She was interrupted by the telephone. Claire was closest, so she snatched it off the receiver.
“Yes, this is Claire Burke. I’m the one you spoke with.” Claire’s face changed to her self-satisfied look, which melted instantly into a frown. She was silent for a long while. “I . . . I . . . I don’t think you understand. Yes, she’s here.”
Claire handed the phone to Drew. She sat with her head down, chewing her thumbnail and not meeting any of the puzzled stares in her direction. Lindsay shifted her gaze from Claire to Drew, who, other than for a crease in her forehead, looked calm.
“Yes, this is Drew Van Horne. I was unaware. Yes, of course, I understand. I’ve been to Scotland; it’s lovely there. Yes, she’s here.” Drew put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Lindsay, it’s Nigel Boyd. He’d like to speak with you.”
Lindsay rose and took the phone. She stretched the cord as far as she could away from Claire, until she was almost in Powell’s lap. He moved to let her lean against the window seat.
“Hi, Nigel.”
“Lindsay, are you all right? What the heck is going on down there?”
“It’s a very long story, Nigel.”
“Who is this Claire Burke? She called here this morning telling me about the lead coffins, and that I was the only forensic anthropologist available to work on the bones. I’m backed up here with remains found in a well, possible missing hikers found by some hunters, and the skeleton that may be the remains of an elderly man who wandered away from his nursing home last year. It was already going to be tight getting done before I have to leave for the forensic conference in Scotland, and then this came up. Luckily, I called Lewis to find out about the timing on the coffin thing, and he tells me you’re already down there. What gives?”
“I’ll explain over dinner sometime.”
“Can’t talk, eh? I’ll be waiting to hear what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself in this time.” He gave an audible sigh. “I was very sorry to hear about the attack on you. I’m glad I didn’t find out about it until you were found safe and sound. Would’ve worried myself sick. And to think I’d just seen you and Derrick. You two going to get back together?”
“No, don’t think so. I’m still seeing John.”
“The coffin thing sounds like an interesting project, but I’m happy to leave it in your very capable hands. I’ve been looking forward to Scotland.”
“Have a good trip. We’ll talk when you get back.”
“Take care, Lindsay.”
Lindsay hung up the phone and went back to her seat. Claire got up and rushed out of the room.
“Hey, Claire, what’s the matter?” called Trent.
“I didn’t know she’d done that, Lindsay. I’m sorry,” said Drew.
“No harm done.”
“Done what?” asked Adam.
“Let’s just drop it for now,” said Drew. “Lindsay, you were about to tell us about the scratches on the floor.”
Marina passed around the photographs she had printed of the cabin and handed out copies of the poems.
“Did they take photographs of the floor?” asked Powell.
“Several,” Lindsay told him.
“You think this is real?” Joel asked Lindsay.
“I believe the McBrides didn’t do it. I don’t know how to date the scratches. They could date from the late 1700s, or from the Gallowses’ time, or they could have been made any time between the building of the cabin and now. It sat empty for decades.”
“It’s kind of weird.” Byron stroked his long beard and scratched his head.
“Does anyone remember running across mention of a Cherry or an Eda Mae?” Joel asked.
They all looked at Drew, who shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing either of those names, but at the time we were looking only for documents and information about the Gallows farmstead.”
“I think I’ll spend tomorrow looking, if that’s all right,” said Lindsay.
“They won’t let you in the historical society archives,” said Adam. “Claire’s messed that up, too.”
“I think Lindsay’s made friends with the natives,” said Marina.
The conversation drifted away from site business, so Bill and Sharon got up to go to their motel. Adam and Byron went to the kitchen to get a round of beers for everyone, and Kelsey put on some music and pulled the twins up to dance. Lindsay took the opportunity to go upstairs to see Claire.
The door was closed. She knocked lightly.
“What do you want?” Claire sounded as if she had been crying. Lindsay didn’t wait for an invitation. She opened the door, went in, and closed it behind her. Claire was propped up on her mattress, an open book in her hands. “Come to gloat?”
“Claire, you really need to do a network analysis before you go off halfcocked again. I’m a forensic anthropologist. Nigel is a forensic anthropologist in a neighboring state—didn’t you think we might know each other? In fact, we were in graduate school together.”
“I suppose you couldn’t wait to call him up.”
“As a matter of fact, I didn’t call him.”
“Yeah, sure. Like I believe that.”
“I didn’t have to call him. He called Francisco Lewis to find out about the project. I imagine Lewis was very surprised when Nigel called. Claire, why don’t you stop alienating people? You’ve got Nigel and Lewis thinking you’re nuts. Why did you do that?”
“And you think you’re a pet with Dr. Lewis?”
“No. You’re missing the point. When the finding of those coffins is made public, and the professional papers and reports are published, it won’t be my name on them that matters to Lewis. It’s the connection to the University of Georgia that’s important. Lewis is doing a lot of work and spending UGA money to bring NASA here. By bypassing me and bringing Nigel Boyd in to do the forensic analysis, you would have taken credit away from UGA. It wasn’t a smart move.”
“And you came to throw it in my face?”
“No, I came to offer you a proposal.”
“Proposal?” asked Claire. “What could you possibly propose to me?”
“I would like some peace; so would the crew. I’m offering to co-author two papers with you with your name as primary author.”
“And you think that would be attractive to me? I’m going to be co-authoring papers with Drew.”
“No doubt. However, Drew and I have different expertise. Our articles appear in different journals. This is an opportunity to expand your vita. Go to Marina’s computer and get on the Internet. Look up the UGA Department of Archaeology faculty and call up my vita. You’ll find I have pages of publications, all in good academic journals, and in most I’m the sole author.”
“And in return, you want what?”
“I want you to lighten up. Stop making little insulting remarks every time I open my mouth. Stop criticizing the crew during dinner.”
“I suppose you want special treatment, too?”
“No. You can put me shovel shaving if you want. Just lay off your hostility. Think about it.”
Lindsay didn’t wait for an answer. If she forced Claire to make a decision right then, it would be no. However, if she let her think about it, there was a good chance she would go for it.
Instead of going back downstairs, Lindsay returned to her room. She lay on her bed with her eyes closed. It was the first chance she’d had to think about the incident with the truck that had zoomed past her that morning. Maybe it was an unfortunate coincidence. Maybe not. If not, whoever attacked her in the spring had followed her here.
Oh, God. How did they know I was here? Have they been looking for me? Did someone tell them? Who? Most everyone who knows that I’m here was told not to give out the information. That her attack was connected to something going on here now looked more likely.
She recalled Trent’s dark expression. What was that about? Did Drew talk to him about drugs, and he blames me? Am I in danger here—in this house, in this room without a door?
Tears came to her eyes, spilling over and running to her ears. She reached up with the heel of her hands and wiped her eyes.
Damn, I hate this. I used to be so strong. Is this who I am now? A crybaby?
She could ask Erin, Kelsey, and Marina if she could share their room, but they were already crowded. Besides, she liked being alone, just not exposed. She looked at the curtain. A door would go a long way toward making her feel secure. If they could put in a darkroom, they could put in a door. She would ask Mr. Laurens to do that for her tomorrow.
She turned over and took a drink from her cooler. The house had a chill, and the cold drink made her shiver. She got out of bed and stood by the window, watching the mountain flora waving back and forth in the wind through the twilight. It looked like there was a storm brewing.
* * *
Storms are nature’s way of keeping a good house. Rain washes dust from the leaves and replenishes moisture in the soil, and the wind clears out the dead wood. The forest after a rain is fresh, like new. That’s what Lindsay’s uncle used to tell her when a coming storm frightened her. The storm this night shook the house. Lindsay lay awake, watching the flashes outside her window and listening to the wind blow through every portal of the house, playing it like a reedless instrument. No one would be lurking about the house that night, she need only fear the people inside.
Why don’t I just go home? It was her last thought before she fell asleep.
At first Lindsay thought it was the storm outside that had awakened her. It took several moments for her to realize that the storm was inside. Like loud crashes of thunder, violent sounds spewed up the stairwell from the first floor. She jumped up, slipped her feet into her shoes, and grabbed a robe. The noises had awakened everyone. Outside her room, the others raced with her down the stairway.
Chapter 18
Tighty Whiteys
AT THE BOTTOM of the stairs they all piled into the reception hall where all the guys were gathered in their underwear. Adam was holding onto a flailing Dillon. Byron was holding back Trent, who had blood running from his nose onto his chest. Claire started to go to him, but Drew reached out and grabbed her arm.
“What the hell is going on?” Drew shouted, looking from one to the other.
“You son of a bitch, I’m going to kill you!” Trent shouted at Dillon. “He’s been stealing from me.”
“Dillon?” asked Drew.
“Where is it? What did you do with my stuff?” Trent shouted.
“Gone, you stupid bastard!”
“Damn you!” Trent tried to lunge for Dillon, but Byron shoved him off balance, slamming him into the wall. Trent doubled over, trying to catch his breath.
“Stop this! Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here!”
There were so many people crowded together, Lindsay was having trouble breathing. She hung back near the door, giving herself an escape route in case she had to flee. Dillon had calmed down enough that his brother and Adam let him go.
“Drugs. That’s what’s going on. That stupid shit’s been going down to the basement to do his drugs.”
“You’re a liar!” shouted Claire.
“Duh . . . Claire.” Dillon rapped his knuckles on his forehead. “Why do you think he’s so pissed at me? I took his drugs and shit and got rid of them. If he wasn’t doing drugs, then he’d have no beef with me. Get it?” Dillon turned and faced Drew. “We’re about to get the attention of NASA, the army, and the news media. We don’t need Trent getting us all in trouble because he’s some kind of damned addict. You’ve not done anything . . .”
“I had no proof,” Drew interrupted. “Now, let’s everyone go back to bed and we’ll sort this out in the morning.”
“He’s not sleeping in our room.” Powell pointed an angry finger at Trent.
“Trent, why don’t you sleep on the couch in the living room? We’ll talk tomorrow,” suggested Drew.
“This isn’t finished.” Trent was breathing hard, but the fight in him seemed to have evaporated.
“No,” agreed Drew. “But we’ll finish it tomorrow. Now, go to bed, all of you.”
“Well,” said Kelsey on the way back upstairs, “at least now we know who wears tighty whiteys and who wears boxers.”
“You mean you didn’t know already?” asked Marina, ducking before Kelsey could cuff her shoulder.
By morning the storm had stopped, leaving the cove soaked. Lindsay couldn’t face breakfast with the crew, so she took a walk in the woods instead. Listening to the melodic sounds of birds and rushing water was more soothing to the soul than wind blowing through the house or the bickering of the crew. She hoped the freshly cleaned forest wouldn’t hold the shadow that had dogged her. All the deadwood, dust, and sin would be washed and stripped away, leaving the pure forest she loved. It had, more or less. The canopy dripped water like rain falling and the forest litter was soft under her feet. She sucked in the mountain air as if it were life.
“Is this my lot in life, coming to drag you out of the woods?”
Lindsay laughed at the sound of John’s voice. She turned and held out her arms. “Looks that way. What are you doing here?”
He pulled her into an embrace and a kiss. The smell of him was familiar and comforting—and safe. Maybe that’s what she should do, maybe she should leave with John. Let the troublemakers solve their own problems. There were better things in life than this site.
“I talked to Dad last night. He asked me if I was taking good care of you.”
“Oh? What did he say?”
“Only that. But when he says something like that, it lets me know that I’m not.”
She kissed John again and held on to him. “I think tracking me down when I was lost and rescuing me from my would-be murderers a couple of months ago comes under the heading of taking good care of me.”
He put her hands to his lips. “I just have a few hours, but I thought we could drive somewhere for lunch. Can you get away?”
“I’d love it, and today’s a good day. It rained last night and the site’s too wet to work. Drew wants to let it dry out a day. How did you find me out here?”
“I asked at the house. That’s a strange bunch of people you have up there.”
Water dripped on John’s face, and Lindsay wiped it away with her fingers. “You’ve got that right. What did they do strange this time?”
“I went in—I thought it was all right not to knock—anyway, I heard talking and found everyone eating breakfast in the dining room.”
“You must have been a surprise to them.”
He caught her hands and held them to his chest. “No more than they were to me. They looked at me for several seconds. I think someone groaned, then this woman stood up and announced that Indians didn’t bury their dead in lead coffins. I have no idea what she meant by that, but I agreed and asked where you were. Someone told me you’d just walked down into the woods toward the stream.”
Lindsay laughed out loud. “We found some very old lead coffins. They must have thought you were here to protest us opening a burial.” Lindsay kept hold of his hand and continued walking.
“You’re expecting protesters? Wait, aren’t we going deeper into the woods? You want to go back?”
“Someone will probably kick up a fuss . . . Just a little ways further—there’s a small waterfall up ahead.”
“You archaeologists don’t like to leave people in the ground, do you?”
Lindsay leaned into him, pushing him off balance. “These aren’t your ancestors, they’re mine.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in closer touch.” John put a hand on the back of her neck, under her hair, rubbing her skin with his fingertips.
“I just spoke with you last week. Besides, we do better this way. Did you have any trouble finding the cove?”
He shook his head. “Dogwood Cove’s not hard to find.”
“Dogwood Cove? Is that what you call it?”
“It’s what you guys call it, too, you just don’t know
it. Ka-nv-si-ta is Cherokee for Dogwood. We’ve always thought that Knave’s Seat is a corruption of that.”
The sound of the falls grew loud as they got nearer, drowning out the other sounds.
“I like Dogwood better.”
“We do, too. You been doing okay?”
“I’m all right.”
“Is that true?”
“I’m . . . handling it.”
“What ‘it’ are you handling?”
“Fear. I can’t seem to get away from it. I’m scared of everything. Last night some of the guys got into a fight. It terrified me.”
They turned a curve in the path and were at the falls, a four-foot drop of white water boiling over large boulders.
“Isn’t this breathtaking?” She stood and looked at the falls for several moments. “Do you feel connected to this place?”
John looked for several seconds at the falls, the mountain laurel, and the thick canopy above him before he answered.
“Yes, I suppose I do.” They walked to the edge of the creek, and he squatted and dipped his hands in the cold, clear water.
“My great-great-great-grandfather lived to the south of here. He had two brothers who lived up here in these mountains. There weren’t many whites living here at that time, but like the rain, they were settling in low places where the earth was rich.”
He stood up and dried his wet hands on his jeans. “They came here, not knowing how to survive the hard winters. My ancestors took pity on a family of settlers in the valley and gave them dried pumpkin to get them through the winter. There was also a quarrelsome white hunter who settled high in the mountains. He knew how to feed himself and his family and didn’t need help.
“In 1838, the government drove my people from their lands and forced their relocation into the far West. My great-great-great-grandfather’s land to the south, which he owned by deed and purchase, was also taken from him. He escaped with his family to these mountains to join his brothers and their families in hiding.
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