by Karis Walsh
The voices of the other people in the room faded from Berit’s consciousness as she concentrated on the woman. Who are you? Why was she on her side with her knees bent? Berit followed the curve of the bones, letting the shape fill her mind. Strangely familiar, edging into the corner of Berit’s memory.
She jumped up on the table and stared down at the motionless form beneath her. A question mark without the dot. Why hadn’t she noticed this before?
She leaped off the table, ran over to the shelves, and started pulling down albums. “Where are the pictures of the houses? The ones with symbols over the doors?”
Mark and Lisa came over and wordlessly started searching with her. Like her, they recognized when someone was grasping for a solution to something. Instead of peppering her with questions about what she was thinking, they gave her space.
“Here,” Mark said. He plopped a heavy album in front of Berit and she shuffled through the pages. They’d found and excavated the heart of the little town early in the dig—before Berit arrived. She’d only come once they had discovered the cemetery, but she had pored over the albums as she familiarized herself with the ancient community they were unearthing, piece by piece and bone by bone.
She found the page she was looking for. A symbol carved over the door of a hut. A question mark with a dot. They hadn’t yet identified the marking, whether it indicated the home of a healer or religious leader or some other occupation.
“A baby,” she said, looking up at Mark and Lisa. “This must be the sign of a midwife, or someone who delivers babies. This woman is in the same position as the symbol, and she probably died in childbirth.”
She watched their expressions shift as they followed her train of thought. No one had thought to search for more bones in the burial plot since every other one had only held one person.
“The interns are clearing out the rest of the plot now,” Lisa said, giving voice to Berit’s worries. “We need to get down there before they excavate and possibly damage the infant.”
Berit jogged after them as they rushed back into the tunnels, with Jim close on her heels. She felt the months of tiredness fall away like a dropped cloak as she ran. These moments of pure discovery, of figuring out an ancient and challenging riddle were the moments she lived for.
They crossed a bridge made of dirt and clay before entering a tight passageway. The tombs were located underneath them, and they were heading for the access chute where a rope ladder served as a two-story staircase for people and a lift for removing artifacts. Mark skidded to a stop near the edge, but the ground seemed to crumble under his feet. He was dropping out of sight when Berit flung herself on her stomach and reached for his hand. She felt his fingers grasp hers for a moment before he lost his grip and fell. She scrabbled for purchase but couldn’t keep from tumbling over the side after him.
CHAPTER THREE
Tace drove out of town the next morning, through the gentle, undulating hills surrounding Walla Walla. She passed signs pointing to wineries at regular intervals, and the buildings containing tasting rooms and reception areas looked very similar to pictures she’d seen of Tuscany. These fields had been planted with crops like corn, wheat, and peas when she was younger, but now they were covered with grapevines.
The booming wine industry in Walla Walla had changed not only the landscape of the surrounding areas, but also the town itself. Every other store downtown seemed to be either a wineshop or a wine bar, and buses full of tourists came for the spring barrel openings and the numerous tasting tours. Tace’s life was hardly touched by the industry, thank God. She made the same money whether she waited on one customer or a thousand, and she rarely shopped where the wine enthusiasts did. She knew where college students and tourists tended to go, and she avoided both. Unless she was riding her bike along these winding roads or buying a bottle of wine for one of the rare times she had a date over for dinner, Tace stayed well outside the exclusive world of high-end wines.
She lowered her car window and let the hot breeze riffle her hair. She had to admit the scenery was beautiful here, with the rolling foothills of the Blues and the stone wineries covered with creeping vines. She loved to ride out here for the exercise she got while pedaling up the sometimes quite steep hills, but mostly because the views were captivating. Even in the heat of late summer, the carefully maintained gardens of the wineries were filled with flowers in a rainbow of colors, and peregrine falcons would often perch on fence posts near the tidy rows of grapes while they hunted for field mice.
Today, however, she wasn’t here for sightseeing. She held the page of printed directions flat against her steering wheel, alternately watching the road and glancing at the paper as it flapped in the wind. She drove into a small valley and found the dirt road leading off the highway. She tossed the paper aside and drove her ancient Chrysler along the rutted path. The little powder-blue car was almost as old as she was, and she hoped it didn’t shake to pieces before she got to the mysterious place her brother wanted her to see. She figured she must be close to the Walla Walla River down here since the vegetation grew more thickly than on the more barren, vineyard-covered hills.
Kyle’s black Camaro was parked near a metal warehouse. Tace stopped beside him and got out of her car, noticing a new dent in Kyle’s fender. All three of the siblings had gotten a small inheritance when their father passed, and Tace had tried to encourage the others to invest or save the money. Instead, Kyle had bought a brand new car, and he had been steadily gambling away the rest of it. Chris had been a bit more sensible—buying a Mustang instead—and Tace had convinced her to put the rest in an investment account. Tace was paying for her schooling, and Chris would graduate with no loans and with some money of her own. She’d have choices. Kyle had choices, too, but he tended to make the least responsible ones every time.
Tace looked around. The yard was in a sad state, with rusted barrels and overgrown weeds surrounding the small gravel parking lot. A scrawny black-and-white tuxedo cat peered at her from behind a weed-covered woodpile, and she knelt on the ground and tried to call it to her. The kitten vanished, so Tace stood up again and resumed her gloomy appraisal of the place. She didn’t see any sign of a house, but the area was dense with trees so she wasn’t sure what else might be hidden from sight. The tan shed with brown eaves and spouts looked to be in decent condition, and a door stood propped open a few yards from her. She sighed and walked toward it. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“Hey, sis, you made it! Isn’t this a great place?”
Kyle came out of the door and swooped her up into a big hug before she could get a glimpse inside the building. His overly effusive greeting didn’t ease her worries. She returned his hug with affection, though. She hadn’t seen him for months, and irresponsible and undisciplined as he was, he was still her baby brother. She disentangled herself from him and held him at arm’s length. He looked well, with his bright, charismatic grin and thick, wavy dark hair that was characteristic of all the Lomonds. He was twenty-four, nearly seven years her junior, but he looked like a naughty fourteen-year-old who had just broken a neighbor’s window with a baseball and didn’t feel guilty about it at all. He had been only three, and Chris was two, when Tace’s mom had left the family. Her dad had worked overtime to support them and to cover her mom’s gambling debts, so Tace had been part parent, part sister. Despite her best efforts, Kyle had become a younger version of their mother.
“Sure, Kyle. It’s a great place. A great big mess.” She punched him playfully in the arm. “What did you get tangled in and what do I have to do to get you out of it?”
He put on a hurt expression, but it didn’t last long and his mouth naturally curved into a smile again. “It’s nothing like that. Come inside. You’re going to love this.”
He pulled her through the door and spread his arms wide. “Ta-da!”
Tace let her eyes adjust to the dim light inside. The difference between the ratty outdoors and the spotless interior was striking. Large
gleaming metal vats filled the space, and the copper and steel looked like they’d been recently polished. The concrete floor was swept and clean, and there didn’t seem to be an ounce of dust in the place. Someone apparently cared for this enough to keep it in good condition. No one seemed to care about the outside.
“Please tell me you didn’t buy a meth lab,” she said, glaring at her brother.
“Jeez, what kind of guy do you think I am? I don’t do that crap and you know it. It’s a brewery. Isn’t it cool?”
Tace sighed. She wanted the whole story, but Kyle shared a snippet at a time. What she needed to know was what he expected her role to be. “What are you planning to do with a brewery?”
“It’s a moneymaker, for sure. All the equipment is here and in good condition. With a small amount of marketing, this place could be a gold mine. Just think of all those frat parties at the college—this stuff will sell itself.”
“You should be selling used cars to strangers, not trying to sell me anything. I’m not buying you a brewery. End of story.”
“Seriously, you need to relax. I’m not asking you to buy it for me. I bought it for you.”
Tace rubbed her temples and took a deep breath. “Kyle, tell me the whole story. Now. And please don’t let it start with the phrase I was playing poker with these guys…”
Kyle flashed his put-out expression again. “Give me some credit, Tace.”
“Blackjack?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “No. You were right with poker.”
Tace ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t understand how she could be irritated with Kyle and suspicious of his motives, but still want to laugh at his boyish grin and enthusiasm. “Of course I was. So you lost a bet?”
“No. I won a huge bet.” Kyle spread his arms again, in a grand gesture. “I won this place.”
“And how do I fit in?”
“It’s yours. I had him sign it over to you. Don’t worry, it’s all legit.”
Sure it was. Tace put her hands on her hips and didn’t respond. She had bailed her brother out of trouble enough times to know she hadn’t yet gotten the whole story, and she was tired of asking questions and trying to drag it out of him. She didn’t for one minute believe his actions had been anything but self-serving. Besides, why the hell would she want a brewery, least of all one you could barely see for all the weeds and debris surrounding it?
“Look, sis,” he said, using the same beseeching gesture with his hands that she’d seen countless times when he was about to explain something that seemed entirely logical to him, but would be costly and illogical to her. “I’m a little short right now. When I made the bet, I was thinking we could run this place together. You know, a real family business. You’d put up the capital, and I’d take over as manager.”
Tace couldn’t hold back a scoffing laugh. Put Kyle in charge of a brewery? She might as well invite the local fraternities to guard the stills on a Saturday night.
“Don’t make fun. I thought it’d be cool to work together. We make a great team.”
“Yeah, you get in trouble, and I pay to get you out.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair, and she saw the moment when his expression lost its false animation. She saw the truth coming before he opened his mouth. “I need your help, Tace. I owe some money. Gambling debts. I thought this poker game would be an easy way to get some quick cash, but turns out the other guys weren’t any better off than I am. I don’t have time to wait until I can sell the property, so I had him put your name on the deed. I thought you could float me the cost up front. You’ll make your money back and more when you unload this place.”
His earlier enthusiasm hadn’t fooled her, but his honest look of fearful entreaty scared her. “How much do you need?”
He told her and she felt her knees tremble. She never was going to get out of the hole her family had dug for her. She’d thought she might have a reprieve once Chris was finished with school. A chance to make some changes, see some new places. But she didn’t share Kyle’s belief that she’d recoup the amount he was asking for when this weed-infested property finally sold.
“I have to talk to a banker or a Realtor or someone,” she said, feeling the weight of her responsibility settle so hard on her shoulders that her feet seemed to sink into the ground. She was already resigned to her plans even as she made them. Second mortgage. Give him the money he needed. Sell this place and hopefully make enough to get back near the level of debt she had had at the start of this fiasco. “Let’s get out of here.”
❖
Three days later—days of wasting her free time filing paperwork at the county office and consulting with loan officers at the bank—Tace was back at the hateful brewery. She had been planning on another hike in the cleansing wilderness of the Wallowas during her days off, but instead she was waiting to meet a real estate agent. She was wearing her work uniform because it was the most professional outfit she owned, and she felt the chafe of the polyester and the whole situation rubbing her raw.
She’d arrived a few minutes early to look around the place. Her brewery. What the hell did she know about beer? Nothing. Not a damned thing. She gingerly walked through the long grass to the woodpile and put an orange plastic bowl on the ground. She popped open a can of cat food and dumped it out, hoping it would be eaten by the cat she’d seen before and not by a family of rats.
As flaky as her brother was, he’d somehow managed to find a pretty decent guy to beat at poker. Tace had contacted the previous owner, and the deed he’d signed over to her actually was in good order. He was a recent Whitman graduate who’d bought the place on a lark, wanting to avoid entry into real life after college. He had spent a few months drinking the product he was making before realizing no one else wanted to buy it. He’d lost interest in the venture and hadn’t seemed to mind losing the business his parents’ money had bought him. Tace felt sympathy for these unknown parents. The three of them had been nothing more than chips in a poker game. Played by their relatives and left to cover the tab.
Tace picked her way back to the warehouse and fished in her pocket for the key her brother had given her. She inserted it in the lock, but the door swung open. She sighed and walked inside. Kyle must not have locked it before. She squinted in the dim interior, lit only by the wedge of sunlight streaming through the door. She had no idea if anything was missing, but the room looked the same as it had when—
“You the new owner?”
Tace yelped and whipped around to face a hairy young man wearing a plaid shirt and overalls. He stood between her and the door, and she could barely discern his features since he was backlit by the sun. She tightened her grip on the empty cat-food can she still held. Could she slit his throat with the sharp edge of the lid?
“Um, yes. I guess so. Who are you?”
“Your brewmaster.”
Her brewmaster? No one had told her the property came complete with a brewer who looked more vagabond than skilled craftsman. “I’m sorry, but I’m not planning to keep the place. If you want to leave your contact information, I can pass it along to whoever buys the brewery.”
He stepped toward her and she got ready to start carving him up with her tin can, but once he was away from the patch of sunlight she saw he was holding a tall glass of beer in each hand. He held one out to her.
“Is this…did you make this?” He nodded and waited in silence while she considered the odds that he’d go through the trouble of poisoning her. Eh, what the hell? She reached for the glass and felt its icy chill against her palm. She took a tentative sip, expecting as appealing an experience as licking beer off the floor of a frat house. Instead, she let the liquid roll over her tongue with an appreciative slowness. She was accustomed to the cold blandness of cheap bottled beer, and the nuances of flavor in this ale were surprising. Sharp and tangy, but with a honeyed aftertaste and hints of something floral. She had a larger swallow. “Hey, this is really good. What kind is it?”
�
�IPA.”
She heard a car door slam before she could ask more questions. She looked at the door and saw a woman who must be the Realtor she’d found in the phone book. She was wearing a navy suit, complete with silk blouse, pencil skirt, and high heels. She looked as out of place in this weedy backwoods brewery as Tace felt. She came over and offered her hand. Tace put her glass of beer and the cat food can on the floor and shook hands.
“Hello, I’m Joan from Bridgewater Realty.”
“I’m Stacy Lomond, and this is…”
She turned toward her brewer-masquerading-as-a-lumberjack to ask his name, but he was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to move without making a sound. A ninja? Or the ghost of some long-dead brewmaster who was haunting the stills? Creepy. The sooner Tace got rid of him and the property, the better.
“This is…the brewery.” She finished her sentence with an awkward wave of her hand, pointing out the obvious instead of introducing the invisible.
“Let’s have a look around,” Joan said in a cheerful voice, as if she were about to tour a piece of prime real estate. She led the way through the maze of vats and ladders. Tace hoped she wouldn’t ask too many questions about the operation since she had no idea what anything was. “How large did you say the property is?”
“One point six four acres.” Tace looked up and saw the brewer standing on a metal platform next to one of the large copper tanks. He ducked into the shadows, and she shook her head. He was a weirdo, but he made a great glass of beer.
The tour through the metal building was soon over, and Tace and Joan walked back to the parking area. Joan surveyed the weeds around her with the competent air of someone who could accurately pinpoint the value of the land to the nearest dime.
