“… Selfish, infantile, neurotic…” Elizabeth stopped short.
In the weeds ahead she saw a patch of bright blue. Victor’s trousers? What a funny place to sleep, Elizabeth thought, as the truth registered farther back in her mind. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
Victor lay facedown in the weeds, still clutching at a stalk of broom sedge. His legs were spread at a convulsive angle, but he was quite still. Elizabeth was glad that she could not see his face.
“Victor,” she said softly, edging closer to the body. She wondered what had happened; there didn’t seem to be any blood. A stroke? Tentatively, she stretched out her hand. He might still be alive. His cheek felt cool, though. Elizabeth knelt and peered into Victor’s swollen face, and then she was sure.
To Elizabeth, shocked into slow motion by the sight of the body, it seemed that she stood for hours in the clearing contemplating the stubble on Victor’s chin, the water jug resting in a clump of knotweed, and the sound of birds far above her. Actually, only a few minutes passed before fear snapped her out of her reverie and sent her running back toward the site.
Jake looked up as she came crashing through a patch of thistles. “Will you be quiet? Do you want Mr. Stecoah to mistake you for a buffalo?” He saw her face and his smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Victor’s dead,” gasped Elizabeth, sinking down on the log.
“How? Same as Alex?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t tell. There’s no sign of a wound.”
Jake turned away. “Okay. That’s it,” he muttered. He turned to the diggers staring up at him from the trenches. “Listen up!” he said, unnecessarily, for he had their full attention. “There has been an accident, and I’m stopping the dig. Everybody go back to the church, but don’t leave. The police may need to talk to you.”
“Stopping the dig?” someone said. “What’s Milo going to say?”
“I don’t much care,” said Jake. “As long as there is someone left for him to say it to.”
Elizabeth looked around. “Where is Comfrey Stecoah?”
“I haven’t seen him since before you left. Let’s find out.”
They searched down the hill, away from the path, in the direction they had last seen Comfrey Stecoah. “We’d better yell for him,” said Elizabeth. “I want to make sure he knows it’s us.”
After a few intervals of hoarse shouting, Comfrey Stecoah appeared, carrying his rifle in the crook of his arm and fastening his belt.
“Where were you?” Jake demanded.
“Call of nature. Didn’t want to go so close to the burying ground. What are you’uns making such a racket about?”
“Something has happened to one of our diggers,” said Elizabeth.
“That fat boy that went for water?” They nodded. “Ambush?”
“I don’t think so,” said Elizabeth. “I didn’t see any blood or anything. He’s just… dead.”
“We’re all going back to the church now,” said Jake firmly. “Would you come with us, please?”
“Have you reported it?”
They both looked at Elizabeth. “Not yet,” she said. “I came back as soon as I found him. Shouldn’t someone stay with the body?”
“I will,” said Jake.
“Not by yourself, you won’t!” said Elizabeth indignantly. “Look, why don’t I go back with the day crew, and you and Mr. Stecoah guard the body. There are so many of us that I’m sure we’ll be safe. I can get Randall to drive me to a phone so that I can report this.”
Jake hesitated.
“You don’t know that it was murder,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Victor wasn’t all that healthy.”
“Okay, okay. Get out of here before I come to my senses. We’ll stay with the body. Go on.”
Elizabeth looked back. “Jake, should I call Milo?”
“Ask Mr. Barnes to stop by and tell him. I don’t want us split up for any longer than we have to be. I think you’ll be safe in the church with the diggers. Anyway, we can all walk back together as far as…”
As far as the body, Elizabeth thought. “I wish there were another way back.”
They filed past the body in silence, most of the diggers averting their eyes, respecting the privacy of the dead. Elizabeth looked again at Victor and tried to think of something kind, something that she would miss. When this proved futile, she fell back upon the hope that he had not suffered.
When they were out of sight of the death scene, they began to talk in low voices about what they would do when they got back to the church, and about Milo’s plans for the excavation. Finally the speculation trailed off into a despondent silence. As they emerged from the woods into the churchyard, one of the diggers gasped and pointed to a man walking toward them.
“It’s all right,” said Elizabeth after a moment’s scrutiny. “He’s a deputy.”
What a solemn bunch these archaeologists are, thought Daniel Hunter Coltsfoot as he studied their grim faces. Mentally he prescribed an herb tonic for the lot of them. “Hi!” he said with professional friendliness. “I was hoping I’d catch you on lunch break.”
“Who called you?” asked Elizabeth, looking around for the squad car.
“Nobody,” said Dummyweed. “I just dropped in on the off chance of catching you here, and-” The implication of her question struck him. “Why?” he asked hoarsely.
“There’s been another death.”
The erstwhile deputy took a step back. “Now look, I just came up to invite you guys to our craft fair. I’m not… I mean-”
Elizabeth wasn’t listening. “Randall will show you where the body is while the rest of us go to a phone to report it. I’ll tell Mr. Barnes you’re here.”
“But I don’t like bodies!” Dummyweed was protesting as Randall led him away.
“All right, which car are we taking?” asked Elizabeth briskly. “I think three of us should stay here in the church. One of you can go with me to telephone. Where’s Robin?”
“She went inside the church-oh, there she is.”
A slender girl in olive khaki slacks appeared on the porch. “I found this on the table,” she told Elizabeth, handing her a piece of notebook paper.
Elizabeth unfolded the note and read it aloud: “Sorry I missed you. I came back for my guitar. I’d stay to lunch, but I want to get back to MacDowell because Special Collections closes at five. And anyway, I’ve tasted y’all’s cooking. Best, Mary Clare.” Elizabeth lowered the note. “So she was here today too.”
“Are you going to tell the sheriff?” asked Robin.
Elizabeth nodded. “If Victor wasn’t murdered, it won’t matter. And if he was-I’d better!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE MOTEL ROOM was just as he had left it. Since the vandalism episode, Milo had always unlocked the door holding his breath, expecting a scene of wreckage within. He felt guilty that he had not stayed to guard the room as Alex had suggested, but subsequent events had eclipsed the destruction of the computer. Milo felt that he was needed more at the site. As soon as he got this password business straightened out, he intended to go back and supervise the digging. He glanced at his watch. Jamie should be in by now, he decided, picking up the phone.
After a few moments, Jamie’s voice came on the line, as calm and unhurried as always. “Milo! The news about Alex came out in the paper today. I’m really sorry to hear about it.”
“Yeah,” said Milo awkwardly. He never knew whether to accept the sympathy as consolation or to agree about what a shame it was. “I’m finishing the project, Jamie. At least, I’m trying to.”
“That’s right. He changed the password, didn’t he? He told me about the trouble you had up there.”
“It’s okay now,” said Milo, in no mood to chat. “What’s the new password?”
Jamie hesitated. “Milo, we’re not supposed to give those things out over the phone.”
“Jamie, it’s all right. It’s me. You want to ask me a trick question? You want me to describe your office?”