"Do you have any specific reason to suspect her husband?" asked Lindsay.
"Money. Tom had control over it as long as she was missing. Now that she's been found and her will is to be probated, all that will change. We advised Shirley on her will, of course. Tom had his own money. He didn't need Shirley's. The money stayed in the family. A trust for the children and, I'm sure, something for Chris-that was up to her, I told her. The rest to her mother and me. I'm sure that sounds selfish to you, but it wasn't. Money must be cared for if it's to grow. I've made a lot of money in petroleum products, even when everyone else was losing their shirts. I know how to handle money. I know how to keep track of it. I had Shirley structure her will in such a way as to make sure her children had a sound fortune in the event that Shirley's death preceded ours." He stopped and inhaled on his pipe again. "That's not supposed to happen-children passing away before their parents. But there it is." He seemed weak suddenly.
"Tom Foster could use her money as long as she was missing. Is that it?"
Stewart nodded. "When we were planning her will, I never thought about the possibility of her disappearing. That's my fault. If I had thought of it, she might still be alive."
"My expertise has already been used in her behalf. I really don't believe I can ..." Lindsay left the sentence hanging when the phone rang. Evelyn rose to answer it, and Lindsay sipped her coffee to avoid saying anything.
Evelyn Pryor returned almost immediately, her face white. "That was Sheriff Varnadore," she said. "They've made an arrest in the case."
Chris and his father stood. Stewart took the pipe out of his mouth. "Who?"
"Some young man named Luke Ferris. I don't know who he is."
Chapter 10
LINDSAY HAD COMPLETELY forgotten about the faculty meeting until Sally reminded her, and she rushed upstairs to the conference room. The eight other faculty members that made up the Archaeology Department were seated around the table. Frank was at the head, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand. Copies of the Athens Banner Herald and the Red and Black were making their way around the table.
"Well, if it isn't Nancy Drew. Nice of you to join us," said Reed Cavanaugh. Reed looked like Albert Einstein gone native. He wore his long, steel gray hair tied back, but numerous strands had escaped and stood electrified around his head. As usual, his shirt was torn. Lindsay suspected he tore a rend in all of them to keep up his image. He grinned, baring a neat row of teeth as Lindsay rolled her eyes at him and sat down beside him.
Across from her was the newest faculty member, Trey Marcus, an underwater archaeologist. He had a neat stack of papers and glossy photographs in front of him. He twirled his pen in his fingers as he listened to Frank. Frank had hoped that hiring him would swell the ranks of the undergraduates. Marcus had been in the department only one quarter, but his class was already promising to be one of the most popular. Had Lindsay not known he was an archaeologist, she would have thought him a marine, with his compact build and short black hair. He was serious and single-minded about his work, which took him to some interesting places around the world.
"The question has come up again of combining departments with Anthropology," said Frank. "We were just about to discuss the pros and cons."
"Just a minute," said Kenneth Kerwin. "We may not have a department to combine, if this kind of thing keeps up." He tapped his finger on the front-page picture of the previous day's Red and Black, which showed Lindsay, Sinjin, Frank, and Sally standing around a wooden crate. The headless skeleton lay in a heap on the floor, its skull sitting on a table.
"I doubt that our department will be dissolved because of a few newspaper articles," Frank said.
"My God," said Reed, "we wouldn't be a bona fide archaeology department if we didn't have a scandal going on."
"Make fun if you want," Kenneth said, "but I assure you, they are not laughing on North Campus."
"That's right," said Rachael Bienvenido, an ecological archaeologist and expert in the archaeology of South America. "Let us all know that you have political connections."
"Aren't we getting a little far afield of the problem?" said Caspar Sandes, whose favorite place to dig was, unfortunately, in Iraq. For him, archaeology meant Old World archaeology. "That's Lindsay's problem, not ours. Ours is this proposal Frank has in his hand. What kind of space are we going to save by combining with Anthropology-a suite where a department head resides? What they want to do is to start eliminating faculty and research space. You all know what North Campus thinks of Archaeology. It doesn't matter if there is a scandal going on or not. And don't think for a minute, Dr. Kerwin, that your little Gone-With-theWind archaeology won't be considered for the ax. Frankly, they don't give a damn."
"I resent that characterization!" Kenneth shouted. "We know very little about the post-Civil War rise of the textile industry ......
"Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett, I don't know nothing about birthing no babies!" The high-pitched squeal came from Reed.
"Jesus, Reed," said Rachael, "you sound like a pig."
Frank put his hands to his face.
"And you? What do you have to offer?" Kenneth shouted, pointing to Reed. "Archaeology of American Indians is obsolete. They won't let you dig up anything anymore. There is nothing left to do in the United States except historical archaeology."
"I think that is a bit of an exaggeration," muttered Frank. "Does everyone object, then?"
"I certainly do," said Kenneth. Everyone raised a hand.
"I'll write a formal response to the proposal and tell the dean that the faculty vote was unanimous against joining departments with Anthropology."
"Wait, wait!" shouted Kenneth. "That isn't what I voted for; I objected to Caspar's characterization of my work."
"Caspar's opinion wasn't on the table," Frank said. Lindsay thought she detected a bit of a smirk.
"We need to take another vote. I want to change mine. I think there would be many advantages to combining departments. We are, after all, anthropologists as well as archaeologists."
"That has nothing to do with it, Kenneth. It's about space and budget," said Caspar. "Pay attention. You voted."
"I was railroaded."
Frank sighed. "OK, now we need to talk about the budget and space. Because of all the new construction going on all over campus, some space in older buildings has come open, and we have a good chance of getting some. Not everyone on North Campus hates us."
As the discussion began, Lindsay perused the newspaper articles, ignoring the arguments and protestations. The first article, the one with the picture of the skeleton laid out on the floor, was not bad. It presented the event as a mystery and was almost humorous. But the article the next day had a picture of Sinjin with the campus police and named him as a possible suspect. It talked about the artifacts and raised the question of what they were doing hidden away in the storage shed belonging to Lindsay's grandfather. It quoted "sources" who said the campus police were investigating the possibility that Sinjin, who was on campus but not affiliated with the university, might be implicated in some family business of black-marketing artifacts. The article mentioned Lindsay, an archaeologist following in her grandfather's footsteps, who recently examined the bones of slain faculty member Shirley Foster. Lindsay felt sick. It looked as though the reputation of her grandfather was the least of her worries. She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of her name.
"I'm not sure I understand how Lindsay rates the disproportionate number of student workers," said Rachael.
"And lab space," added Kenneth.
"I don't have either," Lindsay defended herself. "Two undergraduate student workers and two graduate assistants are paid out of the faunal lab budget. I have no students assigned specifically to me. If they seem like my students, it's because I'm in charge of the faunal lab. I would like to remind all of you that the faunal lab not only pays for itself but operates in the black."
"I trust your ability to profit from archaeology," Kenneth remarked.
"What?" said Lindsay, rising from her seat, leaning forward on the table and glaring at Kenneth. "Would you care to clarify that statement?"
"Kenneth," said Rachael. "That's too far, even for you."
Kenneth muttered something under his breath. Lindsay realized that she was standing and sat down. She could feel the heat in her face.
"The lab space," said Lindsay, "is there for everyone to use. The students who work in the lab are working on materials from Jasper Creek, 9dv7, Whitley Folsom, Maya Lake, and Miller Creek, which, Kenneth, is your project. The students use the faunal lab to identify the animal bones, they all use the chemical flotation equipment, and they all use the space. And the reason the faunal lab budget is in the black is that during this past year we processed animal remains for seven universities around the country. This has not only given our students valuable experience but also enhanced the reputation of the department."
"But you give all the students their assignments," said Rachael. "Not just the ones paid out of your budget. That's why some of us think they are your students."
"Only because they come to me when they have no assignments, and that's because my office is down there. I'd be glad to switch offices with any of you and let them come to you for their assignments."
"Why don't you send them to the main office?" suggested Frank.
"I will," Lindsay said. "The ones who are not paid out of the faunal lab budget."
"Why are the contracts late?" asked Per Solveig.
"What contracts?" asked Frank.
"The ones for nontenured faculty-Lindsay, Stevie, Trey, and I haven't gotten the letter renewing our contracts. What's the holdup?"
"I don't know. I'll find out," said Frank.
"You know we need that information. If we aren't being renewed, we need time to look for positions elsewhere."
"I'll look into it," Frank repeated. "I'll find out what the problem is."
Everyone was quiet for a moment and Trey cleared his throat. "I have a colleague who will be visiting next week. She is working on the LaBelle and has quite an interesting presentation that I think students and faculty would enjoy. I know Kenneth is scheduled to speak at the next Archaeology Club meeting, but I thought perhaps he would delay his talk a week and allow Clerisse to speak."
"I've already prepared-" began Kerwin.
Frank interrupted him. "That would be fine. We'll announce it in the campus newspaper. There may be other university students who would like to hear it. Anything else?"
"I don't have my computer yet," paleontologist Per Solveig complained.
"Right now, we don't have a budget for new computers," said Frank.
"That's only because you don't like them," said Per.
"No, that's not it at all. We have to buy lots of equipment. Right now, we are trying to build up the palynology lab."
"Stevie's getting a new computer?" Per asked.
"The lab gets that computer and other equipment to analyze the pollen data," Frank said.
Stevie Saturnin, whose speciality was pollen analysis from archaeological sites, said nothing. Her wispy blonde hair hung in her face like a shield. She rarely said anything during faculty meetings, but rather sat back in her chair looking uncomfortable. Stevie preferred the quiet solitude of working with a microscope to human interaction, and at the moment, Lindsay couldn't blame her.
"I need a computer," said Per.
"What for?" asked Reed. "I get along fine with my Apple Ile."
"What? What?" Trey Marcus sat up straight in his chair. "You are using an Apple Ile?" He looked amazed. "You can't get any data on a five-and-a-quarter-inch floppy!"
Reed grinned. "That sounds like a brassiere size."
Trey turned red. Stevie slipped farther down in her seat.
"Reed, for heaven's sake," exclaimed Rachael.
"What?" he asked, looking around the table innocently. "You going to accuse me of creating a hostile work environment, Rachael?"
"I'm going to show you a hostile work environment," she said, leaning toward him, glowering.
"And what about you, Chamberlain," Trey said. "You use an outdated computer?"
"No, I have a 486," Lindsay said.
Trey groaned, carelessly tossed his pen into the air, and looked away, shaking his head. "Look," he said as he rose from his chair, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward.
"I believe he's serious about this," said Reed.
"Do you guys know what century you're in? You can't do your work without modern computers."
Reed tapped his forefinger to his temple. "Good work comes from the brain, not some mindless computer, and I do my work just fine, thank you."
"You think you do, but there are analyses that you can't. " He paused. "I'll tell you what, Reed. Give me some of your data and a couple of hours, and I'll show you what you can do."
"OK, you're on," said Reed, grinning.
"And if I can convince Reed, you all get new computers. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said Reed.
"Now wait a minute," said Frank.
"I agree," Per said. "Let's vote."
It carried, and Frank looked at Lindsay as if she had betrayed him. She smiled back at him. Frank shook his head. "I think we've covered enough in this meeting, and I have work to do." He picked up his papers and left the room.
Lindsay rose with the others. She glared at the papers lying on the conference table, wanting to scoop them up and shred them to bits. She wanted to go out to the newspaper racks, take all the newspapers, and burn them. Instead, she left the room and walked to Frank's office.
"You know, I think new computers would be a good thing," she said, leaning against Frank's doorjamb. Frank sat at his desk, frowning and shuffling through papers.
Bobbie came in and put a folder on his desk. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asked.
"Yes, that's it. Thanks, Bobbie." He looked up at Lindsay as Bobbie left the office. "If we can afford them," he said.
"What's wrong with you? It's not the faculty meeting."
"No, it's not that. The dean wants Kerwin to be head of the department. The dean has his own ideas about Archae- ology's place in the mission of the university."
"You're getting a lot of pressure?"
"And this thing with the missing artifacts isn't helping."
"I'm sorry. They came out of the blue. I'm sure Dad thought he was doing a good thing by sending them to me."
"I know. It's not your fault. Do you think your brother took them?"
Lindsay walked into Frank's office and sat down. "No, he didn't."
"I'm not accusing. But if, on top of everything else, we get Mina Jones picketing us again about Native American artifacts, that may be all that Administration needs to take over."
"Take over?"
Frank shrugged. "Put Kerwin in charge, force a merger with Anthropology. That would destroy us. You know what Anthro thinks of most of us."
"Is it that bad?"
"Could be. North Campus is just waiting for the right moment. It depends on a lot of things. There are some who want to bring in Francisco Lewis as head. I heard they've been talking to him. Administration would go for that. Lewis is controversial, but they seem to like celebrity faculty."
"Lewis would want to come here?"
"Seems so. But you know how gossip is."
Lindsay stood up to go.
"Look, Lindsay, you don't have tenure. You have to be careful. I can only protect you so far. My position as head is not all that strong." He paused. "And if they do manage to bring in Lewis ..."
"The faculty would never go for it," said Lindsay.
"If we are merged with Anthropology, we'll be outnumbered. Anthropology likes Francisco Lewis. It would be a majority vote."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Lindsay said.
Frank shook his head. "It's easy to get paranoid. That may not be Administration's thoughts at all. If it is, be advised, Lewis likes to bring in his own people, and right now
he has a liking for a bright young physical anthropologist named Gerri Chapman."
Lindsay sat down again. "Frank, I haven't done anything. Why, all of a sudden, am I in trouble?"
"It's all politics and who your friends and enemies are. You know that. I'm not sure you understand that you have an envied position here-with the archaeology, the zooar- chaeology, and the forensics."
"You mean, because I do the work of three people, there are people out there who want my job?"
"Yes, and the forensic archaeologists outnumber the available job positions," Frank reminded her.
"Gerri Chapman isn't a forensic specialist," said Lindsay.
"Politicians don't care about competence."
"Ellis Einer doesn't even know what I do."
"Others do."
"I can only do my job. I don't know politics," Lindsay said.
"Be careful how you do your job. These forays into detective work don't help you." He hesitated. "I got a call from an associate dean early this morning. They are concerned that you allowed a possible murderer to work with the students."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Luke Ferris. You had him working in the lab last week."
"And you had him a few weeks before that, and Kerwin a few weeks before that. Am I supposed to be clairvoyant? Or held to a higher standard than the rest of you?"
"I know and I agree."
"Just how did they know about Luke Ferris working in the lab?"
"I imagine one of the students just happened to mention it to Kerwin, and he jumped on the phone and complained to his buddies. You know how he is. If the dean knew that Kenneth had his eye on the dean's job eventually, he'd not be so cozy with him."
"This is really stupid." Lindsay rose and moved toward the door. "I'm sorry about the computer vote."
"That's all right. Trey has to convince Reed, and you know how stubborn he is."
Lindsay went back to the conference room and retrieved a copy of the newspaper with a clear picture of the skull. She took it to the copier and made several enlargements. She went back to her office with them and sat down. Her gaze drifted to the picture of her grandfather standing in front of the mound at Macon, leaning on his shovel. She felt a strong desire to turn his picture to the wall. She put her hands on her temples and closed her eyes. Maybe Sinjin would like to have lunch. She phoned her house-no answer. Just as she replaced the receiver, the telephone rang and Lindsay picked it up. "Yes?"
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