Unearthed

by Ann B. Morris

  Early on, she had realized most of her attraction to Charles was his availability and persistence. Plus, the fact that dating him gave her reason to believe she was no longer on the sidelines of life, but actually living again. But enough was enough. Whatever Charles imagined they had together was over, whether the situation suited him or not.

  Setting aside thoughts of Charles, she breathed in the delectable aroma of food drifting in from heaven knows where. Maybe from the motel restaurant. Maybe from the fast food restaurant across the street. The thought of fries and burgers made her mouth water. Ignoring the stack of papers, she slipped her handbag over her shoulder, opened the door and almost walked headlong into Kent.

  “How about burgers and fries?” he asked, as she stepped outside.

  As her assistant and only doctoral student, she relied on Kent far more than she should, and at times, she felt guilty. This was one of those times, so she pretended she was glad for his company and what she was certain would be nonstop conversation. She managed a smile. “I was headed that way.”

  “Do you think that guy will be back to give us trouble?” Kent asked when they finally set down their trays at one of the plastic two-seater tables at the burger joint. He tore open a packet of ketchup and emptied it over his fries.

  Alex bypassed ketchup and went for the mayo. “What guy?”

  “You know what guy I mean.”

  “The blowhard who gave us grief before we left?” She took a deep bite of her burger, chewed it with deliberate thoroughness, and washed it down with a long, equally thorough pull on the straw in her diet cola.

  “Yeah, him.”

  She shook her head. “There’s not much he can do if Mississippi won’t sell him the land. I feel sorry for him but…”

  The rest of the students came in just then, and Alex waved them over to the empty tables next to where she sat. Talk about the disgruntled stranger was cut short, and she wasn’t one bit sorry.

  Later that night, she thought about Becker St. Romaine again. Long after she had finished grading papers and turned out the light in the wee hours of the morning, she thought about how much the dig would impact his plans. This was the first time she’d ever been confronted with the reality that unearthing the past could profoundly affect the lives of the living. Most of her work since receiving her doctorate had been either in a research laboratory or training graduate students at established digs. She wouldn’t be working this dig if her friend and mentor, Evelyn French, hadn’t suffered a compound leg fracture a month ago.

  As the state-appointed Project Director, Evelyn’s recommendation that Alex take her place temporarily hadn’t been questioned. Aside from her mentor’s recommendation, Alex’s special training in human osteology made her the perfect choice to take over the project until the director returned.

  While she drifted off to sleep, Alex let her thoughts slide from the events that had brought her here to their bearing on her immediate future. With only two weeks left before the end of spring semester, she was involved in an archaeological project that could have significant historical importance. And in less than a month, she was due in Arkansas to work with Jeremy Franklin, her longtime friend and colleague, on what could well determine the rest of her professional future.

  Not only were they supposed to work on a feature story for a well-known archaeological magazine but they still had several chapters to write for the textbook they were co-authoring. And most importantly, some wrinkles still remained to be ironed out for the urban archaeology firm they planned to open within the coming year.

  Go figure. Life had a way of hurling challenges with uncanny timing.

  And as challenges went, despite the nonchalant attitude she had presented to Kent, she was sure she had at least one challenge yet to face from the irascible Mister St. Romaine.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, as Alex conducted a last-minute check of the tools in her backpack, all the events leading up to this day unfolded in her mind as if they were acts in a Broadway play.

  Less than three months earlier, a construction crew preparing for the building of a subdivision in southeastern Louisiana had unearthed bone fragments of two adults and two children. Determined not to be of recent origin, the findings were sent to a forensic anthropologist for dating, who placed the age of the bones to be at least one hundred years and possibly of Choctaw origin. At that point, events moved with unusual speed.

  The Native American Preservation Association was immediately notified of the anthropological conclusions. Since the area had already been disturbed, permission was granted for an exploratory excavation by archaeologists in the event an ancient burial ground had been uncovered.

  Pausing in her inspection of the backpack’s contents and the sequence of events just replayed in her mind, Alex walked to the single window in the room and drew back the heavy drapes. Already the sun was rising, and she mentally prepared herself for another hot, humid, mosquito-infested day in southeast Louisiana.

  Inconveniences aside, the drama soon to unfold before her eyes and beneath her hands was the adventure of a lifetime. An adventure made even more exciting since the pottery shard later found among the bones had just two days ago been identified as a Choctaw funerary artifact. If any reason at all existed to question further exploration of the area, this new information would have ended it immediately.

  Alex let the drapes fall back in place, turned her attention once more to the backpack, and, satisfied with its contents, closed it securely. Her thoughts, however, weren’t as easy to shut away, and she shook off a chill as a sudden sense of uneasiness swamped her.

  One week ago, Evelyn had been hospitalized with an infection in her leg where a rod was inserted to hold the bones in place. More than likely, this new setback would delay even longer her return to the position as Project Director. As the chill subsided, Alex fought the disturbing thought fate seemed to be conspiring to keep her in Louisiana, instead of allowing her to go to Jeremy in Arkansas.

  A sharp rap on the door, followed quickly by two sharp taps in rapid succession, abruptly interrupted her misgivings. She recognized Kent’s coded knock and opened the door.

  “Up and at ʼem,” he said. “The crew’s in the van and ready to roll. Everybody’s starving.”

  They had made plans the night before to stop for breakfast at one of the nearby fast food restaurants before heading out to the site. “I’m ready,” Alex said. She grabbed the backpack off the chair and hoisted it over her shoulder. She switched off the overhead light and followed Kent to the waiting University van, deferring the driver’s seat to him as she usually did.

  For most of the students, this assignment was their first archaeological dig and their eagerness to get started was contagious. By the time breakfast was finished and they were on their way to the field, Alex was as excited as anyone in the group. Her attention was directed to the rear of the van as she answered the students’ questions, when the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, pitching her forward.

  “What the hell…”

  Kent sat hunched over the steering wheel, his gaze riveted to an area not more than five hundred yards to their right.

  Alex followed his line of vision and, before she could check herself, let out a gasp. From the mound of earth upturned by the construction crew, a skeleton dangled from a pole as tall as a one-story building. Instinctively, she reached for the door.

  Kent grasped her arm and pulled her back. “Let me check it out first.”

  She brushed aside Kent’s hand. “No. I’m going with you. Besides, this looks like somebody’s idea of a joke.” Even from this distance, she could tell the fully articulated, life-size skeleton dangling from the pole was only a plastic reproduction. A facsimile easily found in any party supplies store or science laboratory.

  Before Kent could deter her again, Alex jumped out of the van and started across the field, her mind already planning the next step. She’d have the guys take down the darn thing quickly so they could p
ut this prank behind them and get on with the day’s work.

  She drew near enough to see the piece of paper hanging from the skeleton’s broken neck, and a shiver of foreboding slithered down her spine. Her heart lurched in her chest. What she had dismissed earlier as a prank now took on a more ominous meaning. Even before she read the note, she knew it was meant for her.

  “Go Home, Bitch!” was childishly scrawled in bright red paint. In spite of herself, her blood ran cold.

  Go home? Like hell she would. The fire of anger heated the cold shiver in her spine. Jaws clenched, she turned to Kent and ordered, “Get that thing down.” The males in the group were already headed in the skeleton’s direction, so she could have saved the words.

  In silence, the female students trooped toward the van and began unloading the field equipment, lifting out the folding table first and setting it up under the fullest pine tree. The last item to be hauled out was the industrial thermos of water, as necessary in the hot and humid Louisiana air as their tools were for their work.

  “I told you he was trouble,” Kent said at Alex’s elbow.

  She’d been so deep in thought, which, much to her disappointment, was running along the same line as Kent’s, she’d been unaware he was so close until he spoke. “If you’re talking about our unexpected visitor yesterday, you can’t be sure he’s involved.” She tried to sound convincing, not only for his sake and the rest of the students, but for her own sake as well.

  “Ten’ll get you twenty he’s the guilty party,” Kent mumbled, stomping off toward the crew wrestling to take down the pole already stripped of the fake skeleton.

  Alex’s disappointment changed to apprehension as she watched the pole drop to the ground. Another chill snaked down her spine as her imagination played Indiana Jones-like scenes. After a quick mental shake, she reprimanded herself for being silly and unprofessional and forced herself to get control of her emotions.

  The skeleton was probably somebody’s leftover Halloween decoration, and certainly nothing was threatening about a note calling her a hateful name and demanding she leave. The real mystery was why anyone had gone to such trouble in the first place. Sighing, she decided nothing productive would come from wasting time analyzing such a silly antic. The crew had work to do.

  Stiffening her spine, she yanked the baseball cap from her pants pocket, jammed it on her head, and pulled down the brim as low as she could. Ready to begin the day’s work, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called to the scattered team, “Gather round, guys, let’s make hay while the sun shines.”

  Keeping busy was the best way to occupy the mind. Soon this unpleasant start to the day would be forgotten amidst the excitement of the early days of a dig. By next week, most likely none of this would be worthy of more than a good laugh over lunch.

  ****

  Ida Kingsley replaced the phone on its cradle and stared at it for a moment before she lifted it again and selected the stored number for Alex in Louisiana. Long, crimson nails tapped the sleek polished oak of the bar while she waited anxiously for her daughter to answer.

  Getting the same result from this call as the one before, she slammed the receiver on its base and gripped the rounded edge of the bar with both hands. She allowed herself one deep, calming breath before she walked behind the bar and mixed herself another gin and tonic. When she left the room a short time later, her lips had transformed themselves from a thin, grim line to a soft, albeit superficial, smile. She would proceed without input from either her husband or her daughter.

  Her and Alexander’s anniversary fell on a Saturday this year, so she could be almost certain he would be home, since he rarely worked late on weekends. And surely Alex would be free. The semester would be over, and she wouldn’t have left yet for her trip to Arkansas to meet with that Doctor whatever-his-name-was.

  Ida’s smile broadened. Well, at least, as a doctor, even though only of the university kind like her daughter, the young man had a lot more to offer Alex than any of the men she’d taken up with since her divorce. He didn’t head the social register, but he was a professional. And after all, it wasn’t as though Alex was planning to marry him.

  Good God, at least she hoped Alex wasn’t serious about this man. Now that she thought about it, Alex hadn’t been serious about any man since Bill.

  Which brought up another concern. She’d have to invite Bill to the party. Alex would be furious, as she usually was whenever Bill was invited to any function forcing them to be in the same room together. But he was, after all, Alexander’s business partner now. Having to choose between her daughter and her ex-son-in-law had grown tiresome over the years.

  She liked Bill. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive Alex for destroying their marriage. For putting Bill—for putting all of them—through the torture they’d had to undergo because of her selfishness and lack of discipline.

  Ida forced her thoughts in another, less dismal, direction. Better not to dwell on past trials and future sorrows sure to befall them all much too soon. Better to stay focused on pleasant things. Like the gala anniversary party she had planned for the end of the month.

  Before she retrieved the stack of gold embossed invitations from the bottom drawer of the desk in the sitting room, she dialed Alexander’s office again. On the fifth ring, she ended the call and took a deep breath to relax. Looking up, she caught sight of the silver-framed photograph of her and Alexander on their wedding day and took another deep breath. She would proceed without him. He would be glad she took matters in her own hands rather than wait for him to give approval to the ever-growing guest list.

  Alexander liked the way she kept their social life organized. The duty was one she had steadfastly refused to relinquish to Polly, his private secretary. Ida dipped the pen into the bottle of gold ink and began writing.

  The last envelope had been addressed and sealed and Ida was on her way upstairs when Alexander’s key turned in the lock. She forced her lips into a broad smile, and walked to the hall to greet him. She wouldn’t mention his not calling to let her know what time to expect him home. Whatever unexpected business had forced him to spend the night in Austin had probably taxed him. A busy and successful man like her husband often lost track of time. Over the years, she had become accustomed to his forgetfulness.

  But after some serious thinking about the direction of their lives, she’d made a decision. She’d talk to him about her plans for both of them when the time was right—after the anniversary party. Certainly, after such a wonderful celebration, he’d be even more willing than usual to do anything to make her happy.

  ****

  Beck stopped the truck far enough away from the group of students so as not to intrude on their work, but close enough to get a good view of them. Pleased he’d been right about them working today, he cut the motor and sat for a few minutes, watching the group’s activity from his distant, but perfect, vantage point. He counted eight students, two to a team, working on the squares of earth sectioned off by wooden stakes and string. The students were all accounted for, but not the professor he had come to see. While he waited for her to appear, he held his breath.

  Finally, she came from the back of the blue van, the baseball cap a dead giveaway.

  His heart did a crazy leap, and the rush of adrenaline through his veins made him dizzy. What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was going ape over a broad he hardly knew. In the middle of a deep breath, he jerked open the door and jumped out of the truck.

  Exhaling slowly, he ran his fingers through his hair to settle it in place and looked warily down at his snakeskin boots. Today was the first time he’d worn them for anything except a night out on the town, deciding on the spur of the moment this occasion called for something special. He’d also decided the occasion called for his best jeans and a short sleeve, starched blue oxford shirt he’d picked up from the laundry this morning.

  As he walked toward the group, he tried his damndest to appear calm, while his stomach balled in knot
s and his pulse danced the tango. Portraying a nonchalance he didn’t feel wasn’t easy, but it was a necessary display unless he wanted to set them all on edge again.

  When he was halfway across the field, the professor looked his way, stopped what she was doing, and waited for him to approach. The skinny guy with the ugly scar made his way toward her. No doubt ready again to defend her if the intrusive stranger made more trouble.

  “What do you want?” the skinny guy demanded when Beck finally reached them.

  Beck ignored the attempt to intimidate him, because if he chose to, he could lift the runt two feet off the ground with one hand. But now wasn’t the time for one-upmanship. Now was the time for diplomacy and mending fences. He looked at the woman he’d come to see and hoped his self-serving attempt to get on her good side wasn’t apparent. “I owe you an apology,” he said, straight out.

  The little pisser took a step forward, a scowl on his face. “You’d better leave now, mister, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Beck controlled himself and suppressed a nasty retort. He had to give the little twerp credit for having balls, if not much else. Although several inches shorter than Beck, and lighter by at least fifty pounds, he looked ready to take on Beck.

  “I’ll handle this, Kent,” the professor said, stepping forward. Unblinking, she fixed her gaze on Beck. “You have nerve, Mr. St. Romaine. I can’t believe you have the audacity to show up here after the despicable act you pulled last night.”

  Despicable act? What the fuck was going on here? She was angry as a castrated bull, and he had no idea why the anger was directed at him. “What the hell are you talking about, la—, Dr. Kingman, is it?”

  “Kingsley,” she corrected. “Professor Alexandra Kingsley. The despicable act I referred to is right behind that tree.” She pointed to a sixty-foot pine at a ninety-degree angle from where they stood.

  Beck put a lid on his fast-rising temper, marched to the designated tree, looked behind it, and let out a softer profanity than the one on the tip of his tongue. He reached down, lifted the skeleton by one bony arm, and extended it in front of him, positioning the note still strung around the neck so the message was eye level.