Murder in the Queen's Armes

'Am I...” He laughed, as if Gideon had asked him a riddle. “All right, I'm right-handed. Why?'

'What about the others? Leon, Sandra, Dr. Frawley?'

'I don't know. I think everyone's right-handed, but I'm not sure. Wait a minute, Randy's a lefty. He used to pitch Class-A ball. Did you know that?'

'I think I did hear something about it. Thanks a lot, Barry.'

'Things are shaping up,” Gideon said as he returned to the dining room. “It looks like it must have been somebody from the dig who killed him. If not Nate, then one of the others: Frawley, Leon, Sandra... who am I forgetting? Oh, Barry. Five suspects.'

'How come?” Abe asked. “Why?'

'Let's assume I'm right about Randy's body being tossed into that lagoon from the top of Stonebarrow Fell itself, okay? Well there haven't been any outsiders up to the fell since before Randy was killed—I was the last one, in fact.... So an insider must have done it. Simple.'

'How do you know this?” Abe asked. “About no outsiders.” The fatigue seemed to have left him; there was color in his cheeks and a liveliness in his eyes; he sensed a mystery, an adventure.

Gideon told him about the call to Barry. “I suppose someone could have climbed over the fence, and Barry might not have seen him, but that's pretty doubtful. It's a pretty small dig.'

'Gideon,” Julie said, “you'll need to tell Inspector Bagshawe about this, won't you?'

Gideon nodded. “I was going to call him in the morning anyway—about the lagoon.'

On Hinshore's suggestion, they took their coffee in the Tudor Room, where the fire had been renewed for them. For a few lazy minutes they sipped quietly, gazing into the orange flames.

'I got a question,” Abe said, still looking into the fire, his cup at his lips, the saucer held just below it. “This theft of the Poundbury skull in Dorchester; where do you think it fits in?'

'Fits in with what?” Gideon asked.

'With what?” Abe repeated, waggling the saucer impatiently. “With everything—the whole mish- mosh.'

'Why should it fit in at all?'

Over the rim of his cup, Abe looked at him as if Gideon had asked why one and one should be two. The old man put the cup down and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Listen, how far from Dorchester to Charmouth?'

'Thirty miles, maybe.'

'Fine. Now, let me ask you: In your whole career, did you ever run into a... what are they calling it...an inquiry into a dig?'

'Not personally, no.'

'No,” Abe said. “What about a murder on a dig?'

'No.'

'No. And stealing a calvarium from a museum? This, did you ever see?'

Gideon shook his head.

Abe nodded his. “No, no, and no. Three things that never happen, and they all happen inside of a few weeks of each other, and inside of thirty miles of each other. And you think they're just three separate pieces of monkey business, nothing to do with each other?” He looked at Julie and jerked a thumb at Gideon. “Some detective!'

Gideon grumbled in mock annoyance. “In the first place, Dr. Goldstein, I'm not a detective—'

'Hoo, boy, you're telling me.'

They all laughed then, and Gideon poured more coffee for them from the silver pot. “Maybe you have a point, Abe,” he said.

'Of course. And here's another connection between all three things: you.'

'Me?'

'You. You just happen to discover Poundbury's missing; you just happen to arrive here the next day; you just happen to be the one Alexander wants to tell a secret—and you just happen to be the one that winds up analyzing the poor guy's bones.'

'But it's true: I did just happen—'

'Of course.” He put down his half-empty cup and rose.

'I think I'll go ahead to bed now.” He clasped Gideon's shoulder and spoke to Julie. “This husband of yours; sometimes his fancy-dancy anthropological theories get a little ungepotchket—you know ungepotchket?'

Julie shook her head.

'Screwed up,” Gideon murmured. His years of friendship with Abe had taught him a great many Yiddish expressions—by osmosis, as it were.

Abe narrowed his eyes, considering. “Screwed up? No, this I wouldn't say. Ungepotchket is more, well... unnecessarily rococo.'

Julie laughed. “Does it really mean that?'

'Sure,” Abe said. “But about Gideon, this I got to say. Wherever he is...always it gets interesting. Good night,