’t enlisted Claire’s sympathy.

“Claire,” said Kelsey, “what is wrong with you?”

“I just call things as I see them.”

“You’re just rude . . . and jealous,” said Adam.

Trent leaned forward and glared at Adam. “Now listen here, don’t you . . .”

“You’re just sucking up to Lindsay because you want to apply to graduate school at UGA,” Claire said to Adam. “Don’t think everyone hasn’t noticed.”

“Stop this,” said Drew. “Obviously, Lindsay’s been through a lot, and I’d like to eat Mrs. Laurens’ wonderful cake in peace.”

“Amen,” said Powell.

Dinner ended after the cake. As usual, several of the women asked Mrs. Laurens if they could help with the dishes. And as usual, she refused.

“Jimmy and I can do them,” she said, smiling.

Lindsay imagined that dining with the crew was enough for her, and washing dishes alone with her husband was a relief.

As Lindsay started to climb the stairs to the second floor to her room, she heard Drew’s voice ring out from the living room. “I love it!”

Lindsay walked across the hall and peeked in. Sharon and Bill were there about to hang a photograph next to the site map.

“Now that’s beautiful,” said Lindsay when she saw the object of Drew’s praise.

Bill smiled broadly. “It is, isn’t it?”

The twenty-five by seventeen inch photograph was a wide panorama of the crew working on the site, with a hazy view of the mountains in the distance. She had remembered him taking photographs, but had no idea he was such a good photographer. The neat thing about this one was the ghostly superimposed cabins and outbuildings—as they might have been.

“Bill is really good,” said Sharon. “I’ve tried to encourage him to chuck the accounting business and take up photography, but no deal.”

“The photography probably wouldn’t be as fun if I did it for a living. Besides, I like accounting. As long as there are things to count, there’ll be a need for accountants.”

“Bill comes from such a conservative family. I’m not sure they know what to do with an archaeologist among them.” Sharon gazed at her husband with obvious pride.

“How did you do it?” Lindsay asked. She looked closer at the crew. “In fact, how did you get yourself in the photograph?”

Bill laughed. “Magic, my dear. Actually, the cabins are the ones in Cade’s Cove. The picture of me is one I made with a timed delay. I used a computer to combine all the images.”

The phone rang. Drew answered it and settled into a far corner with her back to them, talking in low tones.

“What I’d love to do is to write a book about the site and use this as a cover,” Sharon whispered. She peeked through the dining room and hallway door. “That is, if the site turns out decent. Claire just doesn’t have it, and I’m afraid she’s going to mess the whole thing up.”

“It would make a lovely dust jacket,” said Lindsay. “I’d love to have a copy of this.”

“Sure,” said Bill. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s wonderful.”

Lindsay left them in the living room and took a chance that Claire would be alone in the bedroom she shared with Drew.

Claire stood looking at papers spread out on a table beside the door to the second-floor balcony off her room. The fading sunlight shone through her permed light brown hair like a halo.

“Claire,” said Lindsay, “I need to speak with you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I don’t know what I did to offend you, but whatever it was, I apologize.”

She blew across the surface of the mug of hot tea she held in her left hand. “You came to apologize?”

Lindsay couldn’t see Claire’s face clearly because of the setting sun shining through the trees, so she came into the room and stood in front of her.

“That, and to tell you to stop telling people I’ve had a nervous breakdown and that my work has suffered because of it. If you got that mistaken impression from somewhere, I can understand. If it’s malicious, I’m afraid I’m at a loss. Whichever, it has to stop.”

“I believe they call what you had
hysterical
amnesia.” She emphasized the word
hysterical
as though Lindsay had been found screaming in the woods.

“Don’t fence words with me. You may think you’re being clever, but I take my reputation seriously and will defend it seriously.”

Claire’s dark eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t threaten. Nor do I bluff. I’m trying civil conversation first. If that doesn’t work, then I hope you have extra funds in your personal budget for an attorney.”

“I suppose you want special treatment, too.”

“No. I want you to stop spreading rumors.”

Claire balled up her fist at her side. “You people think you’re so important, sitting up there in your clubhouse judging who can get through the gate and who can’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Prelims? Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Get out of here. If you want people to think nothing happened to you, fine. I’ll go along with your charade.”

“Why are you so angry?”

“Get out. This is my room and I didn’t invite you.”

Lindsay turned to leave, but looked back. “We all admired you making off with the truck today. You should have seen the look on the guy’s face.”

Lindsay left before Claire could respond, passing Trent on the way through the door. “Is she bothering you?” she heard him say as she turned the corner to the hallway that led to her room.

She’s angry with me because she didn’t pass her prelims?
Lindsay shook her head.
If I had any sense, I’d leave right now. Why in the world did I tell Lewis I’d give it another week?

She knew why—it was the way everyone treated her, even her friends. They made her feel incompetent, that she needed a rest—as if she could no longer think—and her ability to think was who she was. Lewis had trusted her to do a job, treating her injuries as if they were no big deal.

Lindsay sighed, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out on her mattress with the folder Marina had left with her earlier.

Chapter 11

A Ghost Of A Girl

THE SMOKY MOUNTAINS are ancient. The rocks forming the tops of Mount Le Conte and Clingmans Dome had their origins beneath an ocean more than a billion years ago. A creeping collision of continents caused massive strata of rock to thrust over one another, fold, and tilt upward, forming the Appalachian Mountain chain, of which the Smokies are a part. Through the eons, the continents broke apart and separated again, leaving a segment of the long Appalachian chain on the North American continent and a segment in the British Isles and Europe.