by Sharon Dunn
“David wanted to protect you.” He leafed through the papers he had been reading. “That’s why he didn’t tell you.”
“He should have known he could share anything with me.”
“This was heartbreaking to him. Twenty years ago, David thought he had found a place where Shoshone may have camped before Three Horses was even a trading center. The Ponderosa pines had cultural scarring on them.”
Before the question had time to form in Kindra’s mind, Arleta answered it. “Some tribes used to peel the bark off of trees where they camped; the cambium layer underneath is sweet and good to eat. It left scars hundreds of years old on the trees and usually meant artifacts were in the surrounding ground.”
Lyndon unwrapped a piece of bubble gum for himself. “You should have been an associate professor yourself, Arleta. Sharp as a tack.”
“I was always happy helping David with his work.”
“That photo in your album. With David and the trees. The one you couldn’t place.” Kindra leaned against the door frame. Professor Chambers’s office smelled like old books.
Arleta nodded.
Lyndon put the gum in his mouth and chewed for a moment. “They were all ready to break ground on the property for the mall, cut down the trees. David had to go before the city commission to prove that the land had historical significance. The findings were just preliminary, but he thought he put together a pretty good argument, at least for stalling development and letting him dig around.”
Chambers shook his head and pressed his lips together. “He was trying to change things in the eleventh hour. There are all kinds of federal regulations protecting areas of historical significance, especially Native American sites. If the site was suspected of having historical importance, they stood to lose a ton of money if they couldn’t build there.” Lyndon pushed a chair out from the wall and motioned for Arleta to sit down. “David was the only one who noticed the trees.”
“That was my David.” Arleta slumped into the chair. “What happened?”
“He lost. The development went through. It devastated him, Arleta. He was getting toward the end of the active part of his career. Every archaeologist wants to have that one big discovery on their résumé.”
Arleta swiveled in the chair. Her hands rested on her flat stomach, and the sparkle had gone out her eyes. “Everything David worked on was important.”
“I don’t remember the exact sequence of events, but David began to think that some bribery of city commissioners took place on the part of the developer. He started to ask around.”
“Did he find out anything?”
“All of this was right before he died, so that colors my memory. He was my friend, my good friend.” Chambers chewed his gum. “It seems as though one of the commissioners came to him. He was dying or moving to Florida, I can’t remember, but I do remember that David said something about getting a written confession.”
“Ma’am, you’ve dropped a dress on the floor. Ma’am?”
The twentysomething store clerk leaned over the counter and pointed. Ginger didn’t know it was possible to scrunch up your face like that. Irritation tainted the clerk’s voice. So much for those customer service seminars.
Ginger leaned over to pick up the dress. “I’m sorry.” She expelled a nervous laugh. “I must have been having a hot flash or something.” She knew full well it wasn’t a hot flash. The thought of having to pay full price for something had made her dizzy. As she picked up the dress, she caught a glimpse of the price tag.
“Ma’am, are you all right? You look like you’re about to throw up.”
Her eyes remained glued to the price tag. Her breathing was shallow.
“Do you need to sit down or something?” the girl snapped.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pay full price. She just plain wasn’t that adventurous. “I think I’ll be okay once I put this back on the rack.”
Ginger trudged back to the full price rack and hung up the dress, averting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the price tag again. On what planet could she ever bring herself to pay more for a dress than she had paid for the down payment on her first car?
Not on this one, that’s for sure. Sorry, Earl
Maybe what she needed was a latte. Kindra said the drink helped her focus. A few minutes to clear her head and work up the strength to buy that dress might help. Ginger wandered out into the mall toward the coffee shop. After she ordered her drink, she sat in a booth. When she checked her messages, there were none. It was nearly five; Suzanne must have made it to the courthouse by now.
The government employee behind the counter stared at Suzanne. She was a fiftyish woman with a hairstyle similar to the original Betty Crocker and too much rouge on her cheeks. The woman did a head-to-toe inspection of Suzanne. Apparently she had never seen a pregnant lady before.
Suzanne repeated her request. “The transcripts of the city commission meetings aren’t where they were the last time I was here. The ones from twenty years ago.”
Prior to Suzanne interrupting her, the woman had been stamping a pile of papers with insane efficiency. Her slowness in responding to Suzanne suggested that the interruption was an incredible inconvenience. Heaven forbid that a citizen would expect help from a government employee.
The clerk continued to stare at her. All she needed were some old city commission records. This wasn’t a problem that required bringing in Mensa for a consultation. Suzanne touched her stomach. She really needed to sit down. The baby was kicking like a Rockette at Christmastime. Her forehead and cheeks pulsed with fever. Having to stand while Betty Crocker composed an answer only made her feel sicker.
Finally, the clerk opened her mouth to speak. “Records that old have been moved up to the top floor. They are being computerized.”
Oh great, another flight of stairs. Suzanne consoled herself with the thought that she’d get this done and then go home and catch a nap. Greg had taken the kids to the park, so the house would be quiet.
“It’s just around the corner and up the stairs. The intern will direct you to the file or recording you need.”
Suzanne wobbled out the door, across the marble floor, and past the display that featured Lewis and Clark artifacts. The glass cases were filled with bones and fur and yellow documents. She gripped the railing and pushed herself up the stairs. Yep, that nap was going to feel good.
There was only one office on the fourth floor. Suzanne leaned against the doorway and sighed heavily. A man with a boyish face sat behind a metal desk piled high with papers. He jumped when he saw her.
“Oh, are you lost?”
The man looked like he was twelve. His reading material consisted of a comic book, which only added to the impression that he wasn’t eligible to vote yet. He was probably a college student doing an internship, but the pudgy cheeks and fat fingers made him appear much younger.
“No, I’m not lost.” Suzanne’s forehead burned. He must not get too many people wanting to examine old records. “I’m looking for information on city commission meetings twenty years ago. I don’t know if you have an indexing system or what. I need to find out about the building of the mall, a real estate agent named Jackson, and an archaeology professor named David McQuire.”
The child clerk stood up, scraping his chair across linoleum. “We organize things by years.” He moved toward a computer that rested on a separate waist-high counter. “They hired me to get everything in order up here. If the funding comes through,” he pointed to the rows of file cabinets, “all of this will be put on CDs and logged into a computer so you can access it from our website. Right now, we have written transcripts and recordings.”
The tightening ache in her calves almost overwhelmed her. “Wow, that sounds like an impressive project.”
Apparently happy with her response, the clerk nodded and tapped a few keys on the computer. “I remember seeing something about the mall.” He slipped past her nearly to the end of the file cabinets and opened a dr
awer. “It seems like it was sometime in the summer of ’86.”
Suzanne felt suddenly light-headed. “You know what? I really need to sit down.”
“Oh, oh, sorry.” The man moved toward her and pulled his chair out from around the other side of the desk. “Please forgive my inconsideration.” He placed the file on the desks. “Can I get you anything? Glass of water?”
Suzanne lowered herself into the chair. “I just need to sit down. Those stairs took a lot out of me. What is your name anyway?”
“Todd Enger.”
“Well, Todd, I’m Suzanne Thomas. I appreciate your helping me with this.”
“It’s my job.” He fanned out the files. “Each file has a month of meetings. There is an agenda at the beginning of each meeting, so you know what was covered.”
She grabbed two of the files, and he worked his way through the other set of three.
After a few minutes of reading, he said, “Here it is.” He flipped through the file. “Looks like it was on the agenda for three meetings. At one point David McQuire testified that the mall property might have archaeological significance based on what he had found on some trees on the site. The city commission voted three to two to let the development go through. And you’re right. Mr. Jackson was the owner and developer of the land.”
Suzanne grabbed a piece of notebook paper out of her purse. “A three to two vote?”
“There are five commissioners. In order for the city to approve a subdivision or even someone adding on to their garage in a way that goes against city standards, at least three commissioners have to vote yes. Some of it is routine, just a matter of jumping through the right hoops, and some of it is very controversial.”
Suzanne leaned forward in her chair. She was having a hard time getting a deep breath. “So maybe I should write down the names of the city commissioners.”
“Sure.” He flipped through the pages again. “I’ll read them to you.” He glanced up at her. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look really pale.”
She poised her pen over the notebook page. “I just need a nap. Give me the names,” she panted.
“In 1986, the commissioners were Jennifer Mack-Olsen, Jeffrey Stenengarter—”
“Stenengarter. What a weird name.” She leaned toward Todd to check the spelling. Her stomach muscles tightened.
“The Stenengarter family has been in Montana politics forever.” Todd continued to read. “Elias Holms, Keith Wheeler—”
“Wheeler really? As in Jackson-Wheeler Real Estate?”
Todd shrugged. “Could be.”
Suzanne wrote down the name. Her hands were moist. Ginger could figure out what the connection was. “And the last guy?”
Todd chuckled “You are going to love this. The last city commissioner is named Joe Smith.”
Suzanne finished writing and looked up. “Todd, you have been very helpful. Could you do one more thing for me?”
“Sure, Mrs. Thomas. What is it?”
“Could you call an ambulance? I think I am having my baby right now.”
“There it is, Lewis Hall.” Arleta pointed to a two-story boxy building masked by the taller surrounding structures.
“I didn’t know this even existed.” Kindra peeked around the trunk of a large oak. “Do they hold classes here?”
Walking across campus with Arleta was like having a private tour guide. The sky had turned a dusky gray by the time Arleta had given Kindra a history of almost every building on campus along with personal stories.
Outside of Lewis Hall, Arleta gazed up at the tall trees. “I didn’t go back and get the key from Professor Chambers to show you the classrooms.” A subtle smile enhanced the brightness of her features.
They walked arm in arm down the stone walkway. The canopy of trees made things even darker. Branches creaked and flapped in the wind. Leaves shook like cheerleaders’ pom-poms. An image from a children’s book flashed through Kindra’s head. Hansel and Gretel being lured to the witch’s house with the enticement of candy. What a weird thing to think about.
“Do you think Professor Chambers was right about David getting a written confession from one of the city commissioners?” Kindra asked.
“I just can’t believe David kept it from me. For the last five years of his life, it seemed like the wind went out of his sail, like he lost his passion for his work. I just thought it was because he was close to retirement.”
They walked up the wide stairs. The building looked like a house that had been converted to a lecture hall. The only distinct exterior feature was two large bay windows on either side of the stairs.
“The confession sure isn’t with anything Ginger has. She went all through that photo album and vest, and it obviously wasn’t in that shell box.”
“Maybe that’s why they were looking in my house.” Arleta put the key in the keyhole. “Maybe they thought Ginger had given it back to me after they searched her house and couldn’t find it.” Arleta pushed the door open.
The entryway featured mosaic tile that led to a spiral staircase done in a dark wood. Kindra’s nose wrinkled at the dusty smell. On the main floor were doors, two on each side. Probably classrooms.
The huge chandelier hanging from the eighteen-foot ceiling caught Kindra’s attention. Their footsteps echoed on the floor.
“This was one of the first buildings constructed when the college was established at the turn of the century. I think it was a residence before that. When David first got his teaching appointment, his office was upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Arleta swept up the stairs. Kindra followed. Would she forever be racing breathlessly up stairs chasing the athletic older woman? Arleta reached the top and disappeared around a corner.
Kindra looked down at the empty entryway before following. They’d left the door slightly open. A slim sliver of light cast a geometric shadow on the floor below.
Arleta had gone into a room that was piled high with boxes, which she had already started to move. A patina of dust on the floor suggested that the room hadn’t been used in a while.
“We were like schoolkids when we were first married.” Arleta set an opened box on the floor.
Kindra peered into the box. Sweatshirts with the college logo, of all things. The next box contained a stack of papers. Kindra picked a paper off the top. Three stapled pages for English 221, spring semester 1985. She read the name at the top. “I wonder if Kevin Gage wonders why he never got his paper back. He got a B-plus.”
“Here it is.” Arleta’s voice skipped up half an octave. In the wall, the words David loves Arleta were carved. “How junior high, huh?”
“I think it’s neat. You guys loved each other enough to be so silly.”
Arleta laced her fingers together and gazed at the ceiling. “Kindra, this trip across campus has been therapeutic for me.” She stood up straight. “Meeting you and Ginger and Suzanne has been good for me.”
“Glad we could be of help. You must miss David very much.”
“Less each day.” Arleta raised a fist in the air. “I am back in the land of the living.”
“How did he die?”
Arleta got a faraway look in her eyes, as if a scene were playing out before her. “He was killed in a car accident.”
Downstairs, the door slammed shut. Heavy footsteps pounded across tile and up the stairs. Some sort of physiological security system activated an instinctual tightening in Kindra’s rib cage. It was too late in the day for classes. “Who could be—?”
Ginger pushed her fourth latte aside and rested her head on the table. Who was she kidding? No amount of caffeine was going to give her the fortitude to pay full price for anything. She’d just have to tell Earl she couldn’t do it. Maybe there was some other way she could start her life of adventure, something easier, like nailing oatmeal to the wall.
Shoulders drooping, Ginger gathered up her purse and trudged through the mall. On a whim, she stopped at a phone booth and looked up Keaton Lustrum’s phone
number. It surprised her that it was listed. She wrote down the number. If Renata was the weak link, maybe she could call and hope the woman answered.
Outside, the sky had turned gray. The mall parking lot was nearly empty. As she walked to her car, Ginger pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at the number she had written down.
“Hey, I remember you.”
Beside her car was a truck that said The Housewife’s Helper on the side. A man and a woman in matching blue and red checked shorts stood with their arms around each other. It wasn’t their faces that triggered Ginger’s memory. The truck, with its reference to a business, was what she connected with that day shortly after Mary Margret’s death.
“Frank and Beth?” asked Ginger. Bobbleheads and a Mickey Mouse fishing pole.
“Hey, you remembered. I’m glad we ran into you.” Frank stepped forward. He still had a full head of black hair and the farmer’s tan, but something was different. Maybe he had lost weight.
Beth sidled up beside her husband and grabbed Ginger’s hand. “We owe you such an apology for the way we acted that day in front of you and your friend.” Her appearance had changed, too. Had they both been on a fitness kick or something?
Frank wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. “That day was a turning point for us. We were fighting about stuff all the time, for most of our marriage.” He leaned closer to Ginger as though sharing a confidence. “I got rid of all my deer antlers.”
“We did mean things to each other with stuff. Frank would buy an expensive piece of electronics without talking to me, so I would go out and buy a pair of three-hundred-dollar shoes just to get even.” Still shaking Ginger’s hand, Beth leaned a little closer. “When I threw his bobbleheads out, I was trying to hurt him. Very passive-aggressive.”
While Frank and Beth plowed through a dialogue that belonged on Dr. Phil, Ginger tried to grasp the concept of paying three hundred dollars for a pair of shoes.
“It was all this private little war, until that day you and your friend saw how ugly we had become to each other.” Frank leaned against the tailgate of his truck. “You do things in private, but when someone else sees it…”