The court summons was where she’d left it: discarded at the foot of her bed. She snatched it up and scanned the instruction form. Two weeks. It amounted to fourteen days of too much free time, time to sit and ponder if she’d ruined her career before it even started.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
Chapter Four
The court room was stuffy, an interior room tucked in the bowels of the county court house. It was evidently long overdue for the upgrade to central air conditioning. The benches were uncomfortable, the stain worn off from nearly sixty years’ worth of fidgeting civil servants and irritated accused. She fell into the latter category. After nearly forty-five minutes of waiting, the backs of her knees were starting to sweat. She wondered if sweat stains would be visible through her black dress pants. Was that something that would diminish her already shaky credibility?
“Madison Monroe.”
Time to find out.
She stood from her bench and tugged on the hem of her silky blue blouse, holding her chin high as she walked to the front of the court room. It was like some kind of bizarre game show. She was making her way to the platform for the Russian roulette of court appearances. No lawyer. No well-wishing parents in the audience. Just a rapid internet search on underage drinking laws in the state of Pennsylvania and the input of a former roommate who had switched to pre-law.
You got this, Madison. You’ll be fine.
The judge looked bored out of her mind, so much so that she’d obviously gotten to the point where she no longer felt the need to feign interest. She shuffled through a stack of papers and glanced at her over the tops of bright turquoise glasses. “State your name for the record.”
“Madison Elizabeth Monroe.”
“You received a citation for underage drinking on April 11th?” The judge paused and looked up at her for a moment. “I see your birthday is May 10th.”
“Yes ma’am, that’s correct. May 10th is my twenty-first birthday.”
The judge shook her head and looked back at the citation. “Do you plead guilty or not guilty of your charge?”
“Guilty, ma’am.”
“I trust you’ve learned a valuable lesson here.” She again peered at Madison and then back down at the papers, carefully lettering information on a form. “But I think some community service might help reinforce that lesson.”
Madison had hoped maybe the judge just had a giant “guilty” stamp she could slam down on all citations. How disappointing. “Ma’am, I’m taking part in an exclusive archeological dig in Gettysburg starting May 1st. I was wondering if I could take Alcohol Education classes in lieu of community service. The local college in Gettysburg offers a program through the Adams County Court system for Alcohol Rehabilitation and Education.”
“So, what you’re proposing is,” —the judge glared at her— “you want me to let you enjoy your summer.”
“Well…an archeological dig is actually a lot of work. It’s manual labor: digging, cleaning, cataloging. And…it’s school sponsored. I have these printouts from the Adams County Court system.” Madison looked down at the printed pdf file she’d brought with her: So You Got Caught Drinking: Now What? Suddenly this didn’t seem as good of an idea as it had before. “It’s…well, the program still requires I plead guilty and pay the fine. But I’d also go through the classes as laid out by the court. I know similar classes are offered through my college and are often recommended by this court—I’d just be doing the same thing in a different county.”
The judge looked skeptical, but despite any reservations she may have been formulating, she held her hand out and twitched her fingers. “Bring them here.”
Madison awkwardly shuffled to the front of the courtroom and handed the papers to the judge.
Her eyes scanned them, her face as emotionless as Mt. Rushmore. After a few moments she spoke. “Miss Monroe, I am well versed in our county’s underage drinking rehabilitation classes. I think it’s an excellent program. This program seems to be of similar requirement and curriculum. I’ll grant it, however, with the stipulation that your dig supervisor also act as sponsor and sign off that you attend the classes as designated. Is that reasonable?”
Madison slowly exhaled. “Yes, ma’am.”
The judge handed the papers back to her and then scribbled her name on her paperwork. “With the guilty plea and your agreement to partake in rehabilitation classes, I’ll set a reduced fine of two hundred fifty dollars. You can pay in the clerk’s office on the first floor. I caution you, Miss Monroe. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. Let’s see that this is just a juvenile mistake.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Madison accepted the forms back, feeling as if she’d just earned a knighthood from the Queen of England. The dig was a go.
Chapter Five
The trip from the suburbs of Pittsburgh to Gettysburg took nearly five hours, due to the fact she hit an obscene amount of traffic through ‘The Steel City’ and her 1995 Dodge Neon had a hard time getting up over sixty-five miles per hour. Although she called her car, among other things, “a tank” and “The Blue Meanie,” the truth was the car was one hiccup short of a scrap heap. But it was paid off. It got her where she needed to go. And it had two white racing stripes up over the hood and over the roof—it was a Neon desperately trying to be a Mustang. She loved it.
She did not love, however, the lack of information Dr. Emerson had given her on what precisely she needed to do once she got to Gettysburg. “Don’t worry about it.” He’d sounded so confident on the phone. “My nephew will meet you at the hotel and get you checked in. You’re going down the night before so you’ll have plenty of time to get settled in. I told him to take you to dinner. No drinks though, Madison, remember that.” He’d laughed, a humorless giggle that alluded to a shared joke, when obviously there was absolutely nothing funny about it.
“Hilarious.” Madison turned The Meanie onto Steinwher Street, the main drag through commercialized Gettysburg and evidently the location of her hotel. She hoped she wouldn’t be getting lost anytime soon, as she was fairly certain she couldn’t pronounce the street name.
Her hotel was a chain hotel, a giant sprawl across from several normal looking chain restaurants. Aside from an ostentatious looking “General Pickett’s Buffet”, to the untrained eye, it looked like any other town in Pennsylvania. She turned the car off, craning her neck as she peered down the street. It was kind of depressing, actually, that the battle that supposedly changed the course of the war seemed to have more t-shirt shops than museums. Maybe it was just this street.
As she turned back around in the driver’s seat, she noticed a man ambling down the sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot. He was dressed in oddly muted tones and had a strange hitch to his step, like the joint of his hip didn’t work correctly. The distance between them was still too great to adequately make out his features, but when she looked towards his face, the man stopped. He seemed to gape at her, his feet planted firmly as if he’d taken root in the sidewalk.
She shrugged to herself and leaned over to collect her bag from the passenger’s seat. Either The Meanie’s engine was on fire, or that was Dr. Emerson’s nephew, Brad. Brad Emerson. She mentally practiced what she’d say, Mr. Emerson, thank you so much for asking me to take part in this dig. It’s a great opportunity. Letting me take part in this dig.
She straightened up and looked out the window.
The man was gone.
Madison groaned. Perfect—maybe the word was already out that the drunk was in town. Lock up your sons.
Someone knocked on the car window. She jumped, slamming her hands down onto the steering wheel. Turning her head to the side, she saw a man peering into her car. Dammit, she’d run the bastard over! She fumbled to turn the engine in the ignition. Why in God’s name had she turned the car off in the first place?
“Madison?” The attacker looked quizzical. “You’re Madison Monroe, right?”
She hesitate
d. “Uh. Yes.”
He cocked his head to the rear of the car. “I saw you pull in. You have a Monongahela University parking sticker on your bumper.”
She stared at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m Brad Emerson. My uncle is Charles Emerson?” His face broke into a smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, I’m good.” As she opened the car door, she glanced over her shoulder. Brad Emerson was dressed in a garish yellow polo shirt, nowhere near the muted color of the gaping pedestrian. Weird. But dismissible. She opened the car door and stepped outside, extending her hand to shake his. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Emerson. Thank you so much for allowing me to join the dig. It’s an honor.”
His touch was gentle, but his eyes were somewhat too probing. “Brad—please. I’m sure I’m not all that much older than you.”
Creeper. “Dr. Emerson told about the case of unfired rounds you found at a garage sale. That’s pretty neat.” Madison inwardly groaned. Neat? What was this, 1953?
“It was a surprise! And from the Allegheny Arsenal nonetheless. That’s in Pittsburgh, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ve been there.”
“Uh, no.” She followed him toward the front lobby of the hotel, inexplicably self-conscious. Something just didn’t feel right. She tried to dismiss it. “It’s not in the best part of town and, from what I’ve heard, there’s nothing left. The city put up a plaque or something but, for a complex that was a major supplier of ammunition and blew up under pseudo-suspicious circumstances in 1862, it’s pretty much forgotten.”
“That’s too bad.” He didn’t sound like he was actually listening. He sidled up next to the front desk and flashed a smile at the spectacled red head checking guests in. She visually melted. “Reservation under Emerson.”
“Bradley?”
“Yes.” He leaned against the desk, resting his chin on his hand. “The room name needs transferred to Madison Monroe.”
The red head’s eyes flicked over to Madison, a glare of unconcealed disapproval.
Madison waved and smiled with what she hoped translated as pep. “Hello.”
The red head responded to Brad. “I’ll need to see some ID.”
Madison plucked her driver’s license from her bag and slid it across the desk. The red head regarded it, but didn’t touch it. “Fine.”
Madison resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Brad pulled his wallet from the pocket of his cargo shorts and withdrew a credit card. “Charge the room to my card…Jill.”
The red head—Jill, evidently—picked up the card, again shooting a look of disapproval in Madison’s general direction.
Madison ignored her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“My Uncle Charles is doing it, actually. I’m sure he told you about the stipend.” Brad shook his head and flashed a smile at her. It didn’t have the same effect as it did on the front desk girl. “It’s his way of making up for it.”
“I’ll be sure to thank him.” The “stipend” Dr. Emerson had managed to convince the Gettysburg Association to pay was seven dollars per day. Seeing as how her step-father had refused to chip in any money to help her while she was gone, she had a feeling her credit card bill was going to be insane after the dig was complete.
Jill slapped a printout on the desk. “Sign here. You’re in room 255. It’s on the second floor, but the designated parking space is in the back. You’ll have to walk upstairs and back toward the front of the hotel. Continental breakfast starts at 6am, bar opens at 6pm.”
Madison scribbled her name on the paper and snatched up the key. This was the kind of thing that drove her to drink. “Thanks.”
Jill didn’t respond.
Brad motioned to the front door leading from the lobby. “Okay, so, why don’t you get settled in your room and meet me out front? I thought we’d just walk down the street to a local diner for dinner, if that’s okay. Nothing fancy, but my treat.” He paused and smiled at her again. “I know your stipend doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. I’ll just drop my suitcase off and be back down.” Madison trudged back to the Blue Meanie and jammed the key into the ignition. After a subpar parking job, she dragged her oversized and over packed suitcase up the two flights of stairs and around the exterior of the hotel for what seemed like miles, until she found Room 255. It was pleasant enough, with a large king sized bed and flat screen television. There were a bizarre amount of chairs in the room, which she found odd, but it was clean and comfortable. What more did she need?
She shoved her room key into her back pocket and retreated back to the front of the hotel.
Brad was waiting next to a newspaper box. He smiled as she walked toward him. “Ready? I hope you’re hungry.”
“Actually, yeah. I just had a cheeseburger at a rest area on the turnpike like, six hours ago.”
Awkward.
He led her down the sidewalk and across the street, stopping in front of a brick building with a chipped stone front façade. The sign overhead read: The Gingerbread Man. Opening the door, he motioned her inside. “After you.”
The interior was dark. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. Brad had already made his way to a booth and was taking a seat. She followed suit, sliding in across from him. “I’ll be honest, I expected the town to be busier than it is. I mean…this is Gettysburg. I thought everyone came here.”
“They do, but usually more towards July.” He flipped open his menu. “This place is a madhouse in the summer months, but it’s a ghost town the rest of the year. I prefer it that way; it’s more intimate.”
She resisted the urge to gag. “Can you tell me about the dig? Dr. Emerson really didn’t have many details other than it’s at the Spangler Farm. Are we looking for anything specific?”
“There’s always the hope we find ‘The Major Find’ but in reality, I think it’s more going through the motions. The plan is to open the farm to the public for limited viewing by the middle of June, regardless of what we find or don’t find. The main farmhouse and the barn still need extensive renovation, so once the tourist season is over, it will close again.”
Madison idly flipped through the menu, searching for the item she was least likely to end up dripping or spilling on herself. Grilled cheese sandwich it was. “You don’t sound overly excited about the plan.”
He ran his hands through his sandy brown hair. “Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the opportunity to do a test dig anywhere at Gettysburg is an honor. So, as a student of history, I’m kind of overwhelmed. But as a professional, there’s always the desire for more time.”
“There’s never enough time. College has, if nothing else, taught me that much.”
“You should enjoy your time in college.”
“I think we both know I’ve enjoyed my time just a little too much.” She smiled awkwardly at him, heat flushing her cheeks. “No doubt Dr. Emerson filled you in on my…court appearance.”
“My Uncle Charles is actually a champion of yours. Believe it or not, he’s pretty crushed the history department took Normandy away from you.” His voice trailed off as the waitress approached the table. He handed her his menu. “Pot roast sandwich and fries, gravy on the side please, and a water with lemon.”
Madison handed her menu to the waitress. “Grilled cheese and fries, with a Mountain Dew.”
Brad watched the waitress leave the table with enough interest to make Madison feel uncomfortable. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and slid his thumb against the screen. “A lack of field experience, yeah, but that comes with time. Your publishing credentials are mind blowing.”
She flushed. “Research and I share a mutual fondness for each other.”
“Well, you’re being modest. I could name off twelve archeologists in our field who would kill for that kind of resume. No wonder Uncle Charles says you’re what the field needs.”
Madison blushed again. “Well…thank you.”
“You are welcome.” He smiled. “And look,
the whole citation thing. It’s really not a big deal to me. It’s obviously a giant rod in someone’s ass, but really, as far as I’m concerned it has no bearing on your career.”
“I can tell you exactly whose ass it’s up. My step-father. He’s unfortunately also the president of my college, so I’m fairly certain he’s just making an example out of me.”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“I still need to go to the rehabilitation classes. I have to turn the paperwork into the court system at the end of the summer. I’ll be utilizing my time as best I can and simultaneously petitioning to have my record wiped clean.” She paused as the waitress set her glass of pop in front of her. “I guess the college is right outside of Gettysburg?”
He nodded. “I called and got all the class information for you. Tuesday nights, from six to seven. No big deal. I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign, just remind me.”
“Sounds fair enough.” She studied his features as he focused on his cell phone. He was attractive, maybe mid to late 30s, but there was something about him she flat out didn’t like. Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed just slightly too close together or the way that they seemed to focus in on any female in a six mile radius. “So…the dig starts tomorrow? I haven’t missed anything?”
He shoved his phone in his pocket. “The only thing you’ve missed is us trying to get permits in places permits should have already been issued. I had no idea I’d have to go through so much red tape to get park service heavy equipment to come and dig test pits on park ground for a park sponsored project. It’s still not done.”
“How many people are on the team?”
“Including you? Four. Plus me, but I have a feeling I’ll be running interference between the site and the park service. I handpicked everyone. I’ve worked with them all before and consider them more my core team of diggers. I think you’ll get along with everyone. It’s hard to be the new kid in town, especially when you’re coming onto a team that’s already set in its ways.”
With Me Now Page 3
