by Karen Harper
“The protesters were chanting?”
“Yeah, as I started out to talk to them. ‘Green Tree says no cut trees! Green Tree says no cut trees!’ Are you okay?”
“Two things,” she said as they walked into his office. “First, I was measuring the mound out by the falls, the one near Cold Creek. Where it caved in on top years ago, I spotted a shiny gold star—kind of like an old Western sheriff’s badge, come to think of it. Gabe or Jace don’t wear anything like that, do they?”
“Used to, I think. Didn’t Jace have one on yesterday? Did you bring it with you?”
“I was scared to step out where it is, because of the depression, the old cave-in. Grant, can I go up on the top of your mound just to be sure there’s nothing like that there? Ohio has had cases where vandals tried to put something into the mounds as well as take something out—and they went to jail for it.”
“Whoa! Slow down. I’ve been up on top of Mason Mound from time to time and looked at it for years from the tree house. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“But the star looks shiny—new.”
“Our whole mound is pretty overgrown. But if I go with you, okay. So what else did you want to say?”
“I should have mentioned it to you earlier—and to Deputy Miller when he interviewed me yesterday,” she said. “It was something I overheard, and I think that’s hearsay anyway, so—”
“Something about Paul?”
She nodded. He didn’t like the fact Ms. Calm finally looked nervous. “What?” he prompted.
“During my father’s toast to Tess and Gabe at the reception, I stepped out onto the lodge veranda and overheard Paul and Todd arguing.”
“Really arguing or just discussing something? They’ve been friends for years and neither of them has much of a temper.”
“I’m sure they were arguing.”
His gut twisted tighter. “Over what?”
“Over Paul being short of money, which we both know about—and, of course, Deputy Miller does now, too.”
“And?”
“Paul was threatening to sell something, and Todd was really upset about it.”
Grant feared he knew what they’d argued about—maybe the same thing he and Brad had.
“So,” he said, quietly. “That’s it?” He was suddenly aware of choosing his words carefully. Kate was so bright and perceptive, and gung ho on getting not only on top of but also inside of Mason Mound. He should distance himself from her right now, put her off somehow. His temptation wasn’t to sell his Adena artifact, but to keep Kate close yet keep her from realizing what vandals he and his friends had been years ago. Somehow he had to distract her—give her something but get her off on another tack. He’d held back information from Jace Miller, too, that Paul’s house could have been ransacked by someone looking for his Adena pendant—if he’d told anyone about it—or if Brad had blabbed. For sure, he’d have to talk to his brother again.
“Grant, should I have told the deputy? Or should I still? I don’t want him to think I’m saying he should look at Todd for being the one who came to Paul’s house, especially not to continue their quarrel.”
“I’m sure Todd has an alibi. He and Brad were doing inventory here, and Todd only briefly went home.”
She nodded, but he could see—almost hear—her quick brain clicking through the information—and maybe noting the nerves that showed up in his voice. But, thanks to Green Tree and Lacey, he had an excuse for that right now.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s take a look at the top of Mason Mound during my lunch break today. It’s almost time. Wait here for a few minutes while I check some things down on the cutting floor, okay?”
“Sure. Great,” she said, looking surprised but pleased.
He hoped it would be great, but it sure didn’t seem to be his day.
8
Grant fixed them a quick lunch in his kitchen—peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches with soft drinks—but Kate was almost too excited to eat. She could see the top of the mound out the window now that the big maple was gone and that, combined with Grant’s presence, really made her edgy.
Grant got up to take their dishes to the counter. “We’ll just take a quick look on top of the mound,” he said. “The grass is high there and things have grown up over the years. We used to roll down it as kids, screaming like savages, until Dad and Grandpa made all of us show more respect.”
“For the dead. ‘Let the dead stay dead,’ your father said.”
“Right, even though I’ll bet the bodies would be totally gone by now.”
“You’d be amazed at what those mounds preserve. Yours, being small with less air inside, hopefully intact with no cave-in, and away from water, could make it a prime excavation site.”
“Besides private-property rights, isn’t there some government act that says you can’t disturb tribal graves?”
“You’ve been doing some homework. That’s the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. But that’s geared more toward historic Indian tribes, to have bones and artifacts either left buried, or—if the grave has already been tampered with—the things returned to their tribal descendants. But the Adena were prehistoric, and, of course, there are no Adena to give things back to anymore. I hope to prove my theory that they were actually not American Indians but of European stock. They were taller, larger people than more modern Native Americans. My colleague—”
“That Carson Cantrell who phoned you?”
“Yes. He’s been moving heaven and earth to get the government to exempt the Adena from the Graves Protection act, although, of course, any relics of them or their culture must be honored, studied and displayed for the common good.”
“As for bodies,” he said, as they headed toward the back door, “I’ve read they cremated some of their dead, so maybe there are no corpses in these mounds, though I guess bones and teeth could outlast flames.”
“It’s been long accepted that the Adena did cremate those of lower castes. But some of us believe that individuals actually chose what would be done with their bodies after death, just like people today can choose cremation or burial. After we check your mound, I’m going back to retrieve the star from Cold Creek Mound.”
He seemed to be dragging his feet, but they went out the back door and across the yard toward the mound. Kate’s heart rate increased. Bit by bit, she had to convince Grant—maybe Brad, too, though she knew Grant was the one in charge here—to let her excavate this mound.
“You’re right,” she told him as they stood at the bottom of the mound. “Lots of growth even high up. But I think we can still climb it. No poison ivy, I hope, though those old hawthorn trees will keep us from going up that way. Bet you never rolled down the hill as a kid into those—at least not more than once. They must be diseased. The whole thicket is dying.”
“Yeah, I see. I hadn’t noticed that,” he said, frowning.
She started climbing, bending forward, grabbing at saplings when she could. She hoped Grant was not still staring at the tree-trunk ruin of his bird’s-eye maple, but she heard him right behind her.
“Look!” she cried, once the mound leveled out on top. “No signs of cave-ins at all. Even with the bushes and wildflowers up here, it looks pretty solid. I’ve seen enough mounds here and in Europe to know.”
He put his hand around her upper arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t add our weight to it, though.”
“I’m telling you, I’ve walked on lots of these. Besides, that star was new and not deep in the ground, kind of sticking up. Shiny, too, so if there’s one here, it shouldn’t be hard to see. I’m just going to walk around a bit up here, okay?”
For one moment she was afraid she should not have asked him and should have just plunged ahead. Surely, since they were standing here, he wouldn’t try to stop her. But hi
s sky-blue gaze was so intense that she felt mesmerized and didn’t move. The breeze ruffled his blond hair to remind her that he had once been a little boy who played here, who thought of his grandpa and dad when he was near the mound. Surely that was why he was so protective of this place. And that was only one of many reasons he got to her so deeply, physically but emotionally, too.
Somehow, suddenly, they were in each other’s arms. Holding tight, her breasts flattened against his chest, his hands moved to her waist and back. She clamped him to her with her arms hard around his middle. He dipped his head. She tilted hers upward. If he had not been holding her, the kiss surely would have swept her off the mound and far away.
Kate propped her shaking knees against his legs. His right hand moved to caress her hair, tenderly at first, then holding her head as if she would flee, when she wasn’t going anywhere.
The kiss went on and on. For once, she couldn’t even think, only feel and want. For one insane moment she imagined he was what she had been searching for, not some star or revelation. This was stronger than her passion for discovering things. She wanted to know Grant Mason—she wanted Grant Mason....
When they broke the kiss, she felt devastated, but sanity came flooding back. However desirable this man was, he was dangerous, too. He stood in the way of what she wanted—especially if he became what she wanted more than all she’d worked for. His ex-wife fled being trapped in this little town. Kate could understand that. She couldn’t imagine wanting to stay in Cold Creek, but neither could she fathom wanting to leave this man.
Grant held her gently and sighed. He trailed his fingertips down her throat in a light caress to just below her collarbones. His tension had turned tender. Her skin tingled at his touch.
“Can’t apologize for that,” he whispered.
“You’d better not,” she replied. “If that was a diversionary tactic, I’m ready to be diverted again.”
“You’re not. You’re like a dog after a bone—excuse the comparison for a beautiful woman.”
They were still breathing hard in unison, making their own breeze up here. Slowly, he set her back, released her. She clung to his upper arms for a moment. This man was as solid as a tree, not thin and wiry like Carson. Finally, she let go.
“I’ll wait right here,” he said. “Go ahead and look around, but I think all you’ll find are a couple of Batman or G.I. Joe figures that Brad and I lost up here years ago.”
But Grant was wrong. The grass and underbrush were not a problem because a perfect replica of the other star—clear to the dried brownish paint on the tips of its five points—was stuck in the ground where grass and weeds had been pulled up in a little circle. She used a tissue from the pocket of her jeans to pick it up without putting her fingerprints on it. With Paul’s death, Jace Miller probably didn’t have time to look into this, but what if it really turned out to be a clue to who had cut down Grant’s tree—or something about this mound?
“See?” she said, stepping through the high grass to show him. After they’d examined the face of it, she carefully flipped it over as they both leaned close. Devoid of writing, smooth, it glinted in the sun. “Someone’s been here recently and is actually defacing mounds with these stars! That’s the legal definition of defacing—leaving some object in or on them or tampering with them in any way.”
“No writing on it,” he said, after she turned it over. “Not even a made-in mark. So why a bright star?”
They looked at each other, wide-eyed. “During my run-in with Bright Star Monson, he insisted Tess’s wedding was pagan. I threw back at him something like I’d trust Adena pagan ways compared to how he ran roughshod over his people.”
“But if he left these, what’s his point? And why wouldn’t he leave a cross—a crucifix—if he’s trying to Christianize the pagan dead of this mound, or whatever.”
“Because he’s a cult leader, not really Christian,” she insisted, her voice rising. “Maybe he’s convinced he can convert the pagan dead to his ways. He’s into complete control of his robot congregation and who knows what else. It makes me sick he’s got my relatives enthralled and enslaved. In a cult, it always ends up being all about the leader, like that crazy Jim Jones, who got a thousand of his followers to drink Kool-Aid laced with cyanide!”
“Not so far off, maybe, from the ancient Adena leaders. I read their leaders were sometimes buried with others who were killed to accompany them to the afterlife. So don’t you go confronting Bright Star yourself. I wonder what the paint on the points means?”
The reality of what she was looking at hit her hard. “I thought it was paint at first, too,” she whispered, “but now I think it’s old or dried blood.”
* * *
Back at work at the mill, Grant had another theory about the stars Kate had found. Could she have planted them just so he’d let her get closer to Mason Mound—and closer to him? She’d found the second star pretty fast in that ground cover.
“Grant.” A voice cut through his thoughts. Brad stuck his head in the office door. “Keith said you wanted to see me? A guy that big speaks, ya gotta listen.”
“Yeah. Come on in,” he said, ignoring the lame joke.
“I mean, it’s not like we don’t see each other at the house, if this is some big-brother talk,” Brad said, closing the door behind him and taking the other chair.
“You’re hardly there. I assume the new places uptown are more appealing than my food or conversation.”
“Look. I’ve been trying to help out around here—show you I can be valuable to you. I’ve talked to everyone on the floor, kept an eye on Todd, and—”
“And that’s one thing I wanted to ask you. Todd should be keeping an eye on you, not the other way around. You don’t think I’m going to change my mind about demoting him and putting you in as foreman, do you? At most, I can work you in as cutting-line supervisor when Randy Thatcher retires in the fall but—”
“Well, thanks a lot! I come in here, willing to help, and you give me no hope of moving up in our family business. I know, I know, you bought out my share when I wanted to go out on my own. But I’m telling you, if Dad was still alive, he’d welcome me home with open arms like the prodigal son!”
“I’m impressed with the reference. I have no doubt he’d kill the fatted calf for you. And I’ve welcomed you back, but not at the price of firing or demoting loyal, hardworking men here, and Todd’s a longtime friend of ours.”
“One we don’t want to tick off since he’s one of our coconspirators, right?”
“Brad, just listen. I know you understand that Todd’s good at what he does and loyal. Dad would not fire or demote him, either, nor would Grandpa or—”
“So, it’s family-tree time again. And I don’t mean that as another reference to the stolen tree.”
“There’s something else. On Sunday, when you and Todd were both here, you worked on the inventory, right?”
“Yeah. There any mistakes in it?”
“No. I was just surprised so little of it got done. You weren’t arguing with each other instead, were you?”
He gave a little snort, then—after a beat—shook his head. “If you want to know, we both came and went. I went uptown for a few minutes and he went home—or somewhere—for quite a while. I mean, it was the day of rest.”
Though they were alone with the door closed, Brad leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to rat on him, but I actually think Todd went to see Paul about something. I didn’t want to say that, thought you’d believe I’d made it up to discredit him.”
“You mean, I’d think he could be the one who ransacked Paul’s place or worse?” Grant demanded. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach. Kate had said she’d overheard Todd and Paul arguing and now this. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Better you than Deputy Miller, alias Barney Fife,” Bra
d said. “How many reruns of The Andy Griffith Show did we watch when we were growing up, huh?”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Jace Miller is doing a good job while Gabe’s away. He’s been hit with two big investigations—Paul’s death and major tree theft, and he’s stretched pretty thin.”
“Right.” He drawled the word as if he didn’t believe it. Brad bounced up from his seat, nearly tripped as he headed for the door then bumped his shoulder against the door frame on his way out. “See you later, boss and bro,” he threw over his shoulder.
Grant sighed. He hadn’t dismissed Brad, but he was glad to see the backside of him. He’d considered bringing up the fact he figured Brad was drinking, even during the day. He hadn’t smelled booze on him and his speech hadn’t seemed slurred, though his exit was a little shaky. Brad had always held his liquor well. But with so many saws and presses here, the mill had strict rules against drinking or drugs that dulled reaction time. Brad had always joked about this being a cutting-edge business. Grant felt that way now, like he was riding the rails toward a buzz saw—and, despite how much he wanted her, the sharp, clever Dr. Kate Lockwood might just be that blade.
* * *
Kate laid out both identical reddish-tipped stars on a cloth on the kitchen table and stared at them. She’d retrieved the second one from Cold Creek Mound with a fishing pole. The design did not suggest Adena symbolism—and they were too new and obviously manufactured—although the idea of them being blood-tipped echoed the way Celtic shamans had probably tipped the antler points of the Beastmaster mask either in blood or ocher pigment. She was picturing the frightening mask she’d seen in a museum in Denmark when a sharp knock on the back door nearly sent her through the ceiling.
Carson Cantrell’s clean-cut, almost boyish face popped into view through the storm-door window. With his neatly trimmed brown hair, Carson looked younger than his forty-nine years.
“Wherefore art thou, my Kate? Kiss me, Kate!” he called to her as she opened the door for him.
