A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (24 page)

"You're too good, Derrick."

"This tripod thing seemed like a good idea, but
now I think it may be a waste of time. The one we are
looking for was probably carted to the dump long ago
or stuck in an old barn somewhere "

"I know, but we have so few clues, and Ned needs
good news from somewhere."

"Yeah, I thought about that, too. You know, Lindsay, Jenna did identify him:"

"I know. I've been thinking about that. What if I'm
wrong and Ned did do it and ..."

Derrick touched her lips. "We'll do what we can,
Lindsay. We could just give the sheriff what information we have about tripods and leave everything to
him. We'll just concentrate on the site. The sheriff is a
good man. He wants the right murderer caught" Derrick sighed. "Let this be the last detective work we do,
okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it," he said.

"Me, too. I don't really know what else to do "

"And no more time tripping at the crime scene."

"No, definitely not"

Soon after 10:00 o'clock the next morning, Ned came
strolling into the site, delivered by the sheriff. The
crew stopped their work and watched as he walked to
the section of the site he had opened up earlier and
began giving orders. Lindsay was the first to greet
him.

"Hello, Ned," she said.

He nodded. "Looks like they made some progress
while I've been gone."

"We didn't think the judge was granting bail ..."

"Didn't need it," he interrupted. "Look, I need to
check on this section. I'll talk to you later."

"Sure," Lindsay said.

She looked across the parking lot and saw the sheriff standing with his hands in his pockets. She turned
and walked toward him. Frank and Marsha came
walking toward him from one of the nearby structure
excavations. The sheriff did not look happy.

"Hey," Lindsay greeted him. "What happened?"

"Yeah," said Frank. "I thought he was in the pokey
for a while."

"So did I," said the sheriff, "but it seems as though
he came up with an iron-clad eyewitness alibi for the
time when Jenna was supposed to have seen him."

"Who?" asked Lindsay.

The sheriff smiled grimly. "Isabel Tyler."

"Isabel Tyler?" Marsha exclaimed.

Lindsay raised her eyebrows.

"What's the story?" Frank asked.

"Seems our boy made a phone call, and about 20 minutes later Isabel Tyler drives up in her chauffeured
limousine and says Ned was with her that afternoon,
telling her what places on her property she might find
Indian artifacts." The sheriff shook his head. "Never
knew the woman was interested in Indian artifacts."
He turned on his heels and walked to his car. Lindsay
followed.

The sheriff started to get into his car, and Lindsay
put a hand on the door. "What does this mean?" she
asked.

The sheriff stood up, the car door like a barrier
between the two of them. "I don't know."

"Do you believe she was telling the truth?"

"Frankly ... no"

"Then, why?" she asked.

"Who knows?" The sheriff's face showed no
expression.

He doesn't like being manipulated, thought Lindsay, and that's what he feels Ned has done. Ned and
Isabel Tyler.

"He must know something about ..."

"Yep," said the sheriff. "He must know something
about something." He started to get back in his car
again. Lindsay held on to the door.

"Do you think maybe he knows it is really Mickey
Lawson?" Lindsay asked.

"If he knew that, he would've told me and not her."

"I suppose so," Lindsay agreed. "Are you going to
the Fourth of July picnic?"

"I do every year."

"Perhaps ..."

The sheriff stood up, closed the door, and put a
hand on Lindsay's shoulder. "Now, look, I don't want you to go snooping around at the Tylers. I can't, and
you mustn't. Do you understand?"

"I want to know what is going on"

"So do I, and it is my job to find out. I don't come
here and dig up your bones. Don't you go snooping
around Merry Claymoore."

"Sheriff, I ..."

The sheriff's face softened. "[ don't mean to sound
harsh. Well, I suppose I do, too. [ just want you to
remember about Seymour Plackert's body floating
down the river and landing at your dock. Something
dangerous is going on in this town" The sheriff got in
his car and drove off.

"What did he say?" Frank asked when Lindsay
came back.

"Nothing much, except that he doesn't believe
Ned's alibi."

Whited sepulchers, which indeed appear beautifid outward,
but are within full of'dead mens hones.

-Matthew 23:27

TYLERWYND WAS A LARGE antebellum mansion at the end of a long, winding drive lined by
pecan trees. The lawn immediately around the house
was neatly mowed and bordered by shrubs. Live oaks
shaded parts of the lawn, their trunks surrounded by
wooden and wrought iron benches.

Many cars were already parked in the black-topped
parking lot for the guests, and Derrick pulled in
beside Brian's car when he arrived with Lindsay,
Michelle, and Jim. Jane, Sally, and Alan had ridden
with Brian. Ned volunteered to stay at the site "to
guard it from pothunters" as he said. Everyone was in
good spirits, glad to be away from the site and ready
for a picnic. However, Michelle, Lindsay noticed, was
a little cool.

"It looks like Tara," Sally observed, looking at the
three-story, white-columned house before them.

"I'd hate to vacuum the place," Jane said.

Frank pulled in beside them with Marsha and her
grandmother. Marsha helped the elderly woman from
the car and introduced her to the others. "This is my
grandmother, Elaine Darby"

Elaine Darby, who was dressed in a blue jogging
suit, possessed the most silvery hair Lindsay had ever
seen. It sparkled like strands of spun metal. She
smiled at Lindsay, Derrick, and Sally.

"It's nice to meet you," she said. "Marsha has told
me all about the work you do. It sounds so interesting."

Mrs. Darby used a walker, and they all slowed their
pace to walk with her. "It's been a long time since I've
been here," she said. "I used to come quite frequently,
about ... my goodness, it must have been over 60
years ago. It looked the same then." She stopped, and
they all stopped with her. "Except for this parking
area, I don't believe there have been any other
changes. Imagine that" Elaine Darby shook her head
and continued toward the house.

"I had the display case delivered," Marsha told
Lindsay. "It's supposed to be outside near the
entrance. I hope it wasn't too much trouble to bring
some artifacts."

"Not at all," Lindsay replied.

They were greeted at the door by the housekeeper,
who ushered them through a wide central hallway.
Mrs. Darby's slow pace allowed her and the others to
look into the rooms as they passed. The furniture
suited the house: highly polished antebellum pieces
that looked as though they were never used. The
housekeeper took them to a back patio where several
long tables were set up amid flags, streamers, and a long banner welcoming the guests to the Tyler's 70th
Annual Fourth-of-July picnic. Lindsay recognized
several people from town, including the sheriff,
milling around and talking to each other.

Marsha and Frank found a shady place for her
grandmother to sit, and Derrick and Lindsay stayed to
talk with them. The others wandered around the
garden.

"Very odd," Mrs. Darby said. "It looks just like it
did 60 years ago inside, too. I think I would get bored
after a while with the same furniture in the same
arrangement."

"Can I get you something to drink?" asked a young
woman in a black dress and frilly white apron.

"Why, yes, dear," Mrs. Darby answered. "Bring us
some lemonade. Do you have ginger cookies as
well?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Bring us some of those, too. Tylerwynd is
famous for its lemonade and ginger cookies," she
confided to Lindsay and Derrick.

The display case was where Marsha said it would
be. It was a small table with a hinged glass top that
could be locked. Lindsay and Sally began setting the
artifacts inside with their neatly printed identification
cards. Lindsay had selected several potsherds, deciding that a whole pot would be too tempting to any
potential pothunters at the gathering. She also decided
against bringing the copper ear spools for the same
reason. She did, however, bring a shell disk incised
with designs; a mica cutout of a hand; two celts, both
of which had a nice smooth axe shape; and a stone
tool that might have been a hoe. She brought a mano and metatae and placed some corn in the depression
of the metatae to show how it was used. Lindsay also
selected several ceremonial points from the burials.

"That's a good selection," commented Frank over
her shoulder.

"Marsha said you were bringing some of the things
you dug up for us to see. That is so nice," said Mrs.
Darby, who had walked over to see the artifacts.

"Well, Elaine, how good of you to come. It has
been a long time," said an ancient, haughty, female
voice.

They turned to see a tall, thin, elderly woman in a
dark high-necked dress. She wore a long string of
pearls that dripped down to her waist and a porcelain
rose pin at her throat. Her hair was blonde and pulled
tight into a bun on the back of her head. The thick pancake makeup accentuated rather than hid her deep
wrinkles. Despite the careful use of a lip liner, her lipstick bled out into tiny lines around her lips. Large,
penetrating blue eyes outlined in black and fringed
with long false eyelashes gazed at all of them with
what seemed to Lindsay like malevolent amusement.
Diamond, emerald, and ruby rings glittered on her fingers gripping the silver head of a black lacquered cane.

"Isabel," said Mrs. Darby. "Yes, it has been a long
time."

"You have been offered refreshment?"

"Oh, yes. A nice young woman went off to get us
lemonade and ginger cookies. I was telling them how
traditional they are at Tylerwynd."

Isabel Tyler smiled, and her eyes glittered. "Yes.
Tradition is important. Who are these people you have
brought with you?"

"You know Marsha, my granddaughter. This is
Frank Carter. He is the chief archaeologist at the
Jasper Creek archaeological site. You have read about
it, haven't you, dear'? This lovely young woman is
Lindsay ... is it Chamberlain?"

"Yes," replied Lindsay. "Lindsay Chamberlain." If
Isabel recognized the name, she didn't allow it to
show.

"And Derrick Bellamy, I believe, but my memory
is not what it used to be"

"That's correct," Derrick said. "How do you do,
Mrs. Tyler? Your home is quite grand."

"Yes, it is," added Frank. "Thank you for inviting
us. ,

Isabel abruptly turned her attention to Lindsay. "I
believe I have read about you in the paper. You have
helped the sheriff's office identify those poor children. One was my great grandniece, you know. I
appreciate your assistance in helping with a family
tragedy. Mike and Sarah won't be here, of course, but
have you met the rest of my family?"

What a cold woman, Lindsay thought.

"We just arrived," Marsha replied. "I haven't introduced them to everyone yet."

"I've met your grandson, Mickey Lawson."

"Yes, Mitchell told me about his assistance in your
identification."

"The details of camera measurements were a great
help."

"It is interesting work you do, but a bit horrifying.
Mitchell tells me you do something with the skeletons."

"Yes, I analyze the bones at the Indian site to find out their age, gender, diseases. You can discover a lot
of information about the lives of a people by studying
their bones."

"I suppose, if you want to know that kind of thing."

"We do," said Lindsay. "These are some artifacts
we have found at the site. We thought everyone would
like to see what we were doing."

"Yes, very nice."

But Lindsay noticed that she did not even glance at
the display case.

"Oh, this is my son Jacob Tyler. Jacob, these are
the people from the ... what did the papers call it? A
dig?"

Lindsay smiled at the man who had come to his
mother's side. He was a heavyset, round-faced man in
his 50s who tried to disguise his thinning hair with a
comb-over. He wore dress pants and a short sleeve
white shirt buttoned up to the top, but no tie. Jacob
reminded Lindsay of a large child. He held out his
hand for them to shake. His hands were unusually
large, like slabs of pink meat with large protruding
sausages. He smiled, shook their hands, and turned to
Isabel.

"Mother, Winifred said everything is ready"

"Then we will sit down and eat. Tell her to serve
when everyone is seated." She turned to her guests.
"You will find your names on cards by the place settings."

Lindsay sat at the head of the table near Isabel.
Frank sat beside Lindsay. Marsha and her grandmother, and Derrick had been placed at another table.
Across from Lindsay was a woman who was introduced as Isabel's daughter, Esther Lawson, Mickey Lawson's mother. Esther Lawson had dyed black hair
pulled back in a stiff French twist. She wore a short
sleeve black dress trimmed with black scalloped
stitching. A white choker of pearls wound around her
neck like a brace. She might have been a pretty
woman, but her carefully applied makeup masked her
features. She asked Lindsay and Frank about the site,
all the while trying to find just the right place for her
silverware, bread plate, and lemonade glass in relation to her dinner plate. The esthetics of her place setting was such a problem for her that both Lindsay and
Frank stopped talking and watched.

"Stop it, Esther!" Isabel ordered. "You are attracting attention." Esther put her hands in her lap and
grinned at Lindsay and Frank in obvious distress at
having to stop without having solved the problem of
the right arrangement for her dinnerware.