LC 04 - Skeleton Crew Read online

  "This place on the coast packs us fresh sandwiches, cakes, and fruit every day. Not bad, really." Gina looked over Lindsay's shoulder at the skeleton under excavation. "Our first victim of the wreck of the Spanish Star. Exciting."

  Lindsay teased a dirt-encrusted layer on the frontal bone of the skull with her trowel and sprayed it with water, gently rinsing away some of the mud. "No. I suspect that he was already dead before the ship sank."

  Trey, who stood only a plank away, and some of the others close by looked over at Lindsay. "You aren't that good," Trey said, grinning at her.

  "Yes, I am." She turned her head and smiled back at him. "I've found fabric, and it looks like he was sewn into sailcloth. Isn't that what they did with the dead on ships before burial at sea?"

  "Fabric? Let me see." Juliana rose and pushed past Gina to see the skeleton.

  "Jeeze, Juli-" Gina caught herself before she fell off the plank.

  Juliana squatted down beside Lindsay. "Yes, it's fabric. It could be his clothes."

  "Could be," said Lindsay, "but this particular piece looks like it covers his skull and part of his face. We'll see when it's finished."

  Trey and some of the others crowded on the narrow plank looking down on the mud-stained skeleton. The skull, arm, and shoulder were beginning to stand out in relief. Half the skull and portions of the shoulder were obscured by a brown textured veneer.

  Later, when they broke for lunch, Lindsay was surprised at the sense of relief she felt as she emerged from the well of the cofferdam into the open sea air. She stood next to the outer bulkhead, letting the breeze cool her body, watching ships that seemed miniature in the distance.

  "Better have a sandwich before they're all gone." A brown paper bag appeared in front of her face. It was attached to a suntanned arm. She took the bag and looked at the giver. It was the silent Jeff. "When the diving crew gets here, they'll scarf down what's left."

  "Thanks," Lindsay said, digging into the bag. She found a sandwich, Twinkies, potato chips, a pear, and two towelette packets. She fished out the sandwich and gave it a sniff. Tuna fish.

  "They're all tuna fish," he said. "I hope you like it. The caterer said they'd have to charge extra to fix different kinds of sandwiches every day. Tomorrow it'll be something else."

  "Lucky for me I like tuna." Lindsay tore open one of the small packets and wiped her hands with the moist antiseptic towel. Nice touch, she thought.

  "You know, you'd think after spending millions on this dig, they could spring for a little extra so we could have a choice." He bit into a pear. "Can I ask you a question?" He looked in his late twenties, but the tone of his voice made him sound like a kid.

  "Sure," she said and took a bite of the sandwich. The tuna salad was made with celery, raisins, and small chunks of apple. Jeff didn't have any cause for complaint, she thought.

  "Exactly why do they call you the Angel of Death?"

  Chapter 2

  "WHO CALLS ME the Angel of Death?"

  "People. You know. From digs."

  "What do they say? That I portend death or that I kill people?" Lindsay grinned, but she saw that the brooding Jeff merely waited for an answer.

  Lindsay waited, too, taking another bite of her sandwich.

  "They say that people die at the sites you visit." He stared at her with unblinking eyes.

  "Was this at night around a campfire?" Lindsay shook her head. "Two sites I worked on were associated with crimes, and I was not the only archaeologist who worked at both sites. I suppose they associate me with them because I was involved in the solutions. I've worked on lots of sites where no one died-at least not in several hundred years."

  "I see. You were just unlucky."

  "Or the victims were, depending how you look at it." Lindsay watched one of the crew spread a beach towel on the sand and stretch out in the sun. The scent of suntan oil drifted her way.

  She turned back to Jeff. He had finished his pear and was throwing the core into the ocean.

  "I need to talk to Trey. Thanks for picking up my lunch." She walked off toward one of the trailers before he had a chance to say anything else. "Angel of Death, indeed," she muttered.

  Trey stepped out the trailer door, followed by a woman in crisply pressed khaki shorts and a white tank top. She walked easily beside him with her hands in her pockets, laughing, as if sharing a joke. Trey caught sight of Lindsay and waved a notebook at her.

  "Here's your copy of the journal," said Trey. "And this is the translator, Harper Latham."

  Harper stuck out her hand and Lindsay took it. "I'm glad to meet you. This the same journal you told me about-the one by the passenger on the Estrella?"

  Trey nodded. "Harper is absolutely the world's greatest translator." He touched the journal with his forefinger. Harper laughed and raised her eyebrows at Lindsay as if Trey had told a joke.

  "The passenger wrote in his own archaic Spanish and Latin shorthand. I'm having to decode the thing as well as translate it," Harper said in a cheery voice.

  "That must be very difficult," Lindsay said. "You certainly have my admiration."

  "It's the most challenging thing I've done, and I love it."

  "It's slow," Trey added. "But we're hoping that between this, our other documentation, and what we find here, we can positively identify this as the Estrella."

  "You don't know that yet?"

  "We're pretty sure, because of the ship's manifest and from documentation we found in the Spanish archives. But this journal is a rare find and will add a lot to this project. It details the life of the crew on board ship. Other than the Salazar letter and the Diego journal, there's almost nothing like it. And to be able to attach it to a ship under excavation is nothing short of amazing."

  "The journal was almost lost forever," Harper said. "I don't know if you've heard how it was discovered."

  "No, I haven't," Lindsay said.

  "A UGA alum inherited an estate in St. Augustine, Florida. She was doing some renovation and found trunks full of really old stuff walled up in the attic. She had no way of knowing what any of it was, so she shipped it to a UGA librarian friend to look through it. The librarian happened to be an archivist with some knowledge of Spanish documents. She couldn't believe her eyes when she came upon it. If that archivist hadn't recognized what it was, it probably would have ended up in a trash heap or a garage sale."

  Trey shook his head. "It's amazing how often fate plays a part in science. Francisco Lewis wants to put excerpts from the diary in the newspaper, like a serial. I think it might be a good idea. Public support is a good thing."

  "Trey said you just arrived today," Harper said to Lindsay. "What do you think of his little operation here in the middle of the ocean? Pretty spectacular, huh?"

  "It's like the eighth wonder of the world. I was just looking at the ocean all around the dam."

  "Yeah, great, isn't it?" Trey obviously wasn't suffering any of the feelings of anxiety and vulnerability that the dam was producing in Lindsay. He was definitely in his element.

  "If you can think about it without being scared, it's quite wonderful to be able to walk on the bottom of the ocean," Lindsay agreed.

  Trey motioned Lindsay to one of the tables and chairs not far from the outer bulkhead and the three of them sat down. It was like an outdoor cafe with an ocean view. Several of the crew were sitting, eating their lunches. One person had binoculars, looking out at the ships at sea. Lindsay guessed they'd have to eat somewhere else on windy days. She could imagine the waves coming up over the walls nine feet above the ocean. Even on this pleasant day, she felt an occasional spray from the waves splashing against the bulkhead wall.

  "Scared?" Trey gave her forearm a reassuring grip."Oh, it's safe here. West and his crew maintain a constant presence." Lindsay looked over to the West Construction barge not far away. John and some of his crew were having lunch. She waved but she didn't think he saw her.

  "I've hired meteorologists just for this project. They watch the weather
minute by minute. Lewis got us enough money to do this right. Speaking of which, he'll be here in the next few days to do a little trowel work himself. I think he's bringing a television crew."

  Lindsay laughed out loud. "He's such a show."

  "Don't laugh too hard. Publicity gets us money."

  "And pothunters, too, I'll bet."

  "Some, but it also educates the public on what we're doing and why it's important."

  "John mentioned Eva Jones," Lindsay said, pulling a Hostess Twinkie from her bag.

  "Yeah, she has a yacht out there somewhere. There're rumors flying around about the Estrella being a Spanish treasure ship. I hear she's got her crew searching the ocean bottom. I've tried to put the word out that the Estrella was heading from Spain, and wouldn't have treasure, only supplies for the mission colonies. But you know, the Atocha was found just down the coast of Florida, and Blackbeard's Queen Anne's Revenge was found a little ways from here off the coast of North Carolina. When word got out that we had found a Spanish galleon, I guess gold fever kind of took over." He squinted at the horizon. "I think that may be her out there." He pointed at a tiny sailing ship on the horizon.

  Harper and Lindsay shaded their eyes, looking toward the ship.

  "Fancy boat," said Harper. "Who is this chick?"

  "Depends on who you ask," answered Trey. "Some call her a looter, others a collector, and some call her names I won't mention."

  "She sounds intriguing." Harper stood. "I guess I'd better get back to my translating." Trey started to stand up and Harper put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll find my way down to the dock. See you this evening. Nice to have met you, Lindsay. Come by my apartment sometime and visit." She winked at Trey and made her way to the ladder.

  "Isn't she great?" Trey said, watching her go.

  "We look a little smitten," Lindsay teased.

  Trey's cheeks turned a little darker under his tan as he smiled and nodded to Lindsay. "Maybe."

  "She does seem like a delightful person and a very talented translator."

  "She's both of those." Trey spread his own lunch on the table and unwrapped his sandwich. "Harper is-well, I've never met anyone like her."

  Lindsay watched Trey and smiled inwardly. Yeah, she thought, he's smitten. "Did I understand you two are going out this evening? Is there a place on the island? I thought it was only a research facility."

  "We'll take my boat and go up the coast to a restaurant on St. Simons or Sea Island."

  "Where does the crew eat, by the way?" Lindsay looked around as if perhaps there were a restaurant on the dam she had missed.

  "We have a cook on the barge, and there's a cafe on St. Magdalena that's not bad. It's actually a break room, but it's kept stocked with soup and sandwiches. Occasionally, some of the crew take a boat and go to one of the restaurants along the coast. You're welcome to come with us," he said. "It's your first night and-"

  Lindsay shook her head and laughed. "I think Harper would be a little disappointed. I'd like to poke around the island a bit." She gestured toward the sailing ship. "Jones must have some credible evidence of treasure. I can't imagine her spending money chasing a wild rumor."

  Trey finished his sandwich and took a Twinkie out of the bag. "For one thing, she's being egged on by Hardy Denton. Denton would like to cause us trouble."

  "Why? /1

  "He wanted this contract."

  "Surely he's lost bids before." Lindsay finished everything but the pear. She held it in her hand, wondering whether to finish it now or save it for later.

  "I'm sure he has, but he's a little bigoted, for one thing." Trey lowered his voice and Lindsay had to lean forward to hear him over the wind and waves. "Another thing, his was the lowest bid, and I'm sure he suspects it. But his was too low. He couldn't have met all the safety precautions with the numbers he had in his proposal, and his design was inferior. West Construction was actually the middle bid of the three. The third was a company called KingSmith-Falcon from Florida. They're the oldest maritime construction company in North America, and one of the biggest. Good proposal, but too high. John's was the best. He has a lot of good ideas."

  Lindsay wasn't surprised. She had had a brief look at the proposals, but not the budgets that went along with them. She bit into the pear and some of the juice ran down her arm. "So you think this Denton fellow is just using Jones to aggravate us? That seems like a waste of time he could spend somewhere else making money."

  Trey threw up his hands. "I know it sounds improbable and a little paranoid, but unless something has leaked-"

  "Leaked?"

  Again Trey lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "This is to be kept absolutely secret. The Spanish archives spoke of another ship, one of the silver galleons going back to Spain that sunk a year before the Estrella. It shouldn't have been this far up the coast, but-"

  He was cut off by loud voices and clanging coming up the ladder from the dock on the ocean side of the dam.

  "That son of a bitch. Jesus-"

  Two divers, a male and a female, climbed onto the sand from the boat dock. The man held a hand to his upper arm as the woman helped him. Lindsay could see blood seeping from between his fingers and running down his arm.

  Chapter 3

  "'SIT DOWN, NATE, and let me look at your arm." The female diver looked around for a chair. Steven hurried over with one from his table.

  "That sorry bastard-"

  "Sit down and shut up." Nate's companion pushed him down in the chair.

  Trey raced to the trailer and came out with a first-aid kit.

  "How bad is he hurt, Sarah?" Trey asked.

  "It's not that bad," Nate answered. "The water's making it bleed."

  "Where's the nurse?" Trey demanded.

  "She's seasick today," Gina told him.

  Lindsay knelt by the bleeding diver. "I'm certified by the American Red Cross in emergency first aid-" She slipped on a pair of latex gloves from the first-aid kit.

  Gina, Jeff, and others who were topside stood back watching. Jeff's narrow-eyed glare in her direction suggested to Lindsay that he blamed her.

  Bobbie Lacayo, one of Lindsay's students, came up the ladder. Her swimsuit and yellow windbreaker told Lindsay she had been with the diving party. The grim set of her mouth broke into a smile when she saw Lindsay.

  "You all right?" Lindsay asked her.

  Bobbie nodded. "A little scared. Good to see you, Dr. Chamberlain."

  "What happened, Nate?" asked Trey.

  "One of those sorry treasure hunters shot me with a harpoon gun. Can you believe it?"

  "What?" asked Trey. "On purpose?"

  "Do I look like a fish?"

  "Steven, call the Coast Guard," Trey ordered.

  Lindsay gently pulled Nate's hand away and looked at the wound. There was an open gash in his flesh two inches long and a half inch deep. The edges were clean and straight. Lindsay put a dry square of clean gauze over it and held it tight. The blood soaked through, and she put another one over it.

  "When this stops bleeding, someone needs to take you into town-wherever that is-and get it stitched up."

  "You can't do it?" Lindsay looked up to see Nate half smiling at her. Wet ringlets of brown hair hung in his face.

  "My doctor's degree will only let me do this much," she said, and he laughed.

  Steven Nemo came out of the trailer and trotted over to them. "Guard's on its way."

  "Sarah," Nate said, "dig in my pouch and get that thing I found for Nemo."

  Sarah Donovan fished an object from the pouch around Nate's waist and handed it to him.

  "Here, Nemo, it's a nautilus. I figure you lost it. Sorry about the blood."

  Steven took the spiraled shell and rolled his eyes, the others laughed. Nate laughed the hardest, then started coughing.

  "Are you all right?" Sarah asked.

  Nate waved her away. "I'm fine. Just mad as hell."

  "How fast did you come up?" asked Trey.

  Nate waved his question away. "
We weren't down deep or long. I'm all right."

  Trey looked at Sarah and Bobbie for confirmation and they nodded. He turned to Steven. "You take Nate to the hospital." Sarah opened her mouth to protest. "You and Bobbie have to stay here and talk to the Coast Guard," he said.

  The bleeding had stopped, and Lindsay wrapped Nate's arm with a gauze bandage. "Apply pressure if it starts up again."

  "Sure thing, Doc. Thanks." Nate winked at her as he disappeared behind the bulkhead, following Steven down the ladder to the dock.

  Trey turned to Sarah and Bobbie. "Okay, what happened?"

  Lindsay didn't stay to hear. She stripped off the gloves and went to the trailer in search of a place to wash telltale spatters of Nate's blood off her hands and arms. At the door, she looked at her hands, grimaced, and turned to ask someone to open it. Jeff stood a few feet away eyeing her.

  Great, she thought. I must look like Lady Macbeth to this nut. "Would you open the door for me?" Jeff hesitated a moment then came to her aid. "Thanks," she said and stepped into the trailer.

  The 25-by-12-foot trailer was cool, which surprised Lindsay. Principal investigators are not known for their attention to comfort. Then she realized it probably held sensitive equipment. Two old stuffed maroon couches sat along the walls in the living room. Several chairs, from brand-new to almost dilapidated, were arranged more or less around a large table covered with a giant map of the site. Other maps papered the walls. It looked like a war room. The stove in the kitchenette off the living room had been removed to make room for an extra refrigerator.

  The blood was drying on Lindsay's hands and getting sticky. She walked down the narrow hallway and found the bathroom. It was the typical small trailer bathroom with a sliding door, small bathtub, toilet, and sink. She washed her hands and watched Nate's blood go down the drain in a pink froth of soapy water. Lindsay wondered briefly where the water drained to-not into the ocean, surely. For that matter, where did the water come from? She turned off the tap quickly. It obviously had to be boated in and put in a tank-probably the one behind the trailer.

  Lindsay dried her hands on a paper towel and peeped inside the bedroom next to the bathroom. There was no bed. Instead, an old desk sat under an uncurtained window. A laptop computer, printer, and stacks of books and papers littered the surface. By the other wall stood a copy machine.