"Why did Kathy lie?"
"I told you, she was afraid of hurting her relationship with Sid."
"That's not a good reason when your freedom could depend on her answer."
"She's pregnant. She feels vulnerable."
"What's the story on you two?" Lindsay asked. "Why did you go see her?"
"She didn't have anything to do with this," he said.
"She might, if she wanted to ..."
"Keep her out of this. Kathy wouldn't do this to me. How could she, anyway?"
Lindsay picked up the knife and began making the sandwiches again. "Well, I envy her. I wish Derrick loved me that much."
"Maybe he does, but he can't bear to stand around and watch you get hurt."
"Sure."
"Have you talked to him?"
"Just business. What did the police say?"
"What I told you. They searched my Jeep and found those few artifacts. Some student reported having seen my Jeep parked there last night."
"You mean, one like it."
"No, he gave them my tag number."
"What? And the police didn't think that was strange?" Lindsay handed him a sandwich on a plate. "Roast chicken."
"Thanks. The guy was suspicious of a car being there at night and took down the number, they said."
"Come on, this is a university community. We do research. Every building on campus has people working late every night. I've worked overnight many times and no one has ever reported my vehicle. Besides, the Baldwin parking lot is hidden around back of the building. You can't really see it from anywhere but the cemetery, and you don't walk through it to get to anywhere-unless you're going to Baldwin or to the cemetery." She finished making her sandwich and got a Diet Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator, and they both sat down at the kitchen table.
"I don't think they'll press charges, because of the uncertainty over the ownership of the artifacts. That reporter was there. The one from the Black and Blue or whatever. The one who took all the pictures of the skeleton."
"I'm sorry this happened to you," Lindsay said.
"I'm sorry. I know this must be an embarrassment for you," Sinjin said. "It doesn't matter about me."
"Do you really think that?"
"No. I care what you think, what Dad and Ellen think. Hell, I even care what Sally thinks. I hate this."
"So do I, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. The artifacts will surface somewhere. Eat your sandwich." Lindsay took a bite of hers. "I went to examine the skeleton today."
"They let you?"
"Sure, no problem. The medical examiner knows me. They were about to pack him up to send him to Kentucky."
"What did you find out?"
"The guy was in his mid-twenties. He walked with a limp from a bad accident that broke his right leg in a couple of places. He worked very hard all his life. The only other place I've seen muscle attachments like that is in the remains of African-American slaves."
"So ... ?" Sinjin asked, eating his sandwich.
"I don't know." She hesitated. "Pennyroyal, Bluegrass, Western Coal Fields," she said.
"Now you've lost me."
"During the examination, we were talking about the geographic regions of Kentucky, and it just reminded me. Someone who worked in a coal mine all his life, starting as a kid, could have that kind of bone remodeling. It's also a place he could have broken his leg that badly." Lindsay smiled and finished her sandwich.
"You like this, don't you?" Sinjin said. "Maybe not when it's so personal, but you like to solve the mysteries."
"Yes, I do."
"You're good at it."
"Thanks."
"I'm good at managing fires and the people who fight them. And I enjoy it. Did you know that last year there were 49,000 fires in U.S. forests, and people like me kept all but 300 from becoming major fires?"
Lindsay raised her eyebrows. "Wow."
"Yes, wow. I like my job."
"I'm sorry if I've been less than supportive."
"That's all right. I just wanted you to know."
"Tell me about you and Kathy. I'm not investigating her. I just want to know about your life."
"Not a lot to tell. Funny, I was going to ask her to marry me when I came back from the last fire. Guess I waited one fire too many. When I got home she was gone. She left me a note. Told me the whole thing about Sid."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too. After a fire, all the smokejumpers and hotshots go home to their families, and I always envied them. That's why I came to visit you and Dad. I wanted to patch things up and have a family again."
"You've always had a family. Things weren't that bad, were they?"
"I've always felt that you and Dad looked down on me. Like I had all this potential and couldn't live up to it. I never liked being looked down on by my baby sister."
"That's not true. I never-"
"Isn't it?"
"I suppose I was a little snobbish. I thought you ought to work at a university, like everyone else in the family. I'm sorry. But I never looked down on you. I just thought you were stubborn and didn't want to do what Dad wanted you to do."
Sinjin laughed. "Didn't want to do what Dad wanted. Do you hear yourself? It never occurred to you that I just wanted to do what I wanted?"
"I suppose not."
"How about you? Are you doing what you want?"
"Yes, I am. I love archaeology and I love the forensic work. I get to do both here."
"Will all this scandal hurt your job situation?"
"No, it shouldn't."
"Do you have tenure?"
"No."
"Then it could, couldn't it?"
"I don't think so."
"I'll tell you what. I have a lot of time off coming. I'll stick around a while and help with this mess."
"I'd love having you here. I'll get Susan to bring one of her horses over and we can go riding together some."
"I'd like that."
"You and Sally have a little in common," Lindsay said.
"What's that?"
"Her boyfriend e-mailed her a Dear Jane letter."
"E-mailed? That's worse than a note taped to the bedpost. Poor kid."
"Yeah, and the girl he left her for is such a jerk."
"Sally's a cute girl."
"Yes, she is. Smart, too."
"Are you matchmaking?"
"Not really. I just thought you'd like to learn more about the people I hang out with here in the Archaeology Department."
"You know, the guy in the crate didn't have to be from Kentucky," said Sinjin. "He could be from anywhere. If the crates originated in Georgia, he was probably from here."
"That's true," Lindsay agreed.
"Maybe he was one of the WPA or CCC-or whatever they were called-working the digs at Macon with Papaw."
"You don't think Papaw ... did this, do you?" asked Lindsay.
"No, I can't imagine it," admitted Sinjin.
"I'd like to go see the Pryors this evening. Would you go with me?"
"Keeping me under supervision, huh?"
"No.I...
"Just kidding, baby sister. Sure, I'll go. The Shirley Foster murder, huh? Never a dull moment around here."
On their way to the Pryors', Lindsay's mind kept returning to Kathy's failure to support Sinjin's alibi. "What did Kathy want?" Lindsay asked.
"Don't bring her into this," said Sinjin. "She doesn't know anything about the artifacts."
"She's involved some way. She had you come to Atlanta, then lied to the police about it."
"It was your university police. She probably thought it was some rinky-dink thing of no importance."
"Campus police have the same authority as city police. The fact is, they have complete jurisdiction over crimes that happen on campus. It's not a small thing, lying to them."
"Drop it."
"No."
"Dammit, Lindsay!"
"When do the police think the artifacts were taken?" she asked.
&n
bsp; "Sometime early this morning. Supposedly, my Jeep was parked behind Baldwin around four in the morning."
"When did you leave for Atlanta?" Silence. "She asked you to come early, didn't she? Did she give you some excuse-that Sid worked an early shift?"
"Sid's a lawyer. He doesn't work shifts. Do you think everything concerned with me is blue collar?"
"Dammit, Sinjin, that's not fair."
"Neither are your questions."
"I'm trying to help."
"Well, you're not."
Lindsay was working up a sizable suspicion of Kathy, but she dropped the subject. Instead, she told Sinjin about her interview with Chris Pryor.
"Sounds like a spoiled brat to me," he said.
"I think it must have been hard growing up in that family."
"Why? Just because his parents had high expectations?" Sinjin shook his head. "It may have been hard, but there are worse things."
"Yeah, but it's not like we'd have to fool our parents about something as important as adopting children."
"The Foster woman didn't, either. She could have just told them, and they'd have to deal with it. It's just the way Shirley and Chris chose to live their lives. Once you become an adult you don't have to act like a kid anymore."
"Maybe. But it's hard when expectations are so high you sometimes feel you can never meet them," said Lindsay.
"Are we talking about Shirley here?"
"I don't know."
Lindsay drove the rest of the way in silence. Sinjin didn't say anything either. She reached Church Street and turned off onto a paved driveway. Behind a stand of water oaks, a large white house came into view. The center portion of the house was vernacular architecture, of a standard design, probably not built by a known architect schooled in formal architectural styles but by anonymous builders using traditional materials and traditional forms. The house had been added to over the years, and the chimneys that were formerly outside were now inside. A large front porch ran the length of the house.
"Nice house," Sinjin said, standing on the porch.
"It may be on the historical register," Lindsay said. "Seems like I've seen it somewhere. I think perhaps it once was a girls school."
"It was. It was built around 1815." They turned as Chris Pryor mounted the steps to the porch. "I was in the garage. Thanks for coming."
As they were led through the front door, Lindsay noticed a metal plate under the mailbox that said "Bleak House." It reminded her of something-the article in the Observer-Shirley had said her father named the house for Dickens's novel.
The front door opened into a living room decorated in Early American. A large spinning wheel sat in a corner. The fireplace was made of brick, laid in a rare pattern Lindsay recognized as Flemish bond that was probably original with the house. The hardwood floors were shiny and covered here and there with woven rugs.
From there they went through a set of large wooden doors into a library. The space was a twin to the other room, but this room was obviously the focal point of the house. It looked lived in, from the magazines and needlework on the library table in the center of the room to the singed hearth rug in front of the fireplace.
"Make yourselves comfortable. I'll get my parents," Chris said, and left the room.
"I like this room," Sinjin said, looking at the high ceilings.
"Me, too," Lindsay agreed.
The walls were lined with bookcases. A tall bookcase with glass doors sat in one corner, filled with first editions, Lindsay imagined. In another corner a tapestry on a frame sat slightly away from the wall. The picture in the tapestry looked to Lindsay like a combination of Egyptian and medieval art. In it, a woman in a flowing white dress stood in the doorway of a massive stone building. In front of her and off to the side was a throng of people carrying torches.
"Hypatia's Last Stand she called it." Evelyn Pryor, wearing slacks and a silk shirt, had come quietly into the room. She looked down at the tapestry and ran her fingers over the needlework. "We were doing it together. Shirley did most of it. It was her idea and her design. But it was something we could do together."
"It's lovely," said Lindsay.
"Yes, it is. Both of my children were blessed with talent. I don't know where they got it," continued Evelyn. "My talents are mediocre at best, and Stewart is mainly a businessman." She looked up and smiled. "Over here," she motioned toward a glass hutch, "is some of Chris's work." The cabinet was filled with examples of etched glass plates, glass animal figurines, and quartz and amethyst with intricate designs carved into them.
"These are beautiful," said Lindsay.
"Yes, they are. Shirley liked Chris' work. She kept a unicorn he had made for her, like that one, in her office." She pointed to a stylized clear and blue glass unicorn on its hind legs, pawing the air. "But I believe hers was all blue, wasn't it, Chris? Where-?"
"I have it, Mother."
She smiled at him. "Of course." Evelyn Pryor turned back to Lindsay. "This is something you might be interested in." She reached into the cabinet and took out a broken porcelain doll head.
Lindsay took the piece and turned it in her hand. "You found it here?"
"Yes. Working in one of my flower beds. The style of hair is supposed to be from the Civil War era. There was a girls school here at that time." Evelyn took back the piece and looked longingly at it. "The little girl must have been so sad to have had it broken." She placed it back in the case. "Please sit down." She pointed to a conversation area at the other end of the room. "I'll get us some coffee."
Two deep-brown leather chairs and a matching couch sat in front of the fireplace. Beside one chair with patches in the leather stood an ornate wood pipe stand. Obviously, this was Stewart Pryor's chair. Lindsay sat on the couch. Chris brought a chair from the library table.
"I'm glad you came," he said to Lindsay.
"I'm not sure why I did."
Lindsay glanced at her brother looking at the photographs on the mantel. Probably curious about what Shirley Foster looked like. Along with a portrait of Shirley, there was one of Chris and one containing several people at what looked to be a cookout. Lindsay rose and walked over to the mantel to look at the picture. "When was this taken?" she asked.
"About four or five years ago at one of Shirley's departmental parties at, I believe, Dr. Pierce's house," Chris said.
Among the people in the photograph was Chris, holding hands with a very pretty blonde, and Shirley was making faces at the camera. Standing beside Shirley was Kenneth Kerwin from the Archaeology Department. He was looking adoringly at Shirley.
"See something?" asked Chris.
"Nice picture," she said as she sat back down.
Stewart Pryor came into the room, wearing slacks and a plaid burgundy and gray smoking jacket. The plaid was not bold but was of a very fine weave. Lindsay didn't think anyone but her father wore a smoking jacket anymore. She introduced Sinjin to Pryor. Sinjin shook his hand and sat down on the couch next to Lindsay.
"I appreciate your coming." Pryor took a pipe from the stand and filled it with tobacco from a pouch in his pocket, tamping it down in the bowl with his finger.
"That's a lovely smoking jacket," Lindsay said.
"It is, isn't it? Shirley made it. She wove the fabric herself. She made several for me-different ones for special occasions." He patted his pocket and, finding it empty, walked to the mantel, took several matches from a crystal jar, and slipped them in his pocket. He used one to light his pipe, and the aroma of cherry filled the air. "She made me a beautiful Christmas jacket. Dyed it herself to get a special color of red. She took it to display at the museum, and some damn fool lost it-took it, most likely. Everyone wanted Shirley's work." He sat down in the chair that Lindsay had decided must be his.
Sinjin, Chris, and Stewart Pryor stood again as Evelyn came in with a tray of coffee in white china cups and set it on a small glass-topped table in front of the couch. It had been a while since Lindsay had seen that done, men standing when a lady enter
ed.
"It is very nice of you to come," she said to Lindsay"and to meet you," she said to Sinjin. "Do you work at the university as well?"
"No, I'm visiting Lindsay for a while," replied Sinjin.
"How very nice. How do you like your coffee?" Lindsay and Sinjin both asked for it black. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a firefighter. I put out forest fires," he replied.
"Oh, how interesting," she said. Stewart muttered an agreement.
It was not overt, but Lindsay saw the subtle look of condescension in their polite smiles, and it shocked her. Was this how she and her father appeared to Sinjin? Surely not. It was not the way she felt, was it? She suddenly felt very much ashamed of herself. Lindsay wanted to jump up and shout at them, tell them that she had no intention of listening unless they could act better. But the whole episode was so imperceptible, she doubted they would know what she was talking about.
"Chris told me that you want me to consult with Will Patterson," Lindsay said, a little too abruptly.
"Yes," Stewart said. "We've heard from several sources that you are particularly good at solving ..." He hesitated momentarily. "Good at solving crimes in which a length of time has passed. As much as sixty years, I've heard."
"I'm not a detective and I'm sure Chris told you that 1. .
"I want my daughter's murderer found. I am willing to pay a great deal of money."
"It's not a matter of money."
He held up a hand. "I know, the active case thing. Will is working on the case. He assures me that there is no problem."
"Perhaps not for him."
"I can assure you, not for you, either."
"Mr. Pryor, I'm not sure what you think I can bring to the case. It seems to me that Will Patterson is doing a good job. He, essentially, found where your daughter was buried." Lindsay saw a look of pain cross Evelyn Pryor's face and deeply regretted coming. She didn't know why she did or why she kept flirting with this case. But it wasn't her idea, she reminded herself. People kept coming to her.
"You found her. You found Shirley," said Stewart.
"Yes, but it was his idea to bring in an archaeologist."
"Will is fine with more recent crimes. This one-" He paused and inhaled smoke from his pipe. His teeth gently clicked on the stem. "This one needs something else. I believe that Shirley's husband killed her. As long as Irene Varnadore is the only official investigating, Tom Foster will never be a suspect."
Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel Page 11