"I must say, baby sister, you're really good-the way you asked him all those questions and got him to answer. I'm particularly impressed by the way all the suspects are coming to you. You do have a talent."
Lindsay rolled her eyes. "How was the ride?"
"Great. Mandrake's a fine horse. Do you get to ride much?"
"Every chance I get, which is usually a couple times a week."
They walked into the house together and Sinjin started for the guest room, stopped, and turned toward Lindsay.
"Seriously," he said. "I eavesdropped for a while. For someone who is not investigating this case, you sure ask questions like you are."
Lindsay exhaled. "I suppose so. But people keep coming to me."
"Do you think that perhaps Derrick may be a little bit right?" he said.
"No."
"Whatever you say."
"How about dessert and coffee?" Lindsay asked.
"Sounds good. Let me shower."
Lindsay had chocolate cake and hot coffee waiting in the living room when Sinjin returned from the bathroom, smelling like shampoo and soap. He wore faded blue jeans and no shoes. His white T-shirt had large wet patches where he had not completely dried off. He tried to train his damp hair by running his fingers through it.
"You look refreshed," Lindsay said, handing him a slice of cake as he sat down in one of the leather chairs by the empty fireplace.
"The ride on Mandrake and the shower worked the kinks out. This is a nice place you have here. I like it better than that apartment you lived in last time I visited."
That was six years ago, and she had lived in another apartment and a rented house since then, but she didn't tell him. She simply said, "I like it a lot."
"So, what you been up to, besides finding out Papaw might've been a pothunter?"
The words stung Lindsay. "He wasn't a pothunter."
"I imagine there's a few Indians who would disagree with you" He took a bite of cake. 'This is pretty good. You make it?"
"No. It's from a neighbor. I suppose you think I'm a pothunter, too," Lindsay said, handing him a cup of coffee.
Sinjin eyed her over the cup as he drank. "Sorry, I suppose I shouldn't have said that."
She sat down in the matching chair opposite Sinjin and put her coffee cup to her lips and blew gently to cool the hot drink. "I called Derrick to ask him about the artifacts," she said.
"And?"
"He said to hold off on doing anything with them right now. Said he'll come down when he can and take a look and we will decide something."
"Decide something?" Sinjin said between bites of cake.
"Derrick is of the opinion that I should keep a low profile right now. The guy I would have to deal with in Kentucky is an archaeologist I kind of embarrassed at an archaeology conference." Lindsay poked at her cake with her fork.
"What did you do?"
"I only pointed out a mistake in his life's work. I mean, part of what we do at those meetings is point out one another's mistakes." Lindsay's effort at humor failed. Sinjin didn't look amused.
"Is this whole thing with the artifacts really a big deal? I mean, besides being embarrassing?"
Lindsay shrugged. "Not really. I can just say they were lost. They were. There may be some talk about what Papaw was doing with them, but-I just didn't want that. Doesn't it matter to you?"
"No."
"Why?" Lindsay asked.
"We weren't that close," said Sinjin, looking into his coffee.
"Yes, you were."
"No, we weren't. You were close to him, but I wasn't. I liked fishing and playing around in the woods better than I liked going with him, digging in the dirt, hunting for arrowheads. He had no use for me."
"That's not true."
"Lindsay, you weren't there. You don't know."
"Is that why you don't visit very often?" she said.
"How often do you visit me?" Sinjin set down his empty plate and cradled his coffee in his hands.
He had a point. She sipped her coffee. It burned her mouth. "We're both gone a lot," she said.
"Yeah."
"How did you and the folks get along?"
"Pretty good." Sinjin leaned back. "Dad's getting too old to argue with me, I suppose. He's kind of mellowed out."
They were silent for a while, drinking their coffee, looking into the empty fireplace. Her house seemed suddenly very quiet.
"I suppose I just never learned to be close to you guys. You, Ellen, and Dad were always the family. I was an outsider."
"You never were," she said.
"How would you know? You were just a baby."
"It didn't look that way. You-"
"It didn't look that way! Through the eyes of a little kid who everybody-never mind. My mother wasn't supposed to die. She was having her tonsils out, for Christ's sake. I'd had mine out and I was fine." He stopped talking and Lindsay couldn't think of anything to say to fill the gap of silence. Sinjin stared into his coffee cup. "I was seven when she died. No one would tell me anything. Then Dad married again, and it was as if my mother never existed. Ellen wasn't my mother. I'm sure she probably tried, but I wanted my mother. Then you were born and everybody adored you-including me, by the way. I don't know, it's like once you get into the habit of not getting along, you just don't know how to."
"Why were you always mad at me?"
"Because you were an insufferable little twit." He looked up from his cup and grinned. "Besides, I wasn't always mad at you."
"Insufferable twit? I wasn't! How?"
"Every time Dad and I had an argument about what direction my life should be taking, you were right there telling me what I should be doing and how I shouldn't upset Dad. My baby sister, lecturing me."
"Did I really?"
"Yes. You were such a proper little kid. The best thing you ever did was to run away with that Harley fellow and go down into that cave."
Lindsay smiled at the memory. "It's wasn't easy being the perfect daughter."
"No, I don't suppose it was. We're both grown up now and we can act like adults."
"I'm glad you're here. I hope you no longer find me insufferable."
"You're not too bad."
Lindsay set her empty cup down on the hearth. "Sally's been putting in a lot of overtime work in the lab, and I'm taking her out to dinner tomorrow night. Would you like to come along? I'm not matchmaking; I just thought you'd like to come."
"Sure, why not?"
"I have to warn you. Sally's getting a crush on you."
Sinjin raised his eyebrows. "She's what, sixteen?"
"No, she's twenty-one."
"Still too young." He shook his head. "College students are looking younger and younger these days. I must be getting old." Sinjin rose from his seat and gathered up his plate and coffee cup. "I think I'll go to my room and read a while before going to bed. See you in the morning."
"I'll take these." Lindsay took his dishes from him and stacked them with her own.
Before he went upstairs, Sinjin went to the front door, checking to be sure it was locked. It looked automatic, like something he always did before going to bed.
"Sinjin."
He turned. "What?"
"Can't you tell me what's going on with you?"
He said nothing.
"I want us to be closer. I want to be your friend as well as your sister."
He stared past Lindsay for a long moment, lost in thought. When he spoke, the look of pain on his face made Lindsay hold her breath. "Kathy left me for someone else. She's pregnant ... says it's his. She said I should know it's not mine, because I was never around. But I have to be sure. I've had lawyers working on forcing a paternity test after the baby is born. Kathy and her ... this guy ... live in Atlanta. I came to talk to lawyers here. I wanted her to do it voluntarily. Anyway, that's it. Common little problem, I know, but ... well, there it is."
"Oh, Sinjin, I'm sorry." Lindsay walked over to him. She wanted to hug him, but she didn't. She ju
st stood there hold-
ing the empty dishes. "Please stay as long as you need."
"Thanks."
The next morning Lindsay did not look forward to opening the last crate. She had lain awake half the night trying to think of different reasons her grandfather might have stored the artifacts in a shed and forgotten about them-but these were not forgettable artifacts. The other half of the night, she stayed awake worrying about Sinjin. The look on his face was so full of hurt.
Sinjin drove her to the campus because she had left her Land Rover there. Her Rover-she looked at it as Sinjin pulled in beside it. Now, with everything else, the monthly payments were going to be a big drain. She rubbed her forehead. Something else she would have to deal with.
"You all right?" Sinjin asked.
"Fine. Why don't you come in and have a look at the artifacts?" He followed her into the lab and to the back storeroom. "I'll inventory them and decide how to handle them later," she said, as she showed him the shelves filled with the orphaned artifacts.
"I think you're worrying about this too much. It probably has some simple explanation," Sinjin said.
"You're probably right," agreed Lindsay, locking the door behind her and walking down the hallway to the lab.
"Where you taking me to dinner?" asked Sally. She was standing over the last crate with a crowbar.
"Where would you like to go?" asked Lindsay.
"How about Rafferty's?" Sally turned to Sinjin. "You can come with us."
"Thank you, I'll do that," he said.
Sally grinned, took the crowbar, and with one swift motion pried the lid up on the crate. As the top came loose, the front of the crate fell open. A skeleton tumbled out onto the floor. The skull rolling across the hardwood sounded like a bowling ball. It stopped at Sinjin's feet.
But it was not the rolling skull that caught Lindsay's eye. It was the fact that the skeleton was wearing a shirt and tie.
Chapter 7
SINJIN BENT DOWN and picked up the skull. Sally stood with her mouth open. Lindsay searched for something to say. None of them noticed the door opening onto the stairs leading to the Archaeology Department.
"Lindsay?" Lindsay looked up to see Dr. Frank Carter, head of the Archaeology Department. With him was Associate Dean Ellis Einer, one of the administrators on North Campus who viewed archaeology the way some view rotting fish-with a wrinkled nose and a wave of the hand and wondering what value it could possibly have.
"My God!" Einer said. "Isn't it enough that you store those things here ... I thought you were supposed to repatriate them, or whatever you call it, and why in the world is it dressed that way?"
"Lindsay?" repeated Frank, staring at the remains.
"We have to call the police," she said in the most authoritative voice she could muster.
"The police?" said Einer. "Whatever for?"
"Aboriginal remains," said Frank, clearing his throat, "are not found in modern clothing."
Einer looked puzzled for a moment. "My God. Oh, my God. You mean ... that this ... this thing is a body?" He pointed to it as though he were afraid they would mistake what he referred to.
"Yes," replied Lindsay.
"Well, where did it come from?"
"I'll call campus police," said Frank, excusing himself and walking into Lindsay's office.
"It just arrived," said Lindsay, hoping he wouldn't ask any more questions.
"Then it isn't ours?" said Dr. Einer.
"No," said Lindsay.
"Good. Then, while we are waiting for the police, perhaps we can have a little talk." Lindsay raised her eyebrows. "Is there somewhere, ah, private?" he said.
Frank was getting off the phone with the police as Lindsay and Einer entered her office.
"They'll be right over," Frank said, and left the two of them alone.
Lindsay took a seat behind her desk and motioned for Dr. Einer to sit down. He glanced briefly at the chair seat before sitting. Einer was not a slim man, but the expensive cut of his navy blue suit camouflaged the spread of his upper body quite well. The sharp crease in his pants, however, made his legs look even thinner by comparison. His silver-gray tie went well with his hair. Lindsay thought his wife must have picked it out for him.
"Dr. Chamberlain," he said in a low voice, "a delicate matter has come to my attention." Lindsay bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You know how important donors to the university are." Lindsay nodded. "Mr. Stewart Pryor, who I must confess is one of my oldest friends, has asked me to look into a situation you are involved in that concerns his daughter. I told him, of course, that there is nothing official that I can do, but perhaps I could take a little unofficial look into the matter."
Lindsay wanted to tell him that this was none of his concern, but unfortunately, she might need his goodwill very soon, so she chose her words carefully.
"Quite understandably, they are suffering an enormous amount of grief and didn't realize that they were asking me to falsify a legal document."
"There is some question of a mistake-"
'No.
"Stewart was quite certain-"
"The deceased was his daughter. He's concerned that the observations I made will reflect badly on her. But I assure you, there is nothing in my report that would do that. And I only reported what I observed."
"Well, of course, there's nothing I can tell you to do-"
"No, there isn't. It's a tragic situation. I wish there were something we both could do to ease it for them, but there isn't." Ellis Einer wrinkled his brow. Lindsay could see him thinking of another way to attack the situation. She tried to cut him off. "I was very thorough in my examination of the remains. I verified the problem they are worried about with an outside source. I am certain of my observations. The parents are choosing to put an unfavorable interpretation on the observations that I made, but their conclusions are unwarranted."
"I see. Dr. Chamberlain, I'm not quite sure what it is you do here. Why were you examining Dr. Shirley Foster's remains in the first place?"
Lindsay opened her mouth, but hesitated for a long moment before she spoke. "I discovered the remains and assisted in the autopsy," she said.
"And why was that? You're an archaeologist, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I'm also a forensic anthropologist."
"Oh, I see. I didn't realize we had one of those. Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Chamberlain." Lindsay nodded and Dr. Einer rose and started to leave. "You and Dr. Carter can take care of the police?" He gestured at the door.
"Yes."
"Good."
He left her office and she could hear him talking to Frank about the Archaeology Department's request for more lab space. Their voices faded away as they walked through the lab. What an impression, she thought. Just when we need something from him. Lindsay laid her forehead down on her hands.
"Look at it this way," said Sinjin from the doorway, "it can't get much worse."
Lindsay looked up at him. "Don't say that."
She rose wearily from her chair and went back into the lab to look at the skeleton. The crate that had been its sarcophagus was the same style as the others but was the only one that was labeled. It had dark stains on the inside, and except for some dirt it was empty of anything but the skeleton. There were a couple of knotholes in its wooden side panels.
Lindsay took a piece of typing paper from one of the tables. Frank was still talking to Einer, but Sinjin and Sally were watching her. She took the paper and slid it under the dirt.
"What?" Sally asked.
"Don't ask," Lindsay said. She took the page of dirt and carefully folded it and put it in her desk. Sinjin looked at her questioningly. "I know," she said, "but the police will probably send it back to Kentucky and out of my reach." Sinjin said nothing.
The campus police came. So did a reporter from the campus newspaper, the Red and Black. She began snapping pictures immediately.
"So, this may be someone your grandfather knew?" the officer asked.
"I h
ave no way of knowing that," Lindsay answered.
"But the crates were on his property?"
"The crates have been there covered over with kudzu for over sixty years," said Sinjin. "We don't know exactly when they were put there or that our grandfather even knew they were there."
Lindsay could hear the continuous clicking of the camera and wondered if maybe the reporter would run out of film.
"When did kudzu come into the United States?" the reporter asked, as if she had just thought of an important clue. "Wasn't it in the fifties? That would mean the shed wasn't actually covered until. . ."
They all turned to look at her and she snapped a picture. It was Sally who answered. "Pueraria lobata-that's kudzu-was introduced into the United States in 1876," she said, giving her a winning smile. The reporter looked disappointed.
After the police came and resealed the skeleton in the crate and took it away, and the reporter had taken all the pictures she wanted and asked all the questions she could think of, they all finally left and Lindsay went back into her office. She opened her desk drawer and put the dirt she had collected from the crate into two vials and replaced them in her desk.
Although the nametag said Bruno, the server bearing frozen margaritas for Lindsay and Sally and a beer for Sinjin was a tall, young blonde woman. She turned to Sinjin, gave him a sparkling smile, pen poised over her order pad.
"Steak medium rare, salad with hot bacon-honey-mustard dressing, and baked potato with everything."
Sinjin looked at Lindsay. "Little sister?"
'That sounds good to me."
"Sally?" asked Sinjin.
"Ditto.,,
The waitress took up the menus. "Easy. It won't take long." She gave Sinjin another dazzling smile and left.
"Well," said Sally, "that skeleton-wasn't that bizarre?"
Lindsay almost choked on her drink.
"You have a talent for understatement," Sinjin said.
"What will happen to it?" Sally asked.
"The county medical examiner will have to confirm that the remains are those of a modem, not ancient, individual." Lindsay cleared her throat. "Authorities in Kentucky will be notified, and I imagine the remains will be shipped back to McCleary County where they originated. I don't imagine they'll be a high priority, since they were stored for ..."
Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel Page 8