Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel

by Beverly Connor

  "How can I believe that, when Kathy here comes up with the improbable explanation that she had fittings all day and could only see Sinjin early in the morning? Then she deliberately lies to the police."

  "I did have fittings, and I didn't know it was anything serious. I didn't think it would matter."

  "It mattered a great deal to a lot of people, and unless I get the artifacts back, it's going to matter to you. You can give them to me or to the police."

  Lindsay gave the waitress money for her salad and drink, grabbed up the copies of the sketch and flyer, and walked out to her Rover. Sid followed her, Kathy close behind.

  "Look. You have this all wrong," he said. "We can't give them back, because we never took them."

  "You've got until tomorrow to either return the artifacts or show me you didn't do it. And that's going to be hard, since you've lied once and are stopping Kathy from telling the truth." Lindsay got into her Rover and left them standing in the parking lot. Now she would have to go home and tell Sinjin what she had done. That was going to be hard.

  Lindsay looked at her watch when she pulled into the Baldwin parking lot. It was only three o'clock. She remembered what the reporter had asked about other missing artifacts and needed to take a look. Instead of going to her office, she walked across campus to Nancy Hart Hall.

  Nancy Hart, named for a Revolutionary War heroine from Georgia, was a small, old Greek revival-style building, constructed in the 1930s of red brick and nestled between two other buildings. Lindsay walked between the two white columns and opened the large double doors. The floor of the entranceway was made from polished local gneiss. The walls were an indescribable blend of light beige, green, and yellow, and hadn't been painted in years. Large, thick chips of old paint were peeling off the walls and collecting on the floor. The first floor still had a few offices, mainly retired faculty for whom office space couldn't be located anyplace else on campus. The top floor was empty.

  Lindsay took the stairway to the basement. She inserted her key in the padlock that secured the heavy, dirty white wooden door to the artifact room. She had to shake the key in the lock before the shackle would release, then push hard on the old door to get it to open. The room was dark and dusty-smelling, but thankfully, Lindsay didn't smell any moisture. She hated that the artifacts were stored here. They desperately needed more lab space so students could study them.

  She flipped on the light switch. The artifacts, many collected as far back as the thirties, were in boxes on the same type of metal shelves as were used in Baldwin. Against one wall was an old desk that students used when analyzing the items. She walked between the aisles and opened a box. She had been here many times helping her students do research using the artifacts in storage, and she knew what was there and where everything was supposed to be. Right away, in the first box, she found that several bird effigy pipes were missing. She went to another box that should have contained a complicated stamped Swift Creek bowl. It was gone. She went to box after box. Not all were empty; in fact, many boxes had only one or two artifacts missing. It was clear, however, that someone had been systematically stealing them. Lindsay tried to think when she was there last. It wasn't that long ago. Last quarter? Nothing was missing then. Frank would have to be told. Another scandal. He would hate it. She hated it. Lindsay dusted off her hands and walked toward the door. Before she put a hand on the knob, she heard the sound of a click. She hesitated a moment, then turned the knob and pushed the door. It was locked.

  Chapter 12

  LINDSAY HEARD QUIET footsteps walking away. "There's someone in here," she yelled, banging on the door with her hand and trying to get their attention. The sound of footfalls continued up the stairs.

  This isn't an accident, she thought. Who? Someone guarding the artifacts for themselves. Who? Lindsay dropped her hands to her sides and listened to the silence of the room. She was in no immediate danger. She could eventually attract someone's attention by banging on the door. Then again, there was nothing down here but Archaeology storage, and she hadn't told anyone where she was going. Fear rose from her belly and stung her throat. This is silly, she thought. She wouldn't be locked in here until she died, not in the middle of a campus of thirty thousand people. To her knowledge, it had never happened.

  There were no windows, but there were lights. It could be worse, it could be dark. But, despite her determination to stay calm, she felt a growing sense of being trapped underground. OK, this isn't that bad, she told herself as she concentrated on breathing slowly, keeping panic at bay. Lindsay looked at the ceiling covered with peeling plaster. On the other side of that ceiling was the bottom of the first floor. That gave her an idea. Perhaps someone was in an office. Maybe the broom closet held something she could use to bang on the ceiling. She opened the closet door and turned on the light. An old mop was standing in the corner, along with a bucket filled with cleaning supplies, none of which looked like they had been touched during the past decade. As she put a hand on the mop, she noticed a small door behind the bucket. The crawl space for the building's wiring and plumbing. Would that lead to the outside? It would perhaps at least lead to another room where the door might not be locked. She moved the bucket and pulled on the door handle. It wouldn't budge. There was a small keyhole below the knob. She examined the walls for a key hanging on a nail but found none. She looked in the drawers of the old desk. There were pens, pencils, paper clips, Sharpies, White Out, paper, all in disarray, but nothing that looked like a key.

  It was an old door with an old lock, and old, cheap locks can sometimes be opened with any key that will fit in the keyhole. On her key chain, the key to her tack room looked to be about the right size. She tried it in the keyhole, but it wouldn't turn. She rattled it in the lock, turned it again, and heard a click. She pulled the door open, revealing a gaping black hole. Lindsay stared at the darkness a moment, reluctant to move. "This isn't that bad," she told herself out loud.

  Lindsay had a small flashlight on her key ring. Vowing, after her experience of being lost in the cave, never to be without light again, she had bought several flashlights of all shapes and sizes and had placed them in her Rover, in her office, at home, and on all her key rings. The switch on the tiny flashlight was the type that had to be held down for the light to stay on. She shone it into the darkness. In the few feet illuminated ahead of her, she could see the mass of ancient cables bracketed to the wall of the crawl space, covered with dust and cobwebs. Lindsay tried to orient herself in the building. Which direction led to the outside? The entire crawl space couldn't be that long. This was not like a cave, she said to herself. Backtracking wouldn't be that big of a deal.

  Lindsay was struck with a sudden thought. What if who ever locked her in meant to come back, perhaps with someone else to do her harm? Stupid, she thought. Why would they do that? It would only bring more attention to what they were doing. It would raise the stakes for them tremendously. She shook the thought. She was just scared. However, as a precaution, she turned out the lights in the main room and in the closet. Maybe if they came back, and she wasn't here, it would all look like a mistake, like they were being paranoid. She took several deep breaths and crawled into the space and closed the little door tight behind her. "Oh, God," she said softly to herself. "Calm down. This isn't that bad. I'm not trapped. I can go back out the door anytime and turn on the lights." The sound of her own voice gave her courage, and she began crawling down the tiny conduit.

  Lindsay felt something drop into her hair and frantically brushed it away. Don't think about what's in here, she admonished herself. She crawled along the tiny space, shining the small light on the wall. She thought she heard small creatures scampering, but decided it was best to ignore them. Snakes, she thought. She had forgotten about snakes. She was about to shine her light farther ahead when the beam hit another door like the one she had entered. There was no keyhole on her side of the door, but when she tried the knob, it opened. She emerged into a darkened closet similar to the first one,
but this one was completely empty. She listened. Silence. Carefully, she tried the knob to the closet door. It wouldn't turn. It was locked. She pushed hard on the door. It wouldn't budge. She was afraid to make noise. She closed her eyes, trying to think how many rooms were on this side of the building. The Archaeology storeroom was the first. This room was the second. There should be one more.

  Lindsay climbed back into the crawl space, more easily this time, and continued, ignoring the things that might be crawling on her. After twenty feet or so, she came to another door like the first two. She pushed, willing it to be unlocked. It was, and she found herself in another closet. She switched on the light. The closet was stacked with dusty boxes labeled Fredrickson Foundation Archival Files, with dates ranging from 1972 to 1982. She had no idea what the Fredrickson Foundation was, but that was not surprising, the university had hundreds of foundations. She tried the closet door. It was unlocked. Her small light showed the next room to be empty. The only furniture was a desk against one wall, listing to one side from a broken leg. This room had two doors and, unless Lindsay was mistaken, one led to the outside. She walked across the room to the opposite door. It opened onto a patio surrounded by shrubs. She stepped outside, breathing the fresh air into her lungs for several moments before she closed and locked the door behind her.

  Lindsay ran her fingers through her hair to get rid of unwanted creatures. She dusted off her jeans and shirt and walked around to the sidewalk in back of Nancy Hart Hall. Classes were changing and students came pouring out of the buildings. She started across campus. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a couple of campus police enter Nancy Hart.

  "Dr. Chamberlain."

  Lindsay jumped and turned.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

  "Hello, Brandon," she said. "What are you doing this far away from Archaeology?"

  "I have a French class. Heard anything about the missing artifacts?" Lindsay was momentarily confused as to which missing artifacts he was talking about. She shook her head. "At least we have a good record of them," he said.

  "Yes, we have that, thanks to your pictures."

  "Do you think there's much chance they will be found?"

  "I hope so," said Lindsay.

  "Well, see you later. I've got to get to class." He was off. Lindsay stood for a moment watching his retreating back. She saw the police come out of the Nancy Hart Hall, talking into phones or radios. She walked back to her Rover.

  Lindsay didn't tell Frank of her discovery. Instead, he told her about the call that the police received about someone in the storage room of Nancy Hart. They went there and found it locked, got in with the help of the building custodian, found nothing amiss, and called him.

  "I think it would be a good idea," Frank said, "for us to go to Nancy Hart and check the storage."

  "I agree," she said.

  For the second time, Lindsay discovered the missing artifacts. As she helped Frank check the boxes, she had no doubt that whoever locked her in meant for her to be found there. With more artifacts missing, and her connection to the missing Kentucky artifacts, it would look damned suspicious.

  "This is not good," said Frank. "I hate to think about the bad press we're going to get over this. Your brother doesn't know about this storage, does he, Lindsay?"

  "No!" she said. "No. How could you even think that? Sinjin's not a thief, and there's no way he could know about these artifacts."

  "You might have told him-"

  "I see. Then you don't trust me, either? Is that what you mean?"

  "That's not what I said-or even meant. I don't know what I meant. Forget it. Do you remember the last time you were here?"

  Sure do, Lindsay thought to herself. "When I was helping Brandon and Liza with a project last quarter, nothing was missing, certainly not the effigy pipes. That was what Brandon was working on. What did the caller say to the police?"

  "Just that he came over to visit one of the offices in the building, heard noises, peeped in the door, and saw what looked like someone stealing. He called the police," said Frank.

  "Who was the caller?"

  "He told the police he didn't want to get involved any further, that he'd done his duty."

  "Where did the call come from?"

  "Good heavens, Lindsay, the police didn't tell me that. If you insist on being a detective, find these artifacts."

  "I'll take that as an order," she said.

  "No, forget I said anything. Let the police handle it."

  They went back to the Archaeology Department. Frank called the police and told them what he and Lindsay had found. Lindsay started down to her office, wondering why she hadn't told Frank about what happened. She was afraid to, that's why. Not of Frank, but he would have to tell the police, and they would have to be suspicious, and whoever locked her in Nancy Hart wanted that.

  She was lost in thought when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into an office.

  "Sit down, Lindsay, and listen to this." Lindsay stared at Reed Cavanaugh and Trey Marcus. It was Reed who had pulled her into the office. Both were grinning like they'd been up to something clever.

  "Reed, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What is it?" asked Lindsay, catching her breath.

  "Lindsay, you wouldn't believe what Trey here has been showing me. I had no idea-the mapping capabilities alone, not to mention global positioning-"

  "Global positioning?" said Lindsay. "I take it Trey has convinced you?"

  "Indeed, he has. The only problem is the budget at the moment. Now, here is what we have come up with. The palynology lab and the faunal lab are in the black. We thought that you and Stevie could make a good-faith donation to the cause, and the department would, of course, put up the rest."

  "I don't need a new computer," said Lindsay. "That should save-"

  Trey shook his head. "I have a cute little black laptop picked out for you."

  Lindsay shrugged, giving up. "I'll look at the books and see what I can do. Have you asked Stevie?"

  "Not yet," said Trey.

  Lindsay rose. "Well, good luck, guys."

  She smiled all the way back to her office. She could imagine what Frank would say when he discovered that Trey had won Reed over to the cult of technology.

  Sinjin brought home dinner again. This time it was souvlaki, rice, Greek salad, and baklava for dessert. "This is good," said Lindsay, taking a sip of wine. "You're going to have to visit more often. I never eat this well by myself. Where did you find Greek food?"

  "There's a little restaurant up the road from you that serves, among other things, Greek food," Sinjin said, taking a bite. "I called Dad today."

  Lindsay winced. "Mom and Dad. I completely forgot. I imagine this made the Kentucky papers, too."

  "Yeah, it did."

  "What did he say?"

  "He's feeling pretty guilty for sending you the stuff."

  "He didn't believe that-"

  "-that I took them. No, I don't think he did. But, he is confused about the whole thing."

  "Aren't we all."

  "I asked him to send any of Papaw's papers that he has. He said you have most of them. I found them in your study. I hope you don't mind. I've been going through them."

  "No, I don't mind at all."

  "He'd prefer we not talk to the great-aunts about it. But if anybody knows anything, it should be them. Maybe I'll talk to Maggie later."

  "You've been busy," said Lindsay.

  "I thought I'd help you solve this. Now, speaking of guilt, I haven't seen you look so guilty since you took all my model planes to the gully and threw them over the edge trying to get them to fly."

  Lindsay gave a hint of a smile. "I'm sorry about that."

  "I'd outgrown them anyway," he said, smiling.

  "Sinjin," Lindsay said as she wrapped her hand around her glass, "I spoke with Kathy today."

  Sinjin was good at angry looks. Lindsay cringed. "What did you talk about?" His voice was quiet.

  "The artifacts and wh
y she lied about your visit early Thursday morning."

  "Why, Lindsay?" He threw his napkin on the table. "This is my business. It has nothing to do with you. Damn it, I told you to leave her out of it."

  "It has a lot to do with me. Her lie affected me as much as it did you."

  "How?"

  "I take it you haven't seen the papers."

  "Unfortunately, I didn't bring any home for you to read, but they implicate me. You can let Kathy ruin your reputation, but I can't allow her to ruin mine. This is how I make my living." Lindsay took out the sketch and the flyer. "I had a visitor the day we unpacked the artifacts. I was gone when he came, but Sally saw him. She got a police sketch artist we know to draw this." Lindsay pointed to the picture. "Another graduate student, Bobbie Lacayo, recognized him from this poster."

  Lindsay watched Sinjin's face. The anger at her wasn't completely gone, but it had softened. He stared at the pictures. "They look like the same person."

  "Yes, they do."

  "What did Kathy say?"

  "That because it was the campus police asking, she didn't take the situation seriously."

  "That's possible," Sinjin said. He still believed in Kathy. Lindsay envied her. Derrick must have seen the papers, and he hadn't even called, even as a friend.

  "Have you told the police?" Sinjin asked.

  "No."

  "Are you going to?"

  "No."

  Sinjin looked from the photograph of Sid to Lindsay. "Why? He may have taken the artifacts."

  "He may have," agreed Lindsay.

  "Then why?"

  "I'm not going to push this issue for two reasons. One is, I think there's a good chance that the sequence of events was just a coincidence. Another is, I think Kathy is carrying your son or daughter, and if that's true, I don't want there to be anything between our family and theirs to cause a grudge that will interfere with this child being a part of our family."

  Sinjin said nothing for a long moment. "Kathy wanted me to drop the paternity issue. She convinced me that it couldn't be mine, and I didn't want to cause her any more stress, so I agreed."