by Mary Saums
When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find his eyes sparkling with delight. He hid his smile behind a hand, the fingers tapping above his upper lip. When he spoke, his voice was low and dreamy. “Many years ago, a former professor called me to a site. This was in the south of England.”
“Is this going to be one of your longer stories?”
“Yes. It was a gravesite found when the railroad was going through. One of the railway workers was digging, he struck what sounded like metal, and when he looked in his shovel, it held a shiny cup made of gold. My professor eventually identified the site as an Anglo-Saxon burial room, an entire room as big as your den, in which the bones of an old soldier and all he might need in the afterlife had lain untouched for almost fourteen hundred years. Fourteen hundred years!”
“Amazing. How did you know he was a soldier?”
“By the great sword at his side, among other things. But the thing here that makes me remember that particular site is this.” He indicated the space with the tip of a small paintbrush. “You see?”
“Heavens!” I leaned closer. Behind the curve, a smaller curve of something thin lay atop what was surely a type of nail, still imbedded in the wall.
“This is what I was getting at with the story. The Anglo-Saxon site had a number of items still on the wall, just as they had been buried. I think this is a bowl. And it is hanging by a handle, perhaps one of two on either side.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not. We’ll have to see. But my first guess is that our fellow died in his kitchen.”
We hugged each other and laughed. Michael pulled me to my feet and we danced upon the bright yellow and orange leaves that covered the flat area around us. I had forgotten the joy of discovery, even such a small thing as a nail, and of being with a man as full of life as Michael. We embraced again, ending in an unexpected kiss. Laughing it off after a moment’s hesitation, we returned to gaze and consider the new find.
As we worked, we continued to speculate. Michael suggested we hire another worker or two, as it was slow going with just the two of us. I responded in a vague way. More people meant more chance of word spreading. I didn’t want that. Even with no publicity in any national archaeoligical journals and newspapers, we already had a possible threat.
He asked me to clear away dirt from around another site of a suspected artifact. He’d made a small beginning already near where the feet of the skeleton had been. What looked like the corner of something solid protruded, just barely, above the soil. Though I’d been over this area numerous times already, I hadn’t noticed it. Michael’s experienced eyes missed very little. Now that he had pointed it out, I could see the pit’s blue aura was a bit darker there, exactly where the object stuck out.
I worked to uncover it, bit by bit, seeing that it was rock, flat and rectangular, about ten by four, and increasingly blue the more I uncovered. I selected a different brush to delicately sweep away dirt from what I thought were thin fissures in the rock. I stopped.
“Oh, heavens,” I said. Michael looked over at me. I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “Michael, dear. I believe it’s engraved.”
We took many photos of it, working steadily and almost silently, other than directions from Michael, until the daylight waned. The engravings were not in English, but were instead about ten symbols. Whether two or three of them ran together or were separate, we couldn’t tell as yet.
“Remember,” I said. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I don’t want to attract attention.” He promised and stuck his camera in his bag.
Bone tired but elated, we closed up shop for the night. “Another most excellent day,” he said. “I think we should celebrate with a bottle.”
“Oh? Wine or champagne?”
“Neither. A bottle of rubbing alcohol for my old sore muscles might do better. It would hit the spot just now, with perhaps a few aspirin.”
When we drove out of the property and onto Anisidi Road, we saw Phoebe’s car parked in front of my house again. Once out of my car, Phoebe called to us to help her carry sacks and boxes inside. She had returned home after our shooting extravaganza and made our supper.
“My dear, you shouldn’t have,” I said. Wonderful aromas escaped from the containers and reminded me how hungry I was.
Phoebe handed off everything to the two of us, except one package, Rowdy’s wicker basket. In the kitchen, with the covered dishes and plates set on the table, she lifted the little dog out of his carrier to scamper about on the floor.
“My, how pretty Rowdy looks today,” I said. His coat of white, brownish gray, and red no longer stood out on end but now lay flat and sleek. With it all combed down, that which hadn’t been cut off almost reached the floor. His face looked positively gorgeous with the hair cut and styled around it.
“He’s not Rowdy anymore,” Phoebe said. “And he’s not a ‘he’ anymore, either. Are you ready for this? Sissy Breedlove over at Smoochie Poochie told me Rowdy is a girl. Can you believe that? I don’t know what is wrong with my sister. Anyway, so that’s why I renamed him. Or her. Michael and Jane, I’d like you to meet Jenette.”
The “he” who was now a “she” looked up at us and blinked.
“Won’t that confuse her when she goes home to Corene?” I said.
Phoebe snorted. “What, are you crazy? Corene can’t take care of herself, much less a dog. Why, it would be inhumane for me to send this poor animal home with her.”
Homer, who had come inside the house with us but retreated to the den so as to avoid disturbing Phoebe, ventured slowly into the kitchen to greet Jenette. When Jenette saw him, she barked. Her long silky hair undulated with each yap.
Phoebe scooped her up in her arms and held her close to her own face. At that moment, I realized why the little dog had always looked so familiar to me. Now, I could see it was not another dog she reminded me of, but a person. She reminded me of Phoebe.
The resemblance was remarkable. Both wore red bows in the center of their hairdos. Jenette’s eyes were darker, and she had only a patch of red hair at the top of her head as opposed to Phoebe’s full head of it, but both girls possessed a certain facial expression that conveyed an ebullient spirit, a bit of impatience, and a dash of mischief. Both looked down at Homer, then up again to me, then directly into one another’s eyes. Phoebe turned to me.
“Jenette don’t like dogs,” she said. She sniffed at the idea and exhaled a quiet huff. “Do you, hon?”
They looked at one another, face-to-face. Jenette sniffed and also exhaled a small ladylike huff out of her tiny nostrils. Nevertheless, she wagged her tail when she looked at Homer again and wiggled as if she wanted to be let down in order to get to know him.
“Nonsense,” I said. “Give her a chance and she will love him as I do. I’ll set out a bowl for her as well.”
Phoebe did so with reluctance, but all went well with their introductions. We washed up and set into our meals.
“What a feast,” Michael said when we sat at the table loaded with the goodies Phoebe provided.
“I just threw together leftovers. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole, some yeast rolls, and chocolate pie. It’s not much. I just hope it will be worth eating.”
We assured her it was. Michael praised her with almost every bite.
“So, Jane,” Phoebe said. “What are we going to do to keep lowlifes off your property over yonder?”
“I have a few things in mind. I thought when we finished eating, you and I could set up a simple roadblock, just across at the entrance, while Michael takes his shower.”
“Okay,” she said. She put her napkin in her lap. “But that won’t help much if they’re hiking types.”
“That’s true. It’s the best we can do tonight, I’m afraid. Maybe tomorrow I can secure the area around the dig somewhat.”
Michael, I noticed, couldn’t conceal his amusement at our conversation.
“What is it, dear? Did we say something funny?”
“Not at all. Your des
ire is commendable. I question whether a roadblock will be much deterrent. I don’t mean to criticize but, frankly, if the two of you are able to move blocks in place, a motivated thief could move them out of the way just as easily. And the idea of protecting the site. Jane, dear, be reasonable. You couldn’t possibly guard such a large area as the forest. A night guard at the pit itself, perhaps, yes. But to keep trespassers out of the surrounding woods you would need to be in possession of an arsenal of military-grade weapons and an army of expert marksmen.”
Phoebe got up from the table. On her way to the sink, she raised her eyebrows in an “Oh, yeah?” gesture. She mouthed, “An army of two,” while alternately pointing to herself then to me. I wanted to laugh but didn’t for Michael’s sake. He didn’t know about my former government work or about the Colonel’s obsession with collecting guns. Rather, I sipped my coffee and listened to him more intently in a way I hoped he interpreted as rapt attention.
The roadblock we used didn’t consist of blocks but of trash cans and wire. After Michael went upstairs, I brought up an old trip wire alarm system from the basement, one the Colonel and I used on our doors and windows in Florida. Phoebe helped me string it across the entrance to what used to be Cal Prewitt’s place and was the only access to his forest from the main road.
“What if a deer happens to walk through?” Phoebe said.
“The wire might keep deer away. I think they would go around it. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen any deer this close to the house.” Once finished, I tested the wire and was rewarded with a shrill siren.
“Phase one. Operational,” Phoebe said.
“If you have any free time tomorrow,” I said, “I’ll be working on phase two, until it’s time for the Halloween party.”
“I’m not sure I can with so much to do. But I do know this. I want to be in on any kind of business that involves running thieves or trespassers out of here. I don’t want you doing it by yourself.”
“Don’t be daft. That’s too dangerous. If anything happens, I call the police. Simple as that. We were very lucky before.”
Phoebe grunted. “In this world, Jane, luck isn’t what matters. Things like hand grenades and smoke bombs matter. You have some in one of those trunks full of goodies, don’t you?”
I hesitated. “I do, but remember, you mustn’t tell anyone. Besides, we couldn’t use anything that might start a fire, for the sake of the forest or the dig site.”
I didn’t mention that, considering our last adventure in the woods, there might be more than just we two in attendance. Once more, Phoebe’s unpredictable reactions to the idea of ghosts and the supernatural made me hesitant to bring up the subject.
I’d tried to tell her the truth about what I saw that night, during our last adventure, but before I could do so, she insisted it was angels who had helped us. Maybe angels were there, only invisible to me. The pertinent question at the moment was whether or not we would have such assistance again, were it needed. That was something else altogether.
Phoebe and Jenette returned home not long after we finished. Michael was already hard at work on his computer when I returned to the house. He was busy checking the rock inscriptions against native engravings found across the southeast.
Later, I got a phone call from Riley Gardner. He asked if he and his ghost hunter friends could prowl about on my land the following night. I smiled. It would be Halloween.
“Certainly. Please stop in for a chat if you have time.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said in his slow drawl. “We might just do that. You seen the moon? It’ll be completely full for Halloween. Can’t pass that up. Good hunting weather.”
I was happy to give him permission. “One more thing, Riley. Do you ever hunt during the day? I wondered if perhaps you might have seen a car here or around the refuge, or anything out of the ordinary?”
No, he and the girls worked during the day and had not been on a hunting expedition near me at night since their last visit, Riley said. So much for possible witnesses of our house intruders.
Twenty-Six
Jane and Phoebe Return to the Bookstore
Phoebe and I met early the next morning at McGaughey’s Books on the square. I wanted to get some special blank journals to record my new findings. I would need several, a large one for more sketches with plenty of room for notes on random subjects, and one for follow-up notes on Cal’s boxes. Mainly, I needed one to devote entirely to the bones site. I wanted to note everything from the very beginning, from looking through Cal’s box, writing summaries of my first thoughts as well as all other subsequent thoughts and actions taken by myself and the authorities.
While I browsed, Phoebe scanned the shelves for more of her thriller action books. We met at the counter with our arms full.
Cathy looked pleased. “Phoebe, how did you like the books you bought last time?”
“I loved some. Especially the pastry sniper. I hated a few. One in particular. That one you raved on and on about.” She gave me a sideways glance. “It had a bad smell,” she said.
“Oh,” the bookseller said, looking aghast. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be happy to replace it if it was defective.”
Phoebe smoothed her hair. “No, it wasn’t defective, per se. What I meant was, it stank. As in P-U.”
“Oh. I’m sorry you didn’t like it.”
“That’s okay. I aired it out real good. I couldn’t return it anyway.”
I braced myself. Even though I’d only known Phoebe a short time, I could already tell when she was about to launch into one of her wild “stories.” Her mouth had a way of turning up slightly at the corners and her eyes opened wider, all while trying to maintain a completely straight face. She gave me a quick wink as Cathy bent to retrieve a paper bag from under the counter.
“It was the strangest thing,” Phoebe began in her storyteller voice. “I’d thrown the book into the garbage, and a raccoon took it right out of the bin that very night. I saw him do it myself. He woke me up rattling around in there.
“I looked out the kitchen window and saw him jump up on the top of the fence with the book in his hands. He flipped a page or two, read a minute, and rubbed his little bandit eyes.” This, she demonstrated. “And then he started ripping pages out.” This, as well, with great feeling.
“I reckon he didn’t like that part about the bad guy being Southern any better than I did. So, see, I couldn’t return it anyway. I believe that raccoon wanted the pages he’d torn out for toilet paper.” A short silence followed her words, delivered in complete seriousness, after which the three of us had a good laugh.
“Phoebe,” Cathy said, “you’re a mess. I can’t understand why that book offended you. I don’t even remember the villain being Southern. It didn’t bother me a bit. I loved it. It’s one of my all-time favorites. In fact, I love the whole series.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Sure is. Here, I’ve found another book for you that you might like better.” She turned her back to us and perused a shelf.
Phoebe said, “To each his own, hon. I’m glad you were able to enjoy it.” Behind Cathy’s back, Phoebe’s face contorted for my benefit. She bared her upper teeth and stuck them out slightly. She brought her hands up to her mouth and pretended to make quick bites with her front teeth, as if she were a small rodent with something to eat in her tiny fingers.
My face was a mask when Cathy turned to us once again. I thanked her and promised to come back soon as Phoebe and I walked out and onto the sidewalk. With the door safely shut behind us, I turned to Phoebe.
She put on her sunglasses and shouldered her purse. “Cheese eaters. They’re everywhere, Jane.”
Twenty-Seven
Jane Takes Extreme Measures
I spent the rest of the day at the site, scheming and setting up equipment that might keep the dig safe, in case our mysterious thief should find it. Michael kept me busy as well. I did my usual recording and photographing chores as he progressed with t
he object attached to the wall, and I with the engraved rock.
This section of the pit held more soil than that on the other side where the bones lay. As he filled discarded dirt into a sturdy plastic bucket, I periodically sifted the dirt through the screen frame.
I was thankful the soil had such a nice texture, loose and almost sandy, which made the sifting process easy. On many other digs in my past, the dirt wasn’t so cooperative when its content was a clay mixture. Very messy and harder to sift for the smaller objects, like arrowheads or other implements we expected to find in this area. I’d seen a number of sandy locations like this one around this section of the woods, particularly the outcroppings. In many places, wild cacti grew amidst the flat rocks that commonly paved rock overlooks. Here, about twenty feet of exposed rock stretched from the edge of the trees to the bluff.
When I had a break in my duties, I took a few devices out of a large carryall I’d brought. Michael didn’t laugh, but his voice couldn’t hide the fact that he thought I’d lost my mind.
“Those aren’t going to be any help, I’m afraid.” He referred to the motion-detector cameras that I placed on the trunks of several trees.
“Perhaps not. I have to do something. Surely you understand.”
“You may get some nice photographs of birds swooping past or a curious deer.”
That day, I had a difficult time as I tried to concentrate on the tasks at hand. Though I had become accustomed to the strange light blue cast that hung like a veil over the pit, I had noticed as the day wore on that the blue became a little darker. I thought of the large moon on the previous two nights and wondered if my odd new ability to see colors that others did not increased in relation to the lunar phases. Tonight, Halloween night, the moon would be at its fullest. And there in the pit, as I tried to focus on Michael’s work and on the installation of security measures, it appeared as if last night’s moon had brought out yet another new spot of interest in the dig area.
“What is it?” Michael said without turning away from his task. “Found something?”
