Airtight Case

by Beverly Connor

  “God, I’m tired. Archaeology is a lot easier than cleaning. I guess that’s why I became one. Eric, my husband, got the deposition put off. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that on top of everything else.”

  Lindsay reached over to turn out her light. Before she switched it off, she saw that Claire wasn’t asleep. She was looking at her with an unfathomable expression. Lindsay switched off the light.

  Chapter 22

  Lewis’ History Lesson

  LINDSAY GLANCED UP just as the shiny black Porsche stopped on the dirt road near where they were working.

  “Who the heck is that?” asked Joel.

  “Not a process server, for sure,” said Adam.

  They were excavating Feature 3, examining and recording the rocks, watching for gravestones. So far, they had found none. Marina had dug up the flowers that were in the path of the excavation of what they hoped was the second lead coffin. She had put the daffodil bulbs and antique roses in the buckets normally used in carting dirt to the screens to be sifted for artifacts.

  The driver got out of the car and walked toward the group, who stood motionless, watching him cross the grassy divide. He took off his sunglasses as he approached and slid them into the front pocket of his light gray silk shirt. He held a large manila envelope under his arm and stopped at the edge of their excavation. He was impressive, as usual.

  “This is Francisco Lewis,” said Lindsay by way of introduction.

  “Oh,” said Drew, brushing the dirt off her shorts and smoothing down her hair. “I wasn’t expecting you until later. I’m Drew Van Horne.”

  How like Lewis, thought Lindsay, to keep people off guard.

  “Hi, Drew,” he responded. “Fortunately, I was able to get away early.”

  As Drew tugged at her clothes, arranging herself to be presentable—a common reflex—Lindsay realized that Lewis lacked those nervous habits that betray a person’s insecurity. That subtle sign of confidence, combined with the impact of his expensive clothes, gave Lewis a commanding air. Nevertheless, she was glad to see him, which had not always been her reaction to his presence.

  Lindsay introduced all the crew: Marina, holding the buckets of plants; Joel, just rising from a group of stones; Adam, making a cross section of the berm surrounding the feature; Bill and Sharon, finishing up the house near Feature 3. The others, Claire, Powell, Dillon, Kelsey, Byron, and Erin came over from their tasks to meet Francisco Lewis—the man of the hour.

  “I’m happy to meet all of you,” he said, repeating each of their names as they were introduced. Lindsay knew he would remember all of them. “Drew has told me good things about her crew.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay happened to catch sight of Claire raising her chin slightly. With someone like Claire, Lewis’s compliment must have had a sting to it. However much Claire liked Drew, Drew was gone most of the time, leaving Claire to handle things every day—never mind how she handled them. She was the one who normally managed the crew.

  Drew dropped her shovel. “Let me show you to the house.”

  “As I am early, I have a little company business with Lindsay.” He took the envelope and opened it. “We’re building a museum for the ship we excavated. Lindsay told you about the ship, didn’t she?” He didn’t wait for an answer, immediately turning his attention to Lindsay. “I have something to show you. The sculptor finished the facial reconstruction of the crew members we excavated.” He pulled out several eight-by-ten color photographs.

  “Wow.” Lindsay stepped to get a closer look. “I have dirt on my hands. You’ll have to show them to me.”

  One by one, he showed her each of the photos of the busts of the crew of the Estrella de España, a Spanish galleon that she and Lewis had had a hand in excavating off the coast of Georgia. The others gathered around to look at the lifelike reconstructions. They were fascinating to the crew, but to Lindsay they were mesmerizing. She recognized them—she had touched their bones and had told their stories from them.

  “I’m thinking about a wax component to the museum.” Lewis’s voice brought her out of her trance.

  “Wax?”

  “You know that idea you had about building a replica of a galleon?”

  Lindsay nodded.

  “We may not be able to do that right now, but I was thinking about doing smaller sections of a ship as an environment for wax figures representing the crew we excavated—as though they were performing the work they did on the ship.”

  “I like that,” said Lindsay.

  “We need to discuss a couple of things so I can tell the builders.” Lewis turned to Drew and the crew. “Let me get this business out of the way, and this evening we’ll all go out to a restaurant. It’s on me. Pick one you like.”

  With that, he turned back to his car. Lindsay followed, wiping her hands on a handkerchief from her back pocket. “I need to change. I’m too dirty to get in your car.”

  “It’s all right.” He took a stadium blanket from the trunk and put it over the tan leather seats, and Lindsay climbed in.

  “Can I put in for a Porsche in my next contract?”

  “Sure. You want that instead of a salary?” He started the car and drove up to the house. “I thought I did that quite well. I think I have a knack for stealth.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I needed to speak with you alone without arousing suspicion. I wanted to show you the photos of the reconstructions anyway, so I pretended that’s what I needed to talk about.”

  “Oh, no. You mean you really aren’t going to do wax figures?”

  “Yes, we are. I’ve already decided that, and got the ball rolling on it. But that’s not something I’d need to consult you about.”

  “Lewis . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He pulled in beside Lindsay’s SUV, cut the engine, and shifted in the seat facing her. “How’s your new vehicle doing?”

  “Great. Runs like the old one.”

  “And you?”

  Other than being terrified all the time and hallucinating . . . “I’m doing fine, too.”

  “That’s good. I told the detective to call you. I knew you wouldn’t call him. It’s not like you to go into this avoidance pattern you’ve been in.”

  “So, you took control.” Lindsay could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

  “You can take control any time.” His dark eyes bore into hers as if he were issuing a challenge. She was silent. He continued after a moment. “So tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “I’ve talked with the sheriff, the family, Miss Tidwell’s doctor, people who knew her, and Drew. No one but the Tidwells is suspicious of her death. Although they don’t know what kind of documents are missing, her family insists she possessed valuable papers that were going to make them rich.”

  “Drew is in the clear, then?”

  “Most likely. However . . .”

  “However, what?”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Lewis?”

  Lewis paused for only a moment. “Keith would have just brushed the whole thing off were it not that Drew is a fairly well known appraiser of historical documents . . . and her husband’s a collector.”

  “What? And you didn’t see fit to give me that information?”

  “I didn’t want to color your opinion.”

  “It would have changed how I approached Drew.”

  “Does it matter that much?”

  “Yes. You thought it did, too, or you would have told me right off. Miss Tidwell’s family were allowed only a glimpse of the alleged documents. She wouldn’t show them to anyone, even her family. However, she probably would show them to an appraiser. She may have even told Drew that her family didn’t know what she had.”

  Lewis closed his eyes tightly and made a face. “Damn, you’re right.”

  “I would be more suspicious about her death, too, with what I know now.”

  “How’s that?”

 
“If Drew—or anyone—stole the papers, the thief might think it was necessary to kill her to keep her from discovering the theft and filing a charge. If you’re an appraiser and a professional archaeologist, your reputation is very important—important enough for some people to kill for.”

  “So, now you suspect Drew?”

  “Not really, but I have to consider it. Her husband’s a collector, you said? The things Miss Tidwell had may have proved too tempting for a collector who knew their value. Do you know what specifically he collects?”

  “You suspect her husband, too?”

  “Theoretically.”

  “He specializes in post-revolutionary documents. Will you continue on, then?”

  “I don’t really want to.” Lindsay thought of the Tidwells . . . and Erin. The stolen property, if it was stolen, was theirs and they had counted on having it. They had asked her to look into it and she had agreed. “But, yes, I will.”

  “Good.” He grasped her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Be discreet.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, I need to know a little about Tennessee history—I’ll be asked questions.”

  “By whom?”

  “The media. This find of the lead coffins is too important to go unnoticed, particularly with all the commotion that NASA and the other technical experts will bring, and I need to be able to converse intelligently about the cultural context, the historical significance, that sort of thing. I know the Native American history up to de Soto and the other explorers, so you can skip that part.”

  “Lewis, you’re the limit. Are you asking me to give you a quick history lesson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?”

  “Please.”

  “Very well. Where do I start? Okay. Here’s a concept to hang your hat on. The single most important thing that shaped the history of this whole region was the struggle between cultures over possession of the land and resources. The Indians had it, the settlers wanted it. By the way, the name Tennessee comes from the principal Cherokee town, Tanasi.”

  “So, Tanasi converted into southern drawl became Tennessee.”

  Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Another interesting tidbit is the name of this cove. John came to see me, and he called this Dogwood Cove. Dogwood in Cherokee is: ka-nv-si-ta. He believes that Knave’s Seat is a corruption of that. I tend to agree.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Knave’s Seat is a little hard on the tongue.”

  “History. Okay. Before the 1600s, Tennessee was occupied by Indians. At first, a few French and English fur traders arrived to establish posts for trading with the Indians—food, guns, blankets, axes, and such—for fur. Animal fur was the big lure and by the 1700s the good hunting brought more long hunters.”

  “Long hunters?”

  “You’ve seen pictures of those guys in fringed buckskin clothing, leggings, and leaning on a rifle? Those were long hunters. Men who went on long hunting and trapping trips, staying out for months. Daniel Boone was one.”

  “I had an outfit like that when I was a kid. Coonskin cap and everything.” Lewis gestured as if he were fitting the cap on his head.

  “I’ll bet you were cute. The trading posts bartered for furs from the Indians and long hunters, and sent the furs by pack trains or down the rivers by keelboats to Charles Town and New Orleans. American furs brought high prices in Europe, and the competition between the English and French for the Indian trade quickly escalated into a power struggle for the new territory.”

  “I know about the French and Indian War, in 1750-something, wasn’t it?”

  Lindsay nodded. “It was a long war, lasted about nine years. The Indians were kind of caught in the middle. When it was over, the English had won.”

  “So how does this all connect to the farmstead?”

  “I’m giving you background and context. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

  “Yes, don’t get testy. Just continue.”

  “After the French and Indian War, the big deal was no longer fur trading, but land acquisition. English settlers from Virginia and North Carolina began migrating across the mountains into East Tennessee, settling in Indian lands. At first they leased the lands from the Indians, but as time went on and the number of settlers increased, they settled wherever they wanted, with or without consultation with the Indians.

  “So, by the early 1770s, the pioneers had built settlements along the rivers in the northeast corner of what is now Tennessee. This, naturally, brought all kinds of tradesmen, blacksmiths, craftsmen, miners, preachers, land speculators, surveyors, soldiers, politicians—you name it. I believe the first occupation of the farmstead, the lead coffin people, were in this group.

  “Anyway, the influx of people put a lot of pressure on the Cherokee. Different factions among the Indians responded in different ways. One faction tried trading with the settlers and selling them land. Another faction resented this and, led by Chief Dragging Canoe, made their presence felt for the next twenty years.”

  “Interesting. I always thought of the Cherokee as peaceful.”

  “They were, unless they were provoked. In the beginning when the settlers were few, the Indians were very friendly. They brought them food to get through the winter.”

  “What linguistic family do the Cherokee belong to?”

  “Iroquoian. Lewis, all this is in books. I could check you out a . . .”

  “No. I just want something quick.”

  “Something quick, then. The settlers naturally wanted self-government . . .”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “Lewis, I study about the sites I work on. Anyway, as you probably know, the British didn’t like all this self-government business.”

  “So, we get to the Revolutionary War.”

  Lindsay was feeling closed in. She had decided against a Porsche. Too small.

  “Yes, the Revolutionary War. Do you mind if we get out into the fresh air? Let’s go into the woods. There’s a beautiful place we can sit.”

  Before Lewis could object, she was out of the car. She took Elaine’s scrapbook from her Explorer and headed for the woods.

  “What’s that?”

  “Something I want to show you. You’ll like it.”

  Lindsay led him down a path bounded by the deep green mountain flora. She breathed deeply.

  “Isn’t this great?”

  She sat down on a large boulder, motioning for Lewis to sit beside her.

  “I see why you like this place. It’s quite beautiful. We won’t get bitten by mosquitoes, will we?”

  “No,” Lindsay lied. “You need to get back to nature more. There are beautiful, timeless things here. William Bartram went through here exploring the southern Appalachians in the 1770s or thereabouts.”

  “I’ve seen historical markers for his trails all over the place.”

  “He passed near where I live in Georgia,” said Lindsay. “He came through here, too, surveying, sketching, and recording everything he saw. He probably sat on this very rock, observing the plants and the animals that passed his way.”

  “Animals?”

  “Bears, mountain lions, wolves.”

  “Here?” Lewis glanced around, squinting at the deep undergrowth.

  “Don’t worry, they’re usually very shy. You know, historical archaeology can be seductive when you run across the writings and drawings of someone like Bartram who was a keen observer and appreciated beauty. Many of the species around us are the same ones Bartram saw and recorded over two hundred years ago—wild woodbine, magnolias, silver bell, rhododendron. Gregory Bald isn’t far from here. The azaleas are in bloom there now. It’s all so beautiful. It would seem that being amid such beauty would keep a person in a state of grace, charmed against evil.” Lindsay shivered.

  “Nature’s impartial, so is beauty. Perhaps, Lindsay, you should take a more active role in the investigation of what happened to you. Even an insensitive guy like me can tell you’re hurting.”


  Lindsay turned her head sharply in his direction. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

  “Weren’t you? My mistake. How about the history lesson?”

  Lindsay breathed in the fresh air with its green woodsy smell. It was like cool water, refreshing. Here the smells were clean, the air pure. Maybe I should camp out here. No, he’s right, the forest wouldn’t protect me.

  “Lindsay?”

  “The settlers annexed themselves to North Carolina, hoping for protection.” It didn’t come. They had to protect themselves. A lesson there.

  “Lindsay? Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Fine. By this time, the Cherokee had had enough of their lands being taken, and they sided with the British. In July 1776, the Cherokee attacked the settlements. Under the leadership of John Sevier, the settlers successfully defended themselves and then went on the attack against the Indians, burning their towns to the ground.”

  “I didn’t know the Cherokee were involved in the Revolutionary War. What was their interest?”

  “Their land. The Cherokee were a very large tribe, and they were losing land left and right. The settlers became greater in number and more and more independent. The Cherokee didn’t like it, and neither did the British, so the Cherokee thought their best interests would be served by siding with the British.”

  The wind started to blow through the canopy of tall trees. The wind was blowing that night. I had forgotten the way the trees whipped back and forth. They tripped me. No, it wasn’t nature, something man-made. Barbed wire. Traitorous barbed wire. Its only reason for existence is to constrain. That’s what it did.

  The top outline of the mountains looming in the distance looked like tiny stiff fringe because of the dead Fraser firs throughout the high elevations.

  “Ninety percent of them are dead, you know," she said.

  “Who?” asked Lewis. “The Cherokee?”

  “The Fraser firs.” Lindsay pointed into the distance. “They’re being killed by the balsam woolly adelgid. It’s a European aphid that was accidentally introduced into the United States. Ironic, isn’t it? Another European invasion with devastating results for the area.”