Lovely In Her Bones

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE MOTEL ROOM was just as he had left it. Since the vandalism episode, Milo had always unlocked the door holding his breath, expecting a scene of wreckage within. He felt guilty that he had not stayed to guard the room as Alex had suggested, but subsequent events had eclipsed the destruction of the computer. Milo felt that he was needed more at the site. As soon as he got this password business straightened out, he intended to go back and supervise the digging. He glanced at his watch. Jamie should be in by now, he decided, picking up the phone.

After a few moments, Jamie’s voice came on the line, as calm and unhurried as always. “Milo! The news about Alex came out in the paper today. I’m really sorry to hear about it.”

“Yeah,” said Milo awkwardly. He never knew whether to accept the sympathy as consolation or to agree about what a shame it was. “I’m finishing the project, Jamie. At least, I’m trying to.”

“That’s right. He changed the password, didn’t he? He told me about the trouble you had up there.”

“It’s okay now,” said Milo, in no mood to chat. “What’s the new password?”

Jamie hesitated. “Milo, we’re not supposed to give those things out over the phone.”

“Jamie, it’s all right. It’s me. You want to ask me a trick question? You want me to describe your office?”

“I know it’s you, Milo,” said Jamie patiently. “But the phone might be tapped.”

“Look, if anybody wanted the password, they could probably break into the computer and get it! Anybody except me, that is! It’s all I can do to make those things work with the password. Now, I know he used some archaeologist’s name, because he always did. Which one?”

Jamie sighed. “Hold on.”

Milo waited, tapping his fingers on the table and wondering who Jamie’s boss was, in case he had to go up the whole damn bureaucracy to get the password. In a few minutes, Jamie was back on the line. “I can’t say the password on an open phone line,” he said, “but I can give you a hint.”

Milo closed his eyes. “A hint,” he groaned. “What is it?”

“I think he once had a dog named this.”

Milo remembered an old black Labrador retriever; his picture was still on the pine table in Alex’s den. Alex told stories about trying to housebreak the pup in a student apartment when he was an undergrad, and so he had named him… Leakey! Milo smiled at the pun: the incontinent puppy named after the great paleoanthropologist Louis B. Leakey. “I got it, Jamie,” he said quickly. “Thanks!”

He tapped through the well-worn formula, entered the password twice, and was relieved to see the title page of the file appear on the screen. He bypassed the introductory text and called up the chart itself, the thousand measurements of Plains Indian bones that Alex had spent his life classifying. The twenty-five Cullowhee skulls were little more than a footnote to the bulk of Alex’s research, but in statistical data, every little bit helped. Milo typed in the command to compare the two groups of skulls. Line by line they appeared in glowing green letters. Milo stared at them as if the computer had spelled out Balshazzar’s doom on the wall in Babylon. The numbers were entirely different.

Entirely different.

The Cullowhee numbers were not within the range established for American Indians. Milo dived for the notebook and checked the computer’s figures against the numbers written down by Elizabeth. Perhaps he had miscopied them. All of them? his mind sneered back. He ran his finger down the page, checking number against number. They were all correct. Correctly incorrect, he amended. All the numbers were completely out of range. Elizabeth had done the measurements wrong. Every single one of them.

Milo flipped off the computer, resisting the urge to put his fist through the screen. She’s only a beginner, he told himself. You can’t expect her to be perfect. She had asked him again and again to check her work. And I was too busy, thought Milo disgustedly. Well, at least that explained what Alex had wanted to see him about the night he died. Alex had checked the skulls, and had found out that Elizabeth didn’t know what she was doing. Obviously, he had wanted Milo to give her another lesson.

It wouldn’t cost them too much time, Milo told himself. Then he remembered that the skulls had been impounded by the sheriff’s department. Until the measurements were done correctly, the project was at a standstill. Milo swore. He would have to go and get the skulls back.

It was a short walk from the motel to the sheriff’s office. Everything in Laurel Cove was a short walk, Milo told himself without amusement. He had spent the time wondering whether it would be necessary to hire a lawyer to get the skulls back, and if he ought to check with Bill about it. Lawyers would take more time than he had, he decided, wondering if Pilot Barnes would respond better to bullying or pleading. He was trying to decide which one he could best manage when he pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office. The fact that Pilot Barnes seemed to be expecting him put him off stride before he could do either.

“Reckon they called you, too,” the deputy remarked.

“Who?” said Milo.

“Your folks at the church. I’m going out there now. You want to follow me?”

Milo froze. “What happened?”

“You don’t know? Well, what did you come in here for?”

“Never mind,” said Milo, not believing he’d said it. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s been a death up there. Might be natural causes though.”

Milo said carefully, “Was it a woman?”

“Young man. Name of Victor Bassington. You want to go out there? I’m leaving as soon as the coroner gets here.”

Milo was ashamed of the feeling of relief he had felt upon hearing Victor’s name. “Of course I’ll come. Let me get the car.”

The Sarvice Valley Road was beautiful on a summer day, but Pilot Barnes was in no mood to appreciate postcard scenes. Those damned tourists had become a personal crime wave in the space of two weeks. The fact that Dr. Putnam was enjoying it all did not improve his disposition in the slightest.

“What do you reckon it’ll be this time, Pilot?” The coroner cackled. “Scalping?”

Pilot refused to be drawn. “Heart attack most likely,” he growled.

“You’re no fun,” Dr. Putnam pouted. “Heard from Duncan yet?”

“Yeah. He’s on his way back. But they’re stopping at his sister’s in Winston-Salem first. He says that if the FBI is working on the case, there’s no point in ruining his vacation over it.”

“Watch the curve here,” murmured the doctor, sensing that Pilot Barnes’ frustration had localized in his right foot. “Slow down. Have you called that FBI fellow yet about this new development?”

“Nope. Don’t know that it is one. That’s for you to find out.”

“That young fellow behind us seems pretty upset about it.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t think it’s the Cullowhees. And he was a lot more upset until he found out who it was.”

“How’s his alibi?”

Pilot Barnes gave him a pained look. “Dr. Putnam,” he sighed. “Couldn’t you at least pronounce the fellow dead before you go hunting up suspects?”

Milo caught up with them as they reached the steps of the church. “Why are you going in there?” he asked.

“To find out where the body is,” said the deputy. “And to talk to the girl who found him.”

“Can I come with you?” asked Milo.

Pilot shrugged. “Long as you don’t get in the way.”

Everyone looked up as they entered the church. Elizabeth, who had been writing something, put the paper away. “I’m the one who found the body,” she told the deputy. “It’s on the path between here and the site. Would you like me to show you?”

“Where is Jake?” Milo interrrupted, forgetting his promise to be unobtrusive.

“He’s out there,” said Elizabeth. “He and Comfrey Stecoah were going to stay with the body. Oh, and your deputy is with them,” she added to Pilot.

Pilot stared. He knew that McKenna was off today. Suddenly he realized which deputy she meant. “What’s Dum-Coltsfoot doing here?” he demanded.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Something about a craft fair. Anyway, he’s up there too. Would you like me to take you?”

Pilot shook his head. “Sounds like there’s enough of a crowd already,” he grunted, turning to leave.

Milo started to go with him.

“Is it true that we’re calling off the dig?” asked one of the day crew.

Milo stiffened. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked more calmly than he felt.

“Jake,” murmured Elizabeth apologetically.

Milo glared at her. “I’ll talk to him later. And to you.” He walked out, slamming the door.

Elizabeth managed to say, “This isn’t my day,” before she burst into tears.

In the presence of a body, Dr. Putnam lost all his facetiousness and became a skilled professional. He knelt beside Victor’s body, measuring and probing, oblivious to the conversations going on around him.

“Am I going to get paid for this?” Dummyweed hissed at Pilot Barnes. “This is the second time I’ve had to babysit a corpse, and I’m not even on the payroll!”

“I thought you were supposed to look out for us!” Jake growled at Comfrey Stecoah.

“And I thought I told you to stay together!” said Milo. “What’s this about you calling off the dig, anyway?”

Comfrey Stecoah scowled. “Scared you off, have they?”

“You stay out of this!” snapped Milo.

Dr. Putnam looked up. “Could y’all please quit!” he asked mildly.

They looked down at the corpse, remembering the presence of death. “Sorry,” muttered Milo. “Can you tell anything yet?”

“Insofar as I can hear myself think, yes,” drawled the coroner. “I’ll have to get the state lab to back me up on this, but I’m sure enough to make a guess.”

“Is it natural causes?” asked the deputy anxiously.

“Well, he didn’t die of old age, Pilot. How do I know if it was natural or not? I’ll tell you what killed him, and it will be up to you to figure out if somebody else arranged it.”

“Fine. What killed him?”

“He suffocated. Note the cyanosis of the face, and the protruding tongue. See that little rash? Petechial hemorrhages.”

“You mean somebody strangled him?”

“No, there’s no evidence of that. Look at the swelling around the throat. You can see better from inside.”

Pilot Barnes backed away. “I’ll take your word.”

“His throat is swollen up on the inside to the point that the trachea is completely blocked.”

“What would do that?”

Dr. Putnam considered it. “A bee sting,” he said thoughtfully. “If you happened to inhale one.”

“There’s your murderer,” said Comfrey Stecoah triumphantly. “You going to arrest the bee?”

“I expect I’ll find his body somewhere in their during the autopsy,” said Dr. Putnam seriously. “One thing, though. Didn’t you tell me that he was going for water when he was last seen?”

“That’s right,” said Jake. “Why?”

“There’s traces of something in his mouth. Not water. I’m second-guessing the lab, but it smells to me like cider.”

Milo turned to Jake. “Have we got any cider at the church? Did the day crew bring any in today?”

“No.”

Dr. Putnam sighed. “All right, Pilot. Do your measuring and your picture taking. If it turns out to be cider in his mouth, and they didn’t have cider with them, then I think somebody has committed a highly original murder.”

“Not what I’d call a sure thing,” said Comfrey. “I’d say it had more of a chance of failing than it did of succeeding.”

“I don’t know,” said Jake. “Victor was allergic to bees.”

“Who knew it?” asked Pilot Barnes.

Milo gave him a grim smile. “Who didn’t?”

While Dr. Putnam finished his preliminary examination, Milo followed Pilot Barnes around the death scene, occasionally holding the camera or tape measure, and talking to the deputy in a low voice that Jake was unable to hear. After a few minutes, Jake saw him smile, pump Pilot’s hand-disregarding the scowl he received in return-and walk back toward the church. Jake hurried to catch up with him.

He had intended to spend the walk back discussing the fate of the dig with Milo, but Comfrey Stecoah insisted on escorting them, making such a talk impossible. It was just as well, Jake told himself. Milo didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, despite his display of exuberance with the deputy. Even Victor’s death did not account for depression of that magnitude. Jake concluded that the research was going badly.

“What are the chances of them solving this case?” Milo asked Comfrey after several hundred yards of silence.

Comfrey shrugged. “A little better than in New York. Same cop equipment, fewer suspects.”

“Do you think somebody murdered Victor?” asked Jake.

“Maybe somebody crazy,” said Milo. “They must have picked him because he was one of us and he happened to be the one they caught alone.”

“Nothing personal, huh?” asked Jake, trying not to think of how close it had come to being Elizabeth out there alone.

“They’re trying to keep you from helping us,” Comfrey explained. “It’s scare tactics. I wonder where Bevel Harkness was this morning.”

“Well, if it was him, it will be safe to work out here tomorrow,” Milo answered.

“Why?”

“Because the inquest on Alex is tomorrow. He has to testify.”

“Is that what you were grinning at?” asked Jake.

“Back there with the deputy? No. I got him to agree to give us the skulls back tomorrow.”

Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of people in the woods about to emerge at the churchyard, and she didn’t want to be caught crying, especially if one of those people turned out to be Milo. It was, she decided upon closer inspection. Should she avoid him or stay and find out what the matter was? I don’t need this grief, she thought. Relationships are supposed to be pleasant. Ever since I got interested in Milo my life has turned into the waiting room of a dentist’s office. She watched the three men draw nearer. Comfrey Stecoah said a few words to them and ambled off down the hillside toward the houses. Jake, seeing her on the porch, looked embarrassed. She nodded politely. With a murmured greeting, Jake brushed past her and disappeared inside the church. Milo stood looking down at her, tight-lipped. Elizabeth stared back unblinking.

“How are you?” asked Milo as if each word cost him.

“Fine,” said Elizabeth, “considering that I discovered a body this afternoon.”

“Well. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Thank you,” she answered primly.

Milo took a deep breath. Having got the preliminaries out of the way, he could say what was really on his mind. No one could say he hadn’t been polite about it. “You screwed up the stats!” he burst out.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The skull measurements. I checked them today and they’re all wrong.”

“How could you check them when you don’t have the skulls?”

“I compared them to the rest of the chart. They’re way out of range. That must be what Alex wanted to tell me.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, Milo. I kept asking you to check my work. I am a beginner, you know.”

The perfect truth of what she said irritated him further. “Why couldn’t you have been more careful?” he demanded. “You knew how important this was!”

Elizabeth glared at him. “If it was so important, perhaps you should have done a better job of supervising.”

“Maybe I overestimated your intelligence!” Milo shot back.

Elizabeth looked away, her eyes stinging. I’ll be damned if I let him see me cry, she thought. He is just upset about Alex’s death. I ought to be more patient with him. Tapping the last dregs of Southern politeness, she managed a tight smile. “Would you like to show me the procedure again?”

Milo’s frown relaxed. “We’re getting the skulls back tomorrow, and since Mary Clare and Victor are not with us, I need to be doing other things. So I would appreciate it if you would do the measurements again!”

Under the circumstances, that speech would have to pass for an apology, Elizabeth decided. “Fine,” she said, the arctic light still glinting in her eyes. “I’ll do it again.”

Milo, apparently finding the words “Thank you” unpronounceable, nodded and turned away.