by Rachel Grant
“Did you know Dan Parker was coming?” Simone whispered, nabbing her attention.
“What?”
Simone poked her in the ribs and subtly flicked her head toward the doorway where the Corps archaeologist stood.
“No,” Libby said. “I had no idea he’d be here.”
“Do you think he’s here because he’s still worried about the burial?”
“I hope not. I told him the medical examiner found conclusive proof that the burial was less than thirty years old.”
“Knowing Dan, he won’t relax unless he reads the medical examiner’s report himself.”
Dan made a beeline to Jack and his cronies. Jack patted him on the back and introduced him to the group. Libby supposed they’d met face to face while working out the details of the project, but still, the greeting was friendlier than she would have expected.
Lou Warren pushed Rosalie Warren’s wheelchair into the lecture room. Libby hadn’t been aware the elder had left the hospital. Now she was nervous. Bad enough that everyone in Coho was here. She hadn’t expected the representative from the Corps of Engineers or the elder. These people had the power to make or break her project.
Libby stepped up to the podium. “Good evening,” she said into the microphone. “It’s almost time to begin, but I see that we have a crowd that will test the limits set by the fire marshal—unless he’s the only person in Coho who isn’t here?”
“Nope, I’m here,” a middle-aged man called out, garnering chuckles from the crowd.
“I just want to make sure you’re all in the right place. Tonight I’ll be lecturing on the archaeology of Coho. Are you all sure this is where you want to be?”
More laughter followed, especially from her crew. Alex stood, pretending to leave.
“Sit down, Alex, or you’re fired,” she said.
Her crew laughed the loudest, and Alex winked at her and dropped into his seat.
“You should all be aware,” she said, “that I will only talk and take questions about archaeological findings. For something to be archaeological, it must be at least one hundred years old. If it happened after 1902, then neither I nor my staff will discuss it.”
A man in the back row said, “What about the body you found? Will you talk about that?”
“No. That’s not part of the site.” She waited a moment. No one left the room.
MARK STOOD AGAINST THE BACK wall next to Luke and watched Libby. She looked stunning in a red blouse that was a striking contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. He remembered the red bra he’d seen in her basement a few nights ago, and the first few minutes of the lecture was lost as he pondered her underwear.
A good lecturer, she was calm, poised, and smooth. He had to admit that while he found archaeology interesting, he wouldn’t usually attend this type of lecture. But she made a point of including interesting little-known facts and joking asides about the trials of fieldwork that kept the audience amused and listening. She played to the local crowd and stayed focused on Olympic Peninsula prehistory. Much of the information came from the earlier testing phase of the excavation, and he looked forward to a follow-up lecture when the current dig was completed.
His cell phone vibrated on his hip. He checked the caller ID display and then quietly slipped out of the room. “What’ve you got, Sara?”
“I’m still with Rita. We finally located the dental records. Because of the missing teeth, the ID is only preliminary but we’re ninety percent certain it’s Angela Caruthers. Angela had fillings in the missing teeth. If we had those teeth, we’d be certain.”
Relief spread through him. He hadn’t wanted to admit he feared Libby would end up being wrong. “We’ve now got a starting point for our investigation. Any prints?”
“No. She focused on the long bones and skull, and of course, the clavicles. Could be that the suspect wore gloves, could be time and erosion.”
“Keep a lid on the ID until DNA comes back on Friday. As soon as the press gets wind of the fact that we found Angela, we’ll have a circus. I’d like to do some investigating before that happens.”
“You’re not going to tell Jack?”
“He’s waited this long. He can wait for the definitive ID.”
“I’d like to stay another day and watch Rita at work. I’m learning a lot.”
“Sure. Come back when she’s finished processing the remains.” Sara had good instincts; in a bigger police department she would go far but in Coho there wasn’t much room for her to advance. He hoped her roots in Coho were strong enough to keep her here, but the day might come when she’d leave for the thrill of working in a larger city.
He’d done the same thing himself once upon a time. But after several years as a homicide detective in Seattle, he found he missed small towns and community policing. Unless Angela Lansbury lived in the neighborhood, small towns didn’t have a need for full-time homicide detectives. The only way back to Mayberry was either to move up or down. So he earned a master’s degree, which gave him the qualification he needed to be police chief, and the job opening in Coho had come at the perfect time. He had the life he wanted. All that was missing was someone to share it with.
Mark quietly returned to the lecture room and resumed his place in the back next to Luke. His mind raced, planning avenues of investigation. Jack would have been a fool to hide her body and then embark on a development project that would result in digging her up. But as he’d told Libby so often, he had to investigate every possibility.
He watched Libby, his mind focused not on the lecture but on the past two days. She could have ignored the subtle clues and blithely handed over the remains to the tribe. No one would have been the wiser. But she hadn’t. She’d struggled with his skepticism about her stalking complaints yet she’d had the guts to step forward and say what she believed, knowing she would face more skepticism. He respected that.
He’d been attracted to her from the first moment he saw her, amused by the jokes she made about her truck, but the more he got to know her, the more impressed he was with her sharp mind. He trusted Bobby’s judgment about Aaron, and he trusted his own instincts about Libby.
Finished with the lecture, Libby offered to answer questions from the audience. A man who identified himself as a reporter for the Seattle Times said, “You’ve claimed a prehistoric burial you found in the site is a twentieth-century murder victim. You’ve also reported several spurious crimes to the police in the last several days. Ms. Maitland, are you trying to generate publicity for your company?”
“Perhaps you missed my earlier announcement. If so, I will reiterate. I will only answer questions about the archaeological findings at the site.” She looked away from the reporter. “Any other questions?”
“The public has the right to know if a publicity hound is wasting taxpayer money on a ridiculous investigation,” the reporter said.
Simone Atherton and Jason Caruthers had both turned in their seats and glared at the reporter, who sat several rows behind them. A man Mark recognized from Libby’s field crew stood, hands fisted. Mark stepped forward to prevent the young archaeologist from taking action that could land him in jail. “Questions about the investigation should be directed to the Coho Police Department, not Ms. Maitland.”
“Does anyone have questions about archaeology in Coho?” Libby asked.
“My son is interested in archaeology,” a woman in the third row called out. “He’d like to volunteer to dig on your project.”
Libby’s shoulders relaxed as she faced the woman. “I’m sorry, but supervision, training, and insurance all make it cost prohibitive to work with volunteers. He should sign up for a field school through a university.”
The reporter headed for the door. Mark followed him out of the room and flashed his badge. “Mark Colby, Coho Police Chief. You seemed more interested in causing trouble than asking unbiased questions.”
The man was unfazed. “My questions were legit.”
“Your interview technique sucks. E
ither you’re completely green or you’ve got a different agenda.”
The reporter shrugged. “I blew it. I guess I must be green.”
“Who told you Libby’s been reporting spurious crimes?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I have an open investigation. The woman is in danger. Your source could be her stalker.”
“I don’t have to reveal my source. And I don’t think she has a stalker. She’s paranoid or she wants attention. Frankly, I think she’s after attention. I’m gonna make sure she gets it.”
Anger pulsed through Mark. The selfish bastard would ruin Libby’s reputation by writing a lurid article for his own gain. “You go to press without including a statement the Coho Police Department has no reason to doubt her claims and you’ll find yourself in a libel lawsuit.”
“What’s your beef, Chief? You sleeping with her?” The man’s smug smile made Mark want to deck him.
“She’s the victim of several crimes and you intend to victimize her again in print. I don’t have to be sleeping with her to have a problem with that.”
“The difference between you and me is I don’t think she’s the victim. I think you and the citizens of Coho are.” The reporter left the library.
Mark stepped back into the lecture room to see that the question-and-answer period had ended. He quietly told Luke about Sara’s phone call.
“Damn,” Luke said. “I can’t believe it. Around here, Caruthers’ disappearance has the same mystique as Jimmy Hoffa’s.”
“Which is why we’re keeping it quiet until the DNA comes back on Friday. I don’t want any mistakes on this one.”
Luke nodded and left.
Libby stood in conversation with Jason and another man Mark didn’t recognize. She caught his gaze over the man’s shoulder. He made a show of looking at his watch. It was exactly eight thirty. Her lips curved in a sexy smile.
Jason reached out and touched Libby’s arm. He laughed at something the other man said. Mark couldn’t help but notice Jason’s hand lingered longer than necessary for a casual touch.
Mark had spent much of the lecture scanning the room for potential stalkers, wondering if the suspect was present. Could Jason Caruthers be the one, or was it their shared history that made Mark want to investigate him?
THE REPORTER DID HIS JOB WELL. His question was thinly veiled insinuation, designed to make the residents of Coho look at Libby Maitland with suspicion. Manipulating the reporter had been even easier than slipping the Suburban key back in the desk drawer at the Shelby house. The guy was a Bob Woodward wannabe, hungry for a salacious story, the kind of cub who believed his own lies. He’d told the cub he was a cop on the Coho police force and was frustrated to be working bogus cases reported by the chief’s new girlfriend. The ruse was inspired, a guarantee the reporter wouldn’t look too hard to find his source. Who would give up a cop as an informant?
Half the town heard the reporter say she was a publicity hound. Maybe the police chief would even have second thoughts about her.
Time was running out for him to deliver the final blow to Libby Maitland’s credibility. He’d be waiting for her when she got home tonight. By the time he was through, she wouldn’t be a threat to him anymore.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LIBBY STOOD WITH DAN and Jason, waiting for the endless post-lecture chit-chat to be over with so she could join Mark. She’d lost her focus on the conversation as soon as Mark stepped back into the room. She was certain the Corps archaeologist and her client’s son were going to leave thinking she was a blithering idiot.
“Libby,” Dan said, “I think I have a box or two of Angela’s research papers to give to you, too.”
Dan gained her full attention. “What? Why would you have Angela’s papers?”
“I went to grad school with her. We were officemates at U-Dub. I’ve known Jason here since he was a pup, but hadn’t seen him or Jack in decades.”
A lightning-fast shiver ran through her. Dan could easily have gotten the spearhead from the Lithic Master. Had Dan known about the Warren site before they’d found it in their survey last fall? “Why didn’t you tell me you had boxes of Angela’s Kalahwamish research notes when you told me about the detailed background section Rosalie wants?” she asked.
“I’d forgotten which Olympic Peninsula tribe Angela was studying,” Dan said. “It was nearly twenty-five years ago. You know how cultural anthropologists and archaeologists get along.” He smiled at the inside joke. Libby knew well the friendly rivalry that existed between the two anthropological disciplines. “She didn’t talk about her work much,” Dan continued. “It was later that Jack reminded me she was studying the Kalahwamish.”
Libby wondered why Angela’s research had left such a void in everyone’s memory.
“I packed up her remaining papers when I finished my PhD and moved out of the office in ’81. Never got around to giving her papers to Jack. They’re in storage somewhere. I’ll see if I can find them this weekend.” Dan paused. “How’s the draft coming?”
“I’m nearly done with the interviews. Today I went through several of Angela’s boxes. The police are allowing us to resume digging tomorrow, so I’ll be at the site in the morning but by the afternoon Angela’s papers will be my primary focus.”
“I’d like to see a draft as soon as possible,” Dan said.
Libby continued to smile, not wanting to show what she really thought. She was dealing with a stalker and finding dead bodies, and he wanted to see a draft.
Laura Montgomery tapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m leaving,” she said, casting a glare at Libby. Earl stood next to Laura, his look equally menacing.
It was too much. The stalker, a murder victim, this hostile elderly woman who’d accused her of stealing an artifact, and, she reminded herself, the nasty reporter who would probably be more than happy to ruin Libby’s reputation. She wanted this part of her day to end. She had better plans.
At last, the room cleared, and she was alone with Mark. He smiled at her, and all worries slipped from her mind.
“I enjoyed your talk,” he said.
She smiled. “Oh, is that why you left the room?”
“That was unavoidable. Work.”
Something was different. She wasn’t sure what. His curly light brown hair and blue eyes were as knee-weakeningly handsome as ever. The she realized the change: he was off-duty. Not like Sunday night, when he was off-duty but answered her 9-1-1 call. Tonight, he was completely off-duty. He always wore plain clothes, but tonight he was without the shoulder holster. Wearing a gun altered his stance; he emanated heightened awareness, reminding everyone he was top cop in town. But now he looked…relaxed. Ready for a night off. And yet she knew he would still answer his phone, during a lecture, in a restaurant, in a movie theater. For him to be truly off-duty, he’d have to leave town.
Could she really get involved with someone whose work was so much a part of him, so important, he had to answer the phone no matter what, even while making love?
“I don’t pass inspection?” he asked.
She’d been staring at him, and now she realized she’d frowned. “You more than pass. You set a new standard.”
“Then why the frown?”
“I was just wondering what the odds are we’d have a whole evening without any interruptions from your cell phone.”
He flinched. Obviously, this had been a problem in the past. He put an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “We have many issues to navigate, and that’s probably one of the biggest. For now, just know I’m not waiting for the phone to ring. I’m not thinking about work. I intend to enjoy every moment we have together. The rest is out of my control. But I won’t apologize for doing my job.”
She rose up on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sorry. I feel stupid for complaining. I want to bite my tongue.”
His smile came like a breaking wave, pulling her into a dangerous undertow. “Th
ank you, but don’t bite your tongue. I’m hoping that will be my job.”
A fluttery, giddy feeling infused her as his mouth lowered to hers.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to lock up the library.”
She flushed as she faced the head librarian. Caught making out in the library. She felt like a teenager, except they hadn’t gotten to the good part yet. “We were just leaving.”
Mark took her hand and led her through the doorway past the librarian, who, Libby could see, was having trouble maintaining a stern face.
“Couldn’t you have waited thirty seconds, Wanda?” he asked, laughter in his voice.
“Honey, that was no quick kiss you were getting ready to plant on Libby.”
Mark threaded his fingers through hers as they walked down Main Street. The Coho library was in the same part of town as the police station. After unionization came to Thorpe Log & Lumber in the late 1940s, a separate Coho developed outside the historic district. This secondary hub of shops, restaurants, and municipal buildings had been outside Lyle Montgomery’s control.
Residential areas radiated outward from this part of town. The majority of Coho’s three thousand residents lived and worked here, and more than geography separated the two town centers. While the historic district represented a community before electricity, telephones, and automobiles, Main Street was pure 1950s Americana. Neon progress.
Mark had made reservations at a small restaurant three blocks down. They sat in a private booth in the corner. All five restaurant employees found an excuse to come by their table to check Libby out. Everyone treated Mark with deference, and from the proprietor there was banter filled with genuine fondness.
She knew Mark was an outsider, like her. He’d only lived in Coho for two years. Yet they’d accepted him as one of their own. She couldn’t help but compare Mark’s interactions with the locals to the obsequiousness given Jason. More important, when she was with Jason, her body didn’t hum like a tuning fork in perfect pitch.
