Airtight Case (6 page)

“You have an appointment tomorrow with a neuropsychiatrist,” said Sinjin.

Lindsay nodded. “They treat people who have lost their mind?”

“You haven’t lost your mind,” he said, a little too emphatically, Lindsay thought.

“Perhaps not
lost
, but I’ve certainly seriously misplaced it.”

They all laughed. “Your personality is intact,” said John, tearing off a piece of the bread.

Fry bread
, Lindsay thought. John must have made it.
Now, how did I know that? Another memory association?

Harper left not long after they had washed the dishes. She kissed Lindsay on the cheek. “Call if you need me. I won’t be leaving for Spain for about a month.”

“Thanks for being here. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

“All the research says you’ll remember in a few days.” She smiled. “You’re a very research-oriented person, so that should fill you with hope.”

Lindsay watched from the porch as Harper drove down the long driveway.

“Maybe you should go through all the albums,” suggested Sinjin. The three of them sat on the porch looking out over Lindsay’s woods.

She nodded, but was a little afraid. What if she should see something that scared her again? She wanted to stay away from that.

“Is that the stable down there?”

“Yes. I’ll be staying there tonight. John can have the guest room.”

“I’ll stay in the stable,” offered John.

“Wait,” interrupted Lindsay. “Neither of you should have to sleep in the barn, for heaven’s sake. Can’t someone sleep on the couch?”

Sinjin laughed. “You have a bedroom with all the amenities in the stable, in case you have to stay all night with Mandrake. It’s quite comfortable.”

“I sometimes sleep with my horse?”

“If he’s sick. You’re very fond of him, and he’s very valuable. Ellen, your mother, would have your hide if anything happened to him.”

“My mother, not yours?”

Sinjin shook his head. “I’m your half brother.”

Lindsay felt a stab of disappointment. She didn’t know why. It must have shown on her face, for Sinjin grabbed both her hands.

“But we’re close. I’m going to stay here until you’re recovered. So is John.”

John nodded. “You have lots of friends. They’ll visit you when you’re ready. Many people want you to get better.”

But there are a few who don’t,
thought Lindsay.

She went to bed early, bidding John and Sinjin good night from the stairs. She found a nightshirt in the chest-of-drawers and settled into what felt like a down mattress.

* * *

She awoke just as the sun was coming up, while it was still twilight outside. She dressed and started down the stairs. The smell of bacon, fried apples, and hot bread rose from the depth of her house.
John?
She grinned and bounded downstairs.

“Sinjin, John.” She was still grinning as she walked into the kitchen. “My two main men. What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

They both stared at her.

“What?” she said. “Did I forget to put my clothes on?”

“You recognize us?” asked Sinjin.

“Yes, of course.” She laughed. “Are you supposed to be disguised?”

John raced over to her and put his arms around her, picking her up off the floor and kissing her. Sinjin dropped the skillet on the counter and it skittered across the surface, knocking a potted plant to the floor, breaking the clay pot and scattering the dirt and plant.

“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Sinjin went for a broom.

Lindsay squatted, taking the plant and root ball into her hands.

“It’s all right.”

The smell of fresh damp earth saturated her senses until it was the only aroma in the room—as if the room were filled with freshly dug soil. Her heart pounded. She dropped the plant and stared at the black dirt on her hands. She backed away and crouched in the corner, shaking.

“What, Lindsay? What?” John and Sinjin came to her, squatting in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face.

Lindsay took great gulps of air and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if that would make her breathe easier.

“They tried to kill me. They thought they had. They buried me in a hole in the ground. Oh, God, they buried me alive.”

PART II

JULY 5

Chapter 6

That Bitch Stole My Truck

LINDSAY STOOD NEAR Helget Pond surveying the site, a patchwork of square holes dug out of a grassy landscape, each revealing various arrangements of rocks and other unearthed objects. Like detectives studying a crime scene, archaeologists reconstruct past events using only what is left: those things that are not destroyed, or fail to rot or erode, or that get left in some protected place, or are cherished and passed down through the generations. Those things are the only clues, presenting the archaeologist, like the detective, with the challenge of turning biased data into a representative truth. Now, with only scattered parts of foundations remaining, the Gallows farmstead looked as if it had been constructed entirely from rocks. The buildings, the house, barns, fences, corncribs, smokehouse, and springhouse actually had been built from large hewn timbers cut from the surrounding forest. Only the foundations and chimneys were made of stone.

Lindsay took a long drink of water from her water bottle, then poured some of it over her head and let the cool drops trickle down her healed face. She looked longingly to the east where but a few hundred yards away the forest was still as thick, lush, and cool as it had been almost 170 years ago when this farmstead was settled. Directly east were the Great Smoky Mountains, Lindsay’s favorite place in the world, heaven-on-earth, a place where Francisco Lewis, head of the Division of Archaeology and Anthropology, thought Lindsay could rest and heal.

“After all,” he reminded her, “you were planning to spend a few days for me at the Gallows site anyway, before . . .”

Before... before the incident . . . a mere three months ago . . . it seemed like a lifetime . . . it seemed like yesterday.

Like everyone else, Lewis had let what happened to Lindsay go unnamed. It was just as well. Easier not to think about if it didn’t have a name—only a number on an open case file that was at a dead end. Dead end. That almost described her, if things had been a little different.

But if Lewis had thought a stay at the Gallows farmstead was going to be restful, it was because he hadn’t met the site director, Claire Burke, who at that moment was bearing down on Lindsay like an angry goat. Lindsay had a strong urge to run for the cover of the forest. She could make it, too; her legs were longer. But she was saved when Claire caught site of Adam Sterling and veered toward him as if he were a Claire magnet.

“What are you doing?” Her words were clipped like small bursts of machine-gun fire. “Not what I told you to do.”
Ratta tat tat.

“This site’s older than we thought, dammit.” Like everyone else, Adam’s tolerance for Claire’s dictatorial ways was wearing thin. “This trench needs to be deeper. Look at this pit profile. I’m not to the bottom.”

Lindsay could hear his loud voice even where she was. He stood, holding his shovel in one hand, sweat dripping from his face and arms. Byron Rogers, looking hot and red-faced behind his long beard, climbed out of the shallow trench from behind Adam and lumbered toward the water barrel, eager to take a break while Claire and Adam went a round.

“You’re wasting time and money. It’s not older.” Claire scowled. “You’ve read the proposal, or you should have. We have clear documentation of the age of the farmstead. And that looks like pit bottom to me. Now you’ll do what I say, or you can find . . . ”

“. . . a job elsewhere,” Lindsay whispered to herself. She’d heard Claire’s threat many times.

“Documentation, shit. Marina identified clay pipes and salt-glazed stoneware that she said . . .”

“A couple of artifacts from an older period mean nothing. They could have been family heirlooms.”

Adam’s teeth were clenched and his muscles taut. “Claire, I know how to read a profile. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some freshman who wants to be an archaeologist, and I don’t make stupid mistakes.”

Lindsay saw Erin look up at Adam from her digging, probably feeling the sting of his words. Sharon looked up briefly and continued to work. Bill, her husband, stopped and listened. Joel, absorbed as always in what he was doing, never looked up.

As much as she hated to, Lindsay felt compelled to intervene. She set her water bottle down and walked over to Adam and Claire.
I’m a glutton for punishment,
she thought to herself.

“And what do you want?” Claire snapped before Lindsay could speak. “To give us wisdom from on high? I think we can do without advice from someone still recovering from a nervous breakdown.”

“I didn’t have a nervous breakdown. I think proof of that is my ability to stay here. Claire, what Adam is doing is not unreasonable. He’s right about the parameters of the pit. The layers are subtle, but they are there. Why don’t you talk to Drew? You and she might want to look at the artifacts Marina has identified and . . .”

“I’m not changing the research design in the middle of the excavation.”

Adam threw his trowel down and it stuck up like a knife in the bottom of the trench. “Claire, are you really that dumb? I’m not talking about changing the research design. I’m talking about following it. Jesus, Claire, what does it take to get through to you?”

If the daggers in Claire’s eyes had been real, Adam would be bleeding. She worked her mouth back and forth, as if her tongue was looking for words. “Don’t you ever . . .”

“Come on, Claire,” interrupted Lindsay, “you know the design has to be flexible enough to incorporate new information.”

“Listen, Miss High-and-Mighty, when you university archaeologists get multimillion-dollar grants to dig sites, you have time for extras. But in contract archaeology, we have to be lean and efficient.”

“And accurate.”

“There’s nothing inaccurate about my work.” She turned to Adam. “It’s my way or the highway, smartass.”

“I have a contract,” he said.

“Which says you’ll do what you’re told.” Claire turned on Lindsay again. “Do you think you’re levelheaded enough to map Structure 6?”

“Yes, I can do that. But Erin has found a cache of animal bones, perhaps I could . . .”

Claire’s chin was raised in the air. A sign she wasn’t to be moved. “We don’t need you at this site. You’re here because Drew says we have to take you—some kind of favor. But I don’t have to give you
any
assignments. You can either map Structure 6, or you can go take a nap at the house. Which will it be?”

“Structure 6 it is then,” said Lindsay.

Claire smiled at her victory, turned on her heels, her chin still in the air, and headed toward the artifact tent, probably to have it out with Marina. Adam dropped the shovel and raised his middle finger at her retreating back.

“This site is a pile of shit,” Adam said to Lindsay.

Lindsay looked in the ditch, and felt dizzy. She sat down and forced herself to take hold of the shovel that leaned against the side of the ditch. Dark images were trying to break into her consciousness. She closed her eyes. Person or persons unknown weren’t going to take away her love of archaeology. She wouldn’t allow it. She forced her vision to clear.

“The excavation is really not bad,” she said. “You guys are doing a good job.”

“Thanks, but you know . . .” He heaved a heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Claire seems to bring out the worst in all of us,” Lindsay said.

“What is this nervous breakdown business?” Adam took up his trowel and began scraping the sides of the trench smooth.

“On the way home from Knoxville three months ago I was attacked and left to die in the woods. I was without my memory for several days. It was amnesia due to trauma, not a nervous breakdown. I think the attack might have been some kind of serial thing.” She waved her hand as if that got rid of it.”

Adam’s jaw dropped. “You serious?”

Her friend Harper, John, her brother, all told Lindsay she was denying what had happened, pushing it too far back in her brain. But far back was where it belonged.
Don’t unpack that trunk, leave it in the attic,
she told herself every time her mind wandered in that direction and threatened to pull the memories to the surface.

“I don’t know much about what happened. The case is still open, and I’m leaving it to the police.”

“What the heck are you doing here in archaeology hell?”

“Francisco Lewis knows I like the Smokies. He thought it would be restful.”

Adam gave a short laugh. “Restful? Restful would be excavating in a minefield. Rumor says you’re here gathering information for the company on how we’re doing.”

“If that were true, I think Claire would treat me better,” said Lindsay.

“You don’t know her.”

“Lewis wanted me to come take a look several months ago. The president of Sound Ecology is a friend of his. But I wasn’t given instructions to spy. I think Lewis just wants to know about the site. He likes to get his fingers in everything. As if building a museum isn’t enough, now he’s decided he’s interested in farmsteads.”

“I’ve heard that about him. What’s he really like?”

Lindsay shrugged. “Probably like the rumors you’ve heard. He denies nothing. Actually, I’m thinking about cutting this vacation short. I’m not needed here, and I’m kind of tired of putting up with Claire’s abuse.”

“I don’t blame you. But when Drew’s here, things are better. She’s the only person Claire will listen to. Probably because Drew has the power to fire her butt.”

“When is Drew coming?”

“This week, I hope. She’s principal investigator on several of the Sound Ecology sites, and some of the others are more urgent because they’re due to be flooded soon.” Adam stood back and looked at the ditch bank in front of him. “What about it? Should I continue with this profile?”

Against Claire’s wishes?
Lindsay thought. She wished the crew wouldn’t keep asking her advice. It only made Claire worse.