Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel (40 page)

"Lindsay, this is Anne."

Lindsay rubbed her forehead. "What do you want,
Anne?"

"Steven and I have proof."

"Proof of what?"

"Proof that the Indian relics belong to us. Your father,
Edward, gave us the proof. I don't think he knew it,
though." She had a slight chuckle in her voice.

"What's your proof?"

"When your father opened one of the crates, he found
Dad's knife. It had his name carved on the bone handle as
pretty as you please. Your dad gave it to Mom. We just now
found out about it."

Lindsay sat up straight. "Knife?"

"His big hunting knife."

"How big?"

"What?"

"Was it as long as, say, a ruler?"

"Yes. What does that have to do with anything? You
aren't going to sidetrack me, Lindsay."

As Anne spoke, Lindsay opened her desk drawer and
pulled out the Kentucky newspaper and spread it open on
her desk. She looked closely at a stain that she'd seen on it
the first time she looked through the paper, but hadn't paid
much conscious attention to. She had thought it was a
smudge. Now she saw the pattern of the stain, two dark
shapes side by side. The left shape was more or less rectangular, the right shape was like an arrowhead, and the
bottom edge of each faded away. It was a pattern she'd seen
before, the pattern made when someone takes a bloody
knife in his hand and wipes the blade with a cloth, or in this
case, a newspaper. An arrowhead on the right indicates the
person held the knife in the right hand; an arrowhead on the
left means the knife was held in the left. This stain had been
made by a person holding the paper in the right hand and
the knife in the left. This was a left-handed person.

Uncle Billy's knife was in the crate, Uncle Billy was
left-handed. She wondered if that particular newspaper, the one with Creasey's false obituary, was used on purpose, as
a clue, or perhaps as irony. Oh, Anne, she thought.

"You listening to me, Lindsay?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Anne. I was just surprised."

"We thought you would be." Anne sounded very satisfied. "He's right here. You talk to him, he'll tell you."

"Who?" asked Lindsay. "Dad?"

"No, Lindsay Chamberlain. Dodd ... Malcolm Dodd.
He's the rest of the proof. Are you listening?"

The gravelly voice of an old man came on the phone.
"Miss Chamberlain?" he said.

"Yes. Are you the Malcolm Dodd who brought Henry
Creasey out of the mine after the explosion?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am. That was a long time ago. I'm
eighty-five now; I was about twenty or twenty-one at the
time. How'd you know about that?"

"I've been reading about it in old newspapers."

"That was a bad thing. A lot of good men was killed in
that explosion."

"Did you know Henry Creasey well?" asked Lindsay.

"Not real well. Him and his people kept to themselves
mostly. I worked with him on some things. That's what
Steven and Anne want me to talk to you about."

Lindsay relaxed in her chair as he began his story.

"That was back during the Great Depression. Everybody
was poor then. Me and my brothers went squirrel hunting
every Sunday when we wasn't working in the mines.
Mama would go out with my sisters and pick wild plants.
There's plenty of wild food you can eat." Lindsay heard
someone urging him on in the background. "I'm getting to
it," he said to them.

"Take your time," Lindsay said.

"Thank you, ma'am. Anyways, we was poor, but
Creasey and his people was what you called dirt poor.
Henry told me that he used to eat a handful of clay every morning before he come to work in the mines so's his
stomach wouldn't hurt from hunger. We'd sell anything
back then. Me and Willard-that's my brother-used to go
to where the drunks hung out and we'd collect their bottles.
We'd sell 'em to the bootleggers for a nickel a bottle, sometimes the same bottle over and over. Henry found out about
how to look for Indian relics. You'd go to where there was
an Indian burial ground, take a rod and push it into the
ground. It had a certain feel when it hit some bone or a pot,
then we'd dig it up."

"I'm familiar with the practice," Lindsay said.

"Well, he found that there'd be people who'd pay pretty
good money for these relics. So, that's what we'd do on
Sundays, me and Henry, when we wasn't in the mines."
Dodd stopped talking a moment.

"Go on, tell her," Lindsay heard Steven say.

"Well, we found out it was a lot less work if we let the
archaeologists dig the stuff up first, and then, well, we'd, uh,
take it from them. I had a hard time with that, so I didn't go
with him much, but Henry got real good at it. He gathered a
whole lot of relics and hid them in the played out part of the
mine we was workin'. He was going to sell the lot of them
when the accident happened and he got bad hurt."

"How did the explosion happen?"

"I don't know. Henry said it was Lonnie Cross what did
it, but I knowed Lonnie and he wouldn't do nothing like
that. Some said it was Henry did it, but I don't know. He
got hurt hisself, and he knowed about dynamite; that was
his job."

"The newspaper said he died."

"I know it said that, but they was wrong. He didn't. He
may have put it in the papers hisself. He was always dodging something. I saw him when he was mostly mended. He
said he got work with the CCC down in Macon, Georgia, to
the place where archaeologists was diggin'. He was going to meet somebody who was going to buy his relics for a lot
of money."

"Do you know who that person was?"

"He told me it was Billy MacRae. He said Billy had a
brother-in-law who was an archaeologist and they'd pay
good money to get the relics back. The idea was that Henry
would sell them to Billy and Billy would sell them to the
archaeologist. They'd both make money off it. Henry
thought it was funny, selling the relics back to the people
he'd stole them from in the first place."

"So, Henry Creasey met Billy MacRae in Macon?"

"I reckoned that he did. I didn't hear from him again
after that."

Lindsay heard shuffling noises, like the phone was
being transferred to someone else. "You heard him, Lindsay," said Steven. "You heard him say that our father
bought those Indian treasures."

"I also heard him say that he was going to sell them to
his brother-in-law-which was Papaw," Lindsay said.

"If he'd done that, your papaw would've put them in the
university, wouldn't he? No, Daddy bought the relics and
stored them in the shed where they stayed for these sixtyodd years. Those are our Indian treasures, Lindsay Chamberlain, and me and Anne want them or the money."

"Well it's a moot point at the moment, Steven, because I
don't know where they are. When they turn up you can take
your proofs to the state and deal with them. The artifacts
aren't mine to turn over to you."

"This is proof, Lindsay. Daddy's knife was there with
them. You heard Malcom Dodd's testimony. That's proof."

Lindsay sighed. "It might be, Steven, but I'm not the one
you need to talk to. I have no authority over them whatsoever.
Go to your lawyer and ask him to take it up with the state."

"Then you admit it's proof," Steven persisted.

"It's proof of something," Lindsay said. She heard the
telephone change hands again.

"Maybe we'll take it to the newspapers," said Anne.
"Get public opinion on our side. It's a good story. They'll
print it."

"Anne," said Lindsay, "have you forgotten about the
skeleton found with the artifacts?"

"What about it?" she said.

"You don't think the newspapers'll be interested in
that?"

"Just one of the burials. That's what the newspapers say."

"What?"

"I have it right here. It says that maybe the skeleton is an
Indian burial that was wrapped in old clothes to protect the
bones."

Lindsay groaned. That was the story Sinjin gave
Maggie. She must have given it to a reporter. "It's not an
Indian burial."

"So you say. It's right here in the newspaper."

"How did you find Malcolm Dodd?" Lindsay asked.

"Me and Steven took out an ad in the papers. You asked
Steven if he knew anyone by the name of Creasey, and we
figured it was important. We asked if anybody knowed a
Creasey or a MacRae back during the depression that had
something to do with Indian relics. There'd be something
in it for them if they came forward. Mr. Dodd answered.
You aren't the only smart member of the family, Lindsay
Chamberlain."

Lindsay smiled. "No, apparently not. That was very
clever, Anne."

Lindsay could almost see Anne's satisfied countenance as
she hung up the phone. Lindsay drummed her fingers on her
desk. "Well, Papaw, I suppose that's it," she said to the photograph of her grandfather. "I've done my best. If Steven and Anne go to the newspapers, at least it may come out that
you wanted to buy back the artifacts for the university."

Lindsay replaced the Kentucky newspaper in the box
with the other old papers in which the artifacts had been
wrapped and taped the box closed. She wrote a note to the
authorities in Kentucky where the skeleton was shipped,
explaining where the newspapers came from and that they
might hold evidence related to the identity of the skeleton.
They will just have to figure it out, she thought to herself.

She made a label and took the box up to the main office
and asked the secretaries to let it go out with the next mail.
Then she went home, putting the skeleton out of her mind
and concentrating on where the artifacts might be located.

She drove home the back way. It was more scenic than
the main route and there were fewer cars on the road. It took
longer, but she preferred it. Asking Chris about Einer was a
long shot. She wasn't sure she had learned anything useful
from the meeting, at least nothing she hadn't already known
about him. She knew he wouldn't keep the artifacts on his
property. If he had them and they were still in town, they
were probably somewhere on campus. However, as Chris
had pointed out, the university owned a lot of buildings all
over the state. The artifacts could be sitting in any one of
them, labeled with something like Fredrickson Foundation.
Or he could have sold them to a private collector, in which
case she would probably never discover their location.

What a mess Creasey created all those years ago. What a
mess her grandfather had left her with. Were the stolen artifacts connected with the death of Kaufman'? And what was
Kaufman doing with her letter opener? It should have been
in the property room along with the box of artifacts. The
box of artifacts-Lindsay wondered if it was missing also.
The police would know, but they wouldn't tell her. What
would Kaufman have been doing with them? Could he
have been in on it? Lindsay wondered, not for the first time. That would be an avenue of investigation she would
just have to set aside for a while. Now that Kaufman was
dead, she couldn't accuse him and expect any cooperation
from the police.

Sinjin was at home when she arrived. "I thought you
were going out with Sally," she said, settling on the couch
and kicking off her shoes.

"I took her home early so she could study for a test."

"You got my message, didn't you?"

"Yes. How did your dinner with Chris go?"

"It was nice. I didn't find out any information, but I had
a good time. He's really a nice guy."

"Sally told me about your conversation with that guy
Einer. It's all over the department."

"I'm sure it is. I thought he needed shaking up."

"From what I hear, you did a good job of that."

"Well, I still haven't solved anything, but maybe he'll
get nervous and do something rash."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Sinjin. "Something
rash might be something dangerous."

"I got another call from Anne and Steven today," Lindsay said, changing the subject. She related the conversation
to him. "It looks like your hypothesis was correct. Billy
did it with a knife in the cornfield. He probably lured
Creasey down to Macon to meet with him with the promise
of buying the artifacts. Since Lonnie was his half brother
and they didn't have the same name, Creasey probably
wasn't suspicious. Maybe they got in a fight or maybe Billy
just took his revenge. Anyway, it's done. I sent the newspapers to the authorities in Kentucky. They have all the evidence I have, if they choose to pursue it."

"Poor Anne and Steven," Sinjin said. "I'm sure they
didn't know what they were really telling you." He grinned
and shook his head. "So, that story I gave Maggie got in the
papers and now it's back to us."

"I suppose I'd better call Dad and let him sort the thing
out. Maybe he can reason with Anne and Steven."

"Lindsay, I got a call today. There's a fire in California,"
Sinjin said.

"You have to go?"

"Not yet, but I may. I'm afraid to leave you, with everything up in the air like this."

"Sinjin, I've lived quite a while by myself. I'll be fine.
I'm sure you've stayed longer than you intended, and I
appreciate it."

"I know, but you've had a lot of close calls."

"Yes, I agree. I think you'll just have to give up your job
and move in here with me. We can both look for jobs at the
same institution so you can watch over me at work, too."

Sinjin grinned. "How about a little TV tonight? Get your
mind off of everything?"

"I could use a relaxing evening."

Lindsay popped a couple of bags of popcorn into the
microwave, and they settled in the living room in front of
the television. Sinjin flipped through the channels with the
remote.

"You know, there is a TV Guide around somewhere,"
she said.

"This way's much better." He grinned and settled on the
movie Quest for Fire. "Have you seen this?" he asked.

"Yes, but I don't mind watching it again. I like it."