A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery Read online

  WHAT REVIEWERS ARE SAYING ABOUT

  THE LINDSAY CHAMBERLAIN SERIES...

  "... calls to mind the forensic mysteries of Aaron Elkins and Patricia Cornwell ... with her own brand of spice as a pert and brainy scholar in the forensic analysis of bones"

  -Chicago Sun Times

  "... combines smart people, fun people, and dangerous people in a novel hard to put down"

  -Dallas Morning News

  "... ingenious plot, intriguing character, and a mystery as well hidden as rubies on a beach"

  -Booklist

  "... uses archaeology as a general setting that promises well for future books."

  -Mystery Review

  "What Lindsay is to forensic anthropology, Kay Scarpetta is to forensic pathology with one significant difference. Lindsay is a warmer character than Ms. Cornwell's famous protagonist."

  -Harriet Klausner, Internet Reviews

  "... an excellent murder mystery."

  -Midwest Book Review

  .. as chock-full of engrossing anthropological detail as a newly discovered burial mound."

  -The Tennessean

  "... intelligent, riveting and dynamic plots"

  -Romantic Times

  "Chamberlain is a fascinating, offbeat, and always be- ievable sleuth; settings and supporting characters are equally realistic and intriguing, and the story satisfies both as a mystery and as an entree into the fascinating world of bones and what they tell us about human behavior. Add Connor's dark humor, and you have a multidimensional mystery that deserves comparison with the best of Patricia Cornwell. Expect to hear more from Lindsay Chamberlain."

  -Booklist

  A RUMOR OF

  BONES

  A LINDSAY CHAMBERLAIN MYSTERY

  Beverly Connor

  To my husband, Charles Connor

  OTHER LINDSAY CHAMBERLAIN TITLES

  Questionable Remains

  Dressed to Die

  Skeleton Crew

  Airtight Case

  Acknowledgments

  SEVERAL PEOPLE HAVE assisted me in making this book possible and making it a better book as well. First, my husband, Charles Connor, who read and reread my manuscript, made valuable suggestions (many of which have made it into this book), and generally put up with me during the process.

  Many thanks to Harriette Austin, my creative writing teacher and mentor, and to Judy Iakovou, Jim Howell, Diane Trap, Alice Gay, Takis Iakovou, Dannah Prather, Valerie Towler, Julia Cochrane, and members of Harriette's writing workshop who read the various drafts and made frank and invaluable comments on the manuscript.

  A special thanks to my agent, Bob Robison, for having so much faith in me.

  And finally, I want to acknowledge and thank my parents, Edna P. Heth and Charles W. Heth, for raising me to love books and to like the kinds of things that I like.

  Thanks to all of you.

  A RUMOR OF

  BONES

  Here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, and examine them! They are hones: some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate.

  -Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

  A Study in Scarlet

  The valley ... was full of bones ... and to, they were very dry.

  -Ezekiel 37:1-2

  Chapter 1

  THE MIST ROSE from the uncovered graves like a spirit. Soon the sun would rise above the horizon and burn off the haze, and the site would be alive with the activity of archaeologists. But now, in the predawn hours, it was a mystic place-silent, stranded between the past and present. This was the time of day when Lindsay loved the site best. She could almost breathe in the past.

  Now, in the dim light, she could almost see the tall wooden palisade constructed from rough-hewn trees surrounding the village. Inside, she saw square wattle and daub houses with thatched roofs built around a plaza. Smoke rose from a central chimney hole in the middle of the broad, cone-shaped roofs and drifted southward with the breeze. Lindsay saw racks holding skins being tanned, others holding meat and fish being smoked and dried.

  She saw people-beautiful, dark-haired, dark-eyed, elegantly-boned people. In a house she could see one woman grinding corn on a metatae, another picking up discarded flaked chert debris and cutting up squash, pokeweed, chenopodium, and scaling fresh fish. Another woman was stamping designs onto freshly made pots. Children ran in, grabbed nuts and muscadines from a clay bowl, and ran out laughing. A man was sitting close to the hearth, chipping away at a piece of black flint, making points for his arrows.

  Outside the house, older children were playing a game, throwing spears at smooth stone disks that other children rolled in front of them. They all looked up as a hunting party came walking into the palisade pulling a travois laden with freshly killed deer and wild turkey. The hunters had also killed a bear, and the people ran to them to hear the story of the hunt. Beyond the palisade was a field of corn. Not large, but enough to feed the village. A small group of women tended the field under the protective eyes of two braves.

  Lindsay looked beyond the village and fields. She could see the conquistadors riding in the distance, hot and heavy in their armor, brandishing their weapons. Would they find the village? Lindsay couldn't see that. They hadn't yet.

  Faint sounds of a vehicle brought Lindsay's thoughts back to the present, and the village dissolved back to the smooth, tan, shovel-shaved two acres of ground marked with the dark stains and littered with unearthed artifacts of past habitation. She looked over to the dirt road leading to the site and squinted, trying to make out the vans that brought the field crew from town, but she saw only a dim cloud of dust. Suddenly, Derrick came into view.

  "Time tripping again, are we, Lindsay? What do you see?"

  She smiled at him. "Caught me. I was looking at the conquistadors riding in the distance. We haven't found any European artifacts yet, have we?"

  "Nope," replied Derrick. "Not a one." He looked out over the site and squinted as if trying to see Lindsay's vision of conquistadors.

  "I haven't seen any battle wounds on any of the burials," Lindsay said, "but I haven't examined them thoroughly. If they see the village, maybe they will be friendly, maybe they won't be carrying disease." She sighed. "What's up for you today? Tearing up any new ground?"

  "Don't know. I guess it depends who won today's battle-Frank's deliberate approach, or Ned's batout-of-hell methodology."

  The morning light was coming fast. She could now make out the stakes and string that formed a grid over the places on the ground they had identified as structures.

  "It must be hard, caught between them as you and your crew are"

  Derrick shifted the shovel to his shoulder. "I just do what Frank tells me. He's the principal investigator."

  "You know, if you..."

  Derrick put a finger on her lips. "I sense a lecture coming on, something about me finishing my degree. I'll get around to it sooner or later." He smiled, winked, and walked over toward his crew, who were looking for artifacts in the back-dirt pile.

  Lindsay shifted her attention to the five graves from which she had just removed the protective black plastic coverings, squatting beside the nearest. The dim light barely revealed the skeleton flexed in a tight fetal position. She looked up at the sky. These would have to be finished today, for the weatherman had predicted rain.

  The vans came rattling into the graveled parking area and stopped under the trees. Lindsay and the rest of the professional archaeology crew, except for Frank, lived at the site. It was a Spartan lifestyle, living in tents and bathing under a homemade shower, but Lindsay
enjoyed it. Kind of like the Swiss Family Robinson, she thought. The field school students were another matter. They were archaeology students from the University of Georgia, and they were working at the site to earn college credit. Their numbers varied from fifteen to twenty throughout the summer. It was impractical to house and feed that many students at the site, so they were housed in a large, old Victorian structure in Merry Claymoore that Frank had rented for them.

  For the duration of the dig, Frank had rented a small house for himself next door to the field students-close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough for his own privacy. Ned Meyers actually supervised the male students at the house, and Michelle Peterson supervised the females upstairs.

  Ned jumped out of the driver's side of the first van as it rolled to a stop and charged across the site in chunky, short strides, swinging his arms like a power walker. His round, whiskered face was already red from the effort. Lindsay didn't bother wondering what had set him off this time; he approached everything like a mad bull.

  He went directly to Derrick and his crew. "All right, we are going to open up Section Three today," he announced before he had reached his destination.

  "Is that what Frank wants to do?" Derrick replied.

  Ned's words, delivered in short staccato bursts, contrasted with Derrick's slower drawl. "Frank is not here, and I am in charge in his absence"

  "Where is Frank?" Derrick asked.

  "He was detained by the sheriff. I don't know how long he'll be."

  "But he's coming?" Derrick leaned on his shovel, relaxed and immovable.

  "Sooner or later." Ned waved an arm over the site as if to indicate the amount of work to be done. "But we can't wait on him to start"

  "No, but we can finish up here in a couple of days. We only lack smoothing the area beyond Structure 4 and mapping the artifacts so we can take them up, and I'm sure Frank will be here soon. He's probably talking to the sheriff about those pothunters we ran off the other night."

  Ned squared himself in front of Derrick, battle ready, a bantam rooster against the taller, broader Derrick. "Dammit, I'm in charge. Do what I tell you."

  "It's supposed to rain. We don't want to open up new ground today."

  "It is not going to rain." Ned lifted his chin, daring Derrick to disagree.

  "We are wasting time." Derrick turned to Brian. "You and Jim finish up behind structure 4. Alan and I will map" He turned back to Ned. "The Boy Scouts are coming in a few days. You'll have all the crew you need to uncover Section 3"

  "We need to have a serious meeting during lunch about your insubordination," Ned angrily muttered at him. He turned and walked away, studying his clipboard.

  "Insubordination?" Brian asked.

  "Forget it," Derrick said. "Let's get to work."

  Lindsay and her burial crew watched the scene calmly as they divvied paint brushes, dental picks, and tongue depressors: tools they used in excavating the fragile bones of the burials. "Do we have to go through this every day?" Sally whispered to Lindsay. "What is Ned's problem?"

  Lindsay smiled at Sally and shrugged. "A need for control, I suppose. We're fortunate he isn't interested in burials." She turned to Jane. "We have to get these burials finished and out before it rains. Do you think you, Sally, and Carrie can do it?"

  "Five burials? I don't know. Maybe. They're all nearly finished, aren't they?"

  "Yes. Just to be sure, get some of the field students to help. When you finish, ask Derrick or Michelle if they need any help."

  Tall, willowy Michelle walked up to them, grinning. "Well, there's a hard decision. Do they work with gorgeous Derrick, moving all that heavy dirt, or with me, digging out grid squares in a structure. Personally, I'd work with Derrick."

  They all grinned.

  "You know," said Jane, "we do seem to have an unusual number of great looking guys this season. Brian, Jim, and Alan aren't too bad either."

  They all looked toward the objects of their admiration, who were already taking off their shirts in prepa ration for the hot summer sun that would be beating down on them too soon. Brian and Jim began the task of shaving the uncovered ground surface smooth with sharpened square-bladed shovels. Derrick and Alan sorted the mapping equipment.

  "All right, girls," said Lindsay after a moment. "Let's finish the burials. There is plenty of time to gawk during lunch. Seriously, Michelle, do you need any help?"

  "I'm not shorthanded. I have most of the field students, and we're going at a pretty good clip."

  "Okay, then," Lindsay said to her crew. "When you finish here, help Derrick finish up his section. Maybe that'll make Ned happy."

  Lindsay was preparing to help Jane finish burial 21 when she looked up and saw Frank walking toward her. His forehead was creased into a frown.

  "Ned said you were meeting with the sheriff," she greeted him. "Was it about the pothunters?"

  Frank shook his head. "More serious than that. I have a favor to ask" He paused. "A hunter found a human skeleton just outside of town."

  "Are they sure it's human?" Lindsay asked.

  "Yes. It looks like it may be the remains of a local child who's been missing for over a year. The coroner is out of town, and the parents are waiting in the sheriff's office. I told Sheriff Duggan you have experience with this kind of thing and I would send you. See what you can do. Marsha will be here soon to take you"

  Lindsay's fingers tightened on the trowel she carried in her right hand. "You should've asked me first."

  The furrows in Frank's brow deepened. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I didn't think you'd mind. Lindsay, some of the townspeople don't like us being here. If we're helpful, it will be easier on all of us."

  "We?"

  "You know this is something you can do in your sleep. Just ID the bones and come on back."

  Lindsay looked down at her T-shirt, cut-offs, bare legs, and work boots and sighed. "All right, I'll change clothes and get my things."

  She didn't tell Frank how hard it had been for her the last time she had to identify the bones of children, standing in a California vineyard while diggers uncovered those bones lying forlornly in shallow graves with their little red or white tennis shoes and tiny, tattered clothes. He didn't understand what it was like, looking into the faces of parents, their eyes conveying the hope that their baby was not here but somewhere else-alive somewhere else-and yet at the same time longing for their ordeal to be over. So if this was their child, they could finally know and take him home and bury him.

  She particularly remembered one mother whose eyes were permanently swollen from months of crying. She insisted on showing Lindsay a picture of her son. She seemed afraid that Lindsay wouldn't understand that the bones she identified as his had belonged to a living person, a loved person, her son. Lindsay had looked at the studio picture of an eightyear-old boy dressed in a suit, smiling into the camera-healthy and well cared for-and wished she had had some comfort for the mother.

  Lindsay walked to her tent to change clothes and then to face more grief-stricken parents and pitiful little bones.

  In fresh blue jeans and a white cotton blouse, her long brown hair combed and fastened into a pony tail, Lindsay slid a backpack containing her tools over her shoulder and waited while Marsha Latimore's white Lincoln pulled up in the parking lot.

  Marsha was wealthy and well-connected in Merry Claymoore. The less-than-well-dressed excavation crews often invited small town suspicion. As a member of the garden club and president of the local historical society, Marsha was useful, or so Frank seemed to think, in keeping them on the good side of the townspeople. Lindsay put her pack in the back seat, climbed into the passenger side, and closed the car door a little too hard. She glanced over at Marsha and briefly noted the pale yellow sundress trimmed in daisies. Lindsay wondered how much hair spray it took to keep Marsha's helmet of bleached blonde hair so perfectly still.

  "Thank you for doing this, Lindsay," said Marsha. Her manicured hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly h
er knuckles turned white as she wheeled the Lincoln around in the parking lot and headed back to town. A frown creased her perfectly made-up face.

  "This is a real sad case," she said. "Sarah and Mike Pruitt's little girl, Peggy, disappeared a year and a half ago. She'd just turned six ... I'd helped Sarah with her birthday party. We had a clown, and Sarah's cousin performed some of his magic tricks ... it was real nice. All the children had such a good time."

  Lindsay wanted to say something comforting, but everything she thought of sounded trivial. After a moment, she asked, "Do they have dental records or x-rays?"

  "I don't know"

  "I need a good picture of her. If they have one made by a studio, that would be good."

  "I'm sure they do. Sarah's cousin Mickey has the portrait studio in town."

  They rode in silence for over a mile before Marsha ventured conversation again.

  "Frank told me there was some trouble at the site the other night."

  "Pothunters, most likely."

  "Pothunters?"

  "They're collectors who vandalize burials looking for Indian artifacts, mainly clay pots or nice point caches. Pots in burials are usually found intact, so they are valuable to collectors."

  "That's terrible."

  "Every site I have ever worked on has had trouble with them. These were a little unique, however. They wore Halloween masks."

  "Halloween masks?"

  "Yes, apparently, they docked a boat and came up through the woods. Jane and I saw them first. They ran when we yelled for Derrick and Brian. We all chased them, but they got away in their boat. I don't think they'll be back"

  "Weren't you scared?"

  "A little, but like I said, pothunters are a common problem."

  "Yes, but the masks. They might have been.. .well something different from collectors."

  "Maybe, but they ran away in a hurry. Derrick can look very formidable when he wants to"

  "Derrick is a handsome young man."