There were too many mysteries to solve, past and present. Lindsay stretched out on her bed and closed her eyes. She heard the roar of a fire, jerked awake, and ran downstairs. Sinjin and Sally had returned from Macon and built a fire in the fireplace.
"What are you doing?" Lindsay asked. "It's seventy degrees outside. It's too hot for a fire." But they ignored her.
Sally was dressed in her Rocky Horror Picture Show costume and was sitting on the arm of Lindsay's favorite chair, legs crossed, swinging one leg back and forth and showing off an ankle bracelet. Sinjin wore vintage 1940s clothes. Sitting in the chair was Edward G. Robinson with an unlit cigar. Sinjin held out his hand and a match appeared. He flicked it with his thumbnail, it flared, and he lit the cigar. Now, it was no longer Sally but Gerri Chapman who sat on the arm of the chair with her arm around Edward G. Robinson's shoulder. Robinson took a puff from his cigar and looked at Lindsay. "You should have it all figured out, by now," he told her.
Gem laughed.
Sinjin turned to say something to her, but an expression of horror came over his face. All their faces took on terrified expressions.
"What ..." Lindsay said, and started to turn, when she heard a loud bang and felt something hot strike the back of her head, causing her to fall forward. "I'm all right," she whispered, feeling the rug under her fingers. "I can move, they must have just grazed me."
She looked about her, but everyone was gone. She stood and raised her hand put to the back of her head, then gazed at a smear of blood that wet her fingertips. "It doesn't feel like much more than a scratch," she said. She went to her small downstairs bathroom and looked in the mirror. One of her eyes was sagging, the other was completely dilated. "No, God, no," she thought. "I'm in trouble."
Lindsay's eyes snapped open. She was lying on her bed. A dream. Just a dream, but the fear clung to her like wet clothes.
"Lindsay?" There was a rap on her door. "Are you awake?"
It was Sinjin.
"Yes." She got up and looked in the mirror before opening the door. She looked normal, but her heart was still pounding.
"I see you got a new vehicle," Sinjin said. "I like it."
"I picked it up today. I like it too. How did your trip to Macon go?" she asked.
"It went well. I'm sorry I got back so late. Sally and I stopped for dinner. I brought you something in case you haven't eaten." He paused. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Just a bad dream."
"I woke you. I'm sorry."
"I just fell asleep. I wasn't in bed."
Lindsay ran a brush through her hair and joined Sinjin downstairs. He had brought her fried shrimp, fries, and hushpuppies, which he was heating in the oven. Lindsay didn't know she was hungry until she smelled the aroma of the warming seafood. She handed him the articles Derrick had sent and sat down at the table to eat.
"How's Sally?" she asked, really wanting to know how he and Sally were getting along.
"Fine. Her ex-boyfriend's trying to get back into her life."
"Brian came by and apologized to me for Gerri's behavior," said Lindsay. "What does Sally think about him?"
"Right now, she's pretty mad, but who knows? Maybe later on...." He let the sentence trail off as he bent to open the oven and began shoveling food onto a plate that he set in front of Lindsay.
Lindsay wanted to ask him how he felt, but the words never got past her lips. She didn't know why. Perhaps she didn't want to be a matchmaker, in case things didn't work out. She dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it into her mouth.
"Sally gave me a tour of Ocmulgee National Monument," he said. "Impressive. I liked the earth lodge."
"I guess Sally told you that it was probably not an underground structure after all."
"Yes, but I'm afraid some of the subtleties of archaeology are lost on me."
Lindsay laughed as she reached up and pushed her hair back from her face. She started to reply to Sinjin when she saw the blood on her hand. She stood, knocking over her chair, and a small, almost whispered scream escaped her lips.
"Lindsay, it's ketchup!" said Sinjin. "I started to mention it when you put your hand to your head."
"Ketchup?"
"Yes." He stood and took her arm to guide her back to the table. "Lindsay, you're wound pretty tight. You want to tell me what's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's silly. Just a dream."
"What dream?"
"Nothing," she said a little too sharply. Lindsay looked at her sleeve. She had dragged it through the ketchup. "Damn." She took off her robe. "I guess it got in my hair, too." She went to her room, changed into a nightshirt, and blotted flecks of ketchup from her hair with a wet cloth.
"You all right?" Sinjin asked when she returned.
"I'm fine," she said. "What did you and Sally find in Macon, anything?"
"Yes, we did. They do have some records of the people who worked there. We found a reference to the date when that Creasey fellow arrived at the site. He was on a 1935 roll but not on the ones for the following years. We copied a list of the people who were working there with him. I'm not sure what good it will do us, but here it is," he said, laying a stack of copies on the table. "Papaw and Billy are listed."
"That's interesting. We knew Papaw was there, but not sure about Maggie's husband. Anyone else we know?"
Sinjin laughed. "I doubt we know any of them."
She thought for a moment. "Look for the names Dodd, Timmons, and Stillman. They were in the mine when it exploded. Two of them died. Maybe their relatives followed Creasey."
"You think the mine explosion is connected to Creasey's death, then?"
"I think there's a good possibility. Creasey was supposed to have died in the mine, but he shows up in Macon under another name, then gets himself stabbed and packed in a crate."
"What?"
"Didn't I tell you?"
"No."
Lindsay told him about the newspaper articles and the phone call from Anne and Steven. "Look at the picture," she said.
Sinjin examined the copy of the newspaper article for a minute. "It sure looks like the same man, doesn't it? Or a very close relative." Sinjin stroked his jaw. "Are you thinking that maybe it was this Creasey fellow who caused the mine explosion, and a relative of one of the dead men wanted revenge?"
"It makes sense," said Lindsay.
"Yes, and it still leads right back to our family," he reminded her. "Billy could have followed him there to avenge the death of his brother Lonnie."
"None of the other names are on the list?" she asked.
"No.
"What about Warfield?"
Sinjin looked at the list and shook his head. "Was he another one killed in the mine?"
"She. And no, she was killed earlier." Lindsay pulled the article from the pile and handed it to him.
"Another twist," he said, reading the article. "Do you think the artifacts taken in these thefts could be the ones that showed up in Papaw's shed?"
"It's a possibility."
"You've made a lot of progress," said Sinjin. He put the paper down and looked across the table at Lindsay. "Now, tell me what's going on with you."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You know what I mean. You're all stressed out."
"I'm just tired."
"What was that business a while ago with the ketchup?" he asked.
"I told you, I'm just tired."
"You've been tired before."
"Sinjin, I'm fine. I can handle a little stress."
"What about you falling in the well?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"It's not like you to be so careless. You could have been killed."
"Kerwin didn't fill it back in. He should have."
"You should have realized the possibility and been on the lookout. You're an archaeologist. You grew up playing and fishing in the woods."
"Sinjin, I don't know how many times I have to tell you. I'm fine. I know myself. I'm in control."
"Look, Lin
dsay, I couldn't help but notice your new well and the filtration system. It looks like the engineering section of the Starship Enterprise in your well house."
"My old well went dry and I had to have a new one dug. It's deep, almost four hundred feet, but the water's full of minerals and has to be filtered."
"It must have been expensive," he said.
"It was. What are you getting at?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"It must be a burden on your income. I know you just finished a major renovation of your house. And the Explorer-did you trade in your car to lower your monthly payments?"
"I'm handling it," she said, holding her chin up.
"If you need ..."
"No, I don't."
"You have to be worried about your job."
"Of course. Yes, I'm worried about my job, and I have to clear my name before I can even begin to apply for a position anywhere else. No one is going to hire an archaeologist suspected of stealing artifacts. And I won't be able to get a job doing forensic work, either. I'd have no credibility on the witness stand."
"Then why are we trying to find out who killed this fellow sixty years ago? Why are you spending time on the Foster murder? Why aren't we spending that time hunting the artifacts?"
"I don't know where the artifacts are. I don't know where to look for them." She hesitated, not sure whether she should mention this to Sinjin in his current mood. "And I'm worried about what Will Patterson is up to. I feel I need to keep a hand in."
"What are you talking about?"
Lindsay had no choice but to tell Sinjin about her visit with Will. When she finished, Sinjin was incredulous. "You mean he's been sending you possible killers for you to evaluate?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of? He has. Lindsay, what's wrong with you? It's not like you to allow yourself to be manipulated."
"I'm not being manipulated," she said, staring hard at Sinjin.
"It looks like it to me," he said.
"I have everything under control."
"You just said that, and I see how you have everything under control. On top of everything else, I think you're still feeling the effects of your getting lost in that cave last year. That had to be the most stressful time in your life-lost and struggling for your life in a place where one mistake could be deadly. You're about to fall off the edge."
"I'm not."
"You having headaches? You find yourself buying lots of antacid?" Lindsay said nothing. "Look, Lindsay, I have a high-stress job. I know the symptoms that tell me when I need a break. I see those symptoms in you. I'm going tomorrow and tell Patterson to lay off you. You aren't a detective."
"No, you're not. I can take care of my own life. I don't interfere in yours."
"Yes, you do."
Lindsay had a retort ready, but she saw the smile playing around his lips. She smiled too. "Okay. I did, once, and then only because it affected me, too." She frowned. "Sinjin, I'm afraid of what Patterson might do. I have no proof, nothing other than a feeling, but I'm afraid he's planning on, well, killing whoever killed Shirley Foster."
"What? Good grief, Lindsay. You have to turn this over to the police."
"I don't know for sure. All I have to go on is a fleeting glimpse of an expression on his face. I can't go and slander the man based on that. But I can't allow him to kill somebody, either."
"You can't allow? Lindsay, are you listening to me? You aren't in control of any of this. Other people are. I'll repeat what I said before: Drop everything but the artifacts, because that's the problem you need to solve to get your reputation back. Put your full attention on that."
Lindsay could see his point. If she weren't so tired, she might agree with him. "But I feel like if I don't hold everything together, it will all collapse," she said.
Sinjin reached out and took her hand. "It might all collapse-or not-despite what you do. Would it help some of the stress if I gave you a loan?"
"No, thank you. I really prefer to take care of my own finances."
"All right," he said.
Lindsay stood up. "I'm going to bed."
"I'll clean up down here and lock the doors," he said. "You need a good night's sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
Lindsay lay awake in bed, tears spilling from her eyes and running down into her ears. She wiped them with a tissue. I'm fine, she said to herself. I'll figure this out. In her mind she looked at the index cards she had made. She had left the Suspect cards for the missing artifacts blank. Who did she suspect? Einer. Why? He was in the lab the day after the artifacts were unpacked. Is that all? He visited the rare book room. That was nothing.
You've focused on him because you don't like him, she told herself. But he may be the one who sicced Kaufman on me. Irene said it was an associate dean, but there are other associate deans. It didn't have to be Einer. How would anyone else know about the artifacts that had been brought from Kentucky? From one of the students? Frank said that Einer didn't know about the artifacts, that he hadn't told him about them. Lindsay tried to remember what was said when Frank and Einer walked in after the skeleton fell out of the crate. Nothing about the artifacts. She specifically recalled that she had not wanted to mention them to anyone, but she hadn't told Sally or Brandon not to mention the artifacts. Anybody could have known about them. She sniffed and reached for another Kleenex and blew her nose.
Lindsay had flirted with the idea of Brandon as a suspect. Why? He was near Nancy Hart Hall when she was locked in. Very weak. He had photographs of the artifacts. He could have used the photographs to find their value, if he didn't already know. Anything else? He frequently asked about the artifacts and how her search for them was coming. But so did everyone who knew they were missing. Brandon was her student and it was natural to be concerned, but the last person she ever wanted to accuse was one of her students. She tried to shove Brandon to the back of her mind but without success. He had easy access to her letter opener. She didn't like that thought. She shoved him to the back of her mind again.
Anyone else? Kaufman? He wouldn't draw suspicion if he parked behind Baldwin at night. That would be true of any of the campus police. She didn't like that idea, either. The campus police at UGA were among the best. But what about Kaufman? He was dogging her. That's why she wanted him to be a suspect. Not a very good reason.
Sid the lawyer and Kathy, Sinjin's ex-girlfriend. Sid was on campus. Kathy lied-no matter that she later recanted. But Kathy might be the mother of her niece or nephew, and Sid would be Kathy's husband. She didn't like them as suspects, either. And it would be a stretch to connect them with the other thefts.
Lindsay had nothing. She wasn't much of a detective. Frank was right. There was more evidence pointing to her than to anyone else. Maybe I have multiple-personality disorder, she thought. Nope, no missing time to account for. I suppose I'm in the clear. So is Sinjin. He would never have done this and gotten her in so much trouble.
There were her other relatives. No. They wouldn't have called her, demanding that she return the artifacts. Maybe they were just being clever. No, they aren't that clever. Maybe Steven and Anne's children did it and didn't tell them. Another long shot. She turned over, closed her eyes, and tried to go to sleep, but thoughts kept racing through her mind. If she could just get them to make sense.
Kaufman had wanted to get a search warrant for my place,;she thought. He couldn't because the judge he went to didn't think there was sufficient probable cause. If an administrator told Kaufman that he'd had his eye on me for a while, why couldn't Kaufman have used the administrator's testimony to get a warrant? Because the administrator didn't want him to. It was one thing to sic Kaufman on me with that reason; it was quite another thing to take that reason and make it public. It wouldn't have withstood the scrutiny. Why had he-or she-told Kaufman that lie in the first place? To make me less credible? To keep Kaufman busy going in the wrong direction?
And what about the artifacts in Sinjin's Jeep? It would have been easy enough to put them there
. He kept the top down most of the time. Why hadn't artifacts been planted at her place, she wondered? They didn't know where she lived? That was possible. Living deep in the woods the way she did, anyone would need directions to find her place. There were no real street addresses like in town. But Tom Foster had found her. It could be done. Her home wasn't a secret. They would have to be sure no one was at home. With Sinjin visiting and her irregular schedule, that would be tricky. Where would they put them? Both her house and the well house were usually locked when no one was home. They would have to break in, and that would look suspicious. The only other building was her stable, and to get to it they would have to cross paths with Mandrake.
Horses are both curious and territorial. When any stranger came near Mandrake's fence, he pranced up with his neck bowed, his tail flagged, and pawed the ground. If they tried to come inside his fence, he would rear, stomp, and snort. If a stranger actually made it inside the fence with him, Mandrake would chase him. The horse probably wouldn't hurt him, but he could sure scare him to death.
She saw the strobe of headlights cross her window and heard car doors slam, then a knock at the front door. Who could it be at this time of night? she wondered, putting on a robe. Downstairs, Sinjin, in the sweatpants he slept in, had pulled on a T-shirt and already answered the door. Lindsay recognized Captain Grant, head of the university police. With him was a young female officer. Their faces were grim.
"Dr. Chamberlain. Could we come in and talk with you?"
"Certainly." She and Sinjin moved aside so they could enter.
Lindsay led them into her living room. She and Sinjin stood together, facing the two law enforcement officers. "When was the last time you saw Detective Kaufman?"
"Kaufman? Down at the Public Safety Building, with Frank Carter. Day before yesterday, I think? I'm sure it's recorded somewhere. Why?"
Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel Page 26
