Authors: Beverly Connor
Lindsay raised her eyebrows and took the chair offered her.
“Nothing sinister, I assure you,” he said.
“I suppose I’ll find out, sooner or later. You say she had a heart attack?”
“Yes. She had had two before. When she had the second one, I wasn’t sure she was going to make it. But, except for her heart, she was in good health.”
“How was she mentally?”
“Nothing wrong with her mind. She was eccentric, but that was her right.”
“You didn’t find any sign at all that someone might have harmed her or induced a heart attack?”
“None whatsoever. No bruises, nothing. She died peacefully in bed. I know Alfred thinks this Van Horne woman took her around, trying to tire her out, or something. Frankly, I’m not sure what he thinks. But I don’t believe her activities that day contributed to her death. It was simply her time.”
“Did you know her personally?”
“Elaine and I bought several antiques from her. Several are around the house—the conductor’s lantern on the mantel in Elaine’s room, the rifle over the fireplace in the living room, to name two.”
“Ever purchase any documents?”
“No.”
“Ever see any?”
“No. Elaine and I talked about it when this whole thing came up. Tidwell came to my office—many times—with his suspicions and told me about the alleged theft. Neither of us knew of any historical documents she may have had.”
“What do you think of Tidwell’s claim about the documents?”
McBride shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not out of the question that his aunt had valuable documents. She told us she loved old estate sales. She particularly liked buying old trunks and boxes no one had opened in years . . . which was kind of odd . . . she was a shrewd businesswoman. Didn’t seem like she’d buy a pig-in-a-poke, but I guess there’s a little kid in all of us.”
“If you or your wife remember anything, give me a call.” Lindsay wrote the house phone number on a piece of paper for him. “I appreciate your talking with me. And I’m sorry some people from the site were rude to you and your wife. Archaeology is like any other field. We have some people who are easy to get along with, and some who aren’t very tactful.”
“I appreciate your interest in our work, especially Elaine’s. She put a lot of time in recording the history of the house.” McBride opened a drawer and took out a CD jewel case and handed it to Lindsay. “Here’s all the photographs from our restoration.”
Lindsay turned the case over in her hand. “Thank you. This is very kind of the two of you.”
They rose to go downstairs, when suddenly Lindsay turned. “Have you ever been involved in a postmortem?”
“I didn’t see the need to have Miss Tidwell’s body autopsied. It was very evident how she died.”
“No. The question has nothing to do with the Tidwell case.”
“Oh. In medical school I attended a couple . . .why?”
“I may be able to repay your hospitality.”
“Now, that sounds very mysterious.”
“It is, indeed.”
Lindsay and the sheriff said good-bye to the McBrides, and he drove her to her SUV. On the way back to the site, she kept an eye out in her rearview mirror for anyone who looked like they might be following her, breathing a sigh of relief when she arrived at the site without incident. She parked the Explorer and went in to change clothes for work. On the way in, she met Claire, blocking the way up the stairs.
Chapter 17
Calling Dr. Boyd
“YOU FINALLY DECIDED to show up for work, did you?”
Claire’s tone, as usual, was one of confrontation. She stood three steps up on the stairs, holding a file folder in her hand, unconsciously stroking the edges. Lindsay folded her arms, as though to remove the temptation to throttle Claire.
“I asked Adam to tell you I had errands to run.”
Claire didn’t move, and there was no way to get past her, short of shoving her aside. Her position on the stairs made her taller than Lindsay. The way she lingered there and her eyes sparkled, Lindsay thought she must enjoy the stature.
“And you think you can just take off whenever you want? We have work to do here, and you left me short-handed.” She tapped the folder in the palm of her hand.
“Claire, not two days ago you told me I was unnecessary. Now you’re telling me I’m indispensable?”
Claire didn’t say anything for a moment, just dropped her arms to her sides and worked her mouth, the way she did when she was caught with no retort. Papers fell out of the folder and floated to the floor. With an exasperated sigh, she came down the last two steps to pick them up. Lindsay took the opportunity to get past her.
“I’m going up to change. Is there anything in particular you want me to work on?”
“We’ll see when you get to the site.”
Lindsay started up the steps. Claire called up after her.
“By the way, Dr. Lewis called while you were out gallivanting. He talked to Drew. They hit it off really well.” She looked smug, as if getting along with Lewis was some kind of triumph.
“That’s good. Has he made arrangements for the coffins this soon?”
“Some of them. He needed some logistical information about the site. I guess you didn’t give him enough.”
God, Claire
, thought Lindsay.
Don’t you ever get tired of this?
She wondered how far she’d get if she tried to question Claire about her visit to Miss Tidwell’s house on the afternoon of the day she died. Not far. She could try to trick her into talking about it, maybe get her mad enough to blurt something out.
And maybe I can be a glutton for punishment.
“Oh, and I also called a forensic expert from Tennessee. He’ll be down to analyze the bones from the coffins.” Lindsay didn’t think it was possible for Claire to look even more smug than she had a minute ago, but this positively thrilled her.
“Who?” asked Lindsay.
“Dr. Nigel Boyd.”
Lindsay smiled and continued up the stairs to change.
It was lunchtime when she got out to the excavation. The crew was already breaking up for lunch. She’d made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and taken an apple from the kitchen, though she wasn’t hungry. Her emotions were split about the prospect of talking with Drew. On the one hand, she was looking forward to telling her about the cabin. On the other hand, she’d just as soon not tell Drew in front of the crew that she was, after all, going to investigate Alfred Tidwell’s claims against her. Damn Lewis. It was like dealing with the devil. He gives you what you want, but there’s always a price.
Drew hadn’t yet sat down to eat, but was looking over a cache of bones Erin had excavated and Marina was getting ready to photograph.
“Do you know what these are?” Drew asked when Lindsay squatted down beside her.
Lindsay scrutinized the collection of mostly long bones jumbled together like pickup sticks. “I see pig, deer, chicken, turkey, squirrel.”
“Sort of what we would expect.” Drew turned her head toward Lindsay, looking her in the eyes. “Adam said you had some errands?”
“Yes. That’s what I need to speak with you about. I know I said I wasn’t going to investigate this thing with the Tidwells, but Lewis, in his way, made it a condition for his help with the lead coffins. He and Keith York want you cleared. Everything I’ve been able to discover says Miss Tidwell died of natural causes and there were no documents to be stolen. The Tidwells can’t even describe the documents they say their aunt had. I’m thinking that you’re right, and the documents owned by the historical society are the ones Alfred Tidwell thinks his aunt owned. It may be that Miss Tidwell donated them and didn’t tell her relatives. By all accounts, she was secretive.”
Drew frowned and stared off into the distance. Her hazel eyes looked misty. “I’m supposed to be deposed next week by his lawyer. My husband is coming down. It’d be good to know what they have.” She focused back on Lindsay. “Do you know why Keith is so dead set on pursuing this?”
“I think it has something to do with his China negotiations. He doesn’t want any scandal to interfere. I’ll be as honest with you as I can, but I don’t want to be caught in the middle of this.”
“Looks like it’s too late for that.” Marina snapped a final picture and unscrewed the camera from the mount.
“Yes, but I’d like not to get crushed.”
Drew threw up her hands. “If it’ll satisfy Keith. I want to work on the digs in China he’s negotiating. He won’t ask me if I’m under suspicion of being a murderer and a thief. Damn, I’ve made my reputation in historical documents. Now, to have those people . . . Damn them.”
“The depositions will be the end of it,” predicted Marina. “Like Lindsay said, they have nothing. That’s because there is nothing. Don’t sweat it. They’re just opportunists.”
They hadn’t seemed like opportunists to Lindsay. Rather, like people who honestly thought they’d been wronged. But it was probably best not to say that. It was a good time to change the subject.
“I wasn’t aware until this morning that the log cabin from here is still standing.”
Drew shrugged. “Yes, but we don’t have access to it—not even a photograph.”
“Claire alienated the McBrides, the way she does everyone,” said Marina, packing the camera in its case.
“I was just there,” said Lindsay.
“You’re kidding. Today?” Marina laid down the camera case and sat down beside them.
“Yes. You’ll be happy to know, Marina, that in dismantling the cabin they found a lead tag with the date 1775.”
“I knew it!” She shoved Drew on the shoulder. “Haven’t I been telling you, Drew?”
“The cabin’s that old?” asked Drew.
“Half is. The pen with the date tag was built using an earlier construction technique than the opposite pen. My guess is, the second pen was added by the Gallowses after they acquired the farm in 1836.”
“So we have access to the cabin now. That’s good.” She smiled and the creases in her forehead smoothed away. “I understand that you think Structure 6 is an outhouse and ought to be completely excavated and the contents floated?” asked Drew.
“Chemically floated, yes.”
“Because of the interest over the coffins, there’s a chance we’ll have some extra funds for more excavation. Maybe we can do the outhouse. I know that’s what Powell wants to do. I think he wants to specialize in outhouses. He’s one of those guys who gets excited over excavating coprolites. Let’s go tell the crew the news. Joel and Adam will be thrilled. They’ve both been bitching lately about not having photographs of the log house.”
Lindsay, Marina, and Drew sat down with the crew near Feature 3. Lindsay gave them the essentials about her visit to the McBrides and their cabin. She was disappointed to hear that all the initial rather gleeful responses were about how this development was going to anger Claire. Only Joel connected the rediscovery of the cabin with its impact on what they could learn about the site.
“This’ll tie everything together,” he said, wadding up his napkin and stuffing it down into his lunch sack. “It’ll be a great focus for the questions about building construction technique, occupation, and time. Can we get photographs?”
“As a matter of fact, McBride gave me a CD filled with photographs of the cabin, both before and after the move and renovation.”
“No, really?” said Marina. “That’s unbelievable. He must have really liked you. Joel’s right. The cabin and our friends in the lead coffins are going to make this a much more significant site.”
“There’s an added bit of information,” said Lindsay. “There’s a chance someone in one of the households was a poet of sorts.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Claire walked up and sat down with the rest of the crew and opened her lunch sack. Drew filled her in about the log cabin as she took out her sandwich and unwrapped it. Before she took a bite, she looked over at Lindsay. “How did you get selected for such an honor?”
“Claire, what does it matter?” For a moment, Lindsay thought Joel was going to wad up his paper sack and throw it at Claire. The quiet, mild-mannered Joel appeared finally to be getting tired of her incessant abuse. “This is a great find, and all you can think about is what kind of mean shit you’re going to say next. All of us are just a little sick of it. Drew, I don’t understand why you let her do this.”
“You’re fired, Joel Markowitz.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“Let’s settle down,” Drew said. “No one’s fired. Lindsay was about to tell us something interesting about the house.” Claire gave Drew the look of a hurt puppy.”
“On the floor of the loft they found scratchings that turned out to be a series of poems—rhyming couplets.”
“Poems?” asked Joel.
“Yeah, right. They’ve certainly got you fooled,” Claire said sarcastically. “They probably did it themselves.”
Joel stood. “Why don’t you wait until later to tell us? Maybe we can all meet somewhere without Claire, so we won’t have to listen to her running insults.”
“You won’t be meeting about the site without me. I am the site director, and I resent your . . .”
“No, Claire, you’re a walking turd.” Joel scowled. “You contribute nothing to the site. All of us have to work around you and your incompetence, and I’m sick of it.” He turned to Drew. “Everyone knows Keith has been worried about the turnover of crew at this site, and we all know what’s causing the turnover. When he gets back from China, I’m going to take it up with him.” Joel stomped off toward the artifact tent before Drew could comment.
“Let’s take this disk up to the computer,” whispered Marina. “You can show me the photographs.” Before anyone could object, Lindsay and Marina rose and took their lunches back to the house.
The second story of the house had four bedrooms and a bath. Lindsay’s was the round room. Claire and Drew shared the front room, the one with a balcony. The large bedroom across from the bathroom was where Kelsey, Erin, and Marina slept. The fourth bedroom, the one adjacent to the bathroom and over the kitchen, was used as a storeroom and Marina’s workroom. She had installed a tiny darkroom in the closet—an easy renovation, because the closet backed against the bathroom. Some of the more valuable surveying equipment was kept there, along with a desk and Marina’s computer.