Site Unseen (19 page)

"Don't worry about me, I'm okay, really." I tried on a
smile, but it disappeared when Sheriff Stannard caught my eye. I turned back to them all. "Really. Scat."

I watched as they filed out and then steeled myself to face the sheriff, who had been waiting patiently at the back of the now empty church.

He came straight to the point.

"That meeting I had yesterday. It was with Claudette Peirce. She told me that the contents of her sister's will indicate that you had a clear motive for Ms. Westlake's murder," the sheriff said in his unadorned fashion.

"Bullshit!" The word escaped me, ringing out through the church before I thought about editing my response for emotion or location. "Pauline's sister doesn't even know me! How can she possibly imagine that I'd done this? There is no reason in the world that could make me want to hurt Pauline!" I finally moderated my voice out of habit, not lack of indignation.

"According to Mrs. Peirce, you stood to inherit quite a bit," Stannard said. "Money is a tremendous motive."

"No way," I denied absolutely. "I know for a fact that Pauline was leaving her whole estate to her causes and museums and things! And anyway, if I were going to inherit something, if I even
knew
I was in her will, why would I burn her house? Wouldn't that be a stupid thing to do?"

The sheriff looked uncomfortable, as though he might be parroting someone else's words. "Not if you were interested in the cash value of everything--"

"Cash value! The things in that house were priceless, and I don't mean what they cost!"

"--and not the objects themselves," he continued doggedly. "There was a lot of insurance on that place, and remember, the murderer would have needed to cover up his tracks in the first place. Did you know most murders are committed by relatives or close friends?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but Stannard cut me off. "Listen to me. I was inform
ed by Mrs. Peirce that Ms. West
lake was leaving all of her estate to different organizations, but one of them does have something to do with you. She left $500,000 to the Anthropology Department at Caldwell College to endow a chair in archaeology."

He rifled through his little notebook, looking for the precise wording. I slumped against the doorway, stunned.

"More specifically, for a chair in New World archaeology, to bear her name, and to be offered to you as the first recipient. If it wasn't offered to you first, the cash would revert to the rest of the estate with only $10,000 going to the college general fund in her name. So you see, a lot of people might think that that was more than enough motive, for a lot less of a crime. I've been getting phone calls from high up, no doubt courtesy of Mrs. Peirce's concern about her sister's death. I'm finding out she's an influential person."

I stared outside for what seemed to be a long time; the threatened rain had arrived, in torrents, but didn't make things any cooler. No wonder Claudette made such a scene, if she knew that was in the will, I thought. Funny, I never even suspected Pauline would do such a thing. She must really think I--

My thoughts were interrupted by Stannard speaking again. "You okay, Dr. Fielding? I hate to dump this on you all of a sudden, but I thought that, well, it would be better to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. Once this sort of news goes beyond two people, everyone in town knows. And I've got to run; this isn't the only thing keeping me busy these days."

I looked at him warily. "You said a lot of people. What about you?"

The way Stannard sighed told me I'd gotten to the heart of the situation. "Even with this I still don't buy you as a suspect. But I can't believe that Mrs. Peirce is going to leave this alone, and she's bringing a lot of pressure for me ... to explore every avenue thoroughly. Even with this will, a lot of things aren't adding up for me right now, and I need to find
out what I'm missing. You're going to help me sort this out. You are the key to this, one way or another."

I recalled the little voice that chided me with these same words a billion years ago. Tuesday.

"I'll see you straight off, nine tomorrow, then." He put his hat on outside the church, touched the brim, and I watched as he walked over to the rectory.

Chapter 12

I REMAINED IN THE DOORWAY OF ST. JUDE'S, DIGESTING this news, until the noise of the ladies' guild cleaning the flowers off the altar spurred me out to the parking lot. I sat there in the truck for a minute, fighting down my delayed reaction to Stannard's new information. Oh Pauline, what have you done? This was meant as a fantastic gift, but... I gripped the steering wheel tightly and rested my head against it, barely noticing the new ache that was creeping through my scalp. I struggled with thoughts that threatened to choke me and blind me.

I waited until the wave of nausea had receded and my vision cleared somewhat, and then I began to back the truck out of the parking space behind the church. The rain that had finally burst out of the sky was gone as suddenly as it had arrived, but made visibility a thing of the past. That's what I get for breathing, I thought wryly. On top of everything else, the antiquated defogging system in the truck hadn't made much of a difference with the fogged windows. A blur caught my eye, and I slammed on the brakes just in
time to avoid being sideswiped by a black car that had come tearing around the corner.

Pauline's death and the surrealness of the service, along with a row of sleepless nights, caused me to react more out of anger than the fear that would ordinarily accompany such a close call. I flung open the door and boiled out of the truck, not even caring if the other driver had been hurt in the near-miss: I hoped the idiot got a good scare for his stupidity. I stormed over to the other car, one of those muscle jobs, completely unmindful of the fact that I was ruining my only good pair of summer shoes. I slammed my fist on the trunk of the other car, enjoying the fact that it stung like the devil, and made my way to the driver's side. The windows were steamed up from the humidity and I could barely make out a form inside.

"Hey, what are you, crazy? You could've killed me, you maniac! You couldn't wait ten seconds for the light to change, you had to go bombing through here? Jesus Christ--"

That was when I saw who the driver was, as he opened the door of the car with a loud screeching protest of rusty hinges.

It was the guy I'd seen driving past the site.

As I'd described to Nick, Billy Griggs was about my age, about my height, and skinny, but with a beer gut just managing to creep out over the top of his faded jeans and from beneath his T-shirt. His blond hair was dirty, and it curled around his ears, which seemed stuck to his big, square head almost as an afterthought. I could tell even with the torn Budweiser gimme cap that his hair was sparser than the last time we had met; that chance meeting had been unpleasant too. He had grown a mustache since then, but it was thin and sickly-looking, hovering uncertainly over his thick lips. Billy'd never been an attractive specimen, and age hadn't improved a damned thing.

"Are
you
mouthing off to me?" Disbelief, as well as beer,
perfumed his language. "You fucking nearly took the side off my Cam, you stupid bitch!" He didn't appear to recognize me, but hey, it had been twelve years or more. I certainly hoped that I had changed somewhat since then.

Under other circumstances, I would have done almost anything to avoid him. But all that meant nothing now. I was so thankful for the confrontation, I could have screamed "hallelujah." It was like the sum of every Christmas and birthday that ever was to have such a deserving target for all my pent-up rage, frustration, humiliation--my fury tasted so sweet that I invited it in to stay. I found myself
aching
for the chance to knock the teeth out of this son of a bitch.

I turned to him, and for once, I said just what was on my mind, rather than fuming about lost anger and missed chances hours later.

"You miserable piece of shit! I'm surprised they haven't put you away yet, you psycho, because the better part of you was left on the mattress your mother used for work!" My blood was singing and I felt
good
for the first time in a long while. This was the sort of berserker rage that the Viking warriors prayed for.

Dim awareness that he had been insulted competed with clouded semirecognition of me. I knew Billy didn't require any provocation, but it was like the band compressing my skull was finally being loosened.

"Oh, fuck this." I could see the idiot bunching up his fist, telegraphing his next move like Western Union. I tensed, ready with a little surprise of my own, when we were both distracted by someone calling out my name.

"Emma! What's going on here? Is there a problem?" A dark, slender man sidled alongside of me, coolly appraising my opponent.

"Jesus! Kam, get out of here! I can handle this!" But my surprise at seeing him was so great that all the bloodlust drained away, and was being rapidly replaced by dread. "Kam, don't, I--"

"Back off, nigger!" Billy spat. "You got about three seconds to get out of here."

Kam looked put out. "How bloody typical. Emma, you
can
pick them." He turned to face Billy and continued, enunciating, in his fluid Oxonian tones. "I am not a nigger. However, if you insist on employing such scurrilous epithets, you might at least do me the courtesy of a little specific accuracy. For example, in my particular case, the appropriate words might be
wog,
or
Paki bastard,
or perhaps even
rag-head,
although you will notice I am not sporting the headgear that some of my countrymen sport, and
really,
even that expression is generally reserved for my dusky brethren farther to the west. In any case, it is sheer ignorance to use such a term, never mind confusing your racial slurs--"

Only momentarily transfixed and confused by this unexpected lecture, Billy suddenly turned from me and launched a well-practiced fist at Kam's head. He missed completely, only to receive Kam's tremendous blow to the solar plexus. The force of it knocked Billy backward onto the driver's seat, smacking his head against the roof of the car. He slumped forward and sprayed beery vomit all over the gravel in front of him.

Kam hopped nimbly backward and avoided being splashed by the filth. I was not so quick, and the spatter effectively ended the useful life of my poor shoes. I stared a shocked moment at the shoes before I ripped them off and stuffed them into a green metal trash can spray-painted "St. Jude."

"Anyone coming?" I demanded curtly.

"Not that I can see." Kam politely ignored the fact that I hadn't said a proper hello.

I reached up under my suit's skirt and pulled off my pantyhose, wadded them up, and tuck them with the shoes on the top of the trash. Kam stood watching me silently; I glared back at him. I was in the process of splashing some of the sick off my foot in one of the tepid puddles when that gangly Deputy Sheehan meandered around the corner.

He paused to survey the parked car, noticed the mess on the gravel, and blanched--Deputy Denny Sheehan looked like he was a sympathetic puker. "Miss Fielding, what happened here? Oh man, that's Billy again! You"--he gestured at Kam--"will you give me a hand with this?" He pulled the moaning Billy all the way out of the driver's seat, set him, not too gently, on the sidewalk: Billy wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Denny put the car in neutral, then, with Kam's help, he pushed the Camaro off to the side of the lot. By the time he came back I was prepared for the questions I knew he had for me.

"Could you tell me what happened, Miss Fielding? As if I didn't already have a pretty good idea."

I took a deep breath. "Griggs came bombing through the parking lot and almost rammed into the back of me. I got out to give him a piece of my mind, when he threatened me, and then attacked my friend here. Dr. Shah reacted in self-defense."

Just saying it aloud drastically oversimplified the morass of emotions that had consumed me. But even simply repeating this abbreviated version, I managed to scare the hell out of myself pretty thoroughly. What had I gotten myself into? I started to tremble. It didn't occur to me until just then that I stood a much better chance of being badly hurt than of doing any real damage.

Deputy Sheehan scratched his arm and nodded. "This isn't anything new for Billy here, but you acted pretty silly, getting out of the car like that." He turned to Kam. "You want to press charges?"

Kam shook his head.

"We'll get someone to tow the car and let Billy sleep it off. We can charge him with DUI, not that it matters any, because his license is already suspended, but maybe he'll spend a little time in the tank. Not much we can do with him; he seems to spend more time with us than at home, though maybe that's a blessing for his wife." Deputy Sheehan scribbled down a few of the details we gave him, and radioed into
the sheriff's department for a tow truck. He turned back to me, and I imagined that I was now looking every bit as worn out as I felt, now that the excitement was over. My bedraggled dress felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds in the humidity.

"Miss Fielding, I came back here to see if I could catch you. The sheriff needs to change your meeting to nine-thirty, okay? Schedule conflict." The young deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other for a moment, considering his next words. "Miss Westlake was a nice lady. I know that you were close to her, and since you've only been answering questions for us, you shouldn't mind that old cat in there. I'm sorry for your loss." He nodded at Kam, a gesture he had clearly acquired from his boss, and left us alone.

Steam rose off the puddles in the gravel. My feet now hurt me like the dickens from standing in one place on the gravel for so long, and I sat on the fender of the truck. Kam leaned over to me.

"You care to tell me what was going on there? I don't think I've ever heard you talk like that before."

"I always try to use small words and easy cliches when I'm insulting the intellectually challenged," I explained. "If I'd had a minute to think, I might have been able to work his dog and his car into it too."

"Emma--" Kam started.

"I didn't need you to come barging in like that!" I snapped. One might have said I sounded ungrateful. "I was on top of things, okay? I didn't need you to flounce in and save me!"

"No, you weren't on top of things, you were picking a fight with an inebriated redneck who was intent on pounding you into jelly," Kam said. "I've no doubt that you can handle yourself, but there are easier ways to commit suicide than by courting trouble like that."

Those words had been flinty, the next were coaxing, softened with concern. "C'mon, it's me. Tell me what's wrong."

That simple command broke the seal on Pandora's box.

My breath caught once, and all of a sudden the tears that before had come only sporadically came surging out. I caught the lapel of his jacket, and my howls were muffled by his arm around me. I couldn't stop weeping, and for a long time he rocked me, making absurd, reassuring shushing noises.

It was a while before I quieted and sat up. I snuffled again, loudly, but finally. "I hope the dry cleaner can get snot out of your Armani."

"Never mind the jokes, girl. We've got to get you someplace where you can clean up and then we are going to talk." He looked pained. "Besides, it's not an Armani. It's Hardy Amies, and you'd better never confuse the two in front of
him.
Give me the keys." I started to protest but caught the look on his face and thought better of it. "We'll come back for the Jag later. Now, which way out?"

Chapter 13

I TOOK MY TIME CHANGING INTO DRY SHORTS AND A sweatshirt after the silent trip back to the dorm. The air had cooled off after the rain, making everything uncomfortably clammy and I knew that I would have to come across with some answers for Kam. In a further attempt to gather my wits, I dawdled over making two cups of tea. I knew he wouldn't wait for me to go through the whole ritual to create the coffee I craved so badly...

"Why are you here?" I asked finally "Isn't this a little beyond the reaches of civilization for you? I mean, you can't even get
cornetti e cappuccino
up here."

When I saw that flippancy wasn't going to get a smile out of Kam, I said simply "I thought you were still in Chicago." "I finished up and left for home early," Kam said, removing the tea bag from his mug. He took a sip from his tea and wrinkled his nose at the stale flavor. "Brian caught me when he got stuck in Pittsburgh. He was going off his head when he finally caught up with me, and so to keep him from having an aneurysm, I told him I'd come up and see how you were doing. I'm glad I did too."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"It means that, obviously, you've had a series of dreadful shocks and we thought someone should be here for you," he said. "Now, no more fooling around. Tell me what I walked in on back there."

I gave him a marvelously succinct description of the week's events, including the scene with Claudette Peirce at the church and the news about Pauline's endowment.

Kam said nothing for a moment, sipped his tea meditatively, more out of polite habit than desire, I suppose. It wasn't very good tea. "That was a pretty remarkable thing for Pauline to have done," he said reflectively. "No more struggling. You'll be able to do whatever you want."

It worked precisely as he expected: I exploded. "You're missing the point entirely! You just don't get--"

Then I figured out what he was up to and shut up in a hurry. But it was already too late.

"What don't I get, Em?" The infuriating man looked all innocence as he pulled out his cigarette case. It was silver, an antique, no doubt, but one I had never seen him use before. It suddenly occurred to me that things might be heating up between him and Marty.

The words came very slowly, reluctantly, but only because I knew he wouldn't let me off the hook now. I stared, fascinated, at the etched detail on the cigarette case, seeing it and not seeing it, wishing I was anywhere but here.

"It will only make it harder," I said slowly, "for me. To establish myself on my own terms." Go on.

I heard the snap of Kam's lighter, smelled the smoke of the Dunhill he lit; there was no way I could meet his gaze now. It took me a minute to summon up the courage I needed to reveal my thoughts.