“Lindsay, I can always count on you to make a site more interesting.”
“Then you’ll help?”
“Of course. You knew I would.”
“I’m not sure who you call, but ask Kerwin in Archaeology. He’s familiar with the work done at St. Mary’s, Maryland, and will know who to contact. It was on their coffins that NASA developed the protocol for extracting air.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I set things up.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure. How’s the little investigation coming?”
“Lewis, you’re asking me to spy on people I work with.”
“No, I’m not. I’m asking you to clear up a situation that might unfairly impact the ability of Keith York to win contracts. You’ll be doing me a big favor. After all, this thing you’re asking me to set up is no small favor.”
“I know. But you just love to arrange stuff like this.” Lewis didn’t say anything. “Okay. The only thing I know now is . . .” Lindsay paused, trying to think of what she knew. “Drew says the supposedly stolen documents belonged to the historical society and were returned to them after copies were made. No one, not even the Tidwells, knows what any other documents might be.” She let out a resigned breath. “I’ll find out more.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help in this.”
“Where is your friend Keith, anyway?”
“He has an opportunity to do a series of digs in China that he’s been interested in for years. He’s working on negotiations for that.”
“He has his irons in pretty far-ranging and diverse fires.”
“Yes, he does, and he doesn’t want any scandal.”
“I can’t guarantee a specific outcome.”
“I’m aware of that. But I know you’ll do what’s best.”
Best for whom? Lindsay didn’t have to wonder long. “I think the whole thing’s a nonstarter. One of the crew overheard some locals express the opinion that the entire situation was instigated by Alfred Tidwell’s lawyer in hopes of earning a fee or a percentage of a settlement. That seems to be his reputation. No other lawyer would take the case.”
“That says a lot, right there. I’ll pass that information along.”
“Sure, I wouldn’t want Keith to think I’m out here doing nothing.”
“Before you go, an Athens detective came by today hoping to see you. They’re cooperating with the Tennessee authorities on your attempted murder. They still don’t know anything, but they heard about some argument you got into at the conference and want to know the details.”
Attempted murder. The words caused Lindsay to have a period of momentary dizziness. She shook her head to clear it.
“What? They think some crazed postmodernist followed me from the conference and attacked me on the road?”
Lewis gave a short laugh. “I think they’re just tying up loose ends. I have a phone number for you to call.”
“Lewis, I really don’t have time to speak with him. This can’t be any serious lead. No one at the conference would have done that to me.”
“Probably not, but he did say they want to try and establish whether the attack was aimed specifically at you, was opportunistic, or was part of a pattern of attacks. He didn’t go into details.”
Lindsay took down the number and stuck it in her pocket. “I’ll call him when I get a chance. We’re likely to get busy here in a few days.”
“You doing okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Good. Take care of yourself. Antique air. I like that.”
The discovery of the lead coffins meant dinner that evening was a blessed relief. Claire was in a good mood. No doubt, she saw that the professional respect and recognition she craved were finally within her grasp.
Adding to the good cheer of the household, Mrs. Laurens made roast chicken, a sweet potato soufflé, green beans, homemade rolls, and apple pie for dinner. Amid the clatter of utensils, all the talk was about the find. What was it? Who was it? What did it mean?
“I’d like to know who’s in the coffin. Aren’t the Gallowses supposed to be buried in town in a church cemetery?” Dillon asked of no particular person.
“The artifacts suggest the site was occupied before the Gallowses,” Marina said, not looking at Claire.
“Why isn’t there any documentation?” asked Powell.
“Not everything gets saved,” Byron answered, reaching for a second helping of sweet potatoes. “I hope you made lots of this, Mrs. Laurens.”
“If I’m not used to your big appetites by now, I shouldn’t be here. There’s more of everything in the kitchen.”
“The farm was bought from Clarence Foute,” Byron continued. “Must be his family.”
“The Foutes are buried in the same cemetery,” said Drew. “We don’t have any documentation that there were structures there before the Gallowses occupied the land.”
“What happens now, Lindsay?” Adam asked.
“First of all, keep in mind that the people Lewis is contacting might not be able to come immediately. Several agencies will be involved, and they’ll have to coordinate with each other. When they come, they’ll set up a tent with special equipment to x-ray through the lead and to extract the air from the coffin. I don’t know all the details.”
“Why the x-ray?” asked Erin. “I mean, after they get the air out, we’re going to open the coffin, aren’t we?”
“They have to locate the remains inside the coffin so when they drill a hole they don’t damage anything.”
“Which brings up a touchy subject,” said Drew. “Let’s keep this quiet until it’s done. We don’t want a circus here.”
“Wait a minute,” said Bill. “They can’t x-ray through lead—I hope. That’s why my dentist puts a lead vest over me when he x-rays my teeth.”
“He’s right,” observed Byron. “Superman couldn’t see through lead.”
“It’s not exactly a traditional x-ray,” said Lindsay. “It’s some kind of gamma ray process. Very high-tech stuff.”
“Do you think Dr. Lewis can really set it up?” asked Claire.
Lindsay nodded. “He lives for this kind of thing.”
Mr. Laurens rarely spoke at dinner unless the talk involved building or fixing something. He knew about wood and tools, however much to the contrary might be suggested by the missing first joint of his ring and little fingers on his left hand from the injudicious use of a saw. However, when a topic was of sufficient interest to puzzle his sensibilities, he spoke up.
“Exactly what are you going to do with this stale air once you get a hold of it? I can’t see much use for it.”
“You got a point, dude,” said Trent. “Just what’s all this for, anyhow?”
“If the seal on the coffins hasn’t been broken, and the coffins are as old as we think, the air inside predates the industrial revolution. One of the questions we have about the environment is the seriousness of the greenhouse effect. Data on the composition of preindustrial atmosphere will help in answering those questions. People who study such things have also developed methods of studying gases trapped in bubbles inside glacier ice frozen “thousands of years ago.”
“What about the people in the coffins?” asked Mrs. Laurens. “There’ll be some who don’t think it’s right to dig up the dead.”
“It’s like finding someone who has been lost and forgotten,” Lindsay said. “I treat them with the greatest respect to discover as much as possible about their life. The bones tell me things about how the person lived and died. It’s like an autopsy.”
“Well, what I’d like to know is,” said Kelsey, her lips curved up in one of her flirtatious smiles as she delicately sipped her tea, who’s supposed to be haunting this place? Trent says he heard a ghost go past the guys’ bedroom early this morning. And I know I’ve heard things. I was taking an afternoon nap last week and I could have sworn there was a presence in the room with me.”
“Kelsey, you got Erin and Marina sharing the room w
ith you,” said Adam. “You reckon it was one of them?”
Kelsey made a face at him. “No. They weren’t even in the house at the time.”
“It was probably a dream, then,” he said.
“I wasn’t dreaming,” said Trent. “I distinctly heard footsteps go past the door, and when I peeked out, nothing was there, I’m telling you. It’s just like people said—disembodied footsteps.”
“Trent, there’s so many reasons I could give for your hearing things,” said Adam. “But I’ll only remind you, we live in a house full of people. Besides, I didn’t hear anything.”
“You were sleeping—the sleep of the dead, I might add.” Trent laughed at his joke.
“What do you think, Lindsay? Do you believe in ghosts?” asked Claire.
“No, I don’t.”
“So you aren’t afraid in this house?” she asked.
Lindsay wondered if Claire had seen her run out of the house last night. The window to her bedroom was above the front parking lot. If she had, why wouldn’t she clue Trent in?
“I didn’t say that. I certainly believe in people.” Lindsay’s face broke into a grin. “Particularly an archaeology field crew who’ve been known to succumb to temptation and play an occasional joke.”
“I believe in ghosts,” said Erin. “I think sometimes people who die suddenly leave unfinished business.”
“Don’t you think almost everyone who dies leaves some unfinished business?” Lindsay asked. “It’s the living who’re left with the real unfinished business. Rumors of ghosts come from the living trying to deal with that business. It seems to me that if all the reasons given for ghostly presence were true, we’d be overrun with them, especially in war zones.”
“I agree,” said Adam. “I don’t believe in ghosts, either, and I’ve never heard or seen anything in this house that would convince me otherwise.”
Erin was unwilling to let the subject go. “What about all the people who claim to have seen ghosts? You think they’re imagining it?”
“Not necessarily imagining it.” Lindsay recollected the twisted frightened face in the mirror. Did she believe it was a ghost? No. Did she believe she imagined it? Probably. “I believe it’s our brain’s job to make sense out of input, even when the input is incomplete—the way it does when it fills in the visual image where the lack of photoreceptors creates a blind spot in our vision. I think when we see a flash of something, get a whiff of an aroma, or hear a fragment of sound, our brain tries to match it with something that makes sense, and we think we’ve experienced a whole when there was really only a part, or nothing at all. Add guilt or fear to the equation and the result can be a ghost.”
“Do you analyze everything?” asked Kelsey.
“Pretty much,” Lindsay answered.
“That kind of makes sense,” said Drew. “I’ve read that musicians who’ve gone deaf sometimes, out of the blue, hear whole symphonies playing. I think the explanation is that the brain is getting some kind of input and is filling in the rest out of what is familiar, or calling up old memories.”
“Kind of like persistence of vision,” Adam agreed. “We see what our brain tells us makes sense. Will someone pass the platter of chicken down this way?”
“I can’t believe that souls are allowed to get stuck here on earth and wander around in confusion,” said Mrs. Laurens, passing the platter down to Adam. The phone rang and she rose to answer it.
“It’s for you, Lindsay,” she said on returning to the room.
Lindsay took her tea with her to the living room and hesitantly picked up the receiver. “Yes. This is Lindsay Chamberlain.”
“Dr. Chamberlain. This is Detective Barclay in Athens, Georgia. How are you?”
“Fine.” Lindsay’s heart beat faster on hearing that he was a detective. Had Lewis given him her number?
“I just need to ask you a few questions in relation to our investigation into the attack on you. Do you have a couple of minutes?”
“Yes. Go ahead.” She wished she could say no.
“Do you know a Harold van Deevers, Celestine Molesky, and an Arlene Lautaro?”
“Yes. They’re archaeologists.”
“I understand you had words with Ms. Molesky and Lautaro at a conference at Knoxville, Tennessee, before you were attacked last April, and before that, you wrote a letter to the editor of American Antiquity criticizing Mr. van Deevers.”
“You don’t suspect any of them? Archaeologists always have words with one another at conferences. It means nothing. And I didn’t criticize van Deevers, I criticized his article. If you look at several issues of American Antiquity you’ll find that it’s common for peers to comment on articles through letters to the editor.”
“So, you don’t think it could have been any of them who attacked you?”
“No, not at all. From what I remember, the guys who attacked me were thugs.”
“You said they wore masks.”
“Yes, they did. But, they were male, for one thing, and they walked and moved like young thugs, not like someone . . . educated.”
“Educated people walk differently?”
“Come on, Detective, you know that. Children emulate their role models. Go watch people walking in and out of jail and then go watch people walking in and out of a symphony, and see if you can’t tell a difference.”
“I take your point. We’re just trying to eliminate anyone of your acquaintance. Although someone you know could have hired one of these undereducated thugs.”
“The people you’re asking about wouldn’t do that. We argue over theories. That’s not enough to kill someone over. I’ve never ruined anyone’s reputation, no more than they have mine.”
“Like I said, we’re trying to eliminate suspects. Our best theory right now is that somewhere along the route, maybe somewhere you stopped, you attracted the attention of the perps—young woman traveling alone. We’re trying to match the M.O. of your case with missing persons and other attacks in the area.”
“I’ve told the investigators in Tennessee and in Athens everything I can remember.”
“Have you had anything suspicious happen to you lately?”
“No.”
“The reason I’m asking is that they tried to take you from the hospital. That suggests that they could try something again.”
Lindsay gripped the receiver, suddenly angry at the detective. “I believe I was probably an opportunistic target. They left me for dead, I got away, I can’t identify them, and it’s over.”
“That’s probably true. We just have so few leads. The conference thing was a long shot.”
“I appreciate your work, Detective. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”
Just as Lindsay hung up the phone, it rang again. She jumped, almost dropping her tea, and let it ring a second time before lifting the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Is this that dig up at Knave’s Seat?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to speak with a Dr. Chamberlain.”
“This is she.”
“Dr. Chamberlain, this is Alfred Tidwell. My aunt, the late Mary Susan Tidwell, did some work with you all a few months back.”
Chapter 14
Lovely, Dark And Deep
“I BELIEVE MISS Tidwell served as a consultant about local history,” Lindsay replied. “However, I wasn’t here at that time.”
“I know,” Albert Tidwell said. “That’s why I’m calling you. I need to talk with somebody with an unbiased point of view. I was wondering if you would talk with me.”
“Mr. Tidwell, I really . . .”
“Just hear me out. Can you come to the diner outside of town for breakfast? It won’t take long.”
Lindsay agreed—in order to keep her promise to Lewis, she told herself. But at the first opportunity, she’d have to tell Drew about it. She wasn’t going to secretly investigate the people she worked with. God, how do I get into these situations? She pressed her fingers to her eyes.
&n
bsp; Mrs. Laurens was serving dessert when she got back to her seat.
“You all right?” asked Erin.
“Yes. Detectives updating me on my case. Nothing new, though.”
“What was the other call?” asked Claire.
“That was for me, too. Similar thing.” She took a bite of the apple pie and ice cream in front of her. “This is great, Mrs. Laurens. It’s a real treat to have such good food at an excavation.”
Mrs. Laurens smiled. “It’s a treat for me to cook for a group so easy to please.”
After dinner, Lindsay sat on the porch in a rickety rattan chair, her feet propped on a wooden box, as she stared out into the woods and listened to the birds. What did Trent call it? The jungle. It was a jungle. The thickets of mountain laurel and rhododendron were so dense they could only be penetrated by animals like the wedge-shaped black bears. Add the myriad bird and animal cries, and the place felt primordial. Lindsay found it also fiercely beautiful. Even in the fading light, she could see the white rhododendron blossoms against the jade leaves and the towering hardwoods.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, she thought, pulling from deep in her memory Robert Frost’s fitting description. The trees and shrubs were like a deep emerald curtain to a hidden place, a secret wilderness, concealing rare wild animals.
What did Rosellen Gallows see when she looked into these woods from her log house—woods that were lovely, dark and deep—or did she see monsters? Did she dread getting up each morning to the never-ending tasks of farm life—cooking and preserving food, spinning and weaving cloth, making clothing, rendering lard, making soap, hauling water, worrying every year about the crops, worrying each time her husband went hunting, each time she got pregnant? Or did she dread the night and look forward to the work that would take her mind off her fears?
Airtight Case Page 11
