notebook and checked the computer’s figures against the numbers written down by Elizabeth. Perhaps he had miscopied them.
Milo flipped off the computer, resisting the urge to put his fist through the screen. She’s only a beginner, he told himself. You can’t expect her to be perfect. She had asked him again and again to check her work. And I was too busy, thought Milo disgustedly. Well, at least that explained what Alex had wanted to see him about the night he died. Alex had checked the skulls, and had found out that Elizabeth didn’t know what she was doing. Obviously, he had wanted Milo to give her another lesson.
It wouldn’t cost them too much time, Milo told himself. Then he remembered that the skulls had been impounded by the sheriff’s department. Until the measurements were done correctly, the project was at a standstill. Milo swore. He would have to go and get the skulls back.
It was a short walk from the motel to the sheriff’s office. Everything in Laurel Cove was a short walk, Milo told himself without amusement. He had spent the time wondering whether it would be necessary to hire a lawyer to get the skulls back, and if he ought to check with Bill about it. Lawyers would take more time than he had, he decided, wondering if Pilot Barnes would respond better to bullying or pleading. He was trying to decide which one he could best manage when he pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office. The fact that Pilot Barnes seemed to be expecting him put him off stride before he could do either.
“Reckon they called you, too,” the deputy remarked.
“Who?” said Milo.
“Your folks at the church. I’m going out there now. You want to follow me?”
Milo froze. “What happened?”
“You don’t know? Well, what did you come in here for?”
“Never mind,” said Milo, not believing he’d said it. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s been a death up there. Might be natural causes though.”
Milo said carefully, “Was it a woman?”
“Young man. Name of Victor Bassington. You want to go out there? I’m leaving as soon as the coroner gets here.”
Milo was ashamed of the feeling of relief he had felt upon hearing Victor’s name. “Of course I’ll come. Let me get the car.”
The Sarvice Valley Road was beautiful on a summer day, but Pilot Barnes was in no mood to appreciate postcard scenes. Those damned tourists had become a personal crime wave in the space of two weeks. The fact that Dr. Putnam was enjoying it all did not improve his disposition in the slightest.
“What do you reckon it’ll be this time, Pilot?” The coroner cackled. “Scalping?”
Pilot refused to be drawn. “Heart attack most likely,” he growled.
“You’re no fun,” Dr. Putnam pouted. “Heard from Duncan yet?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way back. But they’re stopping at his sister’s in Winston-Salem first. He says that if the FBI is working on the case, there’s no point in ruining his vacation over it.”
“Watch the curve here,” murmured the doctor, sensing that Pilot Barnes’ frustration had localized in his right foot. “Slow down. Have you called that FBI fellow yet about this new development?”
“Nope. Don’t know that it is one. That’s for you to find out.”
“That young fellow behind us seems pretty upset about it.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t think it’s the Cullowhees. And he was a lot more upset until he found out who it was.”
“How’s his alibi?”
Pilot Barnes gave him a pained look. “Dr. Putnam,” he sighed. “Couldn’t you at least pronounce the fellow dead before you go hunting up suspects?”
Milo caught up with them as they reached the steps of the church. “Why are you going in there?” he asked.
“To find out where the body is,” said the deputy. “And to talk to the girl who found him.”
“Can I come with you?” asked Milo.
Pilot shrugged. “Long as you don’t get in the way.”
Everyone looked up as they entered the church. Elizabeth, who had been writing something, put the paper away. “I’m the one who found the body,” she told the deputy. “It’s on the path between here and the site. Would you like me to show you?”
“Where is Jake?” Milo interrrupted, forgetting his promise to be unobtrusive.
“He’s out there,” said Elizabeth. “He and Comfrey Stecoah were going to stay with the body. Oh, and your deputy is with them,” she added to Pilot.
Pilot stared. He knew that McKenna was off today. Suddenly he realized which deputy she meant. “What’s Dum-Coltsfoot doing here?” he demanded.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Something about a craft fair. Anyway, he’s up there too. Would you like me to take you?”
Pilot shook his head. “Sounds like there’s enough of a crowd already,” he grunted, turning to leave.
Milo started to go with him.
“Is it true that we’re calling off the dig?” asked one of the day crew.
Milo stiffened. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked more calmly than he felt.
“Jake,” murmured Elizabeth apologetically.
Milo glared at her. “I’ll talk to him later. And to you.” He walked out, slamming the door.
Elizabeth managed to say, “This isn’t my day,” before she burst into tears.
In the presence of a body, Dr. Putnam lost all his facetiousness and became a skilled professional. He knelt beside Victor’s body, measuring and probing, oblivious to the conversations going on around him.
“Am I going to get paid for this?” Dummyweed hissed at Pilot Barnes. “This is the second time I’ve had to babysit a corpse, and I’m not even on the payroll!”
“I thought you were supposed to look out for us!” Jake growled at Comfrey Stecoah.
“And I thought I told you to stay together!” said Milo. “What’s this about you calling off the dig, anyway?”
Comfrey Stecoah scowled. “Scared you off, have they?”
“You stay out of this!” snapped Milo.
Dr. Putnam looked up. “Could y’all please quit!” he asked mildly.
They looked down at the corpse, remembering the presence of death. “Sorry,” muttered Milo. “Can you tell anything yet?”
“Insofar as I can hear myself think, yes,” drawled the coroner. “I’ll have to get the state lab to back me up on this, but I’m sure enough to make a guess.”
“Is it natural causes?” asked the deputy anxiously.
“Well, he didn’t die of old age, Pilot. How do I know if it was natural or not? I’ll tell you what killed him, and it will be up to you to figure out if somebody else arranged it.”
“Fine. What killed him?”
“He suffocated. Note the cyanosis of the face, and the protruding tongue. See that little rash? Petechial hemorrhages.”
“You mean somebody strangled him?”
“No, there’s no evidence of that. Look at the swelling around the throat. You can see better from inside.”
Pilot Barnes backed away. “I’ll take your word.”
“His throat is swollen up on the inside to the point that the trachea is completely blocked.”
“What would do that?”
Dr. Putnam considered it. “A bee sting,” he said thoughtfully. “If you happened to inhale one.”
“There’s your murderer,” said Comfrey Stecoah triumphantly. “You going to arrest the bee?”
“I expect I’ll find his body somewhere in their during the autopsy,” said Dr. Putnam seriously. “One thing, though. Didn’t you tell me that he was going for water when he was last seen?”
“That’s right,” said Jake. “Why?”
“There’s traces of something in his mouth. Not water. I’m second-guessing the lab, but it smells to me like
