by Gina Conroy
I stepped into the room, my boots scuffing against the soil on the floor. Dirt itched through my boots’ mesh with ant-like feet. Anxiety crept through my innards. Slowly, I tiptoed to the dirt-filled bins. I knew soil came in many different colors, but seeing them side by side reminded me of autumn and allergies.
As I walked toward the bin labeled Luxor, Valley of the Queens, the tan soil chipped at my memory. I had seen it before. But where? All over me! No, somewhere else. In the studio? When Fletcher walked in, or was it in the green room? Why couldn’t I remember?
Sweat dampened my palms. Though the pounding in my head had lulled, my mind couldn’t form a conclusive thought. There was too much dirt. Too many colors. Red. Brown. Tan. Like leaves. Leaves at my parents’ graveside funeral. Adrenaline shot through my veins.
What was I doing? I hurried toward the door. I couldn’t do this without Jack. I halted. Jack wasn’t around anymore. I had to see this through, for my children’s sake. Turning around, I peered into the soil-filled bins, breathing as much oxygen as my lungs could hold.
Why in the world would I choose a profession that involved dirt? I didn’t have a logical answer. Drawn to study the past, I lost myself in the lives of the ancients. Maybe reliving someone else’s past masked my own torment.
Then I met Fletcher, and later Jack, and wanted so much to be a part of their world that I forgot my original dreams. The ones that had kept me alive for years.
Breathing deep through my mouth, I stood before the bins, stalling. A brief smile tipped my expression. My mother loved getting her hands in the earth, especially after my father’s violent tirades. I was powerless to help her, but she found comfort in gardening. Comfort I couldn’t give her. The feel and smell of dirt turned my stomach. It reminded me of my father and my failure, but it never drove me to panic attacks until I landed on my father’s coffin. Covered in soil, I relived the helplessness, the terror, the suffocation of life with my father when he was alive.
Even now, an intense ache bit at the memories. Despite its gnawing, I scrambled to find strength for the task. When Fletcher left, Jack had been there for me. I needed to be there for him. It was the least I could do for the good years we spent together.
Enough stalling. I could do this. I would do this, but the soil-filled trays taunted, daring me to disturb their slumber. A timid tremble seized my hands as I opened drawer after drawer, searching for gloves. Nothing. I thought about retrieving the gloves from the Archaeology lab, but remembered I’d locked the door, and I knew if I went to the lobby to search for the key, I’d keep going straight out the door.
The agita in my stomach grew. Did these soil samples really hold the answer to Jack’s innocence? Maybe I didn’t have to test them. The detective gathered soil from the studio and green room. Maybe I could get some answers from Lopez.
I shook my head. But that was evidence in Henderson’s murder. What did it have to do with the heart scarab? My brain was one big jigsaw puzzle. Maybe I should have asked Fletcher to stay and help.
But no one was here to bail me out of this mess. I had to do it myself. I had to do everything I could to find the truth. I took a breath and carefully scooped the soil with a measuring cup from the Luxor bin, trying not to get any on my hands. Tears wet my cheeks as I carried the sample to the table.
For Ben. For Hattie. For Matt.
I stumbled and gasped, spilling dirt on my hands. I tried to swat it off, but it stuck to my sweaty palm. The itch of the soil against my skin peppered my entire body from the inside out. Sobs racked me as the burning sensation intensified. I scooped up the dirt and poured it into the test tube. All I wanted to do was run to the sink, strip off my clothes, and wash myself from head to foot. But I remained focused.
Finally, I found a steady breathing rhythm and was able to concentrate on the task. Determination grew. I had to do this. After running the same tests as I did in the lab, I slumped on the stool, as exhausted as if I’d run a marathon.
I chewed my bottom lip as the results came into view. My spirit plummeted like I’d fallen inches from the finish line.
Peter was right. The soils didn’t match.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
7:03 p.m.
Mari Duggins’ Home
“I TOLD YOU NO wine!” Though I really wanted to drown my troubles in the numbing liquid, I needed all my senses intact to deal with Fletcher and his flirtatious eyes shining beneath that silly fedora.
As he rocked on the porch swing bedazzled by Christmas lights, the glow around him created a halo effect. But I knew better. Fletcher was no angel.
He held up the small jug of Sangria. “Only eleven percent alcohol. It’s more like fruit punch.” Sipping the dark pink wine, he patted the cushion next to him, infecting me with his grin. “Come sit for a minute. I promise to behave.”
“I better go in and—”
“Last I checked everything was under control.” He poured an almost-to-the-rim large glass of Sangria.
“I see you’ve come prepared.”
“Once a boy scout ...” Handing it to me, he winked.
“I guess one glass couldn’t hurt.” I accepted, sat, and sipped the sweet wine. The chilled liquid flowed down my throat. Almost instantly my body relaxed.
“See, isn’t that better? Now what’s got you tied in knots?”
“Does it show?”
“Mari, you could never hide anything from me. I know you better than you know yourself.”
He was right. Why was it I could hide things from everyone except Fletcher? He always saw right through me. Maybe that was the real reason Fletcher and I never made it. Why I avoided him. When I was with him I felt free enough to be myself, and that scared me almost as much as death. There were just some things I wanted to forget, but Fletcher had a way of drawing them out, even when I tried to keep them buried.
“Mari?”
Jack never demanded anything from me. He made me feel safe. And right now I needed safe. “It’s about Jack.”
“Didn’t send his check on time?” Fletcher sipped his wine, feigning nonchalance. “I could lend you some money.”
I hesitated. “He’s been accused of stealing and forging the Hatshepsut heart scarab.”
Fletcher’s relaxed posture straightened, his eyes wide. “You’re kidding, right? This is some practical joke, payback for earlier today, which I am so very sorry for—” He held up his left hand. “And I promise will never happen again.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” My body ached as if it had aged ten years in less than twenty-four hours.
Fletcher shook his head. “That’s why you went to the lab.” He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, almost half a glass. “Spill it, and I don’t mean the wine.”
After two more glasses, each, I finished relaying all the information, including my recent discovery. “So I’m confused. Either the soil sample got contaminated after Henderson tested it or the scarab is a forgery. I don’t know which report is accurate.”
“What if they both are?” Fletcher slipped his arm behind me, resting it on the frame of the swing.
“What did you say? I think the wine’s affected my hearing.”
“You mentioned Henderson authenticated the artifact on Friday afternoon and Kipling verified it as a replica on Saturday morning. What if both the reports are right?”
“That makes no sense. I think the wine’s affecting your brain.”
“No, listen. What if Jack sent the real artifact from the field and someone switched it with a fake sometime between the tests?”
Hope bubbled up within me. “That would prove Jack wasn’t involved. Or at least cause them to search somewhere else.” I gazed into Fletcher’s eyes, dilated and hopeful. My heart raced, fighting the longing. Fletcher removed his hat and before I knew it, his moist lips pressed against mine, sending shivers to my toes. The warmth inside me rocketed to a new dimension I had never experienced with Jack. Our kiss deepened before I pushed away and stood.
“I’m so sorry, Mari. I shouldn’t have done that.” His bright eyes dimmed. “I guess you were right about the wine. I screwed up again.” He stood. “I’ll leave.”
I reached for his hand, an array of emotions swirling in my belly. “No, don’t. Stay for dinner. I shouldn’t have—it was my fault.”
“Really, I could go.”
“And be accused of avoiding you again? No, thanks. Besides, you haven’t met all of my kids.” No matter how much I’d dreaded this moment, I knew it was time to let Fletcher back into my life.
I took two teetering steps before Fletcher grabbed my hand and steadied me. “Wait.” He emptied the rest of the wine on the grass, his cockiness shaken raw. “Okay, now we can go.”
Regret oozed from his pores, his touch cautious. And for a brief moment I didn’t recognize the man who once owned my heart.
***
7:23 p.m.
INVISIBLE WEIGHTS PRESSED ME down as Elizabeth prayed over the food, my mind crisp and clear. Fletcher’s kiss sobered me up fast. What was wrong with me? Why did I let Fletcher kiss me? Stupid question. Of course it was the wine. But why didn’t I pull away sooner? Surely I didn’t mean for the kiss to happen. Or did I? Break my heart once, shame on you. Break it twice, shame on me.
The chatter around the dining room table blended into one giant racket. I pushed on my temples fighting the growing migraine as Fletcher sat opposite me in Jack’s seat, trading jokes with Ben and Luke on his left. Elizabeth sat silent to my right, while Hattie and Rachel, Elizabeth’s ten-year-old, chatted next to her about school and sports.
Longing for the innocent love I once knew swelled as I watched Danny engrossed in the beauty next to me. He clung to Cherilyn’s every word, sprinkling hot pepper on his lasagna haphazardly. Matt, the only quiet kid in the group, sat next to Fletcher, gobbling his food in typical teenage fashion and reached for seconds before I’d taken my first bite.
“Great eats, Hattie.” Fletcher shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “I guess you didn’t inherit your mom’s cooking gene.”
Hattie blushed, her chocolate eyes sparkling through her mousy brown bangs. “It’s from Romano’s, Mr. Murdock.”
“I stand corrected.” Fletcher’s charm labored overtime. “You did inherit your mom’s cooking gene. Did she ever tell you about the time she ordered a huge gourmet dinner and passed it off as her own?”
“No.” Matt stared Fletcher down. “She’s never mentioned you before.”
Lasagna caught in my throat. I gulped some water. “So, Fletcher, how’s the excavation going in Egypt?”
“As well as expected. They had last-minute trouble with the Egyptian government not wanting to release the artifacts, but since the university is funding the operation and with the substantial amount of money the antiquities are expected to generate on the tour, Egypt loaned the artifacts for thirty percent of the revenue collected on admission to the exhibits.”
“Why do we have to pay Egypt to see all the stuff the mummies left behind?” Ben inquired with a mouthful; his green eyes the exact shade of Jack’s.
I held my finger to my lips and eyed my ill-mannered son. “Remember I told you many of the great tombs have been raided?”
Ben nodded. “By tomb raiders.”
“Like the game?” Luke asked.
“Not exactly. Greedy people have stolen valuable pieces of history to sell them on the black market without regard to how priceless they are to society.” The voices around the table quieted. “With the demand for these artifacts growing, more of Egypt’s treasures are in danger of being stolen by people who only want to use them to make money or keep them locked up for themselves.”
“If that happens, more and more history will be lost forever,” Fletcher added between bites.
“What’s the big deal about history anyway?” Matt mumbled.
I shot him “the look.” “History teaches us about life and ancient civilizations. How people lived long ago. It helps us learn from past mistakes. Maybe if you paid more attention to history, you wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in.”
Matt rolled his eyes and pushed his chair from the table. “I’m outta here.” He scaled the stairs two at a time.
“Moooom! It’s Matt’s turn to clear. I cooked.” Hattie pouted.
“You didn’t cook, you heated up,” Ben chided.
The bickering penetrated my head like a dull sword. I pushed my half-finished plate away.
“How about I do the dishes?” Fletcher rose and grabbed Matt’s plate. “Payment for this great meal.”
Elizabeth scooted her chair from the table. “Let me help.” It was the most she’d said all evening.
I carried my plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink. “Elizabeth, you’ve done enough. You’re my guest. Go sit. Hattie will bring dessert in a minute.”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew big. “Mari, you look a little flushed. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“I don’t know if it’s too much wine or the wreck earlier that’s bringing on another doozy of a headache.”
“I have some Ibuprofen in my purse,” Elizabeth offered as she loaded the plates in the dishwasher.
“I don’t think that’ll help it.”
“Do you have something stronger in the house? Maybe I could ask Cherilyn if she has anything?”
I shook my head, which rattled what was left of my brain. “I think I’m out of luck. I took the last of Cherilyn’s Midol earlier and the only medicine in the house is children’s Tylenol. I wish I had more of Peter’s migraine killer. It really works wonders.”
“I’ll run to the store and get some.” Elizabeth dried her hands on the dishtowel. “What is it?”
“Some kind of herbal remedy. I forget the name.”
“You really shouldn’t take anything without your doctor’s approval. Many people don’t realize herbs can be dangerous drugs.”
A little late for the health lecture. I pretended I didn’t hear as I reached for the empty lasagna tray Fletcher handed me. A strained look passed from Elizabeth to Fletcher. Stumbling, I hit the counter and steadied myself.
Elizabeth rested her hand on my shoulder, her eyes full of concern. “What was the herb you took?”
“I’m not sure.” I felt like I was falling. “Free fall …”
“Feverfew?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Danny set his plate in the sink. “I’ll check it out on the internet.”
“Come lie down.” Elizabeth led me to the couch. “The kids will finish cleaning.”
Thirty minutes later, Fletcher stood over me with a cool cloth on my head. The situation seemed uncomfortably familiar. According to the information Danny found on the internet, Feverfew was a flower. I probably had an allergic reaction compounded with the wine and would be fine after flushing my body with water and getting plenty of rest. Elizabeth reluctantly left me in the care of Fletcher and made me promise to call her chiropractor for an appointment.
I glanced out the window, watching the twinkling Christmas lights in the reflection. Danny stepped into my vision and strolled closer to Cherilyn with thumbs hooked in his pockets. She responded to his advance by tossing her hair and laughing. Then he scooped her in his arms and carried her to the porch swing. I shook my head. Oh, the mating rituals of the young and the restless.
“Can I get you anything?” Fletcher looked helpless, like an expectant father pacing the waiting room floor.
“A glass of ice water, and could you crack the window? Fresh air always helps to ease my nausea.”
“That’s right.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
The blinking of the Christmas tree lights lulled my spirit, and I smiled. At first I had hated the flashing lights Jack had grown up with, but soon found comfort in the shadowy patterns they made on the ceiling. I noticed the presents the kids had wrapped for Jack piled underneath the tree. My chest knotted. Where was Fletcher with my water?
“I don’t care about your past.”
Danny’s voice carried through the open window. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth.” Cherilyn tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Nothing you’ve done could be bad enough for me to stop … being your friend. I want to help.”
She sniffled, and Danny put his arm around her. Way to go, playmaker.
Cherilyn settled into the crook of his arm. “Remember I told you I didn’t return to school last year after Christmas break?”
“Yeah, your mom was sick. You stayed to help her. She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“No … I mean, yes. She was never sick.”
“Hey, I understand. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” He drew her close and rested his chin on the top of her head.
Cherilyn nestled in his arms. “This thing with Professor Henderson makes it all more real. I mean, life can change so quickly and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Resist the urge to speak, Danny. She’s almost ready to spill her guts.
“I went home because …” She drew in a breath and blew out. “Because I was pregnant.”
Silence filled the emptiness. I clamped my hand over my mouth. Cherilyn St. Jean. C.S.
“So you gave your baby up for adoption. That’s not a crime. In fact, I think that’s probably the toughest and most selfless thing a girl could do for her kid. I’m glad my birth mom gave me up instead of—”
“Danny, stop. Just stop.” Cherilyn pushed away and stood. “I didn’t give the baby up. I had an abortion.” She ran off toward the gazebo. Danny didn’t follow.
Go after her, Danny. Don’t let this come between you two.
I lay down. My skin squirmed at the image of her and Henderson. But the signs were there. She was practically hysterical when she found Henderson. And there were the rose-scented letters. But why did C.S. go ahead with the abortion? Maybe Henderson had threatened her. Cherilyn could have blackmailed him for revenge for making her have an abortion.
That didn’t make sense. Why would she jeopardize her reputation? Maybe someone else learned about the pregnancy and was using the information to line his own pockets. How much was Henderson’s tenure worth to him, and what would he pay to keep his affair with a young coed quiet?