by Karen Harper
“Those two ancient effigies are key to my thesis and what I’d like carved on a tree trunk for my office or home, when I finally settle down in one spot. The antlered one is Celtic, and, of course, the one you’ve no doubt seen before is the effigy face from the famous Adena pipe found in a mound near Chillicothe. I’d love to link either the Celtic mask to the Adena or vice versa. You’ve seen the Adena pipe figure before?”
“Right. You know, the only deer-antler information that’s made the news lately has to do with banned deer-antler spray some athletes have been using as a performance-enhancing drug. Pro golfers and football players. Like I said, it’s forbidden, so they can get fined and suspended for using it.”
“No kidding? I’ll have to remember that. I read a paper recently that the Celts and Druids probably believed there was some magic power in deer antlers. It makes sense they would think so—power in the pointed weapons of a swift, virile animal.”
But Kate thought that Grant was as good as Tess at shifting subjects. He’d seemed really nervous when he saw her sketch of the Beastmaster, and here they were, talking about American sports.
“Wow, this is a long way up here,” she observed as they made yet another turn on the narrow, two-lane road with no berms.
“That’s why we’re in my truck instead of my car. Believe it or not, there’s another back way up the other side of the mountain, too. It isn’t really a mountain but just one of the largest Appalachian foothills. There’s a Boy Scout camp up higher than where the Ketterings live.”
“Well, when the snow falls or it’s icy, they must just become hermits.”
He pulled into a gravel parking area before an A-frame building that reminded Kate of a château. “Built with wood from the mill,” Grant said. “Hardwood outside, knotty pine inside. He’s here—that’s his pickup, but Nadine’s four wheel is gone. He said she had to go into Chillicothe for a doctor’s appointment, so she spent last night with her sister who lives there.”
“Maybe it’s just as well she’s not here,” Kate said as she got out before Grant could come around to open the door for her. “I have a feeling she’s really nervous about his art being able to support them. I’m willing to pay his price and even advertise for him, but nervous people make me nervous in turn.”
She glanced sideways at Grant’s profile. He didn’t pause or flinch at that. She must be reading too much into his behavior. He was still just shaken by the loss of his special tree.
Grant led the way up the flagstone path. “He said to come in the side door. Then we’ll go down to his work area. He’s very protective of his shop,” he said.
“How did he start to carve such unique things?”
“You’ll have to ask him. I’d say God-given talent inspired by life experiences—a great reader, that guy. Even loved fairy tales, which most boys don’t.”
Grant rang the bell, then knocked. When he knocked again harder, the door swung open. “He must have left it open for us. Yo! Paul!” he called out. “We’re here!”
But once inside, they gasped in unison. The kitchen was a mess, drawers pulled out and dumped, cupboards standing open.
“Something’s wrong,” Grant whispered. “Stay here.”
But she went right behind him into the living room, which had also been tossed. “Thieves?” she whispered, her heart pounding.
“Go back outside, lock yourself in the truck and call 911,” he told her. “I don’t want you with me if I corner someone. No—wait. Cells don’t work up here, so we’ll have to use Paul’s landline. Where is he?”
Kate saw no phone in the kitchen—unless it was buried under the mess. They shuffled through piles of clothing, books and a sewing basket tipped upside down outside the kitchen. Of course, Grant knew where he was going. She followed him down a hall to peek into a bedroom. It was also a mess.
When Grant found the phone on the floor in the bedroom, its cord had been severed. The mattress was cut up, too, and the pillows slashed.
“The intruder had a knife,” Grant whispered.
“What if Paul went crazy? A domestic argument, then...”
“Shh. Stow your imagination for now.”
They looked in the bathroom, also chaotic. Grant shoved her behind him as he yanked the shower curtain back and glanced in the tub. Kate picked up a large can of hair spray from the counter and held it up like a weapon.
“Don’t leave prints,” he warned.
“I don’t have my pepper spray.”
He just shook his head. She stayed tight behind him as they retraced their steps, back through the living room, then to a hall and out into an area Kate was expecting would be a garage. But the carved door suggested it was Paul’s studio.
They went in, and Grant turned on the track lighting. It was, she thought, as she stepped in behind him, like walking into an enchanted forest, maybe one a wicked witch had put under a curse. Tree trunks, some uncarved, some carved, stood along the walls, their fairy or ogre faces peering at them. One writhed with dragons, another with beautifully carved human skulls that looked so real Kate recoiled.
She saw three large, round, rotating platforms like large potter’s wheels where he evidently carved his work. One held a tree trunk from which emerged what appeared to be Norwegian trolls with huge noses.
One wheel was empty and tipped and—
“Grant, here! He’s here!” she cried and clapped her palms over her mouth to keep from screaming. Feeling sick, she stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at Paul Kettering, obviously dead, with blood on the floor and his skull smashed by his own big tree-trunk carving of the Adena pipe effigy.
6
Grant pulled Kate away from Paul’s body. He knew his friend must be dead. His skull was crushed under the top part of the tree trunk he’d been carving. It looked as if it had tipped over on him. At least the heavy piece of wood hid what must be horrible injuries.
The scene in the dark hollow of the Adena mound flashed in his mind—smashed skulls.
Still, Grant felt Paul’s cold wrist for a pulse. “He’s gone. I want to lift that weight off him, but he’s gone,” he repeated. “My cell phone has never worked up here. We have to get to a spot where we can call for help. But go ahead—try yours.”
He watched Kate fumble for her phone in her purse, try to call out on it.
“Mine won’t connect, either. It just says ‘searching.’”
“It must have been a freak accident...except for the ransacked house.”
“Just in case of foul play, we can’t touch more things here. Grant, I can go for help. I’ll drive your truck down to where I can get reception, call Jace Miller.”
“Yes, good. Can you drive a truck?”
“If I can drive a stick shift on the wrong side of the road in England, I’ll figure it out. I’ll go out the back door where we came in.”
Grant handed her his keys. His hand was shaking so hard, the keys jingled. “Be careful.”
“Keep a good eye out here in case someone’s still lurking. We didn’t look everywhere in the house or around the grounds.”
“I’ll follow you out until you’re in the truck.”
They retraced their steps and rushed outside, just as a vehicle pulled in.
“It’s Nadine,” Grant said. His heart pounded even harder. “We can’t let her see him like that.”
“I heard you two were coming,” Nadine called to them as she got out. “I’ve been at my sister’s place—stayed there overnight after a doctor’s appointment in Chillicothe yesterd— What? What is it?”
Grant put his hands on her shoulders. “When we got here no one answered, so—”
“Did he forget you were coming? His truck’s here.”
“Nadine, there’s been an accident. His carving wheel with a trunk on it fell over.”
“Is he all right?” she cried, her voice shrill.
“No, and things are messed up in your house. Kate was just ready to drive down toward town to call Deputy Miller because your phone cord is cut inside and our cells don’t work up here. Nadine, he’s gone—dead.”
“Oh, dear God! He can’t be! Let me see him. Here, my cell works, but most don’t up here.”
She thrust her purse at Kate, then pushed Grant’s hands away to lunge toward the house. Grant shot Kate a panicked look and ran after Nadine. He was afraid he’d handled this wrong. But he—and Paul—had handled other things wrong, too.
* * *
An hour later, Kate and Grant sat on the front steps. He had his arm around her waist; she leaned gratefully against him, holding his other hand, which was propped on her knee. Through a front window, they could still hear Nadine sobbing.
Kate saw Grant had tears in his eyes. They were both trembling—he, of course, from losing his good friend in that terrible way, she because the carving that had crushed Paul had an Adena artifact on it, one of the two she’d planned to ask him to carve for her. Pure chance, of course, and yet that shook her to her core. It felt like a curse or a warning to her, and she knew better than to upset Grant more by mentioning it.
Soon after Kate had called 911, people had crowded the house. Nadine was so hysterical that Grant had called Pastor Snell. He and his wife, Jeanie, were with Nadine, and her sister was on the way. The paramedics had been standing around since the county coroner had declared Paul deceased and told them not to touch the body in case there had been foul play. And Jace Miller, who had arrived immediately, still looked shell-shocked. He’d asked the medics to stay in case Nadine needed them. Since she’d insisted she had nothing to do with the ransacking of the place, Deputy Miller had put up yellow police tape around the entire house.
“I suppose,” Kate told Grant, “the idea that someone might have robbed the place means it could have been staged to look like an accident when it was really murder. You know, like Paul recognized them, so they had to get rid of him. But since the Ketterings weren’t rich, what could someone have been looking for? Drugs? Guns?”
That thought seemed to really upset Grant. Frowning, he shrugged and shook his head. “Around here, folks have guns of their own and can get drugs easily—sad to say. I wish Gabe was here. Maybe Jace should call in the BCI. Vic Reingold was just here, but he’s gone.”
“Could Paul have owed someone money, and they came looking to collect?”
“Let’s leave that up to the professionals, okay?”
“I’m just thinking aloud. Professional jealousy over his art, which turned into an argument?”
“Kate,” he said, turning her to face him. “Do you have to dissect everything? Let it go. I said, leave it to the experts.”
“I’m trained to ask the what-if questions. And don’t you wonder what happened to your friend, what someone was looking for?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
She almost mentioned that she’d heard Paul and Todd arguing yesterday, but Grant didn’t want to hear any more speculation. Besides, she had no doubt that Todd would have an alibi from being at the mill. Grant was right. This wasn’t some Celtic burial excavation where she could theorize which corpses were honored shamans and which were sacrifices.
Jace Miller came around the corner of the house and walked straight toward them. He stopped, put one foot on the bottom step and leaned his crossed arms on his raised knee. Though no one stood nearby, he kept his voice low.
“Two possibilities until we get the forensic specialists here. One, Paul went off the deep end. Nadine admits they’re in debt, he’s been shook over her medical diagnosis and the house could be foreclosed. So, it’s possible he did the damage inside himself. That could make the tipping of that carving pedestal of his an accident or—well, suicide.”
Grant shook his head. His grip on Kate’s hand and wrist tightened. His voice was shaky. “What about he’d claim a robbery to get insurance money, then the trunk just fell over on him?”
“Nadine says they haven’t kept up on insurance payments, not even for good medical coverage, which she needs since she’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Had Paul told you that, Grant?”
“Yeah. He did. Jace, I don’t think he’d kill himself.”
“I’d go with accident—even murder before that. Nadine insists all three of the carving wheels were stable. From the angle it crushed his skull, either he pulled it down on top of himself or was lying on the floor when someone else pushed it.”
“I can’t fathom anyone would murder Paul,” Grant said.
“Considering any possibility in a situation like this is standard police procedure. I’m going to have to ask you two, since you’re the closest ones we have to eyewitnesses, to give me separate statements on what you observed in the house and when you found him. I’d like to talk to you first, Kate, since you spotted him on the floor before Grant did.”
Grant nodded. “We understand. Anything to help. I’ve lost a good friend, and we’ve lost a talented artist.”
Kate surprised herself by clinging to Grant’s hand as they stood. Then she let go and followed Deputy Miller around the side of the house where he indicated they could talk in the front seat of his squad car.
* * *
After she’d spent a half hour with Deputy Miller, Kate waited for Grant to be interviewed. Jace Miller seemed understandably nervous to her, but he’d done a thorough job of taking her statement. Remembering Grant’s warnings about not theorizing, she’d tried to stick to the facts.
But now, sitting in Grant’s truck, waiting for him, Kate began to tremble. If Paul had been murdered, he wasn’t the first victim she’d seen, she tried to tell herself. She’d studied deaths, even of murder and sacrificial victims, and their surroundings the way Deputy Miller and the experts would have to here.
But the victims she’d seen were long-dead, dusty skeletons in ancient graves, put to death and buried with their deceased masters to honor and serve them. Discovering Paul that way made her think how horrible it must have been for the Celt and Adena slaves or companions of the dead to have their skulls smashed so they could accompany their betters to the afterlife.
The minute she and Grant drove down the mountain to the level of the town, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Carson was calling. She didn’t answer the call but saw that he’d phoned her three other times while she’d been out of reach over the past four hours. Well, when she told him what had happened, he’d have to understand.
“Important?” Grant asked.
“Carson Cantrell. You know—my university mentor and colleague. I’ll call him back later. Grant, should we talk more about Paul? To debrief or just clear the air? This on top of the loss of your tree...”
“This is worse than the tree.”
“Of course it is. I’m sure you want to break it to Todd and Brad.”
“Don’t want to but have to. Word will get around fast, even if Paul lived out—up—a ways.”
“I suppose everyone will say he died doing what he loved. I had a colleague who loved to ski and was killed in an avalanche, but I guess there is a bit of comfort in looking at it that way. Paul’s work is amazing—unique and so imaginative. It’s a great loss, and I was so excited to have him do a work to link the Celts and Adena. Did you notice the carving that...that hurt him had the well-known Adena pipe figure on it? It’s eerie—almost as if he knew that’s what I planned to commission from him, with the Beastmaster.”
She saw Grant’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. Maybe she was wrong to think it would help him to talk about Paul.
He cleared his throat. “Your appreciation of his work pleased him. He was really stubborn about sticking to his art, even when Nadine thought he should take another job—any job—to tide them over
or that he should go more commercial. Kate, I was hoping we could have dinner tonight, but I’d better tell our old buddies myself.”
He took her home and insisted on walking her to the door and then going in.
“Just to be sure everything’s normal in here,” he said. He looked around the first floor to convince himself she was safe. “Not much left inside here, is there?” he asked.
“Tess said Grace sold a lot of things after they were done renting it and moved to the Hear Ye community. I guess they pretty much hold things in common there. And Tess took a few things for their new place. I’m only passing through, so I can make do. She did leave me a stocked fridge. Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head but reached for her and pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m grateful you were with me today,” he said, his warm breath moving the tendrils of hair along her forehead. “But we can’t play detective ourselves, even though I get it that you’re used to considering all angles and proving theories. Promise?”
“I know to leave things up to the experts, and this is not my field.”
She felt him relax a bit, even though she hadn’t really promised what he’d asked. Did he think she’d get hurt by trying to puzzle things through?
“Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked. “To make up for tonight?”
She leaned back a bit to look up into his eyes; that move tilted her hips tighter against his. “Don’t worry about me. Yes, I’d love that. But you just take care of yourself.”
“I might need some help with that.”
“Good. Call me tomorrow. I’ll be out and about mapping virgin mound sites, but—”
“Including mine?”
“If you let me.”
“Just noting their location and size?”
“For starters, yes.”
“Okay. I’ll call you about that later, and we can do it together.”
Their gazes met and held. His arms around her tightened. He tilted his head and kissed her warmly, but lightly, quickly. She sensed he was holding back for some reason. He was distracted and must figure this wasn’t the time or place, darn him.