cider.”
Milo turned to Jake. “Have we got any cider at the church? Did the day crew bring any in today?”
“No.”
Dr. Putnam sighed. “All right, Pilot. Do your measuring and your picture taking. If it turns out to be cider in his mouth, and they didn’t have cider with them, then I think somebody has committed a highly original murder.”
“Not what I’d call a sure thing,” said Comfrey. “I’d say it had more of a chance of failing than it did of succeeding.”
“I don’t know,” said Jake. “Victor was allergic to bees.”
“Who knew it?” asked Pilot Barnes.
Milo gave him a grim smile. “Who didn’t?”
While Dr. Putnam finished his preliminary examination, Milo followed Pilot Barnes around the death scene, occasionally holding the camera or tape measure, and talking to the deputy in a low voice that Jake was unable to hear. After a few minutes, Jake saw him smile, pump Pilot’s hand-disregarding the scowl he received in return-and walk back toward the church. Jake hurried to catch up with him.
He had intended to spend the walk back discussing the fate of the dig with Milo, but Comfrey Stecoah insisted on escorting them, making such a talk impossible. It was just as well, Jake told himself. Milo didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, despite his display of exuberance with the deputy. Even Victor’s death did not account for depression of that magnitude. Jake concluded that the research was going badly.
“What are the chances of them solving this case?” Milo asked Comfrey after several hundred yards of silence.
Comfrey shrugged. “A little better than in New York. Same cop equipment, fewer suspects.”
“Do you think somebody murdered Victor?” asked Jake.
“Maybe somebody crazy,” said Milo. “They must have picked him because he was one of us and he happened to be the one they caught alone.”
“Nothing personal, huh?” asked Jake, trying not to think of how close it had come to being Elizabeth out there alone.
“They’re trying to keep you from helping us,” Comfrey explained. “It’s scare tactics. I wonder where Bevel Harkness was this morning.”
“Well, if it was him, it will be safe to work out here tomorrow,” Milo answered.
“Why?”
“Because the inquest on Alex is tomorrow. He has to testify.”
“Is that what you were grinning at?” asked Jake.
“Back there with the deputy? No. I got him to agree to give us the skulls back tomorrow.”
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of people in the woods about to emerge at the churchyard, and she didn’t want to be caught crying, especially if one of those people turned out to be Milo. It was, she decided upon closer inspection. Should she avoid him or stay and find out what the matter was? I don’t need this grief, she thought. Relationships are supposed to be pleasant. Ever since I got interested in Milo my life has turned into the waiting room of a dentist’s office. She watched the three men draw nearer. Comfrey Stecoah said a few words to them and ambled off down the hillside toward the houses. Jake, seeing her on the porch, looked embarrassed. She nodded politely. With a murmured greeting, Jake brushed past her and disappeared inside the church. Milo stood looking down at her, tight-lipped. Elizabeth stared back unblinking.
“How are you?” asked Milo as if each word cost him.
“Fine,” said Elizabeth, “considering that I discovered a body this afternoon.”
“Well. I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you,” she answered primly.
Milo took a deep breath. Having got the preliminaries out of the way, he could say what was really on his mind. No one could say he hadn’t been polite about it. “You screwed up the stats!” he burst out.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The skull measurements. I checked them today and they’re all wrong.”
“How could you check them when you don’t have the skulls?”
“I compared them to the rest of the chart. They’re way out of range. That must be what Alex wanted to tell me.”
“Well, I’m not surprised, Milo. I kept asking you to check my work. I am a beginner, you know.”
The perfect truth of what she said irritated him further. “Why couldn’t you have been more careful?” he demanded. “You knew how important this was!”
Elizabeth glared at him. “If it was so important, perhaps you should have done a better job of supervising.”
“Maybe I overestimated your intelligence!” Milo shot back.
Elizabeth looked away, her eyes stinging. I’ll be damned if I let him see me cry, she thought. He is just upset about Alex’s death. I ought to be more patient with him. Tapping the last dregs of Southern politeness, she managed a tight smile. “Would you like to show me the procedure again?”
Milo’s frown relaxed. “We’re getting the skulls back tomorrow, and since Mary Clare and Victor are not with us, I need to be doing other things. So I would
Under the circumstances, that speech would have to pass for an apology, Elizabeth decided. “Fine,” she said, the arctic light still glinting in her eyes. “I’ll do it again.”
Milo, apparently finding the words “Thank you” unpronounceable, nodded and turned away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DUMMYWEED squirmed uncomfortably in the patrol car, wishing he were a prisoner instead of a deputy. Prisoners got to make a phone call, had lawyers to get them out on bail. But since he was a shanghaied deputy with two murders to contend with, he didn’t see a hope in hell of escaping the long arm of the law. He might not make it to the craft fair, and then Patricia would forget how much tax to charge, and things would be in complete chaos by the time he got back. He glared out the window, noticing for the first time that they were not on the road back to Laurel Cove.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to pay a call on Bevel Harkness,” said Pilot, his eyes on the road.
“Good. Once he takes over, you can give me a lift back to town.” Over his protests, Dr. Putnam had been given the keys to Coltsfoot’s car, and instructed to take the body back to town. Daniel hoped that this fact could be kept from Patricia; trading cars was such a hassle. He realized that Pilot had not responded to his request for a ride to town. “Or I could hitchhike,” he added hopefully.
“’Fraid not,” said Pilot. “Unless Harkness has an outstanding alibi which does not depend on members of his family, you are in it for the duration, son.”
Coltsfoot sighed. He was afraid of that. “Is this Harkness guy a suspect, then?”
“Let’s just say I’m taking no chances.”
Coltsfoot played his last card. “I don’t have any police training, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” nodded Pilot Barnes. “Well, you know those cop shows on the television? “Adam-12” and “Hawaii Five-0,” that kind of thing?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Well, you forget everything you ever saw on them, and don’t do nothing without I tell you to. You’ll get along fine.”
Coltsfoot slumped farther down in his seat, sighing. He wondered if they shot
Bevel Harkness lived in an old-style log house, gray logs wedged together with concrete, dating from the turn of the century. Its setting, with spreading oaks and wild mountain laurel, would have been impressive but for Harkness’ unfortunate tendency to use the yard as a museum for old farm equipment.
