Lovely in Her Bones (9 page)

Victor looked up, disturbed by the noise. “What was that all about?”

“Trouble, I expect,” Jake answered.

“If there isn’t, there’s going to be,” said Elizabeth grimly.

    Milo ran along the dark path to the gravesite. He knew the way well enough to dodge tombstones and tree branches with only the moon to light the way. He was too worried to consider the etiquette involved in interrupting a love tryst or to let his fancy make ghosts of the graveyard’s shadows. Milo had enough to worry about already.

He stopped just short of the excavation trench and looked around. There was no one in sight, and the tent was dark, as he expected. Everything seemed to be in order, though. He decided to let them find him.

“Alex!” he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Where are you? It’s Milo!”

Having made that announcement, Milo sat down on a rock to wait. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so short with Elizabeth, but a crisis is no time for remembering one’s manners. He would explain it to her later, and he hoped that she wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. He sighed. One romance gumming up the works was enough for any dig. After a few silent minutes, he thought he heard footsteps running through the trees in the direction of the church. A moment later, Alex appeared in the clearing.

“Milo? What on earth’s the matter?”

“Somebody trashed the computer,” said Milo grimly.

“Trashed—when?”

“Earlier tonight. I drove back to town after supper to add some more data to the program, and when I got to the motel room, I found the disks had been ripped apart and the computer screen was smashed.”

“Damn!” Alex motioned him down the path toward the church. “We’ll have to report this, of course.”

“I already did. The guy on duty at the sheriff’s office took down the information, but he didn’t seem too upset. I take it the Cullowhees aren’t too popular around here.”

“I’ll go and see them in the morning. Then I guess we’d better see about replacing the equipment. Damn!”

Milo nodded. “How many days is this going to cost us?”

“I don’t know. A couple. I have duplicate disks back at the university, thank God! And we ought to be able to borrow another computer from the department for the time being.”

“Okay. Do you want me to drive back to campus tomorrow and pick up the replacements?”

“No, I’ll go. Do you have any idea who did this, Milo? Did it look like a burglary? Kids, maybe?”

“I’d say whoever did this knew something about computers. Enough to go after the disks, anyway.”

Alex grunted. “From now on, one of us stays at the motel room on guard. This isn’t going to happen again.”

    Alex sat on the top step of the church, watching the sky grow light. It was too early to go to the sheriff’s office, even too early to start breakfast; but he hadn’t been able to sleep. The smashing of the computer was probably a senseless act of violence, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that it was an omen. He was taking it personally. He watched the trees become distinct shapes in the graying light. The cold light of day, he thought, smiling to himself. It seemed silly to think such things in daylight. Obviously, someone didn’t want the Cullowhee study to continue, but that wasn’t what troubled him. That was a minor annoyance. He kept feeling that there was some other message in the incident. A twinge in his lower back made him wince. He missed his bed at home and the luxury of long hot showers, which would loosen his muscles. Apparently the rigors of excavation work taxed muscles that racquetball left untoned. He wasn’t as young as he used to be; there was no getting away from that. Still, it was strange that, after last night, he should be up at dawn thinking of Tessa.

Why had he volunteered to go back to campus for the disks? If he went home, there might be a renewal of the cold war that existed between himself and Tessa. Surely he wanted to stay with Mary Clare—especially after last night. He shrugged. There was no point in worrying about that now. He would go back to campus for the disks, and sort out his feelings later.

*    *    *

Elizabeth appeared at the opening of the tent holding a cardboard box. “Excuse me,” she said with frosty politeness. “I wonder if you would have time to look at these now? I have done twenty already and no one has checked my work.”

Milo looked up from his column of figures. Alex had taken the van to go to the sheriff’s office in town, and then he was going to drive back to the university. Milo, in charge until Alex’s return, was feeling particularly harassed after listening to a recital of imagined illnesses by Victor, a request for more help in the third trench from Jake, and a cross-examination by Mary Clare on “what Alex said about his plans before he left.” Elizabeth’s chilling courtesy made it plain that there was trouble in that quarter as well.

Milo decided that he had better make time for this interview. “Look, Elizabeth, I know I’ve been cross lately, but—”

“Don’t bother to explain,” said Elizabeth coldly. “It spoils your image. Why don’t you just go and eat a village?”

Milo sighed. “I’m sorry.” He took the cardboard box from her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Let’s see what you’ve found.”

Elizabeth brightened a little. “Okay. First I cleaned them off very carefully before taking any measurements.”

“That’s good. Those teeth are easy to lose.”

“Excuse me, Milo!” Mary Clare was peering into the tent with a worried frown. “Can you come out here?”

“Uh … is it important?”

“Yes! Somebody from the sheriff’s department is here about the computer. He wants to talk to the person in charge. I think it had better be you.”

With a sigh of resignation, Milo set down the box
of skulls. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. We’ll have to do this later, Elizabeth.”

She managed a weak smile. “Sure, Milo.”

Near the first trench, a short, thin man in a khaki uniform was bent over the transit instrument, fiddling with the alignment.

Milo hurried toward him, intending to distract the man from the delicate instrument as politely as possible. “Hello there! May I help you? I’m Milo Gordon, the person in charge here.”

“Naw, you ain’t,” leered the man, turning as he spoke. “I’m in charge in these parts.”

Milo recognized him as the disrupter of Dr. Lerche’s slide presentation. “You wanted to see me?” asked Milo in tones of careful politeness and understated dislike.

“Depends.” The man shrugged. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Bevel Harkness, here on police business. Where’s your boss, boy?”

Milo’s mouth twitched with annoyance. “Dr. Lerche is gone for the day. I’m in charge now.”

“Okay. I hear you’uns got a crime to report. Would that be other than this one?” He nodded toward the excavation with a taunting smile.

Milo could see no point in embarking on a shouting match with the deputy. The chances of getting a competent investigation of the vandalism depended upon maintaining good relations with the investigators. He said: “Last night before eight o’clock, someone broke into the motel room we rented in Laurel Cove, and they damaged our computer and destroyed the disks.”

“Don’t that beat all?” Harkness remarked. “How do you reckon they got in?”

“Those doors didn’t look any too sturdy to me,” said Milo. “I expect a credit card would have jimmied the lock. Don’t you think you ought to investigate the scene instead of asking me?”

Harkness took the criticism calmly. “They sent me
out to talk to you, being that you’re in Sarvice Valley, which is my section. Reckon the other stuff will get done as well. I got a form here.” He produced a notebook and pencil and proceeded to read off questions, most of which seemed to concern the complainant’s age, occupation, and permanent address. Milo answered them in tones of decreasing civility. “That ought to about do it,” Harkness said at last. “Will y’all be closing this thing down now?”

Milo grinned. “Oh, no, Mr. Harkness. We’ll be back in business by tomorrow.”

“Now, what do you want to go and do that for?” asked Harkness in a pained voice. “All those people want is to get themselves declared an Indian tribe so they can sit back and collect government benefits like a bunch of pet squirrels. And you folks are helping them get a free ride. It’s going to cost the taxpayers a bundle.”

“I thought you were a Cullowhee yourself.”

“Reckon so,” Harkness allowed. “But that don’t mean I want to get by without working. I don’t need no handouts.”

“The only thing these people seem concerned with is saving this valley from strip mining, Mr. Harkness.”

“Well, I can’t stand around here all day,” said Harkness, pocketing his notepad. “Y’all just watch out for that old Indian curse when you go disturbing the dead.”

“We will certainly watch out,” said Milo carefully.

    Elizabeth spent most of the morning in the shade of an oak tree, rechecking measurements and recording her findings legibly in a spiral notebook. By now the skulls had become so familiar that they had lost their grotesqueness, and with it their ability to distract her. They had ceased to be “real” to her in the same way the money she once handled as a cashier had become green pieces of paper after a few days of
familiarity. The money had no value because it was not hers to spend; likewise, the skulls had no power over her emotions because she had come to know them as objects and she had never known them as people. She was, therefore, just as surprised as Mary Clare when the latest addition to the collection reduced her to tears.

“Good Lord!” said Mary Clare, setting it carefully in the box. “What’s one more in this bunch? Why wouldn’t you pick it up?”

“It’s so small,” said Elizabeth faintly.

“Oh, that.”

“All the others had been just … specimens, I guess. And, look, they’re missing teeth, and they have hardly any suture closures, which means they were pretty old. But this one is a child.”

“Well … a hundred years ago.”

“I know. But there’s still something sad about a life that never had a chance to happen. Was it a boy or a girl?” Elizabeth looked closely at the tiny skull, trying to imagine a face for it.

“No one could tell you,” said Mary Clare softly. “I don’t know much about this myself, but I do remember Alex saying that if a child is younger than twelve, you can’t tell sex differences from skeletal remains. Basically there
aren’t
any differences at that age.”

“I wonder how it died.”

“Fever, most likely. Typhoid from bad water, or influenza. Cholera, maybe. Even an infected finger. It was easy to die back then.”

Elizabeth shuddered.

Mary Clare looked at her closely. She didn’t hold with catering to delicate people on a dig, but Elizabeth had been working hard. She wondered if this touch of nerves had been brought on by the skulls or by the situation with Milo.

“Look, Elizabeth, why don’t you take a break? In
fact, I could use one myself—in case you’d like to talk.”

Elizabeth sighed. She wouldn’t have minded talking about Milo, but she didn’t think it would be appropriate to do so with one of his colleagues. “I’ll be all right, thanks,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Oh, sure you will,” said Mary Clare. “Milo’s all right. He just needs to get used to dealing with live people, that’s all. Just like you need to get used to dead ones.” She pointed to the box of skulls. “How are you liking your work?”

“Fine. It’s interesting and … you get used to it. I’m just not sure I’m doing it right. Milo doesn’t seem to have time to check my calculations. I don’t suppose you—”

“Nope! Don’t know a tibia from a soupbone. My specialty is excavation, soil layers, stuff like that. I know how you feel about waiting around, but that computer business has thrown us for a loop. Anyhow, Alex should be back tomorrow. I’ll make sure he checks your work first thing.” She sighed. “I sure do miss him.”

Before Elizabeth could think of a suitable reply, they were distracted by the sound of someone approaching from the woods. After a few moments, a middle-aged woman wearing a blue print dress and boy’s high-topped sneakers appeared in the clearing. Elizabeth recognized her as the woman they had talked to at the church social.

“Hello!” Mary Clare called out. “You’re our first tourist! Want a look around?”

The woman looked embarrassed. She glance at the box beside them and looked away. “I didn’t rightly come to do that,” she said. “Reckon I might be kin to some o’ them people you’re a-digging up.”

“We’re very careful with them,” said Elizabeth earnestly. “And they’ll be put right back as soon as the study is over.”

“I know. Comfrey Stecoah explained the rights of
it to us ’fore he asked you’uns to come. I ain’t put out about it; I just don’t ’specially want to watch you a-doing it. I brought you some tomatoes from my garden, though. Figured you might like to have some for lunch.” She held out a paper bag to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was touched at such a gesture of friendliness from a stranger. “Thank you very much,” she said. “Would you like to stay and join us?”

The woman shook her head. “Thank you all the same. I just figured I’d bring these things to you gals. Least I could do.” She hesitated. “You ’member them love vines I planted for you’uns?”

They nodded.

“Well, I reckon the sun musta got too hot fer ’em, poor old Alexander and Robert. They shriveled up and died, the both of ’em.”

A
LEX TAPPED
his fingers against the steering wheel and stared up at the church. It looked cool and peaceful in the late-afternoon sunlight. Strange that he should be so reluctant to go in. It was six o’clock; they would all be in the Sunday school room having dinner—a flavorless concoction prepared on a hot plate. Alex wondered at his own distaste for the project. For the first time in his career, he resented having to leave his comfortable home, well-cooked meals, and especially his Posture-Perfect mattress. Roughing it had lost some of its glamour, perhaps in proportion to his own loss of youth. Or perhaps the real reason for his reluctance lay in the fact that he would have to face Mary Clare. He was going to feel like a fool, and he dreaded it. Even that stupid act of vandalism bothered him, although he didn’t know why it should. If the Neanderthals had still been around, mightn’t they have risen up in the caves of Lascaux and said, “Leave our dead alone!” If the protest over his work always existed in theory, why should he mind the expression of it?