It should have been easy to burst through her window and do what had to be done, but for the steady stream of marked police cars cruising through the campground. Tonight was not the night, but she could remember something incriminating at any time. She had to be silenced.
He hefted his shovel and faded into the woods, knowing that his chance would come soon enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Frida never left Faye’s mind, but work was always a distraction for her. She had thoroughly enjoyed their obvious glee as Ayesha, Stephanie, Richard, Davion, and Yvonna threw themselves into their morning in the museum’s archaeology lab. Still, she was counting the hours until McDaniel released the crime scene and they could get started digging.
Dr. Nillsson, the rather staid matron who ran the museum, had greeted them by inviting them to use the lab’s microscopes. They’d hung back for a moment, until Faye said, “You’re not going to break them. They’re made to be used,” and that was all the reassurance the young people had needed. The five of them had whiled away an hour checking out the chipped edges of a collection of stone points, having so much fun that Faye was pretty sure they’d forgotten they were working.
Then they’d enjoyed the outdoor exhibits, basically freaking out over the garden where museum staff grew traditional food and medicinal plants.
“You’re saying that I can chew on this stick and make a toothache go away?” Yvonna said. “Get out.” Then she’d chewed on the stick until her mouth was too numb to talk right.
The vegetables in the museum’s teaching garden reminded Faye of Laneer’s front-yard vegetable patch, and that reminded her of Kali. She wondered if the girl had started talking to Laneer and Sylvia again. If not, it hurt her to think of the girl sitting in silence, just because there was only one person she was willing to talk to and that person was busy working with old stuff. She promised herself a visit to Kali later in the day.
Jeremiah gave all five students a sprig of mint to chew, then Davion noticed the nature trail leading to the thousand-year-old mounds that served as the centerpiece of the museum’s grounds. The group’s attention was diverted yet again. After touring the mounds at a run, they were back inside for the afternoon, and Faye was already exhausted. Jeremiah hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Check this out,” he said, dragging her over to a large display. “The museum brought in a group of high-schoolers to build this exhibit about their own community. Our community.”
This was the point where Faye fell in love with Dr. Nilsson. She knew how much dedication it had taken for the museum director to get funding for an exhibit that might seem unimportant to people accustomed to the Met’s multi-billion-dollar collection. But those jaded museum-goers didn’t grow up in places like the struggling neighborhoods of Memphis.
“Hey! My grandfather went to that high school,” said Richard, pointing at a fading photograph.
“Mama says we’re part Choctaw,” Ayesha said as she peered at a collection of potsherds collected from the very creek where they’d be working.
Yvonna, Richard, and Stephanie stood in front of a display of album covers, listening to music recorded in Memphis. The sounds seeped out around their earbuds, treating Faye to a heady mix of Beale Street blues, Elvis Presley rock ’n’ roll, and Isaac Hayes funk.
The thumping bass of Hayes’ music turned Faye’s thoughts back to Kali again, and to Laneer, too. Everything seemed to remind her of Frida and her bereaved family.
“Jeremiah,” she said, drawing close and letting the music cover her voice. “You’re from around here. You knew Frida. You know the people who live here. Have you talked to any of them? Who do they think killed her?”
He hesitated in his answer. Instead of letting him gather his thoughts, which she knew was the polite approach, she pressed ahead. “Who do you think killed her?”
He was still slow in answering, but this time she didn’t push him and he eventually spoke.
“No, I haven’t had a chance to talk to anybody. Well, I’m on Sylvia’s long list of people to gossip-text, but she hasn’t said anything you don’t already know. She’s ready to lock up all of Frida’s exes, and I can’t say that I blame her, but that can’t be a surprise to you. Other than Sylvia? I’m too busy with all this.” He gestured at the five eager young archaeologists in his care.
“As for me?” he went on. “I don’t like to think about it. I don’t like to think that I know somebody who could do that to Frida. Even Linton. He slapped her once, yeah, and Kali saw it happen. It cost him his marriage. I will hate him forever for that. I—”
His voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know a soul with a criminal record. I do. I wish I didn’t know the past of everybody in my neighborhood, but I do. Their stories aren’t all pretty. But mostly? We’re talking drugs. Petty theft. Breaking-and-entering. Stuff like that.”
Faye wasn’t buying it. “You’re telling me that nobody ever uses a gun or a knife when they do their breaking-and-entering or petty stealing? Nobody’s dangerous? That seems like a stretch.”
“Well, my stepbrother’s doing time for pulling a gun on Mayfield at the corner store, which is damn stupid when you think about how little money Mayfield usually has in his drawer. Didn’t pull the trigger, thank God, but that didn’t keep him out of prison, not with a record like his. And he belongs in prison. He really does, because he’s dangerous. But he’s not beat-a-woman-to-death-for-no-good-reason dangerous. At least, I don’t think so. Anyway, he didn’t
