Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel (12 page)

Lindsay took a seat behind her desk and motioned for Dr.
Einer to sit down. He glanced briefly at the chair seat before
sitting. Einer was not a slim man, but the expensive cut of his
navy blue suit camouflaged the spread of his upper body
quite well. The sharp crease in his pants, however, made his
legs look even thinner by comparison. His silver-gray tie
went well with his hair. Lindsay thought his wife must have
picked it out for him.

"Dr. Chamberlain," he said in a low voice, "a delicate
matter has come to my attention." Lindsay bit her lip to
keep from smiling. "You know how important donors to the
university are." Lindsay nodded. "Mr. Stewart Pryor, who I
must confess is one of my oldest friends, has asked me to
look into a situation you are involved in that concerns his
daughter. I told him, of course, that there is nothing official
that I can do, but perhaps I could take a little unofficial look
into the matter."

Lindsay wanted to tell him that this was none of his concern, but unfortunately, she might need his goodwill very
soon, so she chose her words carefully.

"Quite understandably, they are suffering an enormous amount of grief and didn't realize that they were asking me
to falsify a legal document."

"There is some question of a mistake-"

'No.

"Stewart was quite certain-"

"The deceased was his daughter. He's concerned that the
observations I made will reflect badly on her. But I assure
you, there is nothing in my report that would do that. And I
only reported what I observed."

"Well, of course, there's nothing I can tell you to do-"

"No, there isn't. It's a tragic situation. I wish there were
something we both could do to ease it for them, but there
isn't." Ellis Einer wrinkled his brow. Lindsay could see
him thinking of another way to attack the situation. She
tried to cut him off. "I was very thorough in my examination of the remains. I verified the problem they are worried
about with an outside source. I am certain of my observations. The parents are choosing to put an unfavorable interpretation on the observations that I made, but their
conclusions are unwarranted."

"I see. Dr. Chamberlain, I'm not quite sure what it is you
do here. Why were you examining Dr. Shirley Foster's
remains in the first place?"

Lindsay opened her mouth, but hesitated for a long
moment before she spoke. "I discovered the remains and
assisted in the autopsy," she said.

"And why was that? You're an archaeologist, aren't
you?"

"Yes, and I'm also a forensic anthropologist."

"Oh, I see. I didn't realize we had one of those. Well,
thank you for your time, Dr. Chamberlain." Lindsay nodded
and Dr. Einer rose and started to leave. "You and Dr. Carter
can take care of the police?" He gestured at the door.

"Yes."

"Good."

He left her office and she could hear him talking to
Frank about the Archaeology Department's request for
more lab space. Their voices faded away as they walked
through the lab. What an impression, she thought. Just
when we need something from him. Lindsay laid her forehead down on her hands.

"Look at it this way," said Sinjin from the doorway, "it
can't get much worse."

Lindsay looked up at him. "Don't say that."

She rose wearily from her chair and went back into the lab
to look at the skeleton. The crate that had been its sarcophagus was the same style as the others but was the only one that
was labeled. It had dark stains on the inside, and except for
some dirt it was empty of anything but the skeleton. There
were a couple of knotholes in its wooden side panels.

Lindsay took a piece of typing paper from one of the
tables. Frank was still talking to Einer, but Sinjin and
Sally were watching her. She took the paper and slid it
under the dirt.

"What?" Sally asked.

"Don't ask," Lindsay said. She took the page of dirt and
carefully folded it and put it in her desk. Sinjin looked at her
questioningly. "I know," she said, "but the police will probably send it back to Kentucky and out of my reach." Sinjin
said nothing.

The campus police came. So did a reporter from the campus
newspaper, the Red and Black. She began snapping pictures
immediately.

"So, this may be someone your grandfather knew?" the
officer asked.

"I have no way of knowing that," Lindsay answered.

"But the crates were on his property?"

"The crates have been there covered over with kudzu for
over sixty years," said Sinjin. "We don't know exactly when they were put there or that our grandfather even knew
they were there."

Lindsay could hear the continuous clicking of the camera
and wondered if maybe the reporter would run out of film.

"When did kudzu come into the United States?" the reporter asked, as if she had just thought of an important clue.
"Wasn't it in the fifties? That would mean the shed wasn't
actually covered until. . ."

They all turned to look at her and she snapped a picture.
It was Sally who answered. "Pueraria lobata-that's
kudzu-was introduced into the United States in 1876,"
she said, giving her a winning smile. The reporter looked
disappointed.

After the police came and resealed the skeleton in the crate
and took it away, and the reporter had taken all the pictures
she wanted and asked all the questions she could think of,
they all finally left and Lindsay went back into her office. She
opened her desk drawer and put the dirt she had collected
from the crate into two vials and replaced them in her desk.

Although the nametag said Bruno, the server bearing frozen
margaritas for Lindsay and Sally and a beer for Sinjin was a
tall, young blonde woman. She turned to Sinjin, gave him a
sparkling smile, pen poised over her order pad.

"Steak medium rare, salad with hot bacon-honey-mustard
dressing, and baked potato with everything."

Sinjin looked at Lindsay. "Little sister?"

'That sounds good to me."

"Sally?" asked Sinjin.

"Ditto.,,

The waitress took up the menus. "Easy. It won't take
long." She gave Sinjin another dazzling smile and left.

"Well," said Sally, "that skeleton-wasn't that bizarre?"

Lindsay almost choked on her drink.

"You have a talent for understatement," Sinjin said.

"What will happen to it?" Sally asked.

"The county medical examiner will have to confirm that
the remains are those of a modem, not ancient, individual."
Lindsay cleared her throat. "Authorities in Kentucky will be
notified, and I imagine the remains will be shipped back to
McCleary County where they originated. I don't imagine
they'll be a high priority, since they were stored for ..."

"That's another thing." Sally tapped her straw against her
glass. "How do you know the bones were on you all's land
that long? I mean, couldn't someone-say, ten years agohave sneaked those crates in there?"

"I don't know." Lindsay sipped her drink and closed her
eyes, thinking about Frank's and Ellis Einer's expressions.
"It's someone else's problem now."

"So you won't get to examine the bones?" Sally asked.

Bruno brought the salads, and Lindsay took a few moments
to push the red cabbage to the edge of her plate before she
answered. "No. Since the bones came from my family's
property, it wouldn't be proper for me to examine them."

"Who do you think will?" Sinjin asked.

Lindsay shrugged. "There are several good people they
can get."

"The police didn't ask as many questions as I thought
they would," Sally said.

"The reporter made up for it." Lindsay stared out across
the dining area to a far corner.

"What?" asked Sally, turning in her seat, following Lindsay's gaze. "Isn't that those people from yesterday?"

"The Pryors." Lindsay bent her head over her salad.

"I hope they don't come over and ask you to change the
report," Sally said. "I can't believe they sent an associate
dean to pressure you."

"I think they were simply dealing with their grief. Some
people do it in strange ways. I doubt I'll hear from them
again." She grinned at Sinjin. "Tell Sally about your job."

"Yes," agreed Sally. "Lindsay said you jump into fires."

Sinjin made a face at Lindsay. "That appears to be her
impression.... Uh-oh," he said. "The young guy from the
Pryors' table got up, and it looks like he's making a beeline
for us."

Lindsay took a bite of salad as Chris Pryor approached,
hoping he wouldn't expect her to talk with her mouth full of
lettuce.

"I'm very sorry to disturb you, Dr. Chamberlain. My parents insisted."

"We're trying to have a peaceful meal," said Sinjin.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll leave before your main course
arrives. I was wondering if I could make an appointment to
speak with you?" He took a seat in the empty chair across
from Sally, between Lindsay and Sinjin.

"Have a seat," said Sinjin.

"I have nothing more to do with the case," Lindsay said.
"And as for changing the report..."

Chris waved a hand. "Forget the report. I'm sure Tom
Foster will spill the beans about the adoptions to my parents
sooner or later. My parents love my sister. They will never
accept anything bad about her. They'll end up blaming Tom
for everything bad, and they will never believe the bulimia.
This is not about the report." The waitress came with her
tray, hesitating at the new arrival, and Chris stood up.

"He was just leaving," Sinjin told her.

"My parents heard that you're a good detective. They
want you to work with Will Patterson."

Lindsay shook her head. "This is an active case. I really
can't get involved."

"But you do work on murder investigations. Could I at
least come talk with you?"

"It won't do you any good."

"I can at least tell my parents I tried." He pressed his lips
into a tight line.

"Very well," Lindsay agreed. "Can you be at my office by
7:30 in the morning?"

"Seven-thirty?" He took a deep breath. "Yes, thank you
very much."

"You're a pushover, Lindsay," Sinjin said, watching Chris
Pryor walk back to his table.

Lindsay was up early, but Sinjin was already gone. More
business in Atlanta, she assumed. She wished she had gotten
to know Kathy better. Maybe if I had been closer to himshe shook her head. It didn't do to speculate. Her thoughts
turned to Chris Pryor.

She had just arrived at her office parking lot when Chris
pulled in beside her.

"You'll get a ticket," she said as she got out of her Rover.

"It won't matter," he said, following her into the basement lab and to her office, where he continued their conversation. "As I said last night, my parents want me to persuade
you to try to find out who killed Shirley."

"Will Patterson is the detective. I only identify bones."

"They've heard people talk about you. I think they're
sorry they made a bad impression on you the other day, but
they wouldn't admit that for anything."

"I don't harbor any ill will, but I couldn't investigate this
case anyway, while it's active."

"I understand that. Mainly, I had to come here because
Mom and Dad asked me to. Sometimes they won't be
denied." He gave Lindsay a charming crooked smile.

"Why did Shirley go to such great lengths to make them
believe she was pregnant?"

"It was her compromise. She pretending to be the perfect
daughter, then doing what she wanted. It was a game, really."

"But you knew."

He nodded. "We were close. She was my big sister. I don't suppose you allow smoking in here?" He put a hand
inside his jacket.

"No."

"I thought not." He pulled out his hand. "I believe all the
buildings on campus are smoke-free zones, aren't they? I
don't smoke much, just occasionally. Shirley smoked occasionally, too. We kept it from our parents." He shook his
head. "Adults we may be, but we hid our smoking from
them. They would have disapproved-even though Dad
smokes a pipe." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees,
as though he were about to confide something to Lindsay.
"They'll keep after you and after you until they get their
way." He smiled a tight, humorless smile and straightened
up. "They aren't really mean people. They won't try to get
you fired or anything if you don't do what they want, but
they will ask their friends at the university to talk to you. You
know, apply a little pressure from above-and they'll keep
doing it until you give in."

"Have they tried working with the sheriff of Dover
County? She's handling the case," said Lindsay.

Chris shook his head. "Irene Varnadore wants to make
sure that anyone but Tom Foster takes the blame. My parents
want to make sure that he is blamed."

"Do you think Tom killed her?"

"I don't like to think so-he's Jeffery and Monica's dad
and he got me started in my business-but I do. Their marriage was never that good, and Tom was a jealous man. I
think he was tired and wanted out."

"Divorce is easier."

"Not with the prenuptial agreement Dad had drawn up
when Tom and Shirley married."

"I thought your parents liked Tom Foster in the beginning."

"They did, but that doesn't make any difference where
money is concerned."

"Was your sister wealthy?"

"Yes, she was. My grandmother left her a sizable fortune."

"And you?"

"She left me some in a trust that periodically dribbles out
some spending money. Mom and Dad thought it best that
way. I won't starve, and I will always be comfortable."

"Do you work?"

Chris smiled, then grinned. "Point well taken. As a matter
of fact, I do. I have a shop on Clayton Street. Glass Imagerie.
It's a takeoff on ..."

"I get the allusion."

"Shirl thought it was clever."

"Glass Imagerie is an art gallery for glass sculpture, isn't
it?" said Lindsay.