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I stepped forward involuntarily. Time once again slowed and I heard a keening moan that seemed to continue endlessly. Some part of me realized that I must have been making the noise, but even with that knowledge, I felt myself
collapsing; my knees turned to rubber and I stumbled, the world suddenly seeming to spin around me, my vision awhirl.

The more I tried to deny it, the more I knew it was true. I couldn't have said how I knew, but as soon as I recognized the body bag for what it was, I also knew, as sure as my life, that it was Pauline they were carrying out of the burned ruin.

Chapter 9

"DR.
Fielding? Emma? You fainted," a voice said.

"I don't faint. I've never fainted," I insisted, as if from a distance. My words sounded blurred and with that recognition, time suddenly snapped back into its proper pace. I sat up.

"Oh my God, Pauline!"

Dave Stannard nodded grimly. "It's Pauline Westlake. I'm sorry."

"But there's no car in the driveway," I said perversely, automatically refusing to believe him and trying to deny what I already knew was true. I shoved myself up and stumbled a couple of steps to check. Just as I'd remembered: There was no sign of Pauline's Volvo wagon. I turned back to Stannard, frantic to prove him wrong. "How do you know it's Pauline? It could be anyone--anyone!--we don't know for sure."

The sheriff paused. "I recognized her rings. Everything else ... was in pretty bad shape. We'll have to do an ... conduct further investigation, but I'm pretty sure. I thought she was in Boston this week?"

"She was supposed to be back next Wednesday," I said miserably. "She was visiting her sister, I think, among other things."

"Do you know her sister's name?"

I wracked my brain. "Claudette. Peirce, I think is her last name. She lives somewhere in Boston."

He looked pale. "How did
you
know it was Ms. Westlake?"

"I don't know," I said. Tears began to leak out again when there couldn't possibly have been any left. "I just knew. Something told me."

"Okay. I've got to get this place sealed up and a crime lab team in here. Once that's done, why don't you come back to the station with me? I'll take another statement from you, we'll try to contact Claudette Peirce. Then I'll drop you back wherever you need to go. Okay?"

I nodded. Something in the back of my mind told me he didn't actually need to be so polite, but I didn't care.

"Okay. Why don't we see if any of these guys has a drink of water, or something, then we'll get started."

Pulling up to the dorm that afternoon, I had to take a moment to recognize the kids sitting on the dorm steps. I saw Meg and Neal, both still wearing their dig clothes, and I began to resent them for looking like they did every day. I knew I must look a mess, my eyes were dry now but burned like hell, and my face felt swollen to about twice its normal size. The smell of smoke that clung to my hair and was soaked into my own clothes was a ghastly, tangible reminder of what I'd seen.

I leaned my head against the glass, trying to gather my wits, summon a little emotional wherewithal: I was going to have to tell them that Pauline was dead, that she was inside her house when she should have been safely tucked away in Boston at Claudette's or the museum or having a good whiskey in the bar at the Ritz overlooking the Public Gardens. I knew as soon as I opened my mouth, I would have to
deal with their questions and their shock too. I wasn't ready for it, but then, really, I never would be, I thought numbly.

"You okay? You need a hand?" The storklike Deputy Sheehan, who had driven me home, was good at concern. I hoped for his sake that he had never read Washington Irving.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for the lift."

"I'm real sorry about your loss. Miss Westlake was a nice lady." He was just a kid, I thought dismissively; he looked like a Cub Scout in his uniform. I couldn't imagine anyone taking him seriously as a peace officer. I felt a flicker of annoyance toward him--what could he possibly know of my loss?--then quashed it. I nodded and got out of the car.

I tried to take a couple of deep breaths, but I couldn't seem to get enough air; weird, when I felt so hollow inside. If I could only breathe, I thought, I would be able to handle this. My baseball cap was still stuck on my head, where it had been all day; I felt stupid and childish with it on, but I left it there, needing the snugness of it to feel like something was holding me together.

I guess I took too long to collect myself, because the students exchanged a look and started to get up. I held up a hand; for some reason, it was very important to me that they stay put, where I wanted them. If I could control that, maybe I could control myself as well.

As I walked to the doorway, I thought of how I should put it, how I could tell them. They already knew, as soon as they saw me up close, that something else was wrong, and so it just came out. "It's bad news," I said. "Pauline's dead. They found her inside."

"My God."

"How could they have--?"

I didn't even look at them, I couldn't distinguish their voices. I needed as much distance as I could get from this moment. "Her sister said that she'd left early," I recited, "she'd finished up some business that she was taking care of. She said that Paul was going to have her car looked at--it was making a rattling noise, or something. The sheriff called
the guy at the garage in town and he said that he gave her a lift home yesterday."

"God, Em, I'm sorry." I recognized Neal's voice this time. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Anything we can do?" Meg echoed. She sounded so queer that I looked at her. She was positively green.

"I don't know. We've only got a week left, but... it's still a week. But there's going to be an investigation, I've got to stick around for that, help with questions until her sister gets up here. Really, I'm the only link with Paul's life outside Maine. There's going to be a funeral, of course, and we'll go to that, but I just don't know about the work ..."

I was pleased that my voice sounded so normal, but then realized that I was starting to wander. I tried to get to the point, attempting to keep a tight leash on my emotions, but it was just no good. I threw up my hands.

"I
cant
go back there," I said in bitter disbelief. "I can't go back there now, not with Pauline not there, and the house, the house is gone, it's just a blackened wreck, and I know I should be brave and finish up the work, for her or whatever, and I will, we'll go back and we'll make her proud, but I can't do it now, I just can't! I mean, goddamn it, Pauline's
dead,
and she taught me everything, and she's gone and Oscar's gone, and they put her in this god-awful plastic
bag,
and it's just too bloody bad if I can't suck it up enough to go back there for a while! I mean, it's not just me, the sheriff's guys have got to do their stuff and they asked me to hold off for a bit anyway, to keep out of the way--"

I think it was that thought, that I would be in the way at Pauline's house. It just came tearing out of me and suddenly I really didn't care who was there. "I can't believe this, this is just so wrong! I mean, I know she was old, I knew she was, she was an old lady, and that was fine, I could deal with the fact that one day I'd lose her, but not like this. Never like this, not a stupid
accident,
it just goes against everything she is, was, oh shit!"

I leaned against the railing, head in hands, willing time to
freeze because when I looked up, I would be forced to come to grips with their sympathy. But not yet. Someone put a hand on my shoulder and I just shoved it away. I knew I'd have to apologize later, to whoever it was, but I didn't care, I couldn't face it now. I opened the door and ran up to my room.

I dropped my bag outside my door and just kept going down the hall to the phone. I tried to remember what the date was, what time it would be in California, and realized it didn't matter. I was devastated when the phone just rang and rang and Brian never answered.

I leaned against the brick, trying to take it all in, make some sort of plan, but the smell of someone's lunch cooking reached me and made me gag, and I fled into my room before anyone could offer me a meal I couldn't eat. I peeled off my work clothes, still clean but for a couple of smuts and some soot, and climbed into the shower to wash the day from me, but it didn't help. Everything I looked at just reminded me that Pauline was dead. I tried to recall our last conversation and whether she'd smiled at all. Finally I got into bed with my bathrobe on and my hair still wet, but a few minutes later climbed back out again. I put my work clothes and my backpack outside my door and locked it, then pulled the covers over my head and tried to fall asleep without the smell of smoke in my nose.

Chapter 10

I FELL IN AND OUT OF SLEEP ALL THAT DAY AND NIGHT and finally resisted the futile urge to try again around four
a.m.
As unaccustomed as I was to rising early of my own volition, I got dressed, made some coffee, made a few lists, paced a lot, and cried a little more, until I found that I had no tears left. About seven Tuesday morning I heard the others stirring, so I took a deep breath, armed myself with my notes, and went out to inform the crew about my decisions. I felt ancient and raw, inside and out, as if I'd been scoured with pumice.

Everyone was getting his breakfast and before any of them could say anything, I grabbed a cup of coffee and started right in with my speech. Among my many other reasons for being glad of the coffee, the cup also gave me a useful prop, a distraction when it was needed.

"You probably all know by now that Pauline Westlake was found in the house and that she is dead. I should have told the rest of you myself yesterday, but I couldn't... if Pauline wasn't actually a relation, she did as much as anyone to make me who I am today, and, well, it's been a shock for everyone. I've decided that we're going to stop where we are--"

A few surprised noises came from the students and I held up a hand.

"For now. We are close enough to the end of most of the active units to finish and map them in a day or two and so we'll wrap them up and not start any new ones. We'd only get another meter or two done this last week anyway, and if we come across anything really big, well, either it will keep until next season, or we can manage by getting it out on weekends, before the semester is in full swing. So we haven't lost much time, really, and you all will get your full stipends. What we'll do in the meantime is work on getting the artifacts washed and labeled, so we can make the most of our time here and still be around so that if the deputies say we can go back to backfill, we'll be here. There has to be some investigation into the source of the fire, and they won't want us kicking up dust around their data, same as we wouldn't want anyone messing up ours."

That sparked a sudden, panicky thought in me, and I hurriedly set it aside. Not now.

Dian spoke up, and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were reddened. "I know I speak for everyone, Em, when I say how sorry we are for you, your loss, I mean." She looked around and the other students nodded silently. "Pauline was great and we all loved her."

"Thanks." It was easier to deal with sympathy now that I'd had a little time to deal with my own grief. "So. The weather looks iffy, but the order of the day is getting things sorted out to go back to the department. I'll probably be in and out"-- my breath caught here, but I was able to master myself--"as I may need to help with the sheriff's investigation."

"Don't worry about anything," Neal said. "We'll get everything in order."

I nodded. "Thanks, I'm counting on that. And I'll let you know as soon as I know anything about the... funeral arrangements. That's it, I guess. Thanks, again."

I went over for another cup of coffee, the bulk of the morning's unpleasantness almost done. As if I had forgotten
something, I said, "And, oh, Alan? Could I have a word for a moment?"

He didn't get up from the table and he didn't meet my eyes. "What is it?"

I gritted my teeth and thought, Alan, you're making yourself a very large target today; don't push me. Concealing my irritation, I said, "I just need your help with something, for a minute."

I led him down the hallway, to another, empty common area, well out of earshot. "Have a seat." I took a deep sip of coffee, wishing I didn't have this on my plate as well. I just didn't need it. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just... sorry." I could see a lot of his father in him when he pressed his lips together. "What's this all about?"

"I'll be frank with you. You've seemed really angry about something for the past week or so and I think it's getting in the way of your work for me. I wonder if we can sort this out."

He said nothing. I sighed and continued, trying my best to be fair to him and focus on the matter at hand. "I'm thinking of Friday, obviously. You showed a lot of temper, you weren't particularly polite to me, and then you stormed out. You seem to be having some friction with Rob, and a lot with Neal, and this needs to stop. I don't care if you don't get on with everyone, but you do need to behave professionally."

Alan didn't say anything and suddenly my anger ebbed, replaced by genuine worry. He was such a mess that I hoped he was getting some kind of counseling.

Finally he spoke up. "I'm just sick of everyone .. . running down my work. Running me down."

Now we were getting somewhere. "Who's everyone?"

"Well, Neal, for one. Neal especially. He's always on my back, and everyone else follows his lead."

"Neal's job is to keep everyone moving along. And even I've had to go over procedure with you, time and again." I paused, hating to ask the question I knew had to be asked.

"Are you sure this is what you really want, Alan? It's not like there's a lot of money to be had for all the rigors of this field, not like medicine or the law. It's a lot of effort to go through for something you're not completely sure of."

"Yeah, of course I'm sure." He shrugged. "No, I don't know. I just wish the whole thing would go away, sometimes."

"Have you ever thought about taking a semester off, a leave of absence? Just to think things over?"

He looked up at me. "You're not going to kick me out, are you?

As much as I knew he wouldn't like the answer, I owed it to him to be honest. "It really seems as if your heart isn't in it, that's why I ask. Think about it. But the next time I see a display like last week, I'll probably reconsider hiring you. It's not just aptitude but attitude, as well."

"Christ, I can't please anyone, can I?" he muttered. "Can I go?"

I could tell things were nowhere near to being resolved, but I didn't have the stomach for it anymore. "Sure. I'll see you later."

I looked at my watch: only seven-fifty. It was far too early to call Brian in California and I couldn't call Marty yet. I needed to talk to someone who could put this in perspective for me. I called my sister.

We're not all that much alike, for sisters. For one thing, there's a good eight-year age difference between us, not quite a generation, but far apart enough to matter. We didn't get the usual sibling interaction because she always seemed to be sick after she was born, late in our mother's life. It was because of that that I'd started spending so much time with Oscar as a kid; Grandpa tried to make things easier on the Maternal Parent. But by the time I reached high school, I noticed that the runt had a will and personality very much her own, and I promoted her from background noise and annoyance to probationary ally.