Maya Mound Mayhem (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Abby L. Vandiver

  I crossed my legs. Uncrossed them. Folded my hands in my lap. Crossed my legs again, this time to the other side. Then scratched the back of neck. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the room and it was grating on my nerves.

  Geesh.

  “I heard about you,” he said finally.

  What the hey? He speaks and that’s what he has to say? He heard about me? What is that supposed to mean?

  After he spoke he opened up the manila folder. There were pictures of the skeleton I’d found. He took them and placed them out on the table like cards.

  “Everywhere you go people turn up dead.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, eyes wide in astonishment.

  I wasn’t sure what this man was getting at. I didn’t know if I should take offense to his statement or not. I mean I am an archaeologist. I do upturn dead people for a living.

  Maybe that’s what he meant.

  But then again, those dead people are usually at least a thousand years old.

  “Look,” I said. “I had nothing to do with this. This person,” I pointed to one of the pictures, “was long dead before I got here.”

  “Seems like you have a knack for being around murders.”

  Oh my gosh! Why does he keep saying stuff like that?

  He was staring at me. A stern, unrelenting look on his face.

  Am I in trouble? Because I reported a dead body.

  I started to fidget in my seat.

  Maybe he thinks I ran after I reported the body. That’s why I’d gone to Yasamee.

  I had run to hide out in Yasamee before . . .

  I watched him flipping through his notes and rubbing his hand over his forehead. He licked his lips and tapped his pen on the table.

  Maybe he’s the killer, I thought. The last two murders I’d been privy to ended up being committed by the law enforcement officer.

  He certainly looks capable.

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at him.

  “Is something wrong, Dr. Dickerson?” he asked looking at me like he was amused.

  I blinked my eyes and licked my lips. “No. Nothing’s wrong,” I replied. “Just trying to think why you’d think I’d know something about this.”

  He slowly nodded his head as if he was taking in my question, but he said nothing. All of this silent “interrogation” was killing me.

  Say something.

  I tried to take in even breaths to calm my hammering heart and skittering nerves, but it wasn’t working.

  Under my shirt a bead of sweat started to roll down my back. I folded my hands and rested them on the desk trying to appear calm. But my leg under the table was shaking a mile a minute.

  “So tell me exactly what happened,” he finally said.

  And I did. The talking helped with my nerves so I spoke fast and furiously. Not even taking time to swallow or draw in a breath. I wanted to finish and leave.

  But while I spoke, it seemed as if I built up some courage. So I decided, in between sentences, to man up. He wasn’t in charge of anything. The FBI was. And he was just trying to scare me. I knew that I hadn’t done anything. And he could prove that I had.

  Although I do know that sometimes they manufacture evidence. Just like Riley Sinclair thought I was doing when I was inside that mound with those bones.

  When I finished I looked at him. I nodded to indicate that I’d told all I knew. Then I decided that I had a question of my own.

  “Do you know who he is?” I asked.

  He looked at me surprised. “No. Not yet.” He cocked his head to the side. “I heard that you gave some identifying information. Do you have any idea who he is?”

  “No,” I said and nothing else. I could play his game.

  “Do you have any idea how he died?”

  “Other than being murdered. And being soaked in something to get rid of the evidence. No. I couldn’t say how he died.”

  He tilted his head to the other side, sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and stared at me.

  Oh no. We’re not starting that again.

  I stood up. I put my knapsack over my head and adjusted it across my shoulder. “Do you know when I’ll be able to get back to my dig?” I asked.

  He looked up at me. “No.”

  I tilted my head to match his and said, “Guess I’ll just have to contact the FBI. Like you said, they’re the ones in charge.”

  I headed for the door. Head held high. Thank goodness my gelatin knees didn’t let me down.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What did he say?” Miss Vivee asked as soon as I emerged from the hallway back into the police lobby.

  “He said I was hiding bones,” I said and stopped in front of where they were seated.

  “Where you?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “And how are you going to help me if you keep thinking I did something wrong?”

  “I can help you get away,” she said admitting she help in aiding a fleeing felon as the case would be right in the police station.

  “Let’s go,” I said and shook my head. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  I got the two of them in the car and buckled Miss Vivee in. She put on her sunglasses, and sat quietly. I pulled off and didn’t offer any more information about my questioning. I know she wanted me to elaborate and I hated doing her like that detective had done me, but I just didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I talked to him.” she said.

  I had to keep myself from slamming on the brakes.

  Okay. So now I wanted to talk.

  “Talked to who?” I asked although I knew the answer.

  “Charlie Cecil,” she said.

  “Oh my God, Miss Vivee,” my words came out in a half-laugh, half-cry. “Why would you do that?” I turned and looked her. “What did you say? You didn’t say anything like you think I’m the killer did you?”

  She turned and looked at me like she couldn’t understand my frustration. “Which question you want me to answer first?”

  “”Oh my God,” I said again. “Give me strength.”

  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” she said.

  “You told me not to talk. Not to say anything that might get me in trouble. And then you just blab like there’s no tomorrow.” My eyes got big as it hit me. “Are you the one that told him that I’ve been around a lot of dead bodies?”

  “Well that’s true. You have. It’s your job,” she said lowering her head and looking over the rim of her sunglasses. “Isn’t it true?”

  “You know what I mean, Miss Vivee.” I glanced over at her. I wanted to glare but I couldn’t take my eyes off the road that long. “That man said he ‘knew about me’ that ‘murders follow me around’ or whatever it was he said. Did he say that because of something you said?”

  “He hasn’t a clue how that man died. Heck, he wouldn’t’ve even know it was a man if it hadn’t of been for you.”

  “Miss Vivee . . .” I said. I knew she was purposely avoiding my questions.

  “I wished I could have talked to him longer,” she said. I could see behind her glasses her gaze drifting off. She usually got that look when she was plotting. And it also told me she wasn’t paying any attention to me or what I was saying.

  “I think that I should take the two of you home,” I said.

  “Take us home?” Miss Vivee said. “We just got here.”

  “I know,” I said. “But if you stay any longer, I’m sure I’ll end up in jail.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The first thing I saw when I walked back on the site was Bugs. Miss Vivee, Mac and I were standing at my trailer door. I was trying to get them inside and out of the heat.

  Bugs had a big grin on his face and he walked toward me, his arms outstretched.

  “I’m so happy you’re back,” he said.

  “Why wouldn’t I come back?” I asked.

  “No reason.” He looked at me out the corner of his eye. “Well. Honestly. I thought maybe you got scared
away.”

  “I’m not scared of a dead body,” I said. “I deal with them all the time.”

  “Yeah. But not ones that’ve been murdered.”

  “You don’t know anything about me and murder,” I said.

  “Ooh,” he said and grinned. “Should I be afraid of you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Good. Because I’ve got plans for me and you.”

  “Bugs,” I said and looked at him. “I have a boyfriend, you know.” I looked at Miss Vivee and Mac standing there taking in the conversation. “And you have a girlfriend. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t cheat on my boyfriend.” I pushed Miss Vivee forward. “This is my boyfriend’s grandmother. And her, uhm, friend.”

  Never quite sure what to call Mac. Miss Vivee said that she was too old to have a boyfriend. Mac on the other hand was trying desperately to make her his wife.

  “Miss Vivee, Mac,” I said and pointed to Bugs. “This is Jackson Reid. He is a volunteer on my team. But he’s so good, sometimes I forget he’s an amateur.”

  “Everyone calls me Bugs,” he said and stuck out a hand.

  “I can see why,” Miss Vivee said and pushed the back of her hand forward like he was supposed to kiss it.

  “Pleased to meet you, young man,” Mac said shaking Bugs’ hand. “Glad you are able to help out our Logan.”

  “Oh. Yes. I’ll help her in any way I can.” He winked at me and Miss Vivee grunted. “And,” he continued, seemingly unaware or ignoring Miss Vivee’s slight. “It’s my last summer as a volunteer, my expertise is needed in the field of botany.”

  That piqued Miss Vivee’s interest. “You’re studying botany?” she asked. “No good botany schools in Gainesville.”

  “No ma’am it isn’t. But I go to school in Athens.”

  “University of Georgia,” she said and smiled. “Good school.”

  “One of the best. Do you know anything about plants?” he asked.

  “Probably much more than you’ll ever know unless you live as long as me,” she said.

  “You couldn’t be that old.” He brushed his hand down her arm. “You couldn’t be any older than about forty.”

  “C’mon, Miss Vivee. Mac,” I said. I wanted to get them away from Bugs. He was getting far too familiar with Bay’s grandmother. I ushered them toward the trailer door. “I’ll be right back,” I told Bugs.

  “He seemed like a nice boy,” Miss Vivee said.

  “Only because he’s has a thing for plants,” I said.

  “Certainly not because he has a crush on you,” she said and looked at me.

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Oh. I know,” she said. “No one could beat out my Bay. All the women want him.”

  “But I got him,” I said. I went to the refrigerator and got two bottles of water. “Here,” I handed one to each of them. “I’ve got to go and check on things. Make yourself comfortable. Once I see everything is back in place, I’ll take you back to Yasamee.” I stepped back outside of the trailer before she had a chance on protesting about me taking her home.

  “Bugs,” I said, jumping right back in where our conversation had left off. “You have to be professional with me. That’s the only relationship we can have.”

  “I don’t see a ring,” he said. “That means I have a chance.” He reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Although I don’t know that I would let that stop me.”

  “I’m happy with who I’m dating. Not thinking about changing.” I pulled my hand away. “And his grandmother is here. Show some respect.”

  “I am very respectful,” he said, his eyes lighting up surprised at my comment.

  I smiled at him. “That you are you are. Usually.” I looked at him. “I take that back. Okay?”

  He nodded slowly “So. Are you saying you won’t even give me a chance?”

  I nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” I shook my head. “No.” I chuckled. I didn’t want to confuse him. “I won’t give you a chance.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Even after I helped you with that Forest Service officer?”

  I laughed and punched his arm. “You didn’t help me.”

  “Yes I did,” he said. “Riley was trying to throw you under the bus.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what that was about,” I said. I wanted to agree with him and have a conversation about it, especially after my meeting with Detective-Two-Names, but we were all part of a team. We shouldn’t talk about each other. And I was the leader of that team. I had to set a good example.

  “Riley’s jealous of you, you know,” he said. “She thought she’d have a bigger part in this dig. And then you got the job.”

  “What’dya mean?” I asked. “She thought she’d be in charge of it?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “But she thought she’d be number two. She was working on her way in. Looks like that fell through, though.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “And here’s comes somebody else that trying to throw you under the bus,” Bugs said and nodded his head past me.

  I turned around and looked. It was Steven McHutchinson. I scrunched up my nose. Why would Bugs say that about the Director?

  Director McHutchinson was tall and slim, with broad shoulders and long legs. His wavy, sun bleached blonde hair grazed the back of his long neck. A had a dimpled chin and dark stubble along his jaw line. He was dressed in a dark navy suit, white shirt, power red tie and a flag lapel pin.

  “Good morning. Mr. Reid. Dr. Dickerson,” McHutchinson nodded and spoke as he approached us.

  “Morning,” we said nearly in unison.

  “Good to be back?” he said, asking no one in general.

  “I’m glad to be back,” I said. “Anxious I guess is a better word. So much work to do.”

  “Finding more than you bargained for, eh, Dr. Dickerson.”

  “Yes. Quite unnerving,” I said. “Not used to having skeletons jump out at me.”

  “It scared her, alright,” Bugs said. “We heard her scream all the way out here. And when we got to her she was so jumpy.”

  “Yes. I heard,” McHutchinson said. He looked at me and paused momentarily before speaking again. “I have to get back on the campaign trail soon.” He licked his lips. “And I need this place to take care of itself.”

  “Oh. We’re good,” I said. “Everything is right on track.” I bit my lip. “Well, it was until this. I waved toward the area that had been the source of the trouble. “How is your campaign going?” I wanted to change the subject. He was running for state senate and I knew any mention of that and he’d drop the conversation about the bones I’d found.

  “I’m a couple of points ahead of my opponent, which is good,” he said. “Going from an agency director to politician I don’t see as a big leap, but some of the voters did. I had to prove my worth to make it through the primary. Convince all of our constituents that I would do what is best for our state.”

  “Too bad I’m not a registered voter in Georgia,” I joked. “Because you’d have my vote.”

  “I just hope I can count on you in other ways that’ll make my campaign move forward without any bumps. I do need you to help me get elected.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Georgia is a state rich with history. We’re one of the thirteen original colonies. I’m sure you know that with your background in history and all. And Track Rock Gap is a big part of our history. If I’m to get elected I have to show I won’t try to extinguish any part of it.”

  “Yes. History is important to me, too,” I said. “Correct history.”

  He chuckled. “Is any of the history we know correct?”

  I scrunched up my nose and tilted my head. I opened my mouth to speak, but he started up again.

  “If Georgia citizens think I can’t run this place with our gloried past in mind, they won’t think I can run the state. You understand what I mean?”

  “Of course,” I said.


  But really I hadn’t the faintest idea what he meant.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Who was that?” Miss Vivee said when I went into the trailer.

  “The man in charge around here.”

  “You should have introduced me,” she said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

  She walked over to the window. “Of course I’m not kidding. You want me to solve this thing I have to ask questions.”

  “I don’t want you to solve it, Miss Vivee. Remember? I told you that.”

  “He hasn’t left yet,” she said letting her eyes drift from the window to me and then the door.

  I readied myself because if she tried to head for that door to go out and talk to Direct McHutchinson, I was going to pounce on top of her and hold her down.

  She turned back and looked out of the window. “He’s leaving now. Darn,” she said. “What did you say his name was?”

  “I didn’t say,” I said. “And I’m not telling you, either.” I didn’t think she could “Gaggle” him on the “World Wide Web” as she and Mac would say when explaining how to use the Internet, but I wasn’t taking any chances she’d look him up and call him.

  “Who is that woman walking with that Indian,” she said. I walked over to the window and Mac followed me. We peered out and I saw Riley coming from the ruins into the camper area. She was tanned and her dark brown hair with its sun bleached streaks, was pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a white sleeveless T-shirt and had a trowel and a sifting screen in her hands. She looked like she’d been working, which we hadn’t been given the okay to do, and there was a young man walking with her.

  She was always calling me on my authority. And with McHutchinson saying he needed me to win his election and with Armsgoode around, talking about he should have been in charge, I couldn’t afford any trouble from her. I couldn’t understand why she was always so disagreeable.

  Riley Sinclair came from a family with money. She had a masters in geology and was very good at what she did. I hadn’t handpicked her, she, like the rest of my crew, had been chosen for me, but when I saw credentials, I was happy to have her.