Relics

by Mary Anna Evans

  A professional thrill went through her when she realized that Amanda-Lynne owned the mound as well as the homestead site and the cemetery. She was going to be able to excavate where she had intended, after all. DeWayne might fuss, but what did it matter, really, which piece of worthless property was his? All of the Sujosa were land-poor, paying taxes on land they couldn’t farm and couldn’t sell. And Faye’s romantic side liked the idea of restoring the property boundaries to the places Sam Leicester/Lester intended all those years ago.

  But as she ran through the rest of the document comparison, her ardor cooled. There was nothing else of interest—no lost inheritance, no buried treasure—no motive for the murders of Carmen Martinez and Jimmie Lavelle.

  ***

  Back at the settlement, Faye whistled tunelessly as she threw her coat on the back of her desk chair. Despite her lack of success, she had enjoyed her time digging through historical photographs, looking for cool stuff like old homesteads and older mounds. It was probably a form of mental illness, but it was a cheaper and healthier addiction than, say, alcohol or nicotine. When Adam spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Sorry to scare you. You might want to think about putting a lock on that door.”

  “Jenny says the lock on the outside door is good enough, thank you very much. She also says that she keeps an eye on everybody in her store, which cuts down the shoplifting problem significantly, and she’d know the second anybody opened my office door.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  “Jenny probably thought you were safe, being a lawman and all.”

  “Maybe so.” He sank into the desk chair that had been Carmen’s and looked at her with a face that said I have news. Ask me.

  She cooperated. “What’s up?”

  “Joe and his superhuman talents found the phone. He looked for you, but came to me when he couldn’t find you.”

  “I knew he could do it. He was probably just too polite to ask us to get out of his way yesterday. Was there anything useful on it?”

  Adam rocked the chair backward. “Useful? Only a text message saying, ‘Meet me at the cell phone tower.’” He let the chair flop back to its default position. “Well, that’s not exactly what it said. It was something more like, ‘I can’t go on like this. Meet me at the tower to say good-bye.’ Signed—”

  “Irene?” Adam nodded, and Faye’s mouth went dry. “Have you talked to her?”

  “The sheriff and I went over there straight away. She says she didn’t send it, but when we asked her to produce her cell phone, she couldn’t find it.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “Maybe. The poor kid seems torn up with honest grief. But she has admitted that sometimes she and Jimmie went up to the tower—to be alone together, she said. She says they stopped it months ago, when their parents found out and raised holy hell. Maybe she was overwhelmed—God knows she doesn’t have an easy life—and sent the message. Then maybe she chickened out and Jimmie fell by accident. Or maybe someone stole her cell phone and she was never there at all.” He ran a hand through his ruddy hair. “I do know one thing: whoever used Irene’s cell to send a text message to Jimmie’s cell wasn’t here in the settlement at the time.”

  Faye nodded. “Because it’ll be months before they get cell coverage here.” She knew what he was thinking—she was thinking it herself. Who had been in Alcaskaki Wednesday afternoon? Irene was there, working at the dry cleaners. Jorge was God-knew-where, driving his delivery van. Brent could have been in his Alcaskaki office or his settlement clinic. Then there were DeWayne and Fred to consider, and a host of others. There were more people who didn’t have alibis than there were people who did.

  “I’m going to have a chat with Jorge,” said Adam casually.

  “Is it okay if I talk to Irene?”

  “She’s not officially a suspect. I don’t see how it could hurt the case.”

  Faye wasn’t thinking about the case. She was thinking about Irene. The poor girl had been through so much, and now she’d found out that a message purportedly from her had led to Jimmie’s death… If Irene was able to talk, Faye would listen. The girl might need to talk to someone who knew what it was like to have a sick mother and nobody to turn to. If she couldn’t talk, then Faye would simply be there with her.

  “Anything else?” asked Adam.

  Faye hesitated, then shook her head and turned away.

  ***

  Faye had not intended to have her womanly chat with Irene while standing in the Montrose driveway, but she was lucky to get a chance to speak with the girl at all. Irene was on her way to work. Grief and loneliness didn’t stop the bills from coming.

  “Irene,” Faye began, “are you sure you want to go to work?”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  The tears were gathering on the rims of the girl’s eyes, poised as if they needed to spill over. Faye didn’t want to be the one who made them fall. “Do you know that Jimmie was the first Sujosa I laid eyes on? He was perched in a tree over the road the day I arrived.”

  “He told me what he did. He was so scared when he thought you were going to crash. Then, when he saw that you were going to be okay, he got more scared that he was going to be in real trouble. He ran away, but he lost sleep over what might have happened to you. He didn’t mean anything….”

  “I have to wonder, would he have done anything else really stupid? Like maybe set a fire?”

  “No. Oh, no.” The horror on Irene’s face said that she’d never even considered that possibility. “Jimmie was a gentle, gentle soul. He was just…” She hesitated, so Faye helped her out.

  “Irene, I know what Ronya is doing, and I know that you and Jimmie were involved.”

  Irene looked more relieved than surprised. “He was just worried that Ronya might have to shut her business down, that’s all. If that happened, his friends would have lost out. It was them that he was worried about—and me—more than himself.”

  “Did he ever talk to you about the fire?”

  “No. I tried to talk to him about it. I guess I just wanted to make sense of what happened. I never understood why Carmen would want a heater in her room, anyway. It wasn’t so cold. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He said it would only make things worse to talk about it, and he didn’t like to see me upset. That’s the way he was…” The tears in the girl’s eyes finally overflowed.

  Faye had never been a physically affectionate person, but she’d been brought up by her mother and grandmother, two women with powerful arms and shoulders made to be leaned against. She could think of nothing to do for Irene but to throw her arms wide and let the young woman walk into them.

  ***

  As Irene drove away, Faye stood, irresolute, in the Montrose driveway, eyeing the house. The new information she’d gained at the property assessor’s affected her professional relationship with DeWayne Montrose. DeWayne might not like it, but he wasn’t going to be able to stop her from excavating the mound he’d been so adamant about protecting from her dirty archaeologist’s hands.

  She climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. Kiki opened it and stood leaning weakly against the doorframe. Lank curls the color of flame framed her pallid face.

  “Is DeWayne home?” Faye asked.

  “He went to Hanahan’s for groceries. Can I help you?”

  Faye considered. It might be good to have DeWayne’s wife on her side during the inevitably tense discussion with the man himself. She decided to present her case to Kiki—quickly, before the frail woman collapsed. “Yes, I think you can. Should we sit down?”

  Kiki sank right down on the doorstep, clearly intending to have this conversation on the front porch, so Faye did the same. “I asked DeWayne for permission to dig on his land when I stopped by the other day.”

  “I bet he said no. DeWayne is funny about his possessions.”

  “You know your husband well.”

  “We’ve been married a
long, long time.”

  Faye pulled copies of both versions of Sam Leicester’s will from her briefcase, telling the story in as few words as possible. “These documents show that there’s some question about who actually owns some of the land up on the river bluff. I’m pretty sure that Amanda-Lynne really owns the piece near the old mound, and that’s the part I’m interested in. Now, I’m not a lawyer, but I imagine DeWayne and Amanda-Lynne can work this problem out without going to a lot of legal expense. I’m hoping I can get permission to dig while they sort things out. I won’t do any harm to the land, Mrs. Montrose. I promise. Will you talk to your husband?”

  Kiki nodded, then looked over Faye’s shoulder.

  Faye turned, expecting to see DeWayne approaching, as fierce and frightening as his bloodthirsty dogs. Instead, she saw Brent striding up the front walk, an uncomfortable smile fixed on his face.

  Kiki rose so quickly that Faye feared she might fall. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she cried, with more vim than Faye would have thought possible. “I don’t have anything to say to you. You know that.” The sick woman slipped through the front door, closed it, and shot the deadbolt home.

  Faye and Brent looked at each other.

  “Guess she doesn’t want to see you,” said Faye. “Can’t imagine why.”

  “She’s refusing treatment,” said Brent. “Spending all her money buying miracle drugs over the Internet, hoping against hope. She doesn’t realize those quacks are robbing her blind. Lately, she won’t even let me see her.”

  “Too bad she’s not Sujosa. She might never have gotten sick at all.”

  Brent shook his head. “I thought I had her in remission—I thought she was getting better. But then she began to slip away. I keep coming by, hoping she’ll let me help her before it’s too late.”

  “Would that make you feel better about yourself? Money didn’t do it. A big house didn’t do it. My guess is that it’s going to take you a long time to find what you’re looking for—simple pride in who you are.”

  Brent turned away without a word and headed to his car.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Faye found Joe back at the bunkhouse, having exchanged his role as woodsman extraordinaire for one as chief cook and bottle washer. They sat together at the table, and discussed the finding of the cell phone as they ate.

  Faye couldn’t explain why Joe’s bologna sandwiches tasted better than anybody else’s. The lettuce was juicier and crisper. The white bread was softer. If someone had told her that his mayonnaise-spreading technique was the secret, she would have believed them. Of course, they were enjoying a very late lunch, so hunger might be part of the answer, but only a small part.

  Joe was on his third sandwich when Ronya and Zack arrived. Ever the perfect gentleman, he offered to make them sandwiches, an offer they accepted gratefully.

  “I tried to find you earlier,” said Ronya. “To ask if you had…” she glanced at Zack, “you know.”

  “I told Joe, but not Adam. Not yet. Anyway, you couldn’t find me because I went into Alcaskaki,” said Faye. “And I had a very enjoyable but pointless time puzzling over some old Sujosa deeds. Not wholly pointless,” she corrected. “I found out that DeWayne doesn’t really own the mound site.”

  “Who does?” asked Ronya.

  “Amanda-Lynne, I believe. And since she has no problem with me working on her land, this means I’ll be able to excavate the entire site as soon as possible. That’s something.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Ronya. “Once the lawyers get involved, it could take a while.”

  “I don’t think it will involve a lot of litigation. There’s nothing but scrub land between the creek and Great Tiger Bluff. One tract is worth no more than the next.”

  “Faye,” Joe said. “Are you talking about the property where you want to dig?”

  “Yeah,” Faye said.

  “It’s not all worthless, Faye. The cell tower’s up there.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Faye. “It must be—I don’t know, a mile away at least.”

  “You only think that because the road is so roundabout it takes forever to get there. It’s only a few hundred yards north of the Indian mound.”

  Faye blinked. The cell tower. The one that brought with it a monthly lease payment that would, presumably, go on forever. Someone who had lived on the hard cold line of poverty for a lifetime might do anything to hang on to a gold mine like that.

  Faye thought out loud. “Carmen knew about Sam Leicester’s will. I know she did, because her interview transcription shows that she told Amanda-Lynne about it. Kiki was there, too. If she or Amanda-Lynne told DeWayne what Carmen knew, he might have killed her to keep the property dispute quiet. If Jimmie saw him doing it, DeWayne might have killed him, too. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to steal Irene’s cell phone. And…listen to this…Irene just told me that Jimmie said it would only hurt her more if they talked about the fire. Maybe he was thinking of how it would hurt her if she knew what her father had done.”

  “It can’t be true,” said Ronya. “DeWayne? He’s turned into a real slacker these past few years, but he’s not a bad man.”

  “He set his dogs on me and Carmen the first time I met him,” said Faye.

  Ronya backed down at that, but not all the way. “That could have been an accident. Let’s at least check this out before we start making accusations. There may have been a property transaction that you missed. Talk to Amanda-Lynne.”

  “Do you think we can get reliable information from her?” asked Faye. “Especially now?”

  Ronya shrugged to acknowledge Faye’s point. “Then talk to Miss Dovey. She might know the details.”

  “Okay, I can do that,” said Faye. “But let’s take some precautions. Joe? Can you find DeWayne, and keep an eye on him? Make sure—well, make sure he doesn’t try anything. If we’re right, he may think he’s silenced anyone who could hurt him, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I won’t let him out of my sight, Faye.”

  “Okay. Do we walk or ride?” she asked Ronya.

  “Always quicker in this settlement to walk.”

  “Let’s go.”

  ***

  The scent of fruit and cinnamon greeted them at Miss Dovey’s door. “Hello, ladies. And hello to you, too, Zack. You’ll have to excuse me, I need to spread the custard before it separates.” She headed for the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Just amuse yourselves while you wait.”

  Faye crossed the parlor and picked up the eclipse platter from its spot on Miss Dovey’s mantel. Even in the midst of the hunt for a murderer, she was glad for another chance to study the star pattern adorning its slick surface.

  Ronya stepped aside as Miss Dovey emerged from the kitchen, a triple layer cake in her outstretched hands. Its un-iced sides were nut-brown and speckled with spices, and a rich golden custard oozed from between the layers. A dollop of deep blue huckleberry jam, as glossy as the platter in Faye’s hands, adorned the top. Even Miss Dovey’s cake was a blue-and-gold work of art.

  The truth finally dawned. Faye heard again the words that she’d spoken herself earlier in the day. Blue-and-gold is the classic Hispano-Moresque color scheme.

  “I’ll get us some tea,” said Miss Dovey, heading back to the kitchen.

  “What is it?” asked Ronya, coming to Faye’s side.

  Faye jerked her head upward. “Your ancestors were probably potters in Moorish Spain or Portugal?”

  Ronya nodded.

  “Did Leo go to school in Tuscaloosa?”

  Ronya’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “Damn,” Faye said, hurriedly setting the fragile treasure down so she could concentrate without breaking something irreplaceable. “You remember you told me Leo got the idea for selling your pottery, made by techniques that originated in Moorish Spain, while he was away at school? Well, one of the world’s top experts in Hispano-Moresque pottery teache
s in Tuscaloosa. His name is Dr. Andrews Raleigh.”

  “You’re saying that you think Raleigh is Leo’s buyer? But he’s…he’s a scholar, a professional with a reputation to keep up.”

  “That’s what’s been bothering me. I couldn’t figure out how a man with his reputation could have bungled this project so completely, but now I understand. He did it on purpose. He underbid the Rural Assistance Project, not caring that he cut out most of the actual rural assistance to the Sujosa, so that nobody else could possibly win the contract. And now I understand why. As long as he was in charge of the project, he had a shot at keeping the truth about the Sujosa’s history as potters quiet.”

  “Because if somebody—like you—published a paper on medieval lusterware in modern Alabama, his collectors might put two and two together,” Ronya said.

  “You got it. He sabotaged my work because he wanted me to fail. It’s no coincidence he’s away from the project on the day it’s all going to come out. He knew there was no way you’d be able to keep your forgery business a secret now, with fire marshals and sheriffs and all their helpers crawling over the valley, looking for a killer.”

  Ronya stared at her. “You’re right. You have to be. Leo told me he got a call from his buyer, calling off next week’s shipment. More than that, Leo got the impression it was all over. He assumed the man knew we were in trouble, and we both wondered how he knew.”

  “Raleigh knew. Or guessed. Or…” Faye gripped Ronya’s arm. “He’s not coming back. How far would he have gone to protect the racket he had going?”

  “Or to keep himself out of the pen.” Ronya pursed her lips. “Would he do murder? I think he might. My impression of Raleigh is that he does whatever it takes to cover his tail. He must have already made a fortune off my work. That money could take him anywhere in the world.”