by Rachel Grant
Laura’s drama had started when Luke showed up at the door to ask Jason his whereabouts on Thursday and Friday. According to Luke, Laura Montgomery had immediately gone into hysterics, insisting Libby had stolen an artifact she’d just noticed was missing.
“But she was here today, in that room,” Laura argued. “Who else would take it?”
“I’m afraid that’s not enough for an arrest,” Mark said patiently.
The front door opened and Jason Caruthers entered the house. His face showed surprise at finding two police officers in the foyer. “What’s going on?”
“That woman you brought here stole from us. She took one of Earl’s artifacts.”
“What are you talking about, Aunt Laura?”
“Follow me,” Laura said and marched into the room just off the foyer, where she pointed to a shelf on which several artifacts were carefully arranged in an arch. There was an obvious gap at the apex.
“Right there. That’s where it was. Libby Maitland took it.”
“Aunt Laura, that’s ridiculous. Just because it’s missing doesn’t mean Libby took it.”
“I know she did,” Laura insisted.
“Why would she take it?”
“She’s an archaeologist. Of course she’d take it. They all want the best artifacts for their collections.”
“I’d like to speak with Earl,” Mark said. “It would help to have a description of the missing artifact.”
“He’s not home, but I found this.” She handed him a photograph of a shiny black arrowhead. “That’s the one. You get a search warrant for Libby Maitland’s house.”
He swallowed his laughter. “I’ll look into it.”
Jason turned to him. “Can I talk to you in private?”
“Finish taking Ms. Montgomery’s statement, Luke,” Mark said and followed Jason into the foyer.
Jason glanced back at his aunt, who stood poised to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Let’s go outside,” he said. On the front porch, he turned to Mark. “You can ignore everything Aunt Laura said. There’s no way Libby took anything. Aunt Laura probably hid it upstairs.”
“What does she have against Libby?”
Jason sighed. “Libby interviewed her today. Laura said some things she shouldn’t have while a tape recorder was running. She’s probably trying to figure out the best way to discredit Libby. Maybe she’s hoping to blackmail her into handing over the tape. Keep in mind, she’s Lyle’s daughter through and through.”
Luke stepped outside. “Chief, a call just came over the radio. Libby Maitland has reported a B and E at the Shelby house. She doesn’t know if the suspect is still there.”
Mark was down the front steps before Luke finished speaking. “Radio HQ. I’m taking the call.”
Jason followed him.
“Stay here. I don’t need a civilian in the way.” Mark hurried to his vehicle. When he pulled up in front of the Shelby house a minute later, Libby stood by the road under the old gaslight, clutching her cell phone in a tight fist.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I think there was someone inside the house. In my office.”
“Wait here.”
He cautiously entered the house. The back door was locked from the inside. If someone was there, they didn’t leave that way. He searched the basement and ground floor for intruders and then headed upstairs to search the offices, bedrooms, and attic.
Search completed, he returned to the office where she believed the intruder had been and scanned the organized space, when he heard the sound of a car door. He glanced out the front window. Libby leaned against his vehicle, her arms crossed over her chest. Jason was with her.
“Crap,” he muttered as he headed down the stairs, hoping Jason hadn’t told Libby about Laura Montgomery’s accusations. Mark wanted to see Libby’s initial reaction firsthand. He hurried down the stairs and out the front door. “I thought I told you to stay out of the way.”
Jason shrugged and placed an arm around Libby’s shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” Mark knew the motion was calculated, as it had been last night. But still, Jason’s action irked him. Mark was dangerously close to feeling jealous. Surely it was only because of his and Jason’s history.
“Thanks,” Libby said. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked out.” She looked uncomfortable, and shifted her shoulders.
The collar of her pumpkin-orange shirt caught under Jason’s arm, exposing a bra strap in the exact same shade, making Mark curious—did she wear pumpkin-orange panties too? Damn, that was a tangent he didn’t need but suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Call me if you need anything.” Jason caught Mark’s gaze and smiled knowingly and then let go of her. “I’m heading to Seattle tonight. I’ll be back Wednesday for the lecture at the library.” Jason nodded to them both and then climbed into his Lexus and drove away.
Last night Jason had reacted to Mark’s baiting with baiting of his own. Tonight he defended Libby from his aunt’s charges and showed up to comfort her when he heard she was in trouble. Mark suspected Jason’s actions were more complicated than simply helping out his father’s consultant.
“There’s no one in the house. Now I want you to do a walk-through with me, to tell me if anything’s out of place.”
They started with the basement, where a load of clean laundry lay on a counter. Several bras in vibrant colors were draped over a drying rack. He hadn’t focused on this when he’d been down here before, but with the titillating glimpse of her bra strap, he now found he couldn’t look away. Yesterday, she’d worn navy blue. A navy blue bra sat in the unwashed pile. Did she always match her bra to her blouse? The scientific method and ways of further testing this hypothesis came to mind.
He caught her flush as she noticed his gaze and smiled.
“Everything looks the same,” she said and started for the stairs.
He touched her arm, stopping her. “I enter every room first.”
“Fine,” she said and stepped behind him, close enough for him to smell her perfume as they climbed the stairs. On the ground floor, there was nothing out of place. Same in the bedrooms on the upper floor. Outside her closed office door, she touched his shoulder to stop him. “This is the first room I entered,” she said. “The light was on. I could see it under the door. I turned it off after I didn’t find anything wrong. I figured I’d left it on myself.”
“But now you don’t think so.”
“No, I think the intruder left it on.”
Inside, she played the message on her answering machine. No proof Brady was the caller, but the voice sounded right. He collected the tape to send to Bobby, who would be a better judge of the voice.
He glanced at her desk. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you ever check to see if you still have the spare key to your truck?”
“As soon as I got home on Thursday.” She opened her desk and dangled a key from her fingers. He could read the word “Suburban” on the white tag.
As they were leaving the room, he noticed twelve familiar boxes stacked against the wall. “Aren’t those the boxes we hauled up to the attic yesterday?”
“Uh, turns out they were handier to have in here.”
“But if we’d carried them straight here, then we wouldn’t have been walking up so many stairs.”
She smiled. “Not nearly enough stairs considering the way you and Jason were acting.”
He and Jason had been no better than two dogs fighting over a bone. He laughed, liking the fact that she was willing to call him on his behavior.
The second office was dim, lit only by the eerie glow of the light table. He read the headline on the page.
“You said this was your photocopy, right?”
“Of all the copies I made this morning at the library, this is the only one that mentions death. I know I left it on my desk with the other copies.”
Mark switched on the overhead lights. “And you called 9-1-1 because you feel this is
a threat.”
“That and because I heard a door slam. It scared the hell out of me.”
“Do you know which door you heard?”
“It sounded like my office door.”
He stepped back into the hallway. Her office door swung outward into the hall and remained wide open, just as they’d left it. Mark remembered opening the door when he’d searched the house before Jason arrived. “Did you close this door earlier, before you went into the other office and found the light table on?”
“I don’t think so.”
A breeze flowed through the hallway. The office door slammed shut.
He turned to look at her. Libby’s face turned white, and then she flushed and hid her face in her hands. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I panicked. The window at the end of the hall is open, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She looked vulnerable, regretful. “I forgot I opened the window this morning to let air flow through. The hallway gets pretty stifling.”
“You did the right thing by calling 9-1-1.”
“No. I’m an idiot.”
“You didn’t know it was the wind,” he said.
She dropped her hands. “I’m not doing much for my credibility, am I?”
“You’re doing fine.” The door slam had done more for her credibility than she realized. For one, it confirmed her story. Plus, seeing her fright and mortification told him more about her than any interview could. He led her back into the office with the light table. “Is anything else out of place in this room?”
She glanced around the room. “Nothing that I can see, but I’m not in here often. This is Simone’s office.”
“Who?”
“Simone Atherton. She’s my field director. She runs the dig.”
So, the woman Bobby met at the bar last night worked for Libby. Interesting. “I thought running the dig was your job.”
“I can’t be on site all the time. Especially with all these interviews I need to complete.”
“Does Simone or anyone on your crew have a beef with you?”
“Simone’s my best friend, and I haven’t heard any complaints from the crew.”
Mark jotted this information down, and then pulled out the picture Laura had given him of the artifact and handed it to Libby. “Do you recognize this?”
“It’s a point. Looks like an Elko-Eared.”
“If that Elko-Eared point was for sale, what would it be worth?”
She made a face. “Archaeologists don’t buy or sell artifacts. I have no clue what that, or any point, would sell for.”
“I thought the point of digging was to find artifacts.”
“We only want to find artifacts if they can tell us about the culture of the people who made and used them. A point like the one in the photo is useless without context—I don’t know where it was found, what soil level it was found in, what other artifacts or features were associated with it. I can’t estimate its age beyond a two thousand year range—which is too broad to be useful—or even interesting. Without context, that point is nothing but a pretty chunk of obsidian.”
“Do you keep the artifacts you find?”
“No. They go to the landowner, the government agency, or a tribe. We generally try to convince private landowners to donate artifacts to the local tribe.”
“Do you own any artifacts?”
“No. Definitely not. This isn’t a gray area. Owning artifacts could ruin me professionally.”
“Laura Montgomery accused you of stealing that point from their house today.”
She looked startled and flopped into a chair. “Oh, God. That poor woman,” she murmured. “I knew she’d regret what she said.” She looked him in the eye. “Just the implication that I stole an artifact could destroy my career. What are you going to do?”
“We’re not going to expend manpower on an unsubstantiated claim of petty theft.”
“I didn’t steal anything from her, certainly not a point.” She dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her forehead, and then looked at him, her clear green eyes questioning. “So what happens next?”
“I write up two reports: one for your B and E, one for Laura’s missing Elko-Eared point. I investigate your complaint and file Laura Montgomery’s.”
“What if she doesn’t let it go?”
“Without proof you took it, she can’t do anything.” He held out a hand to her. “C’mon. We’re done in here.”
She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She paused and looked at him questioningly. He liked the way her hand felt in his, so he tightened his grip and led her out of the room. He didn’t let go until they reached the staircase.
Downstairs, she headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. “I’ve had a long day and I’m going to have a glass of wine. I’d offer you some, but you’re on duty.”
“I’m not on duty. This call was a freebie.”
She began twisting a T-shaped corkscrew into the bottle. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’m getting a lot of special attention from you.” She gave him the barest hint of a smile. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if Laura Montgomery is right.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bottle on the counter, but struggled to remove the cork. He stepped behind her, took the bottle, and easily plucked out the cork.
She stood completely still, trapped in the circle of his arms. She turned and faced him. Her body remained stiff. “I’m not a groupie,” she said softly. “If—if you’re testing me, you can stop. I’m not a groupie.”
“I stopped testing you yesterday.”
“Then what is this?”
He grinned. “Extra credit.” Her eyes flashed with heat and he could swear he saw her pulse jump. “Let’s make a deal.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his badge, and placed it on the counter. “While we enjoy a glass of wine together, I’m not a cop. You’re not a victim.” He stepped back, immediately missing the rush of standing close to her.
“Deal,” she said. She poured the wine and he joined her at the kitchen table. She took a sip and sat back in her chair, her tension visibly draining away. “So tell me something. Are you for or against the Cultural Center?”
“Mostly I’m for it. Jack’s plan to build it could be a huge boon for Coho, a tourist attraction to provide jobs. The museum will be a big draw and Coho has needed a new library for a long time. The plan to include space for major retail chains has the Main Street vendors worried, and I know the tribe doesn’t want corporations to sponsor their potlatch ceremony. But when you get right down to it, unemployment means crime. The more people employed in Coho, the easier my job will be.”
“Do you think what’s happening to me could be related to the project? Someone who thinks they can intimidate me to stop the project and therefore the Center?”
“It’s an angle I’ve considered.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought I was your only suspect.”
He smiled. “We’ve been checking up on a few people. Has anyone treated you oddly?”
“Laura Montgomery comes to mind.”
He laughed.
“Do you think that artifact was really stolen?” Libby asked.
“No.”
“Pothunters usually respect, or at least are interested in the native cultures they loot. Yet she said the most awful things about Indians during her interview today. But she collects Indian artifacts? I don’t think so.”
“She said the artifact was Earl’s.”
“That makes more sense, I guess. Most likely that artifact was stolen, but not today—it was stolen when Earl collected it.” Her voice held a note of annoyance. “He probably took it from public land, which is illegal.”
Libby played with her wine glass, and then took a sip, before continuing. “People tell me all the time about arrowheads they’ve collected from national parks and other federal lands. It’s a difficult sit
uation. I don’t blame people who keep artifacts they find on the ground surface. It’s really exciting to find a tool, even for me, after all my years in the field. But taking artifacts is looting. It destroys the context; all the information tied to the artifact is lost.”
“Like when people move things at a crime scene. It can ruin the investigation.”
She smiled. “Exactly, but the consequences for us aren’t that crucial.” She paused. “We use the Latin term ‘in situ’ to describe an item that’s been found in its natural or original place. Archeologists want to find everything in situ. I know the term is also used by other scientific disciplines with variations on the meaning. Do you use in situ to describe the position of items in a crime scene?”
“We don’t, but it’s not a bad idea.” He sipped his wine and studied her, hoping for another glimpse of her orange bra strap.
The conversation flowed to other things. They talked easily, done with awkward silences and suspicion, and Libby’s free laugh triggered a rush every time he heard it.
He was certain she was far too sane, far too intelligent, and had far too much going for her to be the groupie type. And she wasn’t paranoid, which meant Aaron Brady or someone new was harassing her.
Mark’s job was to find out who and why, and unfortunately, he should avoid her on a personal level until her case was solved. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to realize they’d been talking for over an hour. He needed to leave, now, before he acted on impulse and explored her creamy skin in a very thorough but un-police-like search. Regretfully, he collected his badge from the counter. She walked with him to the front door.
“Lock up behind me. If you hear anything that worries you, anything at all, even a door slamming, call 9-1-1.”
She tucked her head in embarrassment.
He reached out and lifted her chin and then brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “I want you safe. I’m glad you called tonight. I don’t care that it was the wind. Promise me you won’t second-guess yourself in the future.”