They both laughed. Pebbles tucked the long curling strands of her bob behind her ears and said, “Who was that guy? He seemed kinda pushy. You looked like you were about to punch him.”
“You read body language well. Correct on both counts. He appears to be some hot shot ‘antiquities’ collector, or at least thinks he is. He’s desperate to talk to me about some Mayan or Incan pieces of Devlin’s,” Anlon explained.
“What’s his name? I’ll do a quick web search on him before we get in the church,” Pebbles asked, digging in her clutch purse for her phone.
“Klaus Navarro. He said he’s from Argentina,” Anlon absently said, looking over Pebbles’ shoulder at the man approaching him waving energetically. “Oh my God, here comes another one.”
Pebbles spun to look at the barrel-chested, obese African-American man in a heavily wrinkled seersucker suit wobble up to them. Long shoots of white hair shot out in all directions as if he’d been shocked. He approached Anlon as Pebbles stepped aside to research Klaus Navarro and greeted him warmly. “Dr. Cully, what a treat it is to meet you! Devlin crowed about you many times, bless his soul. I’m Dr. Thatcher Reynolds.”
“You are too kind, Dr. Reynolds. I take it you were a professional colleague of Devlin’s?”
“More like rival!” boomed the beefy man. “Do call me Thatcher. Oh, we went at it like cats and dogs many times. We believed in very different views of man’s rise from cave dwellers.”
“Knowing my uncle, Thatcher, I bet many of those debates occurred over scotch and cigars,” Anlon smiled, warming to the boisterous personality of the archaeologist.
“Too much of both!” he roared. “Oh I will miss the old codger. No matter how much we yelled at each other, we always ended our talks on good terms. You don’t find that as much these days. So many people take things personally. That doesn’t move science forward, an open mind does!”
Anlon arched his eyebrow and kiddingly asked, “Did Devlin open your mind about anything?”
The man stroked his chin, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and said, “You know, we held such different beliefs. I am a gradualist; he was a catastrophist. It’s hard to find middle ground between those two schools of thought, but I do have to say that he often challenged me with questions I couldn’t answer.”
Anlon smiled. He liked Thatcher’s honesty and gusto and he understood why Devlin would have liked the man, even if they didn’t agree. He was also tasteful. He could have derided Devlin’s views, but instead his words, honestly spoken, were intended to lift the memory of Devlin Wilson not diminish it. He said, “He challenged us all that way Thatcher. And I’m sure you challenged him in return. I see the pastor waving to me. I think it’s time we went inside, but let’s chat again at the reception afterwards.”
After parting from Reynolds, Anlon moved to the church door where Pebbles and Jennifer awaited him. He was thankful Jennifer came to both services and that she came in support as a friend instead of as a police officer. It was a sweet gesture that reinforced in his mind that underneath the rough, go-getter exterior, she really possessed a kind spirit. I guess that’s true of most law enforcement professionals, he thought. Though they sometimes wield a stick, most of their time is spent helping people in need.
He took a deep breath when he reached the door and held out an arm for each of the women. They both accepted his escort into the church, all tension between them gone. For the first time that day, Anlon felt relaxed and ready to celebrate the life of Devlin Allen Wilson. Yet, as he stepped inside the church he felt a twinge of disappointment that Pacal Flores had not come to honor Devlin.
Mrs. Neally was the first to greet Anlon when he, Pebbles and Jennifer arrived for the reception. She cooed, “Dear Dr. Cully, I’m so sorry for your loss. The reception is upstairs to your right. If there is anything amiss, Miss McCarver, please let me know immediately!”
Anlon peered at Pebbles, who blushed and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Neally. I know your staff will exceed Dr. Cully’s expectations.”
When they climbed the stairs and entered the reception room, Anlon turned to Pebbles and inquired, “What did you say to her? She damn near knelt before you.”
“Nothing,” Pebbles nonchalantly said, “I just did what you asked. I made sure everything was all set.”
When Anlon disappeared into the room of people to mingle, Jennifer pulled Pebbles aside. “Okay, what gives? I met that woman on Sunday. She’s not the kind of woman to eat out of your hand. She’s more the type that bites it off.”
Pebbles chuckled and said, “I know, right?”
Jennifer waited for a further explanation. Pebbles offered none other than to playfully run her fingers across her lips to signify they were zipped shut.
“So much for collaboration,” Jennifer laughed. “Well, I need to get back to work. Will you please say goodbye to Anlon for me? I don’t want to distract him from his guests.”
Pebbles said she would and they discussed a time to meet the following day at Dobson’s house before Jennifer departed.
Anlon kept a nervous eye on Richard, who was holding a full wine glass in each hand. While he moved between guests extending thanks and exchanging vignettes about Devlin, Anlon paused to realize that he hadn’t thought of ancient stones, thefts or murders all day. It was a stress-relieving respite. Instead, he spent most of his time sharing and listening to grand stories about Dobson and Devlin.
Pebbles brought Anlon a bottle of his favorite San Diego microbrewed IPA. With a shocked look on his face, he praised her and asked, “How did you manage that?”
Pebbles hid her face while developing an evil grin, saying, “Let’s just say I bonded with Mrs. Neally.”
“You really have been wonderful,” Anlon said. “It’s hard to tell you how much it means to me, you being here. I don’t think I could do this without you.”
She blushed and replied, “Aw…by the way, scooter’s mine now!”
Anlon chortled and hugged her, “Yes, you won fair and square. To tell you the truth, I was rooting hard for you to lose for very selfish reasons.”
Her mouth opened in faux shock and she pushed him back with a hand to his chest. “Oh, were you now? Well, I might just give you a second chance to win, but I warn you Doc, I don’t like losing.”
Their banter was truncated as Thatcher Reynolds stepped towards Anlon and said as he bowed to Pebbles, “My apologies for interrupting. May I speak with Dr. Cully in private for a moment?”
Pebbles nodded politely and started to move away when Anlon called her back. “Hold on Pebbles. I’d like you to meet Thatcher Reynolds, a friend and self-professed rival of Devlin’s. Thatcher, this is my associate Pebbles McCarver.”
Thatcher gracefully extended a hand and greeted Pebbles, “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
He turned back to Anlon in an awkwardly dismissive motion intended to exclude Pebbles from their conversation. Anlon reached for Pebbles’ hand as she turned to leave and gripped it in an unspoken request for her to stay. Anlon clarified for Thatcher, “Pebbles is my closest confidante. Anything you’d like to discuss with me I’ll discuss with her anyway, so please, what is it you’d like to say?”
Pebbles bit her lower lip, stifling a chuckle, and again appreciated Anlon’s recognition of her as a peer. Each time he exhibited his respect for her in this way, the more she felt like his peer.
“Oh,” Thatcher exclaimed, “I see. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to be disrespectful. I wanted to ask you some delicate questions and I wasn’t sure whether it was advisable to discuss the questions in a public setting, Dr. Cully.”
“First off Thatcher, it’s Anlon. You’re a PhD, I’m a PhD, no need for formality. Second, there are no secrets between Pebbles and I, so fire away.”
Thatcher boomed with laughter and said, “I like you Anlon. You’re more like your uncle than you think. Very well, very well. I wanted to ask you some questions about Devlin’s death. I was very surprised to hear of his accident.”
An
lon’s face twitched and Pebbles halted in mid-sip of her wine. They cast knowing looks at each other and Thatcher continued, “I see from your reactions that I’ve stirred waters already fished.”
“An interesting way to put it,” Anlon conceded. “What are you hinting at Thatcher?”
“It’s just that his death seemed untimely and I thought it might be linked in some way with his research,” Thatcher innocently shrugged.
“What do you know about Devlin’s research?” Anlon queried. “I had the impression he kept his investigations close to the vest.”
Thatcher laughed again and said, “If bulls wore vests careening through china shops that might be true! He didn’t share details about his findings, but all one had to do to know the direction of his research was follow the broken pieces of china.”
Thatcher continued, “It was well known in the archaeology and anthropology communities that Devlin believed civilized man significantly pre-dated acknowledged societal development. Most of my colleagues were not kind to Devlin, demanding he produce definitive proof to back up his theory. I know your uncle spent the last decade of his life relentlessly pursuing that proof and for that he was roundly, albeit quietly, mocked. In the end, though, I believe he might have found some proof. And may now be dead because of it.”
Anlon listened with interest. In his opinion, Thatcher’s coolly presented summary was close to the mark. Though Anlon largely stepped away from academia after the Whave patent was sold, he still had friends and associates in scientific circles and he still occasionally perused research journals. He knew how easy it was for a researcher to be maligned for a contrarian point of view. And Devlin was bombastic, feisty even, when it came to points of view he passionately held. So Thatcher’s analysis was well grounded, but Anlon was curious as to why Thatcher was convinced Devlin found proof and why he thought it might have contributed to his death. He also wondered how many other colleagues of Devlin’s thought the same. He asked, “I can’t argue your bull analogy or the way Devlin was viewed among his peers, but what makes you think he found proof backing his theory?”
“Simple really,” responded the eccentric looking archaeologist as he cleaned his glasses with his tie. “When bulls leave bits of broken china everywhere and then all of a sudden the bits stop, it gives the impression that the bull has found the piece of china he wants and has left the shop.”
“Maybe he just gave up,” Anlon weakly argued.
“Hmm…I thought you were more inquisitive than that, Anlon. Do you believe he just gave up?”
Anlon didn’t answer the question. He was, in fact, starting to get a little irritated by Thatcher’s probing. He looked at Pebbles and then back at Thatcher. “I’m sorry, why is it of your concern one way or the other?”
Thatcher replaced his glasses upon his face and put his cards on the table, saying, “If Devlin did find proof, then someone should pick up the hunt where he left off. With Matthew’s unfortunate death so soon after Devlin, there’s no academic left within his circle to further the work your uncle spent 10 hard years chasing. I’d like you to consider handing the mantle to me to continue his work and preserve his legacy. I’ve known Devlin’s assistant Pacal for many years. Together we can make great strides.”
Ah, so now we get down to the crux of the conversation, Anlon mused inside. How magnanimous of Thatcher.
“It’s a generous offer Thatcher, and I thank you for making it. But, handing his research over to someone else is not really something I’ve considered. Besides, you described yourself as holding starkly different views than Devlin. I wonder if that might make it difficult for you to pursue his research without tainting your own reputation,” Anlon needled.
Thatcher expected this answer and replied, “Well, maybe I should have said it a different way. I have some backers who would be willing to buy Devlin’s artifact collection and research papers, people who are keenly interested in furthering your uncle’s legacy.”
Pebbles finished her wine and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. To her, the air between the two men was turning prickly fast. Thatcher’s initial innuendo had morphed into a lame attempt to steal, now buy, Devlin’s collection. And Thatcher hadn’t answered Anlon’s question. This was about money not legacy, she concluded. Pebbles was amazed Anlon had maintained his composure thus far, but she wasn’t sure how much longer his patience would last.
“Devlin’s collection is not for sale,” Anlon curtly answered.
Undaunted, Thatcher said, “But I understand you didn’t receive any money from Devlin’s estate, just his home and artifact collection. Won’t it be a troublesome matter for you to dispose of his assets? Wouldn’t you rather receive cash and be done with it? With some of the funds offered by my backers, you could establish a research grant under your uncle’s name and support the next generation of budding archaeologists.”
Anlon shook his head, glared at Thatcher and repeated, “The collection is not for sale. Good day, Dr. Reynolds.”
Fuming, Anlon turned away. Thatcher reached out and gripped Anlon’s arm to restrain his turn. He spat in a hushed voice, “I think you should reconsider Dr. Cully. It would be unwise and potentially dangerous to continue the work yourself.”
Pebbles shot Thatcher an incredulous look and interjected, “Are you threatening Anlon?”
Ignoring Pebbles’ question, Thatcher stared coldly at Anlon and released his arm, warning, “It’s dangerous for more than just you Anlon. It’s dangerous for anyone you care about.”
XIII
LOST IN THE DIG
Yawning deeply, Anlon sat in the dark on the back steps of Devlin’s house with beer in hand and listened to the sonorous harmony of crickets and frogs. While the nocturnal chorus soothed his troubled mind, it did little to alter Anlon’s downcast mood.
It had been a very long and exhausting day, he thought. The funerals themselves were draining enough, but with the other dramas that unfolded piled on top, Anlon was spent.
Pondering the day’s events, well, the last several days’ events really, he did feel lost in the dig. He came to Stockbridge primarily to attend Devlin’s funeral and start the ball rolling on his duties as executor. Simple as that. Yes, he’d traveled earlier than he would have otherwise chosen in order to meet with Dobson, but Anlon hadn’t expected that decision to lead to the mess he found himself mired in now.
As he contemplated these thoughts, Anlon heard the creak of the kitchen screen door behind him and the muffled steps of Pebbles’ bare feet on the wooden porch leading to the stairs. She had been reunited with her everyday summer Tahoe wardrobe, daisy dukes and a black form-fitting tank top, thanks to a late afternoon shower that ushered in a warm front.
She descended the steps to where Anlon rested and slid down next to him, her own beer in hand. She nuzzled next to him and asked in a gentle voice, “How are you doing, AC? Want some company or should I leave you alone?”
He smiled and absorbed the heat of her skin against his, having adopted shorts and t-shirt himself. “You, young lady, are always welcome to join me, and I’m hanging in there I guess.”
“Good answer,” she replied, raising her lips to kiss his cheek, “So what’s going on in that PhD brain of yours?”
Anlon snickered, “I don’t feel like much of a PhD right now. I’m overwhelmed with all of this craziness to tell you the truth.”
Pebbles slung her arm around his neck and patted his shoulder. “Aw, don’t beat yourself up AC. I’m not sure anyone could make sense out of what’s happened.”
“Well, I know one thing for sure. I’m no detective!” he said.
“Oh, please,” she answered, slapping his back, “you are too.”
Anlon shook his head and patted Pebbles’ knee. “You’re being awfully kind Pebbles, but I’m so lost right now I’m not sure I could find my way back in the house with a sherpa and flashing signs.”
Pebbles had not seen Anlon like this before. She couldn’t remember a time she’d been around
him when he wasn’t relaxed and confident. He’s human after all, she rejoiced!
He needs a pep talk and a good night’s sleep, Pebbles reflected, though she wasn’t sure which should come first. She reached for his hand as it sat atop her knee and intertwined her fingers with his. Silently they listened to the sounds of the night while she peered down at the trinity knot tattoo on the underside of her wrist. Gazing at the ink design, Pebbles took a swig of her beer to steel herself. Pep talk it is.
“Do you remember,” she said, “when we were out on your boat the first time and you asked me about my tattoos?”
“Huh?” Anlon mumbled as he was drawn out of his thoughts by Pebbles’ question. “Um, yeah, sure I do.”
“You asked me if they had meanings, and I said no, not really. And you asked me if I had gotten them all at one time or at different times, and I said at different times. You then asked me a question that seemed odd to me. You asked me to point out the order in which I got them. Do you remember that?”
Anlon closed his eyes and recalled the shimmering lake waters, the golden sun, the warm breeze and the visage of Pebbles in white daisy dukes and a hot pink bikini top, her pink-streaked black hair wafting up in patches each time the breeze swirled. He remembered her guided tour of body art starting with her left ankle, moving up to her right front shoulder, then her left inner wrist, her right wrist and finishing with the right side of her neck.
“Yes, that was a tour I’ll never forget,” Anlon winked as he squeezed her hand lightly.
“And then later, around Christmas I think, when we drove over to Squaw Valley to ski, and in a weak moment I told you the hummingbird story about the tattoo on my neck while we rode up the T-bar. After I finished the story, you didn’t probe, you just said it was a sweet story,” Pebbles reminisced.
Anlon didn’t comment, unsure where Pebbles was going with her sojourn down memory lane. She continued on, “And a couple months ago while we were at your home in Los Cabos, sunbathing next to the infinity pool — love that pool, by the way — and we got a little drunk from tequila and the hot sun. We were kidding around and you blurted out that you’d finally figured out the meaning of my tattoos. I taunted you and said there was zero chance you knew. And you said you knew exactly what each one meant and in what order I got them, and that the order was different than what I told you on the lake.”
Shadows of the Stone Benders (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 1) Page 15
