"We skin the animal and put it in a garbage can with a collection of very efficient dermestid beetles. The bones are pretty clean after a few days. We clean them up further with chemicals."
"Nice work," he said as they left the room.
"It's easier than jumping into fires."
"I try to avoid jumping into fires."
Lindsay laughed. "I'm glad you're here. It's nice to see you looking so well," she said. She frowned suddenly. "Dad's all right, isn't he?"
"Perfectly healthy as far as I know."
"And you-you're okay, aren't you?"
"I see I should come more often. I'm fine. This is just a visit. How about I take you to dinner? Is there a good place to eat in this town?"
"Sure, but why don't I-"
Out of the corner of her eye Lindsay saw one of the students point her out to a well-dressed couple.
"Excuse me a moment," she said, and walked over to them. "Can I help you?"
The couple looked to be in their sixties. The woman had beautiful, silver coiffured hair. Her hand was tucked in the crook of the man's arm. The two of them, she in a blue silk dress and he in an expensive suit, stood out like peacocks in the dusty archaeology lab.
"I am Stewart Pryor and this is my wife, Evelyn. We would like to speak with you privately about our daughter, Shirley."
Oh, no, thought Lindsay. They want me to investigate their daughter's death.
Stewart Pryor took a manila envelope from his breast pocket. "You have to change your report" he said. "It's wrong."
"Report?"
"You did, did you not, examine our daughter's remains?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then we must talk to you." His jaw was firm and his mouth set in a way that indicated to Lindsay he intended that she would cooperate.
"You have an office near here?" asked his wife, looking around at the students and unconsciously brushing the skirt of her dress.
"This way, please." Lindsay led them to her office and seated them in front of her desk, then took her place behind it. Mr. Pryor laid the envelope between them. "I don't understand-"
"We will explain it to you," said Evelyn Pryor. "You say in here"-she leaned over and tapped the report with her finger-"that our daughter had no children. She did. A lovely daughter, Monica, and a precious son, Jeffery."
"I didn't say that she had no children. I said her bones show no indication of her having borne children."
"Monica and Jeffery are not adopted," said Stewart Pryor in a way that said the matter was closed.
"What is it you want me to do, exactly?" asked Lindsay.
"Shirley's mother and I want you to change the report. We don't want her children to ever see it," Mr. Pryor said.
"Autopsy reports rarely make it into the papers. In fact, I just finished it. How did you get it so soon?" Lindsay opened the envelope and examined the pages that were obviously photocopies of the originals.
"That's not your concern," said Pryor, sitting rigidly in his chair.
His wife dug in her purse and pulled out a snapshot that she handed to Lindsay. "What, then, do you make of this?"
Lindsay examined the picture and wrinkled her brow. The snapshot was of Tom and Shirley Foster. Tom had his arm around Shirley's shoulder. Both were smiling. Shirley was obviously very pregnant. The analysis of Shirley Foster's skeleton had been thorough. There had been absolutely no scars of parturition anywhere in her pelvic area. Her bones showed no evidence that she had borne even one child, much less two, yet here she was, very pregnant.
"What are you going to do about that?" Evelyn said.
"Mr. and Mrs. Pryor, this doesn't alter what I observed on her bones, and it was my observations that I reported. Understand, my analysis is only one part of a larger report on her."
They gave her a look that indicated they thought her to be stubborn beyond reason. Mrs. Pryor sighed and turned to her husband. "There's the other thing."
"You say here that we starved Shirley when she was a young girl, and that she might have had some mental dis ease. Shirley was a talented girl, a smart girl. She was a straight-A student. She graduated from high school when she was sixteen. She worked hard." His lips quivered as he spoke about his daughter. "Shirley never gave her mother and me a minute's trouble. She was a good girl."
"We didn't starve her," said Mrs. Pryor. "You make us sound like bad parents."
"I didn't say you starved her. I-"
"You as much as did," said Evelyn.
"I said there were signs that she did not receive the amount of nourishment she needed for proper bone growth. This could have been due to some condition that caused her not to absorb nutrients, or from not eating proper food, or any number of things. I said as much in my report. I also noted that all her teeth were capped. I simply stated that there is a possibility that she was bulimic."
"You are saying Shirley had some mental disorder," said her father.
"No, I-"
"There was nothing wrong with her, nothing. She worked hard, always did. There is nothing wrong with that."
"There is an attachment from her dentist with the original report. He put in her records that he capped her teeth because of substantive erosion of the enamel. He recorded that the erosion was consistent with the presence of stomach acid associated with frequent vomiting."
"She capped her teeth because she was thinking of becoming a ballerina," said her mother. "She was a wonderful dancer. You can't fault her wanting to look her best."
"I don't fault her. Mr. and Mrs. Pryor, you must know that I can't change my report because you ask. I have to report what I observed."
"You were wrong about Monica and Jeffery."
"I know this must be hard for you-"
"You don't know anything." Evelyn Pryor's words came out in a hiss. She leaned toward Lindsay, her dark eyes glittering. "Our daughter was a perfect child. She always did what Stewart and I wanted and never disappointed us once." She relaxed back in her chair. "Our mistake was insisting she marry Tom Foster, and I will regret that until the day I die. We thought he was a good man. He owned a good business; he came from a family with roots here. His grandmother and my mother were at Winthrop together. We were wrong about Tom, and now she's dead." She took a lacetrimmed handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes.
"We are grateful to you for finding her so that we can bury her, but you have to change that report. I don't want people talking about Shirley like she was crazy," Stewart Pryor said, taking his wife's hand.
"I'm sorry, I really am, but there's nothing more that I can do for you," said Lindsay.
"We'll see about that," said Pryor. They both stood, gave Lindsay a curt nod, and left.
Sally was entertaining Sinjin with tales from their digs when Lindsay came out of her office.
"That looked serious. They don't want you to be a detective, do they?" Sally asked.
"No, I think they are just working through their grief." She looked at Sinjin sitting on the corner of one of the mysterious crates waiting to be unpacked. "I don't suppose Dad gave you any of Papaw's papers to go with this cargo?"
"Nope."
Sally was grinning like she had news she was dying to tell. "I just figured out that OOF might be Ocmulgee Old Fields. And 6/35 might be June 1935. Your grandfather did work in Macon in the thirties, didn't he?"
"Yes, very clever, Sally," Lindsay said. "In the morning, we'll open the crates and see what's in them. How about getting some of the honors students to help unpack and catalog."
"Sure. Where are we going to put them?"
Lindsay looked around the lab. That was a good question. Space was at a premium, and there were several administrators on North Campus, home to a bastion of bureaucrats, who believed a university is no place to house "dirt and old garbage," as one of them put it.
"Clear a space in the storage room and put up those metal shelves stacked in the corner. We'll shelve them temporarily until we can catalog them. If the contents turn out to be from Oc
mulgee, I'll contact them and maybe they'll have a place to store them. I hope there's some indication somewhere of what sites they're from."
"I'll get on it right away." Sally turned to Sinjin. "It was really nice meeting you. I hope you hang around a while." She gave him a dazzling smile and left to tend to the storage room.
"Nice kid," muttered Sinjin as Lindsay locked up her office.
"Yes, she is. Look, I've got some steaks in the freezer that I marinated in Jack Daniel's before I froze them. Why don't we have a cookout at my place? You'll love it out in the woods."
"Sounds good. I'd like that better than a restaurant. While I'm thinking of it, do you have a map of Atlanta? I've got some business there tomorrow."
"Sure." She wanted to ask him what it was; she wanted to ask him to stay longer. Instead, she walked out with him, climbed into his Jeep, and let him drive her to her Rover. As they pulled out of the drive, the police were taking measurements at the corner of Jackson and Baldwin.
Chapter 4
THE AROMA OF mesquite from the grilled steaks still filled the air as Lindsay and Sinjin sat on the porch steps of her log cabin, drinking cold bottles of beer and looking out over the pasture where Mandrake grazed. It was a warm night and the light was fading. An occasional lightning bug blinked its yellow light.
"You still dance?" he asked.
"Not as much. Both Derrick and I are too busy these days to practice. We haven't entered a contest"-Lindsay paused, wrinkling her brow-"in about four years, I suppose. I miss it."
"Weren't you dating him?"
"Yes."
"You still dating?"
"No."
"I kind of liked him the time we met at Mom and Dad's a few years ago," Sinjin said, taking a swig of his beer.
"He's a nice guy."
"Something happen? Ellen had the idea that the two of you were pretty serious for a while."
Lindsay thought for a second. She didn't remember ever talking to her mother about herself and Derrick. "We were, but we kind of broke it off. He broke it off. He doesn't like the detective work I do occasionally. He thinks I'm addicted to danger."
Sinjin looked over at her and swallowed a drink of beer. "Are you?"
"You say that as if you're asking me if I'm an alcoholic."
"I, of all people, know how addictive an adrenaline rush can be."
Lindsay closed her eyes, trying to imagine her brother jumping out of an airplane, parachuting into a forest fire. She couldn't. "Why do you do it?"
"What?" he asked. "Smokejumping?"
"Yes, when-" She didn't finish, but Sinjin did.
"You're asking why I'm a fireman when I could get a better job. A little snobbish, aren't we?"
"I didn't mean that."
"Well, you come by it honestly. Dad wonders the same thing."
"That's not fair. I meant when you could do something safer."
"Safer, like being an archaeologist?"
Lindsay reached over and gave him a gentle shove. "Like being a forester. That's what your degree's in."
"I am a forester. You never answered my question. Are you addicted to danger?"
"I just like solving puzzles. I don't like the danger."
"Are you sure?"
"Do you think I get a kick out of being kidnapped, shot, and thrown in a cave and left to die?"
Sinjin stopped, his bottle halfway to his mouth, and looked at her. "What?"
"I thought you knew."
"I knew about your getting shot in the leg. Dad and Ellen called when that happened. They told me you were fine, but I haven't heard about the other stuff."
Lindsay gave him a brief summary of her adventures, glossing over the dangerous parts. Sinjin listened openmouthed.
"Are you sure Derrick isn't right?"
"Derrick used to help me solve crimes. I don't know why he's so uptight about me doing it now. Besides, none of that stuff that happened was my fault."
"No, but when you go after criminals, they are apt to retaliate. You know that."
"Are you about to lecture me?"
"Maybe. What about this thing you're involved in now, about those people who showed up today? You aren't investigating something for them, are you?"
"No. I was called to look for a body and I assisted with the autopsy. It's my job."
"I thought your job was to study ancient cultures."
"That, too. Look, Sinjin, why don't you stay for a while?"
"Would you like that?"
"Yeah, I would."
"We'll probably end up in an argument."
"Maybe not. I'd really like to get to know you better. Are you still with Kathy?"
"No. She left."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I. She's kind of like Derrick, I guess. The last fire before she left was a bad one, and she decided she couldn't take not knowing if I'd come home a crispy critter." He took another long drink of beer. "Do you think I could ride Mandrake some?"
There were only three people Lindsay would allow to ride her black Arabian stallion: Susan Gitten, who sometimes house-sat for her and trained horses of her own; her mother, Ellen Chamberlain, who raised and trained Mandrake; and her brother.
"Sure. The tack is in the stable."
Sinjin drained the last of his beer and set the bottle down on the porch. "That's the one thing I owe your mother. She taught me how to ride, and I've always enjoyed it. Those were the only times we got along."
Lindsay started to disagree with that but changed her mind and said nothing. She and Sinjin were getting along now and she liked it.
Darkness came rapidly now, and Lindsay could barely make out Mandrake in the pasture.
"I think there were more lightning bugs when I was a little girl," she said.
"Yeah," agreed Sinjin. "There don't seem to be as many these days."
In the morning Lindsay sent her brother off with a map of Atlanta. He looked tense, as if he'd had a sleepless night and was not looking forward to his destination. She wanted to ask him where he was going, but had he wanted her to know, he would have told her.
When Lindsay arrived at her office, the lights were on in the main lab and the door to the faunal lab was open. She could hear the chatter of students talking as they worked. Bethany was helping Luke Ferris glue pot sherds together. Lindsay had unlocked the door to her office and turned on the light when Liza Ferris tapped on the door frame.
"Yes, Liza?"
"Dr. Chamberlain. I hope you don't mind." She hesitated.
"Mind what?" Lindsay locked her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and sat down.
"Well, my brother ... you know, the accident. Well, he hasn't been back to his classes and, well, he's worked for Dr. Carter before, and he knows what to do."
"What is it you're asking, Liza?"
"He needed something to keep his mind occupied, and I didn't want him to stay alone in his apartment. He's taking the accident very hard and it wasn't his fault. Anyway, I thought since he already knows how to do the work, I'd have him do some sorting. You know how there is always so much to do. And it's the kind of work where you can talk to people and-" She let the rest hang in the air.
"Are you asking my permission or pardon?" asked Lindsay.
Liza smiled. "I guess both."
"Well, he's worked for Frank before. We can put him on as a temp. We do need to get the stuff sorted."
"Thanks, Dr. Chamberlain."
Liza left and Lindsay turned on her computer. She looked up at another tap on her door. It was Robin, one of Rachael Bienvenido's students.
"Hi, can I help you?" asked Lindsay.
"Amy didn't show up yesterday and I heard that she is in Atlanta today. We're supposed to be working on the South Carolina faunal remains. She's missed a lot and I've had to do them myself, and I'm way behind."
"Are these the ones from Bienvenido's colleague?"
"Yes, and there's a deadline. I don't think I can make it."
Lindsay sighed. "OK, will it help if I
do some sorting this morning?"
"Well, yeah, but-would you?"
"Sure." Lindsay rose from her chair and went with Robin to a table near the faunal lab. Liza and her brother, Luke, were at a nearby table sorting bags of grid square fill. She had met him once when he was doing work for Frank, the department chairman. He had started out as a graduate student in archaeology a couple of years before Lindsay came to UGA. He had dropped out of school to work. Now he was back as a graduate student in accounting. He had been working as a campus bus driver but still came around the labs occasionally, picking up extra work with Frank and some of the other faculty.
Luke was fairer than his sister, with light brown hair to her dark brown. He had a pretty handsomeness to his looks that made him popular. His smile always held a flirtation. Lindsay suspected that he had gotten by as a kid on his looks-and still did. He was in his late twenties, a little old to be taken care of by his younger sister, she thought. But then, the accident was a tragic thing, and if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, it had deeply affected him.
Lindsay glanced briefly at his work and saw that he did seem to know what he was doing. As he worked he was telling the others about the legend of the archaeology student who was discovered living in the building during the forties, showering in the bathrooms and sleeping in the narrow passageways that contained the pipes and wiring of the building. She had heard the stories but didn't believe them.
"That'd be fun to try," said Brandon. "Just to see if you could do it and not get caught."
"The showers have been taken out," said Liza. "I think someone would sniff you out."
"Well, heck," said Brandon, "there are lots of places on campus to get a shower. Just crawl out of the ductwork and jog over to the Ramsey P.E. Center."
Lindsay shook her head and turned to Robin. "Are these the ones?" Robin nodded. Lindsay counted the boxes stacked by the wall and labeled with the South Carolina site designation number. "There's quite a bit left."
"I know."
"Well, let's get to it." She pulled several boxes marked with the same feature number and set them on the table. Robin had already placed empty boxes for identified bones near the worktable. Lindsay pulled up a chair, opened a box of bones, and began sorting them into various smaller boxes: 0. virginianus, V. fulva, S. carolinensis, S. floridanus, M. gallopavo, M. carinatum, T. carolina, C. canadensis-deer, fox, squirrel, rabbit, turkey, sucker, turtle, beaver.
Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel Page 5
