“That’s what we think. Remember that story you told me about the Moonshine Massacre, and how the sheriff’s nephew disappeared?” Her voice sank to a whisper. “What if it’s him?”
“Of course! What better place to hide a murder victim than in with a bunch of old bones?”
Elizabeth nodded. “That’s what we figured. But so far I haven’t been able to prove it.”
“So far they’re all Cullowhees, huh?”
“Oh, Jake, I don’t know!” wailed Elizabeth. “I messed up all the measurements the first time, and now this one has come out the same as before!”
“I’m distracting you,” said Jake quickly. “No wonder you can’t concentrate. Now, don’t cry! I’ll just sit here and read, and you start over. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Elizabeth, wiping her eyes.
The next hour passed in silence. Jake settled back with his book, occasionally peeping over the top of it at Elizabeth. She was intent upon her work: measuring, writing down the result, shaking her head, and measuring again. Finally he could stand it no longer. “How’s it going? You look worried.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Did you find the ringer? It isn’t that tiny one, is it?”
“No. I’ve been concentrating on the skull measurements, and I don’t understand it. I came out with the same numbers I got the first time.”
“So?”
“Milo says they’re all wrong. They don’t fit the chart.”
“Have you checked your instruments?” asked Jake thoughtfully.
“No. I wouldn’t know how to go about it. Do you think something is wrong with them?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it? If somebody put your tools about of alignment, you’re not going to get any helpful results, are you?”
“I guess not. I’ll ask Milo if-Did you hear a car?”
Jake peered out the window. “It isn’t Milo. It’s the sheriff’s car.”
“Milo isn’t here,” Elizabeth told the deputy.
“No, I know he isn’t. I left him back in town,” Pilot told her. “Like you to meet Ron Garrett, FBI agent. He’s helping us on the case.” He turned to Jake. “We’d like to talk to you.”
Elizabeth’s stomach lurched. Surely not Jake, she thought. A moment later she found she didn’t believe it. “Would you like me to leave?” she asked Jake. “Shall I call Milo?”
“No, it’s okay. What would you like to know, gentlemen?”
“Is your name Jake Adair?” asked Pilot, consulting a printed card.
“Yep,” said Jake calmly. He didn’t seem surprised at being questioned.
“And your home is in Swain County, North Carolina.”
“Right. Route 1, Box 109, Cherokee.”
Pilot eyed him sternly. “That is the Cherokee Indian reservation, ain’t it?”
“It sure is,” Jake agreed cheerfully.
“That’s neat!” exclaimed Elizabeth, forgetting the interrogation. “How did you come to live there?”
“Because I’m a full-blooded Cherokee,” said Jake, smiling gently.
“But-you-but…” Elizabeth realized that all the things she had been about to say were equally stupid, so she hushed and mulled over this turn of events while the officers resumed their questioning.
“Are you aware of the weapon used to kill Dr. Alex Lerche?” the deputy demanded.
“A tomahawk,” said Jake wearily.
“A souvenir tomahawk from the Cherokee reservation,” Garrett corrected him.
“Those things are shipped over by the carload from Taiwan. Shouldn’t you be questioning Chinese suspects, sir?”
“Have you ever had such a weapon in your possession?” barked Pilot, ignoring this sally.
“Not since I was eight years old.”
“Do you have any objection to having your fingerprints taken?”
“Help yourself.”
“This is silly!” cried Elizabeth. “Why should he kill Alex? The Cherokees have nothing to do with all this!”
Jake smiled. “Well, I’d say this was our land about six hundred years ago, but I’m not here to foreclose on it.”
The officers were not amused. “Is there any way the Cherokees could get this land back?” Pilot murmured to the FBI agent.
“About the same odds as you winning the Irish Sweepstakes,” said Jake cheerfully.
“Have you connected him to the tomahawk?” Elizabeth demanded.
Pilot looked pained. “Ma’am, unless you are his attorney of record, would you please stay out of this?”
Elizabeth scowled. “My brother is in law school.”
“It’s all right,” said Jake soothingly. “These gentlemen just want my fingerprints because they’re being thorough. You aren’t going to haul me away in handcuffs, are you?”
Pilot Barnes and Ron Garrett exchanged exasperated glances. They had expected their surprise questioning to elicit frightened cooperation, but it wasn’t working. Garrett shrugged. “We’ll take your prints, run them through our computer, and see what we get. Don’t plan on going anywhere.”
After a few more minutes’ questioning, the officers took Jake’s fingerprints and left. When the door closed behind them, Elizabeth put the last skull back in the box and smiled up at Jake. “Hey, can I measure your jawline?”
Jake laughed. “You didn’t know, did you? Out at the site when you told me I looked like an Apache, I thought you must have guessed.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You don’t… uh… you’re not what I expected.”
“No long hair and feathers, huh? Sorry to disappoint you. The coroner knew, though, the first time he saw me.”
“How?”
“He asked if I was a Cullowhee, and when I said no, he wanted to know my last name. I told him Adair, and he said: ‘So that’s it!’ Adair is a very famous Cherokee name.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Jake smiled. “Dr. Lerche knew. So did Milo. But I don’t usually broadcast it. I get tired of the dumb questions: ‘Do you live in a tepee?’ And the stale jokes: ‘How! You see, I speak your language.’ I didn’t want to hear any more of it.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Like Victor, saying his great-grandmother was a Cherokee princess.”
“Oh, God,” groaned Jake. “That one is the worst. All of you
Elizabeth frowned. “What was that word you used?”
“What?” murmured Elizabeth. She didn’t seem to be listening.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Elizabeth blinked. “Sorry. I guess it’s the heat. I was wondering what we were going to have for lunch.”
“And I thought you were getting nervous about being here with me,” Jake grumbled.
“No. I know you didn’t do it,” she replied.
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
But it isn’t a matter of faith, she thought, it’s just that I know who did it. Now how am I going to get rid of you so that I can find out why? Elizabeth assumed her most simpering smile, the one usually reserved for flat tires on interstates. “Jake, do you think you could go to Comfrey’s house and get some tomatoes from his garden? He said we could help ourselves, and I want to make tomato sandwiches for lunch.”
“Why don’t we both go?” asked Jake, getting up.
“Okay,” said Elizabeth.
When they reached the door, she stopped, as if something had just occurred to her. “You know, we’re almost
