Mr. Reynolds was a man who clearly did not like being made a fool, and Lindsay almost felt sorry for his son. After angrily searching for something to say, he turned and walked back to his car. He burned up a significant amount of rubber leaving the site.
Lindsay looked over at the sheriff, who was smiling. "You knew he thought I was a guy?" she asked.
"Yeah, I just thought it would be fun to see his face when he found out the truth."
"I don't suppose he'll take legal action now," Frank said. "I don't imagine he wants the humiliation of having the world know his son was beat up by a girl." Frank walked back to the section under excavation.
"That was a good trick your father taught you," the sheriff said.
"That was the first time I have ever had to use it."
"It was certainly effective. You know, I have a daughter in college. She's off campus, as she calls it, this semester. I've tried to teach her a few things, but she doesn't take me seriously."
"I didn't take my father seriously either, but I remembered what he taught me"
"What does your father do?"
"He teaches Shakespeare at a community college in Kentucky. My mother breeds and trains Arabians."
"Not thoroughbreds?"
"No. They are quite expensive."
"Sounds like you have a nice family."
"I do. How is Ned?"
"He's holding up all right."
Lindsay didn't ask him any more about the investigation, and he didn't offer any information. He took his leave, and Lindsay went back to her burial.
"What on earth!" Frank exclaimed, looking into the back of the Jeep that Derrick had just driven into the parking lot.
Lindsay grinned. "Derrick, you're the best scavenger I know."
"Yeah, the good people of Merry Claymoore were very generous in giving me their old camera tripods."
"Why do you want all these tripods?" asked Frank.
"I found a pan lock and just can't rest until I find the tripod it goes to"
Frank frowned at Derrick, and Lindsay explained to him about the broken pan lock found at the crime scene.
"You know the probability is very low that you will find the right tripod," Frank said.
"Right now," Lindsay said, "this is the only clue. We need to find something to help Ned"
"You're right, of course," Frank agreed, "but the site has sure been quiet since he's been in jail."
"It's not only for Ned," Lindsay said. "It's for us, too. We've lost about a third of our scouts and a lot of goodwill from the townspeople since his arrest"
"True," Frank said. "Carry on" He left them with their cache of tripods.
"He's probably right," Derrick said. "Even if the tripod the pan lock came from is one of these, it could have been repaired and we would never be able to make a positive match"
"I know."
Derrick smiled and kissed her cheek. "But we will look. Who knows? We might get lucky."
"Derrick?"
"Yes?" he asked, stacking the tripods out on the ground.
"I'm sorry about the other day."
"What about?"
"About what I said."
Derrick stopped hoisting the tripods out of the Jeep and looked into Lindsay's eyes. He touched her cheek with his finger tips, then caressed her lips with his thumb. "After the Fourth of July thing, let me take you away for a weekend. I'll make you forget about all this for a little while anyway"
Lindsay reached up and took his hand. "I would like to forget about all this for a little while."
Derrick gave her lips a quick kiss, and she helped him carry the tripods into the laboratory tent. Most of the lab workers cataloging the artifacts took no notice of them as they laid out the tripods on the floor. Derrick set about examining each one. None had its pan lock missing, but several looked as if they had had their pan lock replaced. One was from Adam Bancroft's studio, and one was given to Derrick by the owner of the hardware store where the site did all its business. "Glad to get rid of the thing," he had said. "Been laying around for years." One was given to Derrick by a school teacher requesting that instead of using it for parts, perhaps he could fix it, and she and her students could use it.
"This got you into some work," Lindsay commented. "Can you fix it for them?"
"No, it looks like the center post is pretty well busted, but I imagine I can fix one of the others for them."
"You're too good, Derrick."
"This tripod thing seemed like a good idea, but now I think it may be a waste of time. The one we are looking for was probably carted to the dump long ago or stuck in an old barn somewhere "
"I know, but we have so few clues, and Ned needs good news from somewhere."
"Yeah, I thought about that, too. You know, Lindsay, Jenna did identify him:"
"I know. I've been thinking about that. What if I'm wrong and Ned did do it and ..."
Derrick touched her lips. "We'll do what we can, Lindsay. We could just give the sheriff what information we have about tripods and leave everything to him. We'll just concentrate on the site. The sheriff is a good man. He wants the right murderer caught" Derrick sighed. "Let this be the last detective work we do, okay?"
"Okay."
"I mean it," he said.
"Me, too. I don't really know what else to do "
"And no more time tripping at the crime scene."
"No, definitely not"
Soon after 10:00 o'clock the next morning, Ned came strolling into the site, delivered by the sheriff. The crew stopped their work and watched as he walked to the section of the site he had opened up earlier and began giving orders. Lindsay was the first to greet him.
"Hello, Ned," she said.
He nodded. "Looks like they made some progress while I've been gone."
"We didn't think the judge was granting bail ..."
"Didn't need it," he interrupted. "Look, I need to check on this section. I'll talk to you later."
"Sure," Lindsay said.
She looked across the parking lot and saw the sheriff standing with his hands in his pockets. She turned and walked toward him. Frank and Marsha came walking toward him from one of the nearby structure excavations. The sheriff did not look happy.
"Hey," Lindsay greeted him. "What happened?"
"Yeah," said Frank. "I thought he was in the pokey for a while."
"So did I," said the sheriff, "but it seems as though he came up with an iron-clad eyewitness alibi for the time when Jenna was supposed to have seen him."
"Who?" asked Lindsay.
The sheriff smiled grimly. "Isabel Tyler."
"Isabel Tyler?" Marsha exclaimed.
Lindsay raised her eyebrows.
"What's the story?" Frank asked.
"Seems our boy made a phone call, and about 20 minutes later Isabel Tyler drives up in her chauffeured limousine and says Ned was with her that afternoon, telling her what places on her property she might find Indian artifacts." The sheriff shook his head. "Never knew the woman was interested in Indian artifacts." He turned on his heels and walked to his car. Lindsay followed.
The sheriff started to get into his car, and Lindsay put a hand on the door. "What does this mean?" she asked.
The sheriff stood up, the car door like a barrier between the two of them. "I don't know."
"Do you believe she was telling the truth?"
"Frankly ... no"
"Then, why?" she asked.
"Who knows?" The sheriff's face showed no expression.
He doesn't like being manipulated, thought Lindsay, and that's what he feels Ned has done. Ned and Isabel Tyler.
"He must know something about ..."
"Yep," said the sheriff. "He must know something about something." He started to get back in his car again. Lindsay held on to the door.
"Do you think maybe he knows it is really Mickey Lawson?" Lindsay asked.
"If he knew that, he would've told me and not her."
"I suppose so," Lindsay agreed. "Are
you going to the Fourth of July picnic?"
"I do every year."
"Perhaps ..."
The sheriff stood up, closed the door, and put a hand on Lindsay's shoulder. "Now, look, I don't want you to go snooping around at the Tylers. I can't, and you mustn't. Do you understand?"
"I want to know what is going on"
"So do I, and it is my job to find out. I don't come here and dig up your bones. Don't you go snooping around Merry Claymoore."
"Sheriff, I ..."
The sheriff's face softened. "[ don't mean to sound harsh. Well, I suppose I do, too. [ just want you to remember about Seymour Plackert's body floating down the river and landing at your dock. Something dangerous is going on in this town" The sheriff got in his car and drove off.
"What did he say?" Frank asked when Lindsay came back.
"Nothing much, except that he doesn't believe Ned's alibi."
Whited sepulchers, which indeed appear beautifid outward, but are within full of'dead mens hones.
-Matthew 23:27
Chapter 10
TYLERWYND WAS A LARGE antebellum mansion at the end of a long, winding drive lined by pecan trees. The lawn immediately around the house was neatly mowed and bordered by shrubs. Live oaks shaded parts of the lawn, their trunks surrounded by wooden and wrought iron benches.
Many cars were already parked in the black-topped parking lot for the guests, and Derrick pulled in beside Brian's car when he arrived with Lindsay, Michelle, and Jim. Jane, Sally, and Alan had ridden with Brian. Ned volunteered to stay at the site "to guard it from pothunters" as he said. Everyone was in good spirits, glad to be away from the site and ready for a picnic. However, Michelle, Lindsay noticed, was a little cool.
"It looks like Tara," Sally observed, looking at the three-story, white-columned house before them.
"I'd hate to vacuum the place," Jane said.
Frank pulled in beside them with Marsha and her grandmother. Marsha helped the elderly woman from the car and introduced her to the others. "This is my grandmother, Elaine Darby"
Elaine Darby, who was dressed in a blue jogging suit, possessed the most silvery hair Lindsay had ever seen. It sparkled like strands of spun metal. She smiled at Lindsay, Derrick, and Sally.
"It's nice to meet you," she said. "Marsha has told me all about the work you do. It sounds so interesting."
Mrs. Darby used a walker, and they all slowed their pace to walk with her. "It's been a long time since I've been here," she said. "I used to come quite frequently, about ... my goodness, it must have been over 60 years ago. It looked the same then." She stopped, and they all stopped with her. "Except for this parking area, I don't believe there have been any other changes. Imagine that" Elaine Darby shook her head and continued toward the house.
"I had the display case delivered," Marsha told Lindsay. "It's supposed to be outside near the entrance. I hope it wasn't too much trouble to bring some artifacts."
"Not at all," Lindsay replied.
They were greeted at the door by the housekeeper, who ushered them through a wide central hallway. Mrs. Darby's slow pace allowed her and the others to look into the rooms as they passed. The furniture suited the house: highly polished antebellum pieces that looked as though they were never used. The housekeeper took them to a back patio where several long tables were set up amid flags, streamers, and a long banner welcoming the guests to the Tyler's 70th Annual Fourth-of-July picnic. Lindsay recognized several people from town, including the sheriff, milling around and talking to each other.
Marsha and Frank found a shady place for her grandmother to sit, and Derrick and Lindsay stayed to talk with them. The others wandered around the garden.
"Very odd," Mrs. Darby said. "It looks just like it did 60 years ago inside, too. I think I would get bored after a while with the same furniture in the same arrangement."
"Can I get you something to drink?" asked a young woman in a black dress and frilly white apron.
"Why, yes, dear," Mrs. Darby answered. "Bring us some lemonade. Do you have ginger cookies as well?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Bring us some of those, too. Tylerwynd is famous for its lemonade and ginger cookies," she confided to Lindsay and Derrick.
The display case was where Marsha said it would be. It was a small table with a hinged glass top that could be locked. Lindsay and Sally began setting the artifacts inside with their neatly printed identification cards. Lindsay had selected several potsherds, deciding that a whole pot would be too tempting to any potential pothunters at the gathering. She also decided against bringing the copper ear spools for the same reason. She did, however, bring a shell disk incised with designs; a mica cutout of a hand; two celts, both of which had a nice smooth axe shape; and a stone tool that might have been a hoe. She brought a mano and metatae and placed some corn in the depression of the metatae to show how it was used. Lindsay also selected several ceremonial points from the burials.
"That's a good selection," commented Frank over her shoulder.
"Marsha said you were bringing some of the things you dug up for us to see. That is so nice," said Mrs. Darby, who had walked over to see the artifacts.
"Well, Elaine, how good of you to come. It has been a long time," said an ancient, haughty, female voice.
They turned to see a tall, thin, elderly woman in a dark high-necked dress. She wore a long string of pearls that dripped down to her waist and a porcelain rose pin at her throat. Her hair was blonde and pulled tight into a bun on the back of her head. The thick pancake makeup accentuated rather than hid her deep wrinkles. Despite the careful use of a lip liner, her lipstick bled out into tiny lines around her lips. Large, penetrating blue eyes outlined in black and fringed with long false eyelashes gazed at all of them with what seemed to Lindsay like malevolent amusement. Diamond, emerald, and ruby rings glittered on her fingers gripping the silver head of a black lacquered cane.
"Isabel," said Mrs. Darby. "Yes, it has been a long time."
"You have been offered refreshment?"
"Oh, yes. A nice young woman went off to get us lemonade and ginger cookies. I was telling them how traditional they are at Tylerwynd."
Isabel Tyler smiled, and her eyes glittered. "Yes. Tradition is important. Who are these people you have brought with you?"
"You know Marsha, my granddaughter. This is Frank Carter. He is the chief archaeologist at the Jasper Creek archaeological site. You have read about it, haven't you, dear'? This lovely young woman is Lindsay ... is it Chamberlain?"
"Yes," replied Lindsay. "Lindsay Chamberlain." If Isabel recognized the name, she didn't allow it to show.
"And Derrick Bellamy, I believe, but my memory is not what it used to be"
"That's correct," Derrick said. "How do you do, Mrs. Tyler? Your home is quite grand."
"Yes, it is," added Frank. "Thank you for inviting us. ,
Isabel abruptly turned her attention to Lindsay. "I believe I have read about you in the paper. You have helped the sheriff's office identify those poor children. One was my great grandniece, you know. I appreciate your assistance in helping with a family tragedy. Mike and Sarah won't be here, of course, but have you met the rest of my family?"
What a cold woman, Lindsay thought.
"We just arrived," Marsha replied. "I haven't introduced them to everyone yet."
"I've met your grandson, Mickey Lawson."
"Yes, Mitchell told me about his assistance in your identification."
"The details of camera measurements were a great help."
"It is interesting work you do, but a bit horrifying. Mitchell tells me you do something with the skeletons."
"Yes, I analyze the bones at the Indian site to find out their age, gender, diseases. You can discover a lot of information about the lives of a people by studying their bones."
"I suppose, if you want to know that kind of thing."
"We do," said Lindsay. "These are some artifacts we have found at the site. We thought everyone would
like to see what we were doing."
"Yes, very nice."
But Lindsay noticed that she did not even glance at the display case.
"Oh, this is my son Jacob Tyler. Jacob, these are the people from the ... what did the papers call it? A dig?"
Lindsay smiled at the man who had come to his mother's side. He was a heavyset, round-faced man in his 50s who tried to disguise his thinning hair with a comb-over. He wore dress pants and a short sleeve white shirt buttoned up to the top, but no tie. Jacob reminded Lindsay of a large child. He held out his hand for them to shake. His hands were unusually large, like slabs of pink meat with large protruding sausages. He smiled, shook their hands, and turned to Isabel.
"Mother, Winifred said everything is ready"
"Then we will sit down and eat. Tell her to serve when everyone is seated." She turned to her guests. "You will find your names on cards by the place settings."
Lindsay sat at the head of the table near Isabel. Frank sat beside Lindsay. Marsha and her grandmother, and Derrick had been placed at another table. Across from Lindsay was a woman who was introduced as Isabel's daughter, Esther Lawson, Mickey Lawson's mother. Esther Lawson had dyed black hair pulled back in a stiff French twist. She wore a short sleeve black dress trimmed with black scalloped stitching. A white choker of pearls wound around her neck like a brace. She might have been a pretty woman, but her carefully applied makeup masked her features. She asked Lindsay and Frank about the site, all the while trying to find just the right place for her silverware, bread plate, and lemonade glass in relation to her dinner plate. The esthetics of her place setting was such a problem for her that both Lindsay and Frank stopped talking and watched.
"Stop it, Esther!" Isabel ordered. "You are attracting attention." Esther put her hands in her lap and grinned at Lindsay and Frank in obvious distress at having to stop without having solved the problem of the right arrangement for her dinnerware.
Two young women in uniforms began serving the food.
Rachel Somerton, another daughter of Isabel's, sat next to her sister and smirked at Esther's frustration while she asked Frank coy questions. Unlike Esther, Rachel wore a white dress covered with stitched eyelets. It had a frilly scooped neckline, puffed sleeves, and a wide yellow ribbon for a belt. Rachel also wore pearls, but they were long like her mother's, and she played with them, running them through her fingers. The Edwardian manner in which her brown hair was styled suited her attire. She was younger than her sister. Lindsay guessed her age to be about 40, but it had sneaked up on her so silently that she had not yet realized she no longer was 20. She reminded Lindsay of Delta Dawn.
A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery Page 17