More Bitter Than Death

by Dana Cameron

  “Seen him much since then?” Again came the ready smile, the one that made me want to answer him just as smartly as I could. I realized he had a talent for getting people to talk.

  “No, not much. Occasionally, at professional things like this.”

  “So he wasn’t really an old friend of the family?”

  “Well, he was, but—”

  “A lot of folks saw the two of you alone, yesterday. Arguing, it looked like.”

  “What? They couldn’t have—” The bus had been up by the road, and you couldn’t really see down to the site so well—could you? Well, yes, you could, now that the house was gone.

  Church smiled encouragingly. “Out on the field trip? The tour of the site?”

  “Oh…butweweren’t…arguing. He was just…telling me some things about Oscar. Oscar was my grandfather.”

  “People said you looked flustered. Was that ‘friendly’?”

  “I, well, not—” I could feel myself getting confused, my thoughts tripping over themselves before they could make it to my tongue.

  Suddenly Duncan was there. “She knew him about as well as I did, Mark. Which is to say, a little professionally, a little socially.”

  If I thought Church was smiling before, when he saw Duncan his face lit up with genuine pleasure. “Mr. Thayer! Excellent to see you.”

  Church shook hands with Duncan, the kind with claps on the back that speaks of more than passing acquaintance.

  “Mr. Church. You’re looking very fit.”

  This banter sounded like it dated back a long ways. I was so taken aback that Duncan had inserted himself into the situation, at once sticking up for me and doing the old-boy glad-hand stuff, that I was momentarily speechless. Rage, confusion, and envy—how come a jerk like Duncan got to be at ease, got to slide through this kind of situation as if he’d been born to it? Of course he had been born to it: We were in his territory, it was no surprise that he should know people—male authority figures—and be at home with them. He was at home. I bit my tongue and waited for things to play out before I added anything. Like kerosene to a fire.

  “And you know Miss—er…” he flipped through his notebook. Somehow I knew he didn’t need to.

  “I’ve known Dr. Emma Fielding for years,” Duncan said. “Since college. Best kind of people.”

  I hated that he was sticking up for me. I couldn’t stand that he used my title. I didn’t want to be beholden to him for any reason, and I didn’t want him bruiting about our past—why couldn’t he let it lie decently buried? I hated that he was helping me. And I knew he knew it.

  “Well, we’re just asking her about her interest in the deceased. Why she was out trying to get a look at the body.”

  He beamed expansively. “Then I’m sure she’ll give you all the help you need. I’ll be seeing you.”

  Church put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Look, Dunk, we need to talk to everyone who might have seen Mr. Garrison before he died. So I’ll be seeing you a lot sooner than we might otherwise.”

  “No problem.” Duncan shook his head. “It’s been too long. Time gets away from you, Mark.”

  “Sure does.”

  Duncan was all business again. “When would be convenient? Just say the word, man.”

  Officer Church settled back comfortably. “I’ll give you a call when we’re ready for you.”

  “Great. Here’s my room number. If you need anything, any help with anything, let me know. I’ll do what I can to see you get everything you need.”

  The way he said it was as though he was modestly understating his importance, while letting it be known just how big a fish he was. As if the cops would need his help with anything. I looked at Church quickly, but was disappointed.

  He nodded, pleased. “Thanks, Dunk, I appreciate it.”

  The two men shook hands again, and Duncan touched me on the shoulder as if to reassure me or to assert some sort of proprietary rights. I managed to nod, not bite his finger. What was all this about? He knew how I hated to have other people help me.

  Whatever it was, Officer Church’s demeanor toward me changed significantly, though I could tell he went to pains to disguise it. He relaxed more, was more sure of what he was going to get now that I had been validated by Duncan. A pause in his gum chewing, and I realized that he could see I was tensed up. I tried to relax.

  “So, can you tell me where you were last night? Before your walk.”

  “Card game with friends, from about eight to eleven. Then I was in the bar, with Laurel and Sue, and some others. Then I went for a walk. Then I went to my room, then to the slide room. Duncan…saw me there. In the bar again, briefly, after that. Then I called my sister. That was after one.”

  He wrote all of this down, noting the names and times especially.

  “And you last saw Professor Garrison—when?”

  “I think it was at the presentation, and that was before everything else. But I know that Petra Williams saw him later, walked him up to his room,” I said. “You might check with her about the time there, I think she said about nine, so some time after that. And there was a note for him, someone left on the board. They were supposed to meet last night, I guess, and the writer, whoever that was, seemed angry, like he’d been blown off. Maybe you should check that out too.”

  “Maybe I already have.” Again came the smile, and it could have sold everything from toothpaste to foreign policy. “And we’ve spoken to Dr. Petra Williams.”

  “Oh.” There were no flies on this guy. “So, what’s with the shots that were fired? You know, what we heard on the radios at the reception?”

  He tensed, the smile faltered. “Probably some misguided hunter, nothing to worry about.”

  I looked at him, waiting.

  “That’s my opinion, but we’re looking into it. But other than that, all’s I can tell you so far, is no one thinks you fired them. We need to take a count of who was where, so your friends back there in the ballroom are going to be mighty jealous that you got done so quickly.”

  I’ll bet, I thought. “Do you need to know anything else?”

  He laughed, and I felt absurdly pleased with myself. “I need to know almost everything, but…why don’t you tell me about the words you had with Garrison.”

  Hell, I walked straight into that one. I took a deep breath. “He was asking about my grandfather Oscar’s involvement with the site. Oscar introduced me to the owner—Pauline Westlake—when I was very young, and we’d been good friends. Pauline…Pauline was killed, murdered, a few years ago. He was asking me about that.”

  “And that made you angry.”

  I held up a braking hand. “I just didn’t want to talk to him about Pauline, or Oscar either. I…I didn’t think he had the right, the way he’d behaved toward Oscar. And I didn’t like him asking me about how my friend died.”

  “Really.”

  “If he knew that Pauline was murdered, he should have known well enough that it might be a source of pain for me still. That’s why I might have been ‘flustered,’ as you put it.”

  As I spoke, I felt myself getting stiffer and stiffer—posture, demeanor, everything. I could feel my face shutting down, banking down my emotions. As much as I wanted to be forthcoming about Garrison and what I knew about him, this was off limits.

  Church nodded, once, twice, and resumed chewing his gum. “Right. Well, you can leave. Oh, hang on one more second.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “We were talking about notes, before. This one was left for you on the bulletin board. Can you tell me anything about it?”

  He handed me a photocopy, and I looked at it, puzzled, expecting that it was a note from Scott, or maybe another student. It was a copy of both sides of a smaller piece of paper. One side had my name on it, handwritten. The other read, “Stay out of it. It’s not worth your life.”

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my hands went cold. “Where…when…what is this?”

  “You can’t tell me?”r />
  “No, of course not! I had no idea—you said you got it on the notice board?”

  “Yes. You don’t recognize the handwriting?”

  “No, I don’t. What…what have I been talking to you about? I mean, that would get anyone so…would make someone write this?”

  “I surely don’t know. At conferences—isn’t there a lot of fooling around? Drinking, jokes, that kind of thing?”

  I didn’t buy it and he knew it.

  “But just in case it isn’t, you might want to keep in sight of crowds, this weekend, in case this isn’t some kind of joke. Better to stick to archaeology than criminal investigation, right?”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I said absently. The note didn’t feel like a joke, and if it was, it certainly wasn’t Carla’s style.

  He took down my room number, again confirming things I’d already told the other officer, and then sent me on my way.

  I wanted to go up to my room, and once again I found myself wishing to avoid my colleagues, but I knew it would only feel worse, that it would look bad, for whatever reason, if I hid myself away. The bar was emptier than I’d seen it yet that weekend. It was filling up slowly, as people exited the police interviews in the ballroom, and everyone who came in was subdued. Eyes flickered watchfully, a little fearfully, and a lot of glances lingered on me a little longer than I liked. Drinks were clutched, ignored, or swallowed too quickly.

  I found Sue there, sitting on a stool off to one side, her head nearly bowed to her lap, elbows on her knees, her hands clutched to her mouth. A drink sat mostly drained before her on the table. She squared her shoulders and shook herself when I greeted her.

  She looked up. “I’m sorry? What was that? I’m still out of it, hon.”

  “No problem. I was just asking if I could get you a drink or something. Orange juice, a Coke?” Just in case you wanted to stop the hard stuff.

  She thought for a moment, then grimaced, shaking her head. “Not unless you can rustle up a vernal cocktail.”

  “Huh?” Was this something new, from Sex in the City, maybe?

  “I need a little spring in my life, Em. I’ve had it with feeling like I’m setting my teeth, hunkering down, enduring all the time. You know, when the fall starts turning really cold, and you have to start thinking about storm windows and raking and firewood and whether you’ve got deicer and sand in the car? I’m sick of it.”

  She paused and reached into her glass, popped a couple of ice cubes into her mouth. I assumed she was drinking water and lime, as I couldn’t smell gin or rum, but I didn’t know for sure.

  When she got done crunching, she said, “I want…I want to remember what it feels like when a warm breeze runs across your face and your shoulders unknot and you start to feel hopeful again. Daffodils and early tulips, flowering buds on the trees, wild birdsong. New grass breaking through the hard soil. I need that, Emma. I can’t stand this other feeling anymore.”

  She sighed so deeply that I thought she would cry. I followed her glance to the window, where the world outside was shrouded in white, buried in snow, and all hope of spring had to come from memory, because we were about as far from it as you could possibly be. The frost-rimed glass let in a bluish black light from the outside lamps, but blocked out any more distinct images. The exception was a single black and skeletal branch, evenly draped in a snowy mantle with icy fringe, as it tapped like a bony finger against the window.

  I shivered, glad to be inside, but the feeling of being trapped inside—not only in the hotel, but too near Sue’s depressed state of mind—was total.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Sometimes the snow is nice. Covers up the dead grass and leaves. Makes you feel secure, all cozy indoors.” But I was far from feeling any of that now; I just felt stranded.

  In spite of that, Sue’s next words surprised me.

  “I’m done. I’m not going to do this anymore. I can’t keep bashing myself against walls I didn’t create, keep working for something I don’t feel I can really change. Last night decided me. I’m done.”

  “What do you mean?” I could hear the stupidity of my question even as I said it, but what she was proposing was so extraordinary that I couldn’t help it. “You’re leaving archaeology?”

  “Yep.” Sue looked at me, half defensive, half hopeful.

  I immediately discarded the first things that sprang to my mind—you’ll get over it, you’ve put so much of your life into it, you just need to get some sleep—and tried to really think before I spoke again. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

  She nodded. “Like I said, last night decided it, though.”

  I squelched the automatic responses again, and something like a band snapped off my heart, and I could breathe again. I hadn’t even realized that I had been holding my breath, for what seemed like months. “What will you do?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve even spoken to a career counselor, and I’ve been talking to some friends. I think I’m going to look into business. I’m looking at some management positions in a software company.”

  The surprise must have shown on my face, because she scowled.

  “I’ve never wanted to teach and the state job is killing me. I want something that I can leave at work when I’m done for the day—well, leave more than I could archaeology. If I take this job, I’ll get to use my skills, I’ll get to work with people, and there’ll be some research. I’ll get benefits, I’ll get a decent paycheck. I don’t need it to be my life, I just need something to pay the bills and I’ll find my fulfillment after hours.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “The corporate world, well, it doesn’t seem like a natural fit, but I see how it can work, now. I’m surprised, of course, but it sounds like you’ve got a good plan. Most people aren’t capable of identifying what will make them happy.”

  She nodded hurriedly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so…prickly. You’re the first person I’ve said this to, here, I mean, and I guess I expect people to…not to…react well. I mean, we spend so much of our time bitching that it seems like the natural state of things. It’s radical, I know, but I just can’t do this anymore.”

  Now she really did seem like she was going to cry. It occurred to me that if Sue had already been looking for new jobs, then maybe…what if the grand project she’d proposed, the historic village, was more of a heroic gesture, a swan song? Maybe she was looking for someone to make the decision to leave for her.

  “Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. You don’t have to apologize to anyone. It’s none of their damned business, is it?”

  “Spoken like a true New Englander.” She managed a rueful grin. “Avoid emotions and keep your business to yourself.”

  “No, it’s not like that—” And then I realized she was kidding me. “Hey—you learn fast.”

  She looked at me. “You know, I was kind of dreading telling you, most of all.”

  “Why?” I knew, or suspected, and tried to conceal the hurt I felt.

  “I dunno. I just…I dunno.” She suddenly retreated to the ice in her glass again.

  I leaned in to her. “Yes, you do. Why?”

  “I thought…well, you’ve just always been so into this. I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”

  I looked at her, horrified. “Sue, please tell me I’m not as bad as that.” At least she’d had the guts not to hesitate too long.

  “No, no, not really. It’s just you’ve always been so…sure.”

  I laughed. “Kiddo, it’s a big act. No one is that sure of anything.” And least of all me, these days, I added to myself. I thought about telling Sue what I’d been thinking, and decided maybe it would be good for both of us. “And besides, I’ve been thinking of making some changes myself.”

  She crunched more ice, maybe a little lifted by her confession. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “Well.” Now that it came time to say it out loud, I again felt strangely reluctant. “I’ve been
thinking of…changing directions. Just a bit, nothing extreme. Just…maybe looking into…the…you know. Forensic side of things.” I couldn’t believe how difficult it was for me to say the words.

  “Fuck me, Emma.” She stared at me with frank shock.

  I thought Sue would be more understanding, considering. I thought she’d get it.

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of…?” She spread her hands wide apart, shook her head. “Extreme?”

  “Maybe. But I think it’s something I need to check out for myself.”

  “That’s some midlife crisis.” She hastily signed her bill. “But you’ve always been precocious.”

  What was going on here? “I think it may be more than that. We’ll see.”

  “God, you know, I’m beat.” She collected her things, dropped the pen in her haste.

  “Where are you off to?” In such a hurry, that you haven’t got two minutes to listen to my big crises? Sue had always been so much better at this stuff than so many others, and I was really feeling hurt.

  She fished on the floor for the pen. “You know, I was thinking of going up to my room just when you came in, so I’ll see you later, okay?” She didn’t even look at me as she walked quickly from the bar.

  I was so angry, so hurt, that I almost threw my glass at her. Well, I guess that’s what I get for exposing those rusty New England emotions, I thought. There’s a good reason, apparently, for keeping your business to yourself, especially when old friends can’t even spare the time to nod and pat your hand, even if they don’t get it. Even if they don’t approve.

  To hell with you, I thought. I stared for a minute, then sat down, wondering what had just happened. Then I berated myself: Come on, Emma. Sue’s having a hell of a time of things right now. She probably can’t handle someone’s issues on top of her own.

  But among all the things that were currently distressing, Sue, I thought, never once mentioned Garrison’s death, or the police, or the gunshots.

  Huh.

  More for camouflage than anything else, I took out my phone and checked for messages. Brian had left one, and I dialed in to get it. “Hi, I just wanted to let you know that I made it fine to Kam’s, and I’m glad we’ll be going to work from here rather than coming from home—the last part of the drive was a killer. I guess if this snow keeps up, we might not be going to work tomorrow either, if there’s a snow emergency or whatever.”