Forbidden Ground (4 page)

“I’m guessing from the rings it is—was—about eighty-five years old,” he whispered, looking down at it. “It’s seen so much of my family’s life. It’s been like a guard standing watch over the mound. It’s beautiful wood.

“Bird’s-eye maple, rare and special,” he went on, reaching out to take her hand. He held it so tightly it almost hurt, but she was glad to be of help. “No two trees of that are alike. See the oval-shaped eye pattern? It’s valued not just for furniture but for crafting guitars and other musical instruments. Bird’s-eye can occur in a variety of maples and you can ID it because of the kind of Coke-bottle shapes on the bark, see?” he said, pointing low where the base of the trunk still clung to the ground.

She bent down then stooped as he did. She felt her stocking run up the back of her leg, but she’d probably snagged it on something. And what did that matter next to the loss of this beautiful living being, one that Grant had loved?

“How valuable?” she asked, thinking what treasures might be buried in that mound a mere twenty feet away.

“Going price right now if I had it at the mill—which I never would have, not this one—about $70,000 per thousand-board feet.”

He sighed and sank onto the trunk as if it was the perfect seat out here. It seemed quite smooth-cut to Kate, but then, what did she know about it?

“Don’t snag your dress,” he said and pulled her to half lean, half sit against his knee. “Brad’s taking his time at the mill, but Jace should be back soon, unless he found a trail to follow. I—I just can’t leave here right now. This was our special tree.... The tree house and so many great memories right in this spot....”

Kate sensed he was going to say something more, maybe something about the mound. His eyes glazed with tears again, but he blinked them back. She figured he did not realize she’d already seen him cry. She wanted so much to hug him, to comfort him, but she put her arm around his shoulders as if to steady herself.

He might not believe it, but she really did feel his agony. She knew the impact on him must hurt the way it would if she could enter that mound and found it completely defaced and emptied. Thank God the brunt of the massive fallen tree had not crushed the top of the mound. She’d known other mounds to cave in, but the top of this one looked rounded and intact.

They stood as Jace came tramping back through the forest yet again.

“A pretty clean, fast job, Grant,” he called out as he approached them.

“A personal attack,” Grant said, “so I’m taking it that way.”

As the two men walked the site together again and darkness fell completely, Kate, despite her good dress, walked around the edge of the mound then sat down on the slant of ground. She tried to be careful but snagged the hem of her skirt on a spiny hawthorn branch of one of the several trees. It was hard to tell, but they looked diseased, dying, and that couldn’t have been caused by being crushed a few hours ago.

Grant had suggested she go back to the house and he’d soon drive her home, but, like him, she stayed in the darkness lit only by Deputy Miller’s moving flashlight beam. It threw strange shadows, seemed to leap and dance. She, too, was mourning, listening to the men’s footsteps shuffling past the wooden tombstone of the tree. But she was thinking of the footfalls of ancient, grieving men and women who perhaps had passed this way to bury their precious dead with sacrificial grave offerings in this dark mound.

4

I
t was a perfect day for a wedding, Kate thought. Surely nothing else could go wrong. Losing her temper at Bright Star Monson, her father’s appearance after all these years and then the theft of Grant’s tree had thrown a pall over her mood. Yet today the stunning setting with the waterfall and surrounding forest helped. But did each big, beautiful tree remind Grant of his loss?

The artist, Paul Kettering, and Brad Mason served as ushers, seating everyone before the wedding party walked out from the lodge. Brad, whom Kate had met last night when he finally returned home, resembled Grant but seemed much more edgy, even bitter. Todd McCollum, Gabe and Grant’s friend and the lumber-mill foreman, was also in the wedding party, partnering Char.

To a single violin playing “Wedding March,” Kate started down the grassy aisle behind the flower girl and Char and ahead of Tess and their father. Standing with the pastor, the men in the wedding party waited before the small altar with its cross and big bouquet of yellow calla lilies. Kate saw Gabe looked nervous; when she got close to the front of the four rows of portable chairs with white covers, Grant winked at her.

It was crazy to feel that wink and look from him down to her toes. He had stopped ranting about the loss of his tree and the insult or threat he felt was meant for him, but she knew he still harbored deep anger. Yet he was determined to help make the day special for Gabe and Tess.

Kate held her own single calla lily and Tess’s bouquet while she and Gabe recited the vows they had written and exchanged rings. The old words to honor and cherish were still there. Kate had just learned this morning from Tess that Grant had been married and divorced. What could have happened? Who would not want to stay married to Grant Mason?

Wait!
she told herself. She didn’t really know the man, though Carson’s suggestion that she get close to Grant only in a businesslike, controlled way seemed crazy, maybe impossible. Getting closer to Grant...wouldn’t that be an all-or-nothing proposition? She saw him as so much more than just a way to get to that Adena mound on his property.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Pastor Snell said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the roar of the falls. “Family and friends, I have the honor of introducing to you Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel McCord.”

There was a big kiss by the bridal couple. Applause, tears and smiles, a quick procession from the front to the back, where the wedding party formed a reception line before the guests meandered toward the lodge where the wedding lunch would be held. Kate froze when Dad hugged her. She just couldn’t hug him back.

* * *

The lunch was lovely, with numerous champagne toasts. Grant gave a short speech in honor of the new couple, hoping they would always support each other through the best and worst in life. Dad gave a toast about loyalty and forgiving each other in hard times. Recalling how their mother had sobbed for days when he left, Kate stepped out for a breath of air on the wide, covered lodge porch, which wrapped around the log building on three sides.

The front section was deserted, but she heard men’s voices raised nearby, around the corner away from the waterfall. “I don’t care about a bunch of old boyhood oaths at this point!” one man said. “I swear I’m going to do it!”

“Keep your voice down. You’ll open up a whole can of worms if you try that. You’ll ruin everything. I can only loan you a little, but just shut up about that or else! Now let’s get back inside, or we’ll have Brad or Grant out here looking for us.”

“But Nadine’s going to need some long-term medical treatment. We knew we needed insurance, but we were both healthy, and we cut corners. But she’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, and that will mean a lot of bills.”

Kate knew that voice. It was the sculptor, Paul Kettering. That touch of Southern twang in the other voice sounded like Grant’s friend Todd. She didn’t want them to know she’d overheard them, so she moved down the front veranda and turned the corner so they wouldn’t see her.

And there stood Brad Mason, who was just putting a small flask back into his inner suit-coat pocket. He looked up at her, obviously surprised.

“You’re missing champagne inside,” she told him.

“Not my cup of tea,” he said, walking closer. A twitch at the corner of his mouth might have been a hint of a grin. “Grant’s either a beer or wine man, but I go for the hard stuff, maybe because I’ve been through some hard stuff in life.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“You mean Daddy Dearest in there?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“If someone’s watching. And I think Grant is.”

She turned away from his avid stare. Brad had evidently been studying her, too. The man had liquor on his breath. Though she wanted to know more about Grant, she’d sensed last night when Brad got home from the mill that there had been tension between the brothers. She decided to “pull a Tess” on him and change the subject.

“I understand you own a mill also.”

“More or less. Foreclosure. Chapter Thirteen. A paper mill. Now if we could convince people here today to use paper products instead of linen napkins and tablecloths, maybe I’d still be in business,” he said with a little snort, not quite a laugh. “I hear even at that wacko Hear Ye compound, they have the words to hymns on a screen, no more hymnals or paper handouts, though I’ll bet that dictator doesn’t let his flock go online.

“So why isn’t Lee Lockwood here at his cousin’s shindig?” he asked. “I knew him in school.”

“Lee and his family, unfortunately, have been forbidden to attend by their creepy leader.”

“That guy’s a lunatic, but you’re kidding?”

“Wish I were. I met him up close and personal when he made Lee’s wife, Grace, come to tell us she couldn’t attend a pagan ceremony. At least they aren’t protesting this event with placards—paper ones—like some off-the-wall groups do. He got me so upset I invoked the pagan dead. At least I didn’t call him the Beastmaster.”

“I heard you were an anthropology prof. You study all that stuff? And the Beastmaster? That was a movie and a video game.”

“In real life, it was a disguise Celtic shamans used to scare either diseases or unwanted behavior out of people—an antlered head, frightening face.”

He frowned, looking upset, but then went on. “In unreal life, I’ve played that video game. Are you a gamer?” he asked, shifting closer to her and giving her an obvious once-over look that meant he fully intended the double entendre.

She leaned her shoulder against a post to give herself a little more breathing room. Did this guy make a habit of trying to know Grant’s women friends—or attract them to himself?

“No time for video games,” she said. “I have been called Lara Croft, Tomb Raider since I study ancient burial practices, so better not get too close or I might have to go for my pistols.”

He actually stepped back. Not only did his breath smell of whiskey, but he also seemed a bit unsteady. “I liked those Lara Croft video games and the movies with Angelina Jolie, especially her sexy, skimpy outfits. But you’ll get farther with Grant with a game called ‘Kate Lockwood, Tree-Theft Detective’ right now.”

“He was distraught. Weren’t you?”

“Into each life some rain must fall, but we’ll get whoever did that. It was more than an insult. We’ll get him.”

“Him? Do you have any leads?”

Char opened the door to the lodge and called out, “Kate! Gabe’s going to finally announce where they’re going on their honeymoon.”

“See you later,” Kate told Brad.

She hurried after Char but not before she heard him say, “Sure do hope so.”

As she hustled back to her seat, Kate saw her cute, little half brothers sitting with the two boys related to the flower girl, Sandy Kenton. Sandy’s parents were here, but the child seemed almost like Tess’s daughter, since she usually kept so close to her. Dad’s wife, Gwen, was keeping an eye on the four boys, but maybe she’d better be keeping an eye on Dad, who was mingling with people like it was old-home week. Yet he did seem to be steering clear of his old flame, Gabe’s mother, who was with Detective Reingold.

Kate got to her seat just before Gabe’s announcement. “I’m excited to share with all of you that Tess and I are going to be away for two weeks. We’re heading to Paris, then going through France on a barge cruise on the Loire River. Sorry, but I probably won’t be thinking much about sheriff’s duties, which will be in Deputy Jace Miller’s capable hands while we’re away. I’ll be back in plenty of time, Jace, for the next full moon to help keep an eye on the lunatic invasion of outsiders who come in here looking for paranormal sightings and ghosts at the old insane asylum outside town. Meanwhile, no cell phones, no 911 calls. We’re going to be happily out of touch except with each other.”

People laughed and applauded. But Deputy Miller, Kate noticed, looked pretty nervous. She knew Gabe had assured him that he could handle tracking down the timber thieves. The bigger challenge would be to keep Grant Mason from playing detective or, worse, judge and jury if he figured out who was at fault.

Later, everyone gathered outside to throw rose petals at the departing couple. They were going to their new house to change clothes then head to the Columbus airport to make overnight flight connections to France. One of Grant’s mill workers was driving them to the airport. Char was flying back to New Mexico in the morning, so Kate would have the old house to herself.

Kate stood between Grant and Brad, waving goodbye as Gabe’s car—with a few crazy signs someone had put in the back window—drove out of sight.

“Nice touch we didn’t throw rice, but I guess these are more biodegradable,” Brad told Grant and tossed the last few petals from his small sack over him and Kate. “Lacey’s Green Tree would be proud.”

“I’ll see you back at the house,” Grant said, taking Kate’s arm to steer her away.

“What’s Lacey’s Green Tree?” she asked.

“Lacey was my first wife—I mean, my wife, but we’ve been divorced for years. She’s really active in Green Tree. It’s a Midwest knockoff of Greenpeace. They protest over environmental issues. Ignore Brad. He likes to make waves. Kate, listen. I can drive you back, wait until you change clothes if you want to go see the mill. I need to stop by there for a little bit. Then maybe we can have another private toast to the happy couple, though not at my place. I can’t stand looking through that picture window at that spot of naked sky right now.”

“Sure, that would be fine. Char’s going back to the hotel with my father’s family to play with the boys and give their parents a break.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go with them?”

“I’m sure. I’ll go back in to wish them well, say goodbye. It will just take a second. I also want to ask Paul Kettering if I could stop by tomorrow to talk about a special project I’d like to commission, but I see he’s leaving.”

“I can call him for you, set it up. He lives out a ways, up Sunrise Mountain. I’d be happy to drive you there tomorrow.”

“I’d really appreciate that.” So easily accomplished, she thought, to spend more time with Grant, though she wished it was at his Adena mound.

* * *

The Mason Lumber Mill made a lot of noise and a lot of sawdust, but it seemed like violins and pixie dust to Kate. She loved being with Grant—unfortunately—because after a couple of weeks here, making her own maps of unexcavated Adena burial mounds and hoping to get permission for a team to excavate some, she fully intended to go to Columbus to spend more time with Carson and then back to England to finish her work there.

She also liked seeing an array of Paul Kettering’s tree trunks for sale in front of the mill, but was surprised he’d carved Disney characters—though, of course, they were as imaginary as his fairy folk. The seven dwarfs peered from one trunk and
The Little Mermaid
’s
Ariel and sea creatures from another.

“I’m surprised to see Paul’s carved something so commercial as Disney characters,” she told Grant as they headed inside.

“Money talks. I think Nadine’s been on him to expand his horizons. Welcome to my daily world,” he added as they went inside through a big double door.

Kate didn’t want to let on to Grant that she’d overheard his friends arguing about money earlier today. Paul had threatened to do something she couldn’t catch, and Todd had threatened him if he did.

“This mill is huge!” she shouted over the noise of several massive machines devouring tree trunks that came out the other side either stripped of bark or sawed into planks.

“Let’s go on up to my office,” he shouted back. “It’s mostly soundproof, and we can see the cutting line from there, so I can point things out. It’s the scaler and debarker making all the noise. We’d need industrial earmuffs like the men are wearing to stay here long. Come on.”

They climbed metal stairs to Grant’s glassed-in office high above the cutting floor. It helped when he closed the door, shutting them into his lofty observation site.

“I’ve been making a list,” he told her. “Mill owners in a tristate area to call Monday morning to be on the lookout for a big buy in bird’s-eye maple.”

“Your tree.”

“Right. I’ve been really vocal about stopping the local band of tree thieves and, I’m thinking, they probably decided to show me they can get me back—come in right on private property and do damage. Then they’ll leave the area to sell the wood, so I can’t trace it to them.”

“Could it possibly be someone who has a more personal vendetta in mind—someone who is not that tree thief gang but someone using them as a cover to steal that tree? That way, they figure they won’t get blamed.”

He sank into his chair opposite where she’d perched across the corner of his huge wooden desk.

“You’ve been reading too many mysteries or something. I don’t take you for a soap-opera fan. No, I don’t think that a someone-close-to-me, personal-revenge or vendetta theory’s in play here.”

“It’s just that I’ve learned to think that way because the world of academia can be cutthroat. In scholarly pursuits, people who have worked together for years might steal research or ideas. It’s human nature over the ages. But yes, I guess I do have a suspicious mind.”