

## The Picture

Donna Huffer

Copyright © 2013 by Donna Huffer. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

Second Electronic Edition: March 2013

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Also by Donna Huffer

The Witches of Drohrback Hollow

Satan in Serenity Gardens

Secrets in Serenity Gardens

### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

### Chapter One

Claire fought sleep, forcing her eyes open to glance at the textbook in front of her. The studying was not going well. She should never have climbed into bed to study in the first place. She was overly tired after grading student papers half the night. Being exhausted would bring on the deep sleep of nightmares and visions she didn't want to experience tonight. Slowly, though, the book fell from her hands and landed heavily on the floor. Claire never heard it fall; her mind was already focused on the very visions she didn't want to see.

• • •

Claire stood in the rain, staring into the dark. Lightning illuminated two men wrestling in the blackness of night and forest. The rain fell heavier and heavier as the two men struggled against each other on the muddy path. Both men were soaked, one in a red-checked flannel shirt and muddy jeans, and the other in a black raincoat that fell below his hips. Grunting, swearing, the pair entwined their arms, trying to land damaging blows. Back and forth they fought, neither gaining over the other. Then a gun emerged from the raincoat pocket. The man in the flannel shirt brought his fist down hard again, and the gun slid away into the darkness as he pinned raincoat man against a tree. Cursing and howling, raincoat man lunged back and pushed the other man out of the forest line and back onto the path with new and brutal energy.

A knife appeared. The pair fell together across the path with feet tangled and hands around throats. Suddenly they were on the ground, and the man on the bottom was screaming. He had fallen on the sharp rocks of the farmer's wall, a knife embedded in his chest. Blood streamed through his soaked flannel shirt.

Claire stood by a tree, feeling the cold seep into her skin. She was only an observer of the fight. She had no idea who they were or why they were so determined to kill each other. She wasn't even sure whether it was the past, present, or future. What she did know was that she was witnessing a murder.

Impaled, but not dead, the man on the rocks groaned in agony. He couldn't breathe, his lung punctured. Frothy blood bubbled out of his mouth. The man in the muddy raincoat sprang to his feet and groped along the path for another weapon. He found a loose and jagged rock from the wall and quickly brought it down on the other man's head with both hands. Then there was only the sound of the heavy raindrops.

The man in the raincoat dropped the rock and looked at his bloody hands. Overhead the rain beat down, and the thunder rolled in the distance. Flashes of lightning outlined the dead man on the rocks, his face frozen in a grimace of pain. The man in the raincoat reached down and pried the knife out of the body, wiping the blood on the wet grass. He was about to slip it into his pocket when it suddenly fell out of his bloody grasp and clinked among the stones. He blindly groped for it but knew it was lost among the wet rocks. Claire sensed the murderer was deathly afraid of snakes. He hesitated to reach down in the darkness among the rocks and risk snake bite.

Instead, he looked for the gun and found it covered with mud. It went into his coat pocket. He glanced around, looking briefly straight at Claire. She searched his face, trying to recognize it, but it was dark and blurred. His thoughts swirled about in her head like a twister. She saw a woman's face floating by the tree and the metal glint of a shovel. She heard a piercing scream in the darkness. All these sights and sounds came to Claire while she stood there in the rain staring at the man in the raincoat. She shuddered with fear.

The man went back to the body. Finding his small flashlight in his other pocket, he examined his foe. His former enemy glared back at his killer, eyes open but blank. Blood flowed freely down the dead man's face and neck. The blow of the rock had severely dented the victim's skull. "You were so handsome, pretty boy," the man in the raincoat mocked him. "Think she would want you now?" The corpse didn't answer.

Lifting the dead man by his bloody flannel shirt, the murderer pulled the body off the wall and let it slide onto the grass. He then grabbed both feet and dragged the body up the muddy path. As Claire trailed behind him as he pulled the dead man forward along the path, she noticed her bare feet were encased in mud.

Something tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to see a skeleton stretching out its hand toward her.

• • •

Claire woke up screaming. Her dog Geronimo jumped off the bed and looked at his master with concern. Claire fell back on her pillows, wiping the sweat off her face with her hand. "Just another dream, old faithful dog. Sorry to wake you," she reassured him, petting his head. But as she reached out to turn off the light, she wondered once again if what she had seen had been real or just her own imagination. She was never sure. Then she felt it. Throwing back the covers, she gasped. Her toes were covered with dried mud.

### Chapter Two

Dr. Betty Jobin, Claire's doctorate adviser, pounded her fist on her desk in her usual dramatic fashion. Her gray hair was cut too short over her ears, and she was the only woman in the department who still wore pantsuits to work. Today she was in yellow.

"The change would be just what you need now that the semester is over, Claire. May to the end of July, it's perfect. You could get some rest, relax, and come back ready to finish your doctorate!"

When Dr. Jobin thought she was right, she would stop at nothing to get the tired graduate student's attention. A pile of freshman essays started to slide off the desk, and Claire jumped out of her chair and shoved them back into a manageable stack. The youngest person in the office at twenty-seven, Claire was dressed casually in a brown suit jacket and jeans. She kept her long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail.

"How is house-sitting for Dr. Sylvester going to be restful? While he's off lecturing in Europe, I'm employed to excavate those Indian mounds on the property. You remember what he said at the faculty luncheon. He expects a nice publishable paper for the university out of those mounds. It would be included in the dissertation."

Claire resumed her seat and looked at her professor. "So, not only will I be conducting a dig, I'll be writing a paper on the results for eventual publication. That's more work than a summer will allow, Dr. Jobin. When will I have time to work on my thesis?"

Claire didn't expect sympathy. Dr. Jobin was hard core. She knew her complaints were falling on deaf ears. Refusing this summer job could jeopardize her career. She sighed. "I guess there's no way out of this, is there, Dr. Jobin? You've practically already accepted for me. You must think it's some kind of honor to be singled out by Dr. Sylvester."

Dr. Jobin leaned forward and smiled. "Of course it's an honor to be chosen by the head of the department. Besides, it's a matter of budget-cutting, Claire. There just aren't any open summer positions at the university, and you'd be looking for a fast-food job to pay the rent anyway. At least this summer, you'd be doing something you enjoyed and that looked great on your resume. Aren't you tired of wasting your life at McDonalds?"

Claire shuffled her feet. "Of course I'm tired of fast- food jobs. I've been working on my doctorate degree for four years now, and finally the end is in sight. I'm on the verge of becoming a full-fledged professor. I passed the orals, and now it's on to finishing the thesis. Dr. Sylvester would be a great ally to have in my corner."

Dr. Jobin crossed her arms. "You want to be respected in this field, instead of always being in the process of learning. Here's an excellent opportunity to show the department how well you can manage a site and interpret data. You want to pay off those hefty school loans some day, right?"

Claire sighed. "Of course. But a farm in Amberson County? Sounds lonely." She wondered how she would cope out there on a farm in the middle of nowhere. "And no Starbucks, I presume."

"Not so lonely, my dear. Dr. Sylvester has a young caretaker on the property who does the farm work. He's about your age. Perhaps you can rope him into helping with the dig. Some human company anyway."

Claire frowned at her adviser. "A farm boy for company? What in the world would we even talk about? I'm used to Richmond with the noise, and lots of people. Not sheep and cattle. But I understand the position I'm in. I don't think I can say no. So I'm off to this place. What did he call it? Windleigh?"

Dr. Jobin nodded. "Good girl. Pack your bags. I knew you'd see reason."

"Of course you did." Claire slipped her hand into her purse on the back of her chair and pulled out the photo Dr. Sylvester had left with her at the luncheon. The picture showed a large three-story brick house obscured by massive oak trees and monstrous boxwood hedges. Claire could see large white columns holding up the front porch. "Dr. Sylvester did say the house had been in the family for nine generations. It's like something out of Gone with the Wind."

She gave the picture to Dr. Jobin. "Old," the professor remarked. "Maybe 1820, you think? Perhaps a plantation house. They used to grow a lot of tobacco in Amberson County. Did he mention slave quarters on the property? I've been there once for a faculty retreat, but it was years ago."

Claire took the picture back. "I've been told there's a lake there somewhere for fishing and of course, a family cemetery to explore. Then there's the Indian mounds in a corner of the property that have never been cross-sectioned. I understand he has quite a collection of Indian relics he wants me to date. His family has picked them up over the years of cultivation."

"Even better. I envy you. Now remember, he's leaving for the farm at nine Monday morning. That leaves you the weekend to pack. Try to think of everything you need, and sign out the equipment before you leave today. Amberson County is about a two hour drive from here. You'll want to take your dog, right?"

Claire stood up. "Oh yes. Geronimo can hunt squirrels, chase rabbits, and keep me company. It's not like I have a boyfriend anymore who would miss me."

Dr. Jobin laughed. "Maybe you'll find true love in Amberson County. Stranger things have happened. Didn't your last boyfriend run off with that girl in the psychology department? Said you were too involved with your studies to pay attention to him?"

Claire nodded. "Guilty as charged. His constant whining drove me crazy! I didn't have time to babysit him. Right now I have to concentrate on my own life if I'm ever going to get what I want most, a permanent job at the university. He never understood that."

"They never do, Claire. It takes a rare man to put up with our obsessions. But promise me you won't end up one of those old unmarried professors that never had a real life. They treat their dogs like children. Take the time to have real children and experience what it means to be a woman. Work isn't everything."

Claire pulled her wispy blonde strands back into a tighter pony tail and closed her laptop. She slipped it in her open briefcase. "It's everything right now. I'm off to the lab. You'll have to authorize my supplies later. I'll leave the list on your desk, okay? I guess Dr. Sylvester will be bringing his truck. No need for me to take my old car."

Dr. Jobin waved as Claire disappeared out the door. "I'll tell him. Have a nice summer, and call me when you get back." She picked up the phone to tell Dr. Sylvester he now had a house-sitter for the summer and an archaeologist on loan for his Indian mounds.

• • •

Later that evening, Claire was sitting on the living room floor of her small two-bedroom apartment in an old section of Richmond, loading specimen bags into a box. She inherited her apartment from a married colleague at work who had moved on to another university. Living in Richmond was expensive, and she was lucky to have the lease. Tape, string, scissors, gloves, rulers, camera, film, graph paper, blank journals, trowels, stakes, and suntan lotion were already in the other boxes littered around the room. She would pack shovels separately. They stood in a bunch, waiting by the door.

On the table lay her newly updated resume that Dr. Jobin had requested for her files. It showed how over the last three years, Claire had excavated several Native American sites with the department, along with two colonial farms and one Civil War battlefield on which her doctorate was based. At present, her official title at the university was doctorate candidate and teaching assistant. Last semester she had taught classes on physical and cultural anthropology to make ends meet. Between classes, she coordinated various digs that the college conducted with government grants. "I've been going to school forever. When will I get a real job?" she asked her dog who just wagged his tail in response.

Her cell phone suddenly rang, and Claire reached over the coffee table to answer it. A box slid off the edge and onto the floor, spilling ink cartridges and paperclips on the carpet. She caught her phone and looked at the screen. She recognized her father's number and hesitated for a second. This was the last thing she needed.

But she lifted the phone to her ear and heard his voice. "I was hoping you could make it to Norfolk this weekend, Claire. Your brother's having an anniversary party," she heard him say.

"Can't, Dad. I'm off to another dig. A summer project, really." She explained about the job in Amberson County and how she would be house-sitting for the summer. "Only this time, I'm on my own and without direct supervision. I'll be paid by Dr. Sylvester instead of the university so I get to be my own boss for a change." There was a pause, and Claire knew he was deciding whether to be happy nor not. She bet on not.

She heard him sigh. "Oh come on, Claire. Frank's got someone he wants you to meet. You're twenty-seven, practically an old maid. When are you going to get married and give me some grandchildren?"

Although her father couldn't see her, Claire felt her face turn red. "I've met some of Frank's friends, Dad. They're not for me. I'm not ready to settle down with a family yet. I want a career first."

She could sense his agitation right through the phone. "You don't need a career, Claire. You need a hard-working man who'll take care of you. You don't need to be out in some woods digging up God knows what. That's no career. Your mother had a career in nursing. You know what happened to her."

"She wanted to be a doctor, Dad. You made her quit medical school."

"Frank came along. She understood that a family came first. She didn't seem to mind. Nursing brought enough money in."

Now Claire's hand was shaking, and tears were pooling in her eyes. "Dad," she took a breath. This was going to get ugly. "Mom drank herself to death, right up to the minute she drove off that bridge. I don't want to end up like that. Depressed. Neglecting my children. Lost in my own despair. It finally killed her. No, I'm going after my dreams. All my life I've wanted to be an archaeologist, and you laughed at me. Frank's friends called me names at school because I preferred to read history books over romance novels. I'm an adult now, Dad. You've got to respect who I am."

He wouldn't give up. "But you're throwing your life away on some pipe dream that won't amount to a hill of beans."

"Dad, I've almost achieved that hill of beans. This summer may be the start of a full-time professorship if I perform well. I've got a lot riding on this."

She heard the hurt in the old man's voice. "Frank's going to be sorely disappointed if you don't come home this weekend. You're hurting your brother. Bet you didn't even think to send a birthday card."

She sighed. "No, I didn't. That much is true. Frank understands, Dad. It's you that's disappointed. Tell Frank to stop trying to fix me up. I don't have anything to talk about with those boys from the factory where he works. They just like the way I look, thin and blonde. We don't have anything in common."

"There's the truth at last. They're too common for you, you mean. A little education and suddenly nothing from home is good enough for your highness. Well, it's good enough for us. I guess I know now where we rate with you. I'll go now and let you run your own life as you see fit. Every once in awhile you might think about your old dad in Norfolk who wants you to come home."

Click. There it was, the signal Claire was waiting for. The phone line went dead. "Why does he always do that when he doesn't get his way? He knows I'll be overwhelmed with guilt. That was the whole point, wasn't it, boy?" Claire turned again to her dog and rubbed his head. He cocked his head sideways as if trying to understand her. Geronimo, the large brown German shepherd, wagged his tail and tried to stick his wet nose in the last box Claire was taping shut.

"You're the only one who understands me, Geronimo." As she gathered her journals together and tucked her laptop into its bag, she thought about how she would begin the excavation. It would take her mind off her dysfunctional family.

Claire knew the job at Dr. Sylvester's farm would be overwhelming if she attempted to completely excavate the whole site. Instead, she planned a section dig on one mound, which would give her an accurate overview of the site, its use, the kind of Native Americans who used the mound, and hopefully its purpose. She carefully wrapped her digital camera in a plastic bag for the trip. Photos would be an important part of her paper.

Geronimo sniffed the bag. "That's the last of it, my friend. We'll map the site, topographically load it on the computer, and gather the artifacts. Then I'll write it up, and we'll all be heroes. You agree?" Geronimo barked. He wagged his tail and then moved to the door. It was time to take Geronimo on his last walk for the night.

With the last chores finished, Claire returned to her couch and stretched her aching back. Geronimo put his head on her lap, and she stroked his light brown fur. She surveyed the boxes stacked in the living room. Geronimo's travel cage sat in the corner.

"Monday, Geronimo. Monday, we go on a great adventure. We have to eat all the food in the fridge before we go and close up the apartment for the summer and slip the advanced rent under Mrs. Keller's door on the way out."

Claire rubbed the dog's large head. Dr. Sylvester's picture lay on her coffee table. Claire picked it up once again. "It's called Windleigh," she told the dog. "And there are animals to chase and trees to sniff and a lake to swim in."

Suddenly Claire stopped talking. Gazing at the photo, her eyes fell to the left side of the picture where a row of hedges disappeared behind a large oak tree. Before, at the luncheon, Claire was sure she had only seen a house and some shrubbery. Now she saw something quite different.

Claire sat up and stared. There, next to the tree, stood a woman. She wore a faded yellow plaid dress that hung to her knees. On her head was an old-fashioned floppy brown hat. Stringy black hair fell to the shoulders, and her bony fist was clutching something around her neck. Claire strained to look at the picture. She was fingering a necklace perhaps. The woman was thin, cheekbones protruding like she hadn't eaten for a month.

The woman wasn't smiling for the camera, Claire realized. There was no expression at all. Claire suddenly knew she was looking at a corpse. The gray skin and the dark circles under the eyes told a story of sadness that Claire recognized.

Claire suddenly sat up and threw the picture back on the coffee table. It was happening again. A knot formed in Claire's stomach, and she fought the nausea. In seconds she was transported back to the age of four when she and her brother Frank sat in the shade of the front yard oak tree making plans for some fun.

### Chapter Three

"We should ride our bikes," urged eight-year-old Frank. "It's too hot to play in the yard."

Claire nodded. The idea of a cool breeze was very appealing. July in Norfolk was stifling. Overhead, sluggish gray clouds were trying to provide an afternoon sprinkle.

Claire looked up. "Should we tell Mommy?"

"Why? She's in bed again. She never cares what we do."

Frank, skin tanned and hair bleached blonde from the sun, wore no shirt, only tennis shoes and green gym shorts. Claire was sweating in her pink one-piece bathing suit. She had been playing all morning in the little plastic pool in the backyard.

"Okay, let's ride bikes," Claire agreed. "Only we can't ride in the street. Mommy said no. Only the sidewalk."

Frank laughed. "Mommy won't get up for hours. You know how she is."

The pair jumped up and went into the garage. Frank had outgrown his training wheels, and his bigger red bike was leaned against the garage wall. Claire's pink bike still had white training wheels and sat upright beside her mother's car. Carefully they maneuvered their bikes out into the sunshine and down the driveway. For a minute they argued about the direction they would ride but finally settled on a race to the end of the block. Perhaps old lady Smith's dog would chase them and make the ride more interesting. The block ended at the top of a small rise, and they would coast back down.

"Ready, set, go!" Frank called out and took off before Claire was even able to mount her bike.

"No fair, Frank. You always cheat!" she called after him.

The two bolted up the sidewalk, past their neighbor Mr. Smothers who was watering his lawn. He shook his head at their recklessness as they disappeared up the block. Then they whipped across the driveway of old Mr. Weldon who barely looked up as he headed for his Buick, keys in hand.

As expected, a large brown dog bounded out of the next yard and barked at Claire. For awhile, he loped along behind them but finally stopped under a tree, panting from the heat.

Frank won the race to the top of the hill. "You cheated," Claire whined as she joined him. "Cheater, cheater!"

"Didn't want Jumbo to get me. Where did he go?"

Claire pointed down the block. "He's too fat to chase us." Claire suddenly whipped her bike around and took off down the hill. She heard Frank yelling and calling her bad names. Claire sailed faster and faster, laughing as the wind blew her long hair off her sweaty shoulders. She swerved around Jumbo who stood on the sidewalk and looked back at Frank. He was far behind, pointing and shouting something she couldn't quite hear.

That was the last thing she remembered before her bike collided with Mr. Weldon's car. Suddenly Claire was falling as her bike crumbled like paper. Claire followed the bike as it vanished under the still moving car. Then Claire was awake and screaming as a trail of blood seeped down the pavement. Frank was there, pounding on the door of the Buick which had now stopped.

"You ran over my sister!" he screamed, his face red and streaming with tears. "She's under your car!"

Claire tried to move, but she was solidly pinned under her bike which in turn was trapped under the car near the back tire.

Mr. Weldon got out, and Claire felt the car door slam. "I didn't see them!" he protested to Mr. Smothers who was running up to help. The neighbor dropped to the pavement and reached out to Claire.

"Claire, speak to me!"

Claire moaned, moving in and out of consciousness. Her head hurt, pinned to the cement.

"Go get Daisy!" his neighbor ordered. Mr. Weldon was already gone, calling through the open door to his house. Daisy, Weldon's granddaughter, came running with her phone in her hand. She was talking to a 911 operator.

"Is she conscious, Ted?" she asked the neighbor.

"Can you hear me, Claire?" Ted called out, still on his knees.

"I'm stuck," Claire whispered.

"I know, honey. Don't try to move. I see a lot of blood, Daisy. Should we try pulling her out?" Ted looked up at Daisy, her face white as a sheet.

"They say no," Daisy answered, phone pressed against her ear. "Frank, run and get your mother. Granddaddy, what the hell were you thinking? Didn't I tell you not to drive? How did you find the keys in the freezer? See, now you're in real trouble. Not like backing into that car into the wall at Jiffy Mart. Why can't you just accept the fact you can't drive anymore?"

Mr. Weldon remained silent, wringing his hands. "I never saw her!" he continued to say over and over.

"Stand over there by the tree, Granddaddy. You're getting red in the face. It's too hot out here for you and your blood pressure," Claire heard Daisy say. Then she heard Mr. Smothers.

"I saw what he did, Daisy. He floored it out of the garage, never even looking back. I saw the whole thing. You're going to have to put him in a home after this. He's dangerous!"

Claire's arm dangled out behind the tire, and Mr. Smothers intertwined his fingers with her small bloody fingers. She squeezed them.

"Hang on, Claire. Help's coming. I hear the sirens now," he encouraged her.

Then Claire's mother was screaming in the yard as she raced over in her blue robe and nightgown. "Oh my God, Claire!" Her mother's face appeared under the Buick. Then it was gone.

"How could you run over my child?" Claire heard her scream at Mr. Weldon. "I could just kill you!"

Daisy went after her. "Don't you dare hit my grandfather! How does smacking him help anything, Mrs. St. John? It was an accident. Jesus, I can smell the alcohol on your stinking breath! You're not fit to be anyone's mother. And you, a nurse! Maybe if you were watching your kids, this wouldn't have happened."

At that moment the ambulance pulled up. All attention turned to Claire as the ambulance workers took Claire's pulse from her extended bloody wrist.

"Going into shock," the man in white shouted. "Let's get her loose." Claire wasn't sure how it happened, but little by little, she was pried free from her bike and the car. Many hands grabbed her, and she was lifted onto a gurney. Blood dripped into her eyes, but she saw that a crowd had gathered around her. Then she was in the ambulance, and her mother was holding her hand.

She heard Daisy scream as the ambulance man leaped back out of the truck. Mr. Weldon lay crumpled up on the grass. The medic rushed over and looked for a pulse, his companion already asking for another ambulance on his radio. "I can't find a pulse," he said to the policeman and began CPR. Daisy continued to sob.

Later that night, Claire lay painfully in her hospital bed suffering from a severe concussion, a broken arm, broken ribs, and several cuts to her back that had to be stitched up. At one point, her heart had stopped briefly from the trauma, but the doctors had revived her. She couldn't remember much at first, but Frank filled her in on the details, including the sudden death of Mr. Weldon.

"That's so sad. He was a nice old man," Claire told him. "I'm going to pray for him so he won't be so lonely in heaven."

When her family was gone, Claire still thought about Mr. Weldon.

"Claire?"

She looked up in the dim light and saw Mr. Weldon, still dressed in his T-shirt and shorts, standing by her bed. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You didn't mean it, Mr. Weldon. I was going pretty fast! Wait till I tell Frank you're okay after all. He told you were dead. I'm sure glad you're alright now."

But as Claire looked at Mr. Weldon, he began to fade away. In a minute he was gone, and Claire was alone. Shaken, Claire looked around the room again and then pulled the covers over her head. This hospital was full of dead people.

### Chapter Four

Claire stared at the archaeology boxes scattered around her living room. Her mind was elsewhere. She saw the dead, but no one except family members knew her secret. She believed her early brain injury had opened up a door to the beyond. She couldn't explain or understand it.

She remembered other clear incidents where the dead had intruded on her life. "A natural medium" her Aunt Rosie had labeled the young Claire when she mentioned the strange people at the cemetery dressed in funny clothes. Sometimes these "visitors" spoke to her when they noticed she was staring at them. Claire learned to turn her head away and ignore their pleading eyes. If she didn't, they would haunt her.

"This girl sees spirits," her aunt had whispered to her father once during a funeral. "She has a gift, Sam." Of course her father had put a stop to that kind of thinking very quickly, Claire remembered, with a threat to put her in the mental ward. Soon Claire's father didn't discuss Claire's "second sight" or her love of archaeology without giving a lecture on children wanting attention. He'd give her attention all right, if she ever mentioned either again.

As Claire grew up, she learned to keep her visions to herself. Now and then, she did see things out of the ordinary like her neighbor's dead dog running through the yard or her dead cat under her bed. The familiar feeling of chills came over her again as she looked at Dr. Sylvester's picture of Windleigh. She felt it full force now fingering the picture, her heart pounding. Geronimo licked her face, bringing her back to the present.

"Well, Geronimo, something's not quite right at Windleigh, but I guess we still have to go. She's waiting for me. I hope this ends well, for us anyway."

She quickly put the picture back in her purse and snapped it shut. It was time to concentrate on the work ahead, not dismal memories of her childhood or some dead woman in a picture. She would know all she needed soon enough.

• • •

At nine o'clock sharp Monday morning, Dr. Sylvester arrived at Claire's apartment. At Claire's request, he had brought his black Ford pickup truck with a deep bed. Together they struggled to load the six boxes of supplies, suitcases, boxes of dog food, and laptop computer that Claire would need for the summer. Last came Geronimo's traveling cage. To her surprise, Geronimo jumped in without any trouble, ready for a new adventure. Once he was settled on his old blanket, they headed for the highway. Amberson County was two hours away if there wasn't any traffic.

At first they talked about the university and Dr. Sylvester's summer trip to Oxford, England, to present a series of lectures on his work in South America with Inca burials. As a senior professor, Dr. Sylvester was often gone from the university leading students on digs or lecturing at foreign universities about some great discovery. Claire admired the elderly archaeologist with his white beard and green baseball cap. She wanted to have his scholarly respect someday, but she was just starting her career. If this job went well, he could help her get that respect.

"How did your family acquire Windleigh, Dr. Sylvester?"

"Like a lot of settlers, we came over from England as indentured servants. Eventually we got our own slaves and raised tobacco for the next century. After the Civil War, we fell on hard times and much of the family moved west to greener pastures. We had to give up tobacco and just run cattle on the farm. Luckily, the farm pulled us through the Depression."

Claire nodded. "So the farm has been in your family all this time? Was your father a farmer too?"

"Oh no. He became a surgeon in Richmond. He still kept the farm going though, and so I inherited it and the taxes. I like to come back here to relax in the summer, do some fishing, and commune with nature. I rent the land out now, with the permission of my siblings. None of them wants the land, but they don't want some developer to built condos on it, either."

"Did you ever excavate around the slave quarters?"

He shook his head. "No one is quite sure where they were originally. My grandmother converted a lot of the yard around the house to gardens and English hedges. I wonder if some of the old slave quarters were later converted to sheds and outbuildings after the slaves left. There's a slave cemetery somewhere on the property near the family cemetery, but it hasn't been taken care of. All grown over by now. Be careful of the snakes if you go looking for it."

Claire squirmed. She wasn't fond of snakes. They turned off the highway, and Claire read a sign showing that Richmond was ninety-two miles back the way they had just come. All signs of civilization were rapidly vanishing as open fields and barns took over the landscape. Claire lost count of the rows of tobacco plants they passed in the fields. Although Amberson County boasted of industrial parks, tobacco was still king.

"By the way," Claire dug into her purse and pulled out the photo of Windleigh. "Last night I noticed a woman standing in this photo you gave me. I was wondering who she was." Holding the picture up in the sunlight of the truck, she searched for the woman. Puzzled, she turned the photo around and looked at it from many angles. No woman. She was gone. The space near the tree and hedge was empty.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Never mind, Dr. Sylvester. Last night I thought I saw this woman standing near the tree in the front yard. Guess I was tired from all the packing so maybe the shadows were playing tricks on me. Looks like I didn't see anything after all."

The professor laughed. "Maybe it was a ghost. Sometimes I hear from relatives that great Aunt Bessie still walks along the shore of the lake or that my cousin Ned still plays poker in the living room. There's that cemetery. Who's to say what restless spirits of my family still haunt the place."

Claire didn't laugh. She didn't think ghosts were funny. "Have you yourself ever seen these ghosts?"

"No. You won't either. We both know there aren't any ghosts. Just silly people. You aren't skittish about staying alone in the house, are you? I did mention there's a caretaker, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Right now that's a comforting thought. With all those mounds in the area, perhaps I'll be haunted by Indian spirits as well as Sylvester relatives."

Dr. Sylvester's face suddenly became serious. "That reminds me, Claire. Don't be spreading it around the village that you are excavating the mounds. There's a Gaghonwaw reservation group in the area, and they'll raise quite a stink if they think you're desecrating the graves of their ancestors. They even have a lawyer, the chief's sister, who could give us some trouble. They've filed injunctions against digs in the area before."

Claire agreed. "I've heard of such cases recently in other counties. Even if the mounds aren't Gaghonwaw, they claim kinship. That's ridiculous, of course. The mounds predate the recent tribes by hundreds of years. This is just a preliminary survey anyway. Probably just the foundations of the chief's house or ceremonial platforms. Mounds generally don't contain graves in this area."

Dr. Sylvester nodded. "You and I know that, but most people connect mounds to graves. And it does happen sometimes, even in lower Virginia. Skeletons, pottery, beads. My relatives have been gathering artifacts for centuries from the plowed fields, and they're all stored in boxes on the third floor waiting for you to sort them out. Save them for a rainy day."

Claire smiled. "What should I do if I do run into human remains?"

"Stop the dig immediately. I can't afford to fight the legal fees if they accuse us of defiling a burial ground. The caretaker is the only one who should know what you're up to."

"And you're certain he won't talk? This is a small community after all."

"Sean Martin's kind of the town pariah. A black sheep. Been to prison recently so he's in no hurry to run afoul of the law. He's the last person who wants the police at his doorstep."

Claire looked out the window, watching the cattle at the fences chewing their cud as they drove by. "Prison? What for, may I ask?"

"Robbery. But don't worry. Sean's all right. Known his family for years. His mother is a distant cousin of mine, and she used to clean the house for my parents. Sean was just in with a bad crowd when he was a teenager. He's done his time and asked me for a job when he got out, since we're family. Believe me, he's very grateful for the opportunity. Prefers living quietly over the garage, mowing the grass and keeping things up. I feel a whole lot better having someone watching the place."

Claire looked out the window, thinking. "I'm sure you do. Maybe he could help me with the dig. I could use a strong back."

Dr. Sylvester nodded. "Good idea. I'll have a talk with him when we get there. He's the sort that might get a kick out of it because he reads a lot of history books. Plus he likes to do things with his hands."

Claire leaned back against her seat. "That would speed up things. My time at Windleigh is so short."

"Dr. Jobin told me that your family is against you pursuing a degree in archaeology. Do they have some religious problem with digging up the ancient bones?"

Claire shook her head. "No, religion has nothing to do with it. My father thinks women should stay at home and have children. I'm just not interested in that right now, and that upsets him."

Dr. Sylvester laughed. "He's never heard of Margaret Meade, I guess?"

"No, doesn't travel in those circles. Since my mother died when I was in high school, my father has been struggling with loneliness and a lot of guilt. My mother was an alcoholic who drove off a bridge one night. He knew she was depressed, but he ignored all the signs. Thought she would just snap out of it. I have always thought it wasn't the alcohol that drove her over that bridge. It was the loss of her dreams. That's not going to happen to me, Dr. Sylvester. I'll be a professor of archaeology or die trying."

Dr. Sylvester smiled. "Good for you, Claire. That determination will open doors for you. I'll help you all I can."

Claire saw a sign that read "Welcome to Hooverton" as they came into the village. She saw a Lucky Mart on the left selling groceries and gas. Several small houses lined the road. As they rounded a corner, Claire noticed the town square.

Dr. Sylvester pointed to a large brick building on the right. "That's the Amberson County Courthouse. Doubles as police headquarters."

Claire nodded as they passed a hardware store and a small restaurant. "Looks like the 1940's came and never left."

"Everything's shut down," Dr. Sylvester told her. "Most of the tobacco industry was shipped overseas. They still grow it here but not like they used to. Too many regulations. All the stores are empty now and the factories closed. There are still some businesses operating like the pallet shop and organ factory outside of town. Most people still make a living here, despite the slow economy. More cattle than people, though. That's always been true."

Claire laughed. "Why do they need a police headquarters then?"

"Theft. Drugs. That's why I put Sean at the house. By the way, the sheriff is Harry Martin, Sean's dad."

Claire frowned. "His father? And I thought I had family problems!"

"Ironic, right? Needless to say, they don't get along. Over there, that's an Italian restaurant called Little Pompeii. Emilio Rugini runs it. His father came from Italy. Just say you're a friend of mine, and he'll take good care of you. The town folk have a tendency to stare and gawk at strangers. Sean can do the shopping for you, if you'd rather."

"No McDonalds in this town?"

Dr. Sylvester grinned. "Of course, back toward the highway. You can't get away from them, even here."

They drove out of the town and onto a single-lane rural road. More and more tobacco fields stretched out in front of them. The familiar houses disappeared. Black cattle grazed contentedly on lush green grass. Eventually they pulled up to a driveway marked by two large brick columns. Large oaks lined the driveway, shading the road. Finally, Claire saw the mansion of Windleigh loom between the trees.

"Windleigh," Dr. Sylvester announced. It was bigger than Claire had imagined from the photo. The three-story brick house was marked by four large white columns that stood on the wrap-around porch. Thick hedges surrounded the porch and the wooden steps that led up to the front door. The driveway wound around to the right side of the house, separating the mansion from a two-story brick garage. Dr. Sylvester pulled up to the back of the house and turned the truck off.

"I always use the kitchen door," he told her. "Keep the front door locked if you're not using it."

A tanned young man with light brown hair, dressed in jean overalls and a white T-shirt came out of the garage and walked over to the truck as Claire was opening the door. Claire stared at his tattooed arms and muscular frame as he held the door for her.

"Welcome. You must be Claire. Dr. Bob said you'd be moving in today."

"You must be Sean Martin," Claire managed to say and extended her hand. He shook it. She judged him to be about thirty and six-feet tall. He looked down at her with green eyes and smiled.

"Glad to meet you. I was trimming the hedges when I heard someone coming up the driveway. That's your dog? He's a beauty."

"Sure is." Claire heard Geronimo barking from the back. Claire climbed into the back of the truck and unlatched his traveling cage. The dog bounded out of the truck and danced in the yard, his nose sniffing everything. A squirrel appeared near a tree and off he went, disappearing from view.

"He's a happy camper now. I won't see him again until he gets hungry," Claire explained, climbing down out of the back of the truck.

"City dog, right? Dr. Bob said you were from Richmond." Sean unlatched the tailgate on the truck. Dr. Sylvester slowly got out of the truck, stretched, and went to unlock the kitchen door.

Claire helped Sean pull the suitcases and boxes out of the truck bed and stack them on the edge of the driveway.

Claire grabbed a shovel. "I work in Richmond at the university with Dr. Sylvester. I'm really from Norfolk. Ever been there?"

"To the beach? Yeah. Big town, Norfolk. A lot more to do there than here in Amberson County. This is going to be quite a change for you, isn't it?"

"A pleasant vacation, I hope," Claire told him. "Sometimes, Richmond can be too busy, you know? At the same time, a farm can be too quiet."

Sean smiled. "I know exactly what you mean."

Dr. Sylvester returned. "I see you and Claire are already fast friends," he said. "She'll be spending half the summer here, digging in the Indian mounds in the hay field. I told her you would let her use the old truck if she needed it. When you're not mowing, painting, or cutting hay, she hopes you can help with the excavation. Let's put her things in the hall for now."

With each person carrying a box, they followed the cobblestone path around to the back of the house and the kitchen door. The air inside the kitchen was hot and stuffy. Dr. Sylvester set the first box down in the hallway.

"Just turned on the air conditioner in the parlor. It'll take some time to cool down in here. It's been shut up for awhile. You'll want to open the windows most of the time with the screens. We have lots of mosquitoes here."

Claire followed Dr. Sylvester's route into the living room and then into the hallway that divided the house where they put down their boxes next. Sean was right behind them. Soon the hall was lined with boxes and suitcases.

Claire looked around. She could tell the large house had been renovated, perhaps many times. Still, the high ceilings showed cracks in the plaster, and the antique wallpaper was peeling off in places.

"This furniture has been in the family for generations." Dr. Sylvester pointed to the walnut hutch in the dining room that was full of old china. "Each generation added on to the house when they lived here. There's a new addition on the side. The new kitchen was built when outside kitchens became obsolete and so forth. I enclosed the back porch myself and turned it into a sunroom. The work to keep up this place is endless. Just ask Sean."

Sean nodded. "Needs a family to live here, Dr. Bob. To make it a happy place. You need to retire!"

"Not quite yet, Sean. I'm working on it! Claire, you can choose any bedroom upstairs. You'll have to open the window because it'll get hot up there during the day. You can take over the living room if you like, to keep your paperwork together. There's an internet hot box on the coffee table that you'll have to charge up overnight. The connection is slow, but it's the best you can do out here in the middle of nowhere. Television is practically non-existent. Never got around to getting that satellite hooked up."

"I don't watch much television" Claire told them. "I won't miss the barrage of technology. Just the car noise. It'll be too quiet." Geronimo appeared at the kitchen door, wagging his tail and barking. Claire walked back to the kitchen and let him in. He busily smelled Dr. Sylvester and Sean. Then he took off at a run through the house.

"Food?" Claire opened the refrigerator and saw that it was packed. "I brought my own bag of dog food for Geronimo. Looks like I'll be good for awhile. Thanks, Dr. Sylvester."

"You can thank Sean for doing the shopping. I knew you wouldn't want to go to the grocery store the first night you were here. Here are the keys to the front and back doors. I can't stay. I have to get back to finish packing for England."

They went back to the professor's truck and said their goodbyes. He handed Sean a hand-drawn map of the farm. "Go over this with her. We don't want Claire getting lost. Here's some cash too." Claire received the envelope full of twenty-dollar bills.

"Graduate students don't get paid much so here is half of what we agreed upon to help with expenses. The number for the college is by the phone. For everything else, like the police and the rescue squad, dial 911. For anything else that might happen, get Sean. He has a spare key to every door around here. Stay safe. Remember, we have snakes here. Copperheads and rattlers. Occasional spitting asp. Moccasins down at the lake. Stay on your guard while you're digging."

Claire shook his hand. "Don't worry, Dr. Sylvester. This isn't my first rodeo. I can handle a snake. Don't like them, but I respect them. Geronimo will scare just about anything away."

Sean and Claire watched the professor drive off. Sean turned to Claire. "Let's get the boxes of tools into the garage. It might come up a rain shower." They hauled Claire's equipment to the open doors of the garage while Geronimo trotted behind them.

After everything was safety stored and the garage doors pulled shut, Sean padlocked the latches with his set of keys. Then he reached into his pocket and handed her a small ring of keys.

"Garage, back door, front door, truck key, and this is weird-shaped one is my apartment key in case of emergency. All are copies I had made for you in town today. I'm going into town to get a bite to eat and some supplies for the farm. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks though," she told him, smiling. "I need to get organized for the dig. Think I'll just settle in. You have a good night. See you tomorrow. Say, can I have that map? Just to get a feel for the place?"

Sean flashed another bright smile. "Sure." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded sheet. "Tomorrow, then." He went up the outside steps to his apartment over the garage and disappeared to change clothes.

Claire sighed. There was still a lot to do before she actually got on site. For a minute, she stood in the yard and looked around. She thought about the strange picture in her purse and the dead lady by the hedge. As she walked through the thick grass to the front steps, she glanced at the hedges. She was alone, no ghosts lingering during the daylight hours. She hoped it would stay that way. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she stood on the bottom step, and she felt goose bumps rise on her arm. Despite the bright sun, Claire felt a chill. She knew then that something other than archaeology had lured her to this place. Sooner or later, her true path would be revealed. She hoped she was up to the challenge.

### Chapter Five

In the afternoon, Claire and Geronimo enjoyed some hot dogs they found in the refrigerator and then explored the house. The first floor consisted of a kitchen, dining room, living room, bathroom, and parlor which Dr. Sylvester had remodeled into his office. There was a sunroom off the parlor that overlooked the gardens and a white gazebo. Looking out the windows, Claire saw a series of hedges arranged in circular patterns interspersed with mountain laurels and azaleas. Roses, lilies, and dahlias lined the paths.

Picking up her suitcase, she climbed up the large, winding oak staircase to the second floor. There she discovered four large bedrooms, all furnished but dusty. Claire chose the first room off the staircase and tossed her suitcase on the canopy bed. The room overlooked the front porch and gave her a complete view of the front yard where Geronimo was playing with a stick. Stretching her neck, Claire could make out Sean's apartment over the garage. His truck was still gone.

Leaving her suitcase for later, Claire headed up to the third floor where the air was stifling. Boxes lined the hall. Each of the rooms held crates of old toys, books, and clothes. Broken chairs, old bed rails, and stacks of papers filled the space. Everything was covered in heavy dust. Claire sneezed as she moved from room to room. Finally she came across the boxes labeled in black marker "Indian Artifacts". Here she found shoeboxes filled with all the arrowheads and spear points found on the property after two centuries of plowing the land. Claire sat on the floor and examined two gray flint points, chiseled with fine precision.

She couldn't be sure if they were associated with the mound builders until she sectioned a mound. As she fished through some of the shoeboxes, she recognized many different kinds of arrowheads representing different times of habitation by several Indian tribes. She was not surprised since Virginia had always been an abundant hunting ground for thousands of years. Many clans had camped and searched for food, even chased buffalo through the green valleys.

As Claire replaced the lid on the shoeboxes, she became excited about the dig. What had seemed like a boring summer might be a defining point in her career.

Claire returned to the first floor and went out onto the front veranda. Standing outside in the cooler air, she imagined it was 1865. Windleigh would have been a working plantation raising tobacco and cattle. Somewhere nearby would be the slave quarters, rough cabins where the slaves lived and died. The blacksmith shop, meat-drying shed, and water well would also be near the house.

Claire climbed down the front porch steps and into the yard where Geronimo placed a stick at her feet. She tossed it down the driveway, and he disappeared. As she turned around, Claire imagined the outdoor kitchen where the two-story garage was now, separated from the house to prevent fire from spreading to the mansion.

She took a deep breath and smelled the honeysuckle air. Geronimo was barking somewhere out in the woods, and she decided to go for a walk to see what had gotten his attention. She walked down the driveway toward the pine grove near the front entrance of the farm. There was a gravel path to the left. Claire pulled out her map.

"Family cemetery. Great. You would be in the cemetery, Geronimo." She started down the gravel path. Geronimo popped out of the brush, fiercely wagging his tail and jumping around her feet.

"Hey, boy. I bet you're enjoying the farm life!" Claire rubbed his head, and he ran off toward the pines. With Geronimo leading the way, Claire veered to the left. Through the trees and light brush, she could see a rusted iron fence and the tops of tombstones up ahead. She arrived at the open front gate which was leaning backwards almost off its hinges. Poison ivy and honeysuckle curled around the bars.

Claire carefully slid past the gate and walked into the cemetery. The ground was rough, sunken in some spots. Claire saw that Sean had trimmed the grounds recently, because the grass was low and passable. Stones of carved gray limestone stood silently in the grove, and she read them as she maneuvered around the tombstones. Some stones were small with sleeping lambs carved in the rock. These, Claire knew, were children. Measles, strep throat, and whooping cough carried many away before the time of vaccinations.

Here and there, older stones leaned to one side in the soft soil. Claire touched the grayish moss that obscured the names. "Sylvester" was the most common name etched. Other stones were tilted or cracked. Chunks of stone were piled around the bases.

As she stood there, Claire suddenly remembered the picture. "Are you here?" she asked aloud, wondering if the woman in the picture could be buried in this cemetery. No one answered.

Relieved, Claire walked back to the gate. Geronimo trotted behind, carrying a pine cone in his mouth. She paused at the gate and looked into the trees. Looking beyond the fence, she spotted the rounded stones between trees, some partially hidden in the briars. This would be the slave cemetery, abandoned and not kept up after the Civil War.

Claire and Geronimo returned to the house. While Geronimo enjoyed his dinner of dry dog food she had brought from Richmond, Claire heated up some soup in a can and found some crackers and cheese.

Then she got down to work. She made sure her digital camera was working and the batteries good. She hooked up her computer and checked her emails. She tried the television and got a Richmond channel that told her tomorrow would be hot and dry. That was perfect archaeology weather.

Claire yawned and checked the time, ten o'clock. It was pitch black outside. Even in the house, she could hear the whippoorwills and crickets. "I thought it was supposed to be quiet here in the country," she told her dog. He didn't answer. After writing in her journal, Claire retired to a warm bath and her pajamas.

A slamming door got her attention as she returned to the living room. She moved to the window and gently lifted back the curtain. To her surprise, both Sean's truck and a small blue Honda Civic were parked in front of the garage. A young woman was coming down the stairs from the garage apartment with Sean following her.

"I don't get you, Sean Martin. You're all talk at the bar. But when I get to your place, you've got nothing to say. No beer in the refrigerator, no pot to smoke. What are you, some secret librarian? Even your TV is broken. Jesus, what do you do for fun? Watch the grass grow? I'm out of here."

The woman got into her car and sped off down the driveway. Sean stood on the pavement for a moment watching her go. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went back upstairs.

Claire let the curtain fall back and laughed. Now she knew Sean Martin's fatal flaws. He could pick up women at bars but couldn't keep them entertained. She was still chuckling as she headed up the stairs to bed, Geronimo at her heels. Anyone with that many tattoos had to be interesting, she thought. Now they had something in common.

"I'm boring too, Geronimo. Just ask anyone I've ever gone out with." As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about Sean and how he didn't seem to fit into the farm life at Windleigh. She didn't know him well yet, but she looked forward to finding out what made Sean tick. She thought she might have more luck than Linda.

### Chapter Six

Tap. Tap. Tap. Claire awoke with a start. For a second she didn't know where she was. Then she remembered. Windleigh. She glanced at the clock which read 2:45. Geronimo was standing at the windowsill as if watching something outside.

"What is it, boy?" she whispered. Claire was suddenly filled with dread and shuddered. A chill passed through the room. Claire sat up, fully awake. Then Geronimo starting barking. Pulling back the cover, Claire walked across the wood floor to the window and stood beside her dog. She glanced out into the darkness.

Geronimo moved behind Claire and was strangely quiet. Movement caught Claire's eye. Off in the distance toward the cemetery path, Claire saw a whitish shape moving through the trees. For a moment she forgot to breathe. The figure was too far away for Claire to distinguish details. It floated from tree to tree, but moving ever toward the house. Toward her.

Claire looked back and realized that Geronimo was now back at her bed and whining. When she returned to the window, the figure was gone. She stood there for awhile, straining to see through the darkness. Where had it gone?

Claire gave up and patted Geronimo until he settled down on the rug beside her bed. She flicked on the lamp by her bed and saw her purse. She reached inside and found the picture Dr. Sylvester had left with her.

"Oh my God!" Claire gasped, sitting down hard on her bed. In the picture was the woman in the faded yellow plaid dress and brown hat. She was no longer beside the front hedges, but standing in front of the porch, the same porch one floor down from Claire's bedroom. The corpse clutched at her throat with a bony hand. Claire couldn't turn away from those sad eyes that were staring at her, pleading.

"Go away," Claire whispered. "Please, leave me alone." She shoved the picture back into her purse and tossed the purse onto the floor. Geronimo looked up and whined. Claire wondered if she went down the stairs and out the front door, whether the ghost would really be there.

Claire leaned back on her pillow and tried to relax. She found herself remembering a funeral when she was only six. She stood beside her aunt, unsure about who had died. She wondered why everyone was crying and marveled at the array of beautiful flowers piled around the huge casket. Bored, she glanced around and noticed a gentleman standing off to the side. His eyes stared at her, a sour expression on his face. Claire giggled, thinking how funny he looked in the knee pants and strange jacket. His long white hair was tied back with a velvet bow.

Claire tugged on her aunt's dress. "Who's that, Auntie?" Claire asked loudly.

Her aunt looked down. "Who?"

Claire pointed. "That man standing over there by that black stone. He's dressed so funny."

Her aunt glanced over, saw no one, and told her to be quiet. Later, after the casket had been lowered and they were leaving, her aunt pressed her for more details. Claire tried to describe the man, but her aunt shook her head.

"I wonder about you, Claire."

When she got older, Claire began to understand that she could see things and people that her family could not. When her cat was run over, she was sad. Later that afternoon, she spotted Fluffy taking a nap in her usual spot on the windowsill. Finally, the cat vanished, never to be seen again.

When she was ten, Claire traveled to the grocery store with her aunt at night. They passed a man walking alongside the road. Claire held her breath when she saw the man was covered with blood. He turned and stared hard at Claire as she went by in her aunt's car.

"Aunt Rosie, what happened to that man? I think he's hurt."

Her aunt looked at her. "What man, Claire? I didn't see anyone."

"The man on the side of the road. Didn't you see? He had blood all over him!"

Aunt Rosie turned the car around at the next intersection, and they drove back. "See Claire, no one. Tell me again, what you think you saw."

The next day her aunt called to tell her that a man had been found along that road, stabbed to death. Claire was shocked. She recognized his face in the paper.

Seeing the dead did have its advantages, Claire learned later. It made her a better archaeologist. Sometimes she could look at a site and see images of the past. While excavating a battlefield near Richmond, she spotted a Confederate soldier standing by a tree. While other students milled around the tree, they never saw him. Claire fought the goose bumps on her arms, but moved closer to see the apparition. The soldier slowly turned his head toward her, and she saw his skull through his rotting skin.

Then he vanished, leaving her feeling sad and troubled. She took her trowel and began digging at the base of the tree. She quickly uncovered the bones of a Confederate soldier. His skull was crushed on one side from a musket ball. Later the body was moved and interred with the rest of his comrades on the Confederate side of the battle cemetery with a service conducted by the United Daughters of the Confederacy. Claire was glad she could help the man find peace, even if he made her feel creepy.

Now it was happening again. Eventually, Claire would learn what the woman was trying to tell her. Looking into her sunken face, Claire sensed violence and hatred. She hadn't died easily. Now Claire would be dragged reluctantly once more into the world of the dead, searching for the truth. While she wasn't hiding under the bed like Geronimo, Claire hoped she could give the woman some kind of peace without risk to herself. The dead wanted what the dead wanted, regardless of the cost to the living.

• • •

Claire's alarm went off at 6:30. Geronimo was gone, the bedroom door flung open. Finding her robe, Claire sluggishly thumped down the stairs and down the hall to the kitchen. Geronimo was waiting there at the back door, his tail wagging. Claire let him out and then went in search of breakfast. She found some cereal in the cabinet and milk in the refrigerator. Eating over the sink, she glanced out the kitchen window and across the drive to the garage. The garage door was open, Sean's faded green pickup truck waiting with her equipment loaded and ready to go.

Sean knocked at the back screen door. Then he came in, wearing a faded Orioles ball cap, yellow T- shirt, and faded jeans with a hole in one knee. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head.

"I thought you might need some help getting your stuff up to the mounds. Anything in here that needs to go?"

"Just my notebook, pens, and bug spray." Claire sipped the last bit of milk from her cereal bowl and placed it in the sink. "Be right back." Claire finished dressing in the living room. Steel-toed shoes were a must, though terribly hot in this weather. She quickly gathered her required things such as thick socks for ticks, ball cap, suntan lotion, and lastly her sunglasses with attaching string. She couldn't recount how many times she had left her sunglasses at a site and never found them again. This time they weren't leaving her neck. Claire stopped to tie back her long blonde hair in a tight ponytail.

She met Sean and Geronimo back at the truck. Geronimo was already standing on the tailgate of the truck, anxious to get moving. He licked Sean in the face.

"He likes you," Claire laughed.

Sean pushed Geronimo back and shut the tailgate. "Quite a friendly dog you have there. Has he ever bitten anyone?"

Claire got in the truck. "His bark is worse than his bite. If he thinks I'm being threatened, he will bark the intruder to death. That's his plan of attack. I've never seen him bite anyone."

Sean put the truck in gear, and they started through an open gate that led to a gravel path. "Dr. Sylvester said I could help you with your dig when I wasn't doing farm work. You just have to tell me what you need me to do. Archaeology is a hobby of mine."

Claire stared at him. "A hobby?" She wondered what an ex-con would know about archaeology. "Have you ever worked on a site before?"

"No, but I read National Geographic and pick up arrowheads when I find them. I always thought it would be interesting work, uncovering the past and all that. Probably not very easy."

Claire laughed. "Easy, no. Interesting, yes. I can use your strong muscles to help move the dirt. It'll take me forever alone. See, little muscles." Claire flexed her arm.

"Sure. Hope you've been studying the map. This road leads to the lake in the woods where all the swimming and fishing goes on. The barn in the hollow on your left is where I store all the farm equipment and hay for the cattle. Now, on your right, is a hay field where the mounds are."

Claire noticed the path was lined with stones from the fields piled up to form a wall. They turned through another opened metal gate that was latched to the fence by a chain. More stones lined the fence. The grass was high, up to the wheels of the truck. They rode through the large field, up to the corner where field met forest.

"Where do all those stones come from?" Claire asked Sean as they rolled to a stop.

"Two hundred years of cultivation. It used to be, before the time of wire, that people divided their fields from the animals using all the stones they picked up out of the field or that the plow kicked out during planting time. This is limestone country, after all. Those walls are pretty old! Still do the job, though."

Stones. Claire suddenly felt uneasy. There was something about those stones she had seen before. She suddenly remembered the rain and her muddy feet. There was a man dying, his head bashed against the rocks. She shook her head clear and climbed out of the truck. She didn't want to think about that today.

She saw she was up on higher ground than the plantation. Looking down she could see the roof of the house, the other fields with cows, and more forest to the left. Before her were gently rising mounds of grass. She was unsure of how large or how far the mounds extended. She would have to take the sod off first.

"It's pretty up here," she told Sean. He let the tailgate down, and Geronimo jumped down to the ground. Immediately, he was off and running into the tall grass.

Claire pointed. "Are those Dr. Sylvester's cows?"

"No. Dr. Bob rents the land out. Make sure you always fasten the gates so I don't have to go chasing them. Sometime you might see people driving back to the lake. Dr. Bob lets people fish there. You fish?"

Claire shrugged. "Never. City girl. By the way, I thought I saw someone walking around outside late last night. Maybe in a white shirt or some light-colored clothing. Out by the path toward the cemetery. Wasn't you, by chance?"

Sean stopped at the tailgate. "What? No, it wasn't me. You saw me come in last night. I saw you peeking out the window. I went to bed after that. Watched the eleven o'clock news."

Claire joined him at the back of the truck. They began to haul boxes out and line them up against the wire fence. "It just kind of scared me. You know, someone walking around the property at night."

"I guess so. Didn't see a Honda in the driveway, did you?"

"No, I didn't. Your lady friend didn't act like she was coming back."

Sean laughed, pulling two shovels from the back of the truck. "They usually don't."

Claire grabbed her trowels. "You don't seem all that upset about it."

"Linda wasn't my type. She and those cows out there have a lot in common. There's not a big intellectual pool around here. I keep going back to that bar, hoping to find someone I can have a conversation with, but that doesn't ever happen. You know the definition of insanity, right? Guess I'm insane."

Claire smiled. "It's no different in Richmond, believe me."

"But I don't like trespassers on the property. Could be someone casing the house or the barn. Sometimes the local teenagers come by and knock down some of the old tombstones. I'll go back to chaining the front entrance again. That will at least slow them down. Keep the front porch light on at night. Let them know someone is living in the house."

Claire nodded. Geronimo returned with a stick in his mouth. Sean tossed it up in the field.

"Did your dog notice your intruder last night?" Sean asked.

"Sure did, but he wasn't interested in going out there. Kind of hid under the bed. So much for my big scary dog."

Sean chuckled. "Sounds smart to me. Got a gun?"

Claire stared at him. "Of course not."

"I can loan you one and teach you how to use it too. You can never be too careful."

Claire looked away. "I don't think a gun would stop this person, Sean. It didn't look too human to me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ghost? Ever see creepy things around here? Things that float, don't leave footprints, or go boo in the night?"

Sean grinned. "No, not lately. Dr. Bob's family believes the place is haunted, though. A lot of people have died over the centuries in that house."

Claire frowned. "That makes me feel so much better." Geronimo returned with the stick.

"Tell you what. After lunch, we'll walk down to the cemetery and have a look around. I bet we can find proof that your ghost is as real as you and me."

The hay in the field was almost waist high. Sean pointed to the mounds. "Don't despair. I'll go get the brush hog and help you whack the grass down. Later, I'm going to cut the hay field, and all of this will be cattle feed soon."

Sean got into the truck and disappeared back the way they had come. Claire walked around the site. She and her dog climbed to the top of one mound to see what was there. She could make out at least three mounds, two that ran north to south and the third running east to west in opposition to the other two. This was a configuration Claire recognized from her textbook.

Claire got her camera and began to take pictures as she walked around. After that, she made sketches in her journal. She didn't venture into the briars because there might be snakes. She'd wait for Sean to first clear the area.

She inserted a red flag into the first mound, moved over and inserted a yellow flag into Mound #2. Then she marked the last mound with a green flag. With Geronimo in tow, she went back to the fence that bordered the forest and slipped through the wire. She walked a ways into the woods and saw that the ground dropped off suddenly. She spotted a creek at the bottom of the ravine and made a note in her journal. Water was an important factor in locating Indian sites.

Claire rubbed Geronimo's head. "Hundreds of years ago, this place probably looked a lot different. The land was steeper and the creek much wider and deeper." Geronimo wagged his tail and ran on, looking for squirrels.

When Claire heard Sean's tractor coming, she emerged from the woods. Geronimo was running beside the tractor, trying to catch up with Sean. On top of the brush hog Sean had secured a chain saw and brush clippers.

"Where you want me?" he asked as he pulled up.

Claire explained her plan to start with the first mound, marked with the red flag. Sean turned off the tractor and started his chain saw. First he cut down several of the small cedar trees that grew on the mound. Claire worked with the brush clippers, nipping briars and bushes and pulling them off the site toward the fence. Several hours went by before the mound was cleared of heavy brush. Sean brush hogged a path around the first mound.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Sean announced it was lunch time. He tossed the truck keys to Claire to follow him back to the barn where he would swap his brush hog for the hay cutter.

"I haven't driven a stick shift in a long time, Sean. I wouldn't want to hurt your truck."

"Don't worry. It's old. You can't hurt it. Just take it slow. Everything on the farm has a stick shift. No babying here." He grinned at her.

Claire followed Sean slowly back to the barn where he unhitched his brush hog and reattached his hay cutter. She had to start the truck many times as she struggled with the clutch. She was starting to get the hang of it when Sean motioned her out of the truck. Sean drove them back to the garage. As they were getting out of the truck, a red pickup truck drove by and went up the gravel path. Sean waved.

"Jake Brewster. He has permission to fish. I hope that bright red truck doesn't scare the fish away."

Claire laughed. "You have something against hot red?"

"Doesn't look good on him. He's old and fat. It would look better on me, don't you think? I'm young and good looking. This is a sorry old truck. You know that already. You drove it."

Claire nodded. "Oh yeah. You deserve a red truck, for sure. What are we doing for lunch?"

Sean pointed to his apartment above the garage. "I hope you will be my guest for lunch. Tonight I'll take you to the Lucky Mart to pick up some things."

Claire smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me. I'm grateful for the offer. What are we having?"

"I was thinking make-your-own ham sandwiches. I don't cook much." They climbed the narrow wooden stairs to his apartment. He unlocked the door and invited her in.

Claire walked in and looked around. "I'm impressed. Where are the dirty dishes and piles of newspapers on the furniture? You keep this place pretty neat."

Sean grinned. "Yes, I may be a man, but I do dishes and put things away. I don't like clutter. Shocked, huh? We're not all slobs."

Claire chuckled. "I'm used to slobs, being one myself. No judging please. Soon I'll have Dr. Sylvester's living room covered with papers as I try to work on my thesis. Organization is not my strong suit. Housework seems to elude me when I'm working. I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Wow, you really do like archeology, don't you?" Claire was looking at his pile of National Geographic and Smithsonian magazines stacked up by his couch.

"Yup." Sean was slicing up a tomato on a paper plate. Then he pulled out the ham and mayo from his refrigerator. Claire got the bread from the counter and opened it. He handed her a cold Coke, and they sat down to eat at his small dinette set with two chairs.

"In my bedroom I have history books that I bought at yard sales. Ancient history, U.S. history, any history I can get my hands on."

Claire smeared mayonnaise on her bread. "No girlie magazines?"

"Maybe a couple. I'm only human. You saw the tattoos and thought I was a thug, didn't you?"

Claire shrugged. "Well, you don't exactly look like a guy who digs history, Sean. We're kindred spirits, huh? It's too bad you never got to go to a university. I can picture you fitting in with my fellow students."

"Even with a prison record? These tattoos represent my wasted youth and my limited future. I didn't even finish high school, but I got a GED later in prison. They don't accept former criminals in college, do they? Don't they have a rule against that?"

"Well, you'd have to explain your situation to the dean. You might be surprised how understanding they are. If you passed the entry tests and proved you could pay, then I think you'd be a college student in no time. Sean, there's a whole wide world out there. I thought I was limited too, but look at me. I'm doing something I love!"

Sean opened a bag of potato chips and sat down again.

Claire got a handful of chips and put them on her plate. "Not many archaeologists can brush hog. That alone should count for something."

Sean laughed. "I'll use that on the application."

They finished their sandwiches and drinks, and Sean told her about his family.

"I was born in Hooverton. As Dr. Bob probably told you, my father is the local policeman. He used to be in the army, but then he met my mom and settled here. Ran for sheriff and has kept that job for the past twenty some years. No one wants the job, I guess."

"Couldn't be much crime here," Claire told him.

"Drugs, stealing, and the usual stuff. My mother left my dad when I was five. I haven't seen her since. My sister's married and living in Richmond. You can imagine what a disappointment I was to dear old Dad when he heard I was arrested. We don't speak much."

"And you visit the local bar looking for girls on your rare days off?"

Sean smiled. "I'm looking for Mrs. Right, sure. Seems like the women I meet are all looking for Mr. Wrong. They don't want someone who is serious. They want a guy with money and a fast car. They aren't looking to settle down. You have a boyfriend in Richmond?"

Claire took a last sip of her Coke and looked at Sean. "Not any more. He ran off with a department secretary. Said she was exciting and fresh, not boring and work-consumed like me. According to him, I didn't know how to have fun."

Sean looked amused. "Is it true? You don't know how to have fun?"

"My work is fun," Claire said, crossing her arms.

Sean smiled. "So he was right?"

Claire nodded finally. "Yeah, he was right."

Sean grinned. "There are several definitions of fun, Claire. You two just didn't agree on the same ones. I think your work is fun too. Linda would disagree with both of us, wouldn't she?"

"We should introduce her to my old boyfriend. I'm sure they would hit it off!"

Sean laughed. "Think I'm in love," he whispered to himself as he finished cleaning up lunch.

Sean packed up a cooler of water, and they went back to the truck.

"Let's go by the cemetery and see what we can find. Find out what my town friends have been up to."

"Do they visit often?" Claire asked, following Sean down the drive to the path to the cemetery.

"Occasionally. A bashed mailbox here and there. I'll find beer cans down at the lake. Then there's the pushed-over tombstones in the cemetery. You know, the usual rites of passage for manhood."

A few seconds later, they arrived at the cemetery gate. Claire didn't see anything out of place.

"Let's spread out, Claire. You go that way, and I'll go this way. We'll meet in the middle."

They walked through the cemetery, checking the stones. Claire looked for overturned dirt, trash left behind, and other clues that the intruder last night was human. She wasn't surprised when she came up empty.

Then suddenly Sean yelled, "Hey! Over here!" He was holding something in his hand and waving it at her.

Claire hurried over. "Find something?" He handed her a small piece of cloth he had picked up from a briar bush near the rusted fence. Claire felt her lunch turn sour in her stomach. Holding the torn square in her palm, she could see the faded yellow plaid pattern on the material. It was from the dress of the corpse in the picture.

"Oh no," she whispered.

Sean frowned. "What? Seen this before?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. It makes no sense. You'll swear I'm mental."

Sean looked at her, then smiled. "No I won't. You're obviously an intelligent woman. What's the story with this piece of stuff here? Where does it come from?"

Claire took a breath and then explained to Sean about the picture. "She was standing near the hedges when I saw her the first time. Sad yellow plaid dress. She had hollow cheekbones and a large brown floppy hat that covered most of her face. I could see her bones through her skin. Last night she moved closer to me, standing almost on the front porch. My poor dog freaked. He knows a spirit when he sees one."

"What did Dr. Bob say?"

Claire shrugged. "No one can see her but me. So there you have it, Sean. What began in Richmond has followed me here. Or was waiting for me in Amberson County the whole time. I don't understand why I'm in the middle of this. I'm not connected in any way to this place. I'm not related to Dr. Sylvester that I know of."

"But you're open to this sort of thing, right? Receptive?"

Claire fingered the material. "Not my first time by a long shot. I want to have the cloth analyzed. It's been ripped from a larger garment. You can see the tears. And it's not new. I would bet you money this material was dug up after being buried for awhile. If that was a teenager last night, he wasn't wearing this. Mind if I send this to a cousin back in Richmond?"

Sean nodded. "Sure. I'd be very interested to see what turns up. That's some story. I already told you I don't believe in ghosts. I prefer to think you saw someone real. I still believe that piece of material proves it. But for the moment, I want you to be careful. Leave the porch light on overnight and keep the doors locked. I'll chain the gate at night. That way we'll both feel better."

"Okay, Sean. Maybe that will be the end of it. But I think it's just the beginning. I have a bad feeling about this."

### Chapter Seven

Sean took Claire to the hay field and left her with the cooler. Geronimo was waiting. Claire gave him some left-over ham which he gobbled down and licked her fingers. She poured some water in his water bowl.

She slipped the piece of cloth from the cemetery into a specimen bag and left it with her supplies. Then she got down to business, plotting a grid across the first mound using string and stakes. With that out of the way, she set up her soil sifter and laid out her essential equipment. Shovel, trowel, specimen bags, buckets, and gloves were placed around the site where she could grab them.

Claire started by tearing off the topsoil within a five- foot square section using a shovel. It was hard work in the bright sun, and Claire sweated through her shirt in minutes. Sean reappeared with the hay cutter and started around the field.

Claire finished removing the top soil of her first square and took a picture of the ground. She looked for patterns of rocks that might show where fires were or for dark earth circles that would show where posts might have been. Geronimo sat down in her dirt and tried to take a nap. She moved him over. Not seeing anything significant, Claire pressed on. Taking a small ruler, she went down two inches in a corner in her square and began removing the soil with her trowel.

Sean finished cutting the hay in the field several hours later. Claire was surprised how empty the field now looked with the grass humped up in straight rows ready for baling. He disappeared back to the barn and then drove up in the truck.

"Done for the day?" he asked her. Claire looked up from her digging, and grinned.

"Is it time already?"

He opened the tailgate. "Dinner time. Here, let me help you pack up." Sean dragged Claire's equipment into a pile by the fence. Then together they covered the tools with a tarp. Lastly, they covered the excavated site with a tarp weighted down with field rocks.

Claire stretched and moaned. "Sore already." They got Geronimo on the truck and returned to the house. They promised to meet back at the garage in an hour to go into town for dinner. After she fed Geronimo, she took a bath and found some town clothes, jeans and a white blouse. She carefully combed through the tangles in her hair and dried it. Now she looked and felt better, more like a college student than a construction worker. She stopped by the living room to fish some money out of Dr. Sylvester's envelope.

Sean was waiting for her by the garage. He had changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans, taken a shower, and combed his brown hair. "What about your dog?" he asked as she opened the door to the truck.

"He's been fed so I let him out. He was heading toward the lake when I last saw him. He's really no help shopping."

Sean laughed. They turned around and headed toward town. He paused at the entrance columns and showed Claire where he would attach a chain later that night to keep people from driving in unwanted.

As they drove to Hooverton, Sean pointed out various farms and houses along the way. He seemed to know everyone in the small community.

"Italian alright with you?" he asked her.

"Sure. Dr. Sylvester said it was the best in town. He's a friend of the owner."

"Emilio's also a friend of my father. He knows all about me and my prison record. Always acts like I'm going to steal something. He won't know what to make of you. This is the first time I've ever come in with a lady friend."

Claire smiled. "Where do you usually go to unwind?"

"Ben's Place. It's a local bar. You can play pool there or have a beer without people judging you. Many of my friends there have a criminal past too."

Claire remembered Dr. Sylvester's warning. "Don't tell anyone, Sean, that I'm an archaeologist or mention the mound excavation. There are people in this town that would try to stop me. Dr. Sylvester said that the local Indians could get a lawyer involved if they knew."

"He means Jean Browderman. They won't hear it from me, Claire. But don't think they can't figure it out. They know Dr. Bob is an anthropology professor. You're living at the mansion. They can put two and two together without my help. Shall I just tell everyone you're my new girlfriend? That should confuse them for awhile and promote me from loser to winner in lots of eyes."

Claire just laughed. "Whatever you think is best."

They pulled into the parking lot of Little Pompeii and circled around. There were several cars out front.

"Busy place," Claire noted. They went in and got a booth. Claire thought the red-checkered table cloth and candle in an old wine bottle were cute. She ordered the spaghetti and meatballs while Sean opted for the shrimp scampi. The waitress poured her a glass of red wine and delivered a beer to Sean.

Claire reached into her purse and pulled out the picture of Windleigh Dr. Sylvester had given her. She handed it to Sean.

"What do you see?"

Sean studied it closely. "Mansion. Trees. Hedges that need trimming. Someone should mow the yard. Obviously, I'm not doing my job."

"No woman?"

"Sorry, Claire. No woman." He turned the picture around so she could see it. "Do you see the woman?"

"No, I don't. I only see her when she wants me to. And she moves around within the picture. Last night she was right here," Claire pointed to a spot on the picture. "She was wearing that dress I told you about and clutching something around her neck."

Sean looked at the picture again and then gave it back to Claire. "Maybe a necklace. Or a locket. My mother used to wear a locket with a baby picture of me in it. I never found it after she left."

Claire put it back into her purse. "Do you think if I look through some more of those boxes upstairs, I might find her picture with the family albums?"

"Maybe. That would make her a ghost. She may not be dead, Claire. Maybe I can catch her."

"Have at it, Sean. The next time I see her, I'll give you a call. Up for chasing ghosts in the wee hours of the morning? Geronimo won't be much help."

"Sure. Tell you what. I'll get up myself and go out to look around tonight. I'll see what's going on."

"Don't hurt yourself in the dark, Sean. It's a jungle out there."

Their food came. Sean wanted to know all about the mound builders. "How are they different from the Indians I've heard about all my life?"

"Archaeologists divide the Indian history in this area into three time periods. The oldest is the Archaic Period, about 7000 to 1000 B.C. During this period, the Indians were mainly food-gatherers and migratory. They followed the food and didn't build permanent villages. They're the ones that made those arrowheads Dr. Sylvester has in those boxes on the third floor."

"So a lot of those Indians came through here. Won't that complicate your site?" Sean asked.

"Sure. I have to deal with several time periods at once. During the Middle Woodland Period, Indians hunted and gathered, but they also built more permanent villages. They buried their dead in mounds along with pottery and tools that they would need in the afterlife. Those mounds, though, were dome-shaped and usually solitary. Not like these."

Sean sipped his beer. "And you have three mounds."

Claire nodded, the wine making her relax. "Yes, and they are arranged in a particular pattern. There may be more in the woods. A good way to determine how many and how they are aligned is to fly over them and take aerial photos. You know any local pilots?"

Sean leaned back against the booth. "As a matter of fact, I do. Jack often takes aerial pictures for the real estate people. He's a friend from the bar. I'll speak to him."

"Great. Our mounds are probably not burial mounds at all. They may be Mississippian Culture platform mounds. These Indians had sophisticated levels of society and permanent villages. They even raised crops like beans, corn, pumpkins, and squash. The chief and the important people lived on top of mounds to be closer to heaven and the gods."

Sean thought about that. "So all the ordinary people lived below? So the village would be in the hay field somewhere?"

Claire folded her napkin and set it by her plate. "I don't believe I'm going to find a lot of Indian garbage in the mounds. I'm mainly looking for post holes to show where the platforms stood. Dr. Sylvester didn't ask me to dig up the hay field."

Sean shook his head. "So you're going to spend all summer working on post holes?"

"It's what archaeologists do."

Sean leaned forward. "If these Indians were so advanced, what happened to them? How come the settlers didn't run into them when they got here?"

"They had collapsed long before the settlers came from internal fighting and other Indian attacks. The only remaining mound builders recorded by the colonials were the Creeks, and they didn't last long after disease arrived."

Sean smiled. "You really know your stuff." Then Sean looked over at the door as an older policeman came in, dressed in a brown uniform. He walked to their table. Claire noticed his thick graying brown hair and green eyes at once. He and Sean looked very much in the face.

"Hi, Sean. Saw your truck in the lot. Thought I'd see what you were up to. And who is this? I'm Harry Martin, Sean's father." Then he pulled up a chair from a table and sat down.

Sean stared at him. Claire could see he was angry at the intrusion.

"This is Claire. She's staying at the mansion for the summer. I just brought her into town for some groceries." There was a silence as both men looked at each other.

Then Harry Martin turned to Claire. "House-sitting, huh? Are you from that university in Richmond? A student?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah, graduate student. That's how I know Dr. Sylvester."

"You studying anthropology too? I know he's big into digging at historical sites. You ever help him out on digs?"

There it was. Claire was surprised how quickly the sheriff had put the facts together. She struggled with how to answer. Sean was frowning, his arms crossed.

"Why the third degree, Dad? I told you. She's house-sitting for Dr. Bob. Got a paper to write. Leave her alone."

The sheriff's hand went up. "Knock it off, Sean. I'm just being friendly. Jeez." He turned to Claire again. "I bet you find that old house pretty fascinating. It used to be a tobacco plantation back in the day."

"Yes, it was. He told me some of the history."

Harry Martin pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "I used to fish there as a boy. I found an arrowhead there once. I hear there's a big Indian site somewhere on the grounds. You find it yet?"

Claire felt her chest tighten. He was relentless. She felt he could see right through her.

"Dr. Sylvester mentioned it. But as Sean told you, Sheriff Martin, I'm working on my thesis for my doctorate of anthropology. It's quite time-consuming."

Harry Martin stood up and put the chair back. "Well, you kids be careful out there. Farming is a dangerous business. Nice to meet you, Claire. Hope you get your paper together. Going for a smoke. See you later."

He turned and walked out the door. Sean scooted over to the window and parted the curtains. "What a liar. He knows everything, and you didn't have to say a word. He's smoking out there all right-as he's looking in the back of my truck. Now he's reaching down and getting a fist fill of dirt."

Claire shrugged. "It would be natural to find dirt in a farm truck, wouldn't it?"

"It looks like we've been digging, Claire. I just don't understand why he would be so interested in whether or not you were excavating an Indian site. Sorry. Even when I was a boy, he always knew when I was lying."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, sounds like your father and my father are pretty messed up. My father never remarried after Mom died. Did Harry remarry?"

"No. He had some girlfriends that he chased off with his bubbly personality. I helped run the others off by being a nasty kid. I blamed by mother for abandoning me, but I didn't want her replaced. So I acted out every chance I got. That's what the prison shrink told me. It got the wrong kind of attention from my father. We just don't get along so I steer clear of him. Sound familiar?"

Claire smiled. "Afraid so. My father is not a fan of higher education. He thinks archaeology is a waste of time. I should be married and having babies by now like my factory worker brother, Frank. To him, I'm a dried-up spinster."

"You don't look over the hill to me. I'd date you in a minute."

Claire looked up in alarm. "What? You've known me for two days. Let's take it slow, Don Juan. I'm working, remember? No time for boyfriends. Let's keep it friendly."

Sean nodded. "Okay, but I have a plan to win you over. I'll just be my old boring self, and you'll be drawn to me like a fly to honey."

"Maybe. A few more days with me, and you'll run away screaming like all the others. We'll see if you have what it takes, Sean Martin. Try a summer with an obsessive archaeologist."

Sean finished his beer. "I've definitely had worse. You would be a welcome change."

Claire stood up. "Come on. We'd better be on our way. The morning comes early."

Sean paid for the dinner, and then they drove down the street to Lucky Mart. While she was shopping, he filled up his truck with gas. He carefully tied each of her grocery bags in a knot and placed them in the metal lockboxes of the truck. They arrived home as the sun was setting. Geronimo was waiting by the kitchen door.

Claire and Sean carried in the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter. Then Sean said goodnight. After everything was put away, Claire made sure the doors were locked. She checked her e-mail and read a nice message from Dr. Sylvester saying that he was settled in Oxford. Then she and Geronimo went to bed.

As she lay there, waiting for sleep, she thought about Sean Martin. He seemed like a man of two worlds. He lived a quiet life on the farm while secretly yearning to escape his ex-con reputation. She wanted him to find out what he was capable of, but to do that, she knew he would have to leave the safety of the farm. She hated to see him throw away his opportunities because he didn't believe in himself. She believed in him. She just had to make him see the possibilities, and she only had a few short months to make that happen.

### Chapter Eight

Sean was awakened by his alarm at two. Startled, he sat up in bed and tried to shut off the ringer in the darkness. With that finally accomplished, he found his pants and shirt near the bed and got dressed. Then he found his boots. On his way out the door, he grabbed his flashlight off his kitchen table but left his revolver in the kitchen drawer. After all, he was going ghost hunting. Even if the ghosts were human, he couldn't be caught with a gun with his criminal record.

He carefully made his way out of his dark apartment and down the steps to the ground. He noticed Claire had forgotten to turn on the front porch light so the only light was the one on the pole next to the garage. With no moon, the rest of the farm was dark. Sean listened to the sounds of the night as his eyes became accustomed to the blackness.

An owl hooted. Somewhere a small animal rooted through the briars. He flicked on his flashlight and walked down the driveway, glancing around the yard for Claire's ghost.

Halfway down the driveway, he heard a car start up at the gate. "Got you now!" he yelled and took off running, his flashlight's circle bobbing on the pavement. Tires squealed, and Sean saw red taillights speed off into the night.

Out of breath, he arrived at the chain he had draped between the two brick columns that lined the entrance to the farm before he went to bed. It was still intact as far as he could tell. He slipped under it and stared at the tire prints in the soft mud. This was no ghost. This was a real trespasser. Now he had proof that Claire had really seen a human being, not some floating spirit. He was sure someone was casing the place, roaming around looking for something to steal.

As he walked back to the garage, he thought about calling his father. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but his father was the law. There was Claire's safety to think about, not just his. He'd wait and see how things developed, he decided. Maybe he'd scared them off for good tonight.

There was a noise to his right, near the path to the cemetery. Sean stopped and peered through the darkness. He expected to see a deer come out of the woods. Pointing his light in the direction of the noise, he was shocked to see a woman standing by a tree. He could make out a yellowish dress and a drooping hat. She stared at him, her face mostly in the shadows. Her mouth was open, but no voice came out. Instead, her bony hand reached up and clutched something around her throat.

"Come out of there!" Sean yelled out, moving in her direction. The woman receded into the woods at his voice, a blur in a brown hat and yellow dress. Sean felt the hair rise on his arms. He walked a short distance down the path to the cemetery, but stopped abruptly. She was gone. The night was quiet again.

"This is not good," he whispered to himself. Slowly he returned to the garage and trudged up the stairs to his apartment. He had discovered two things. Two people had trespassed on the farm at night. Only one was human.

• • •

The next morning Sean told Claire about the car at the gate. Claire was packing up water bottles in a cooler as Sean waited to load it in the truck.

Claire was shocked. "At least they stopped at the chain. You were right about locking the entrance way to keep cars from driving in at all hours of the night. Any idea of what they were after?"

Sean shook his head. "Could be looking for a quiet, isolated place to party. Drink. Do drugs. Make out. The usual teenage behaviors. Or could have been someone looking to steal some chainsaws and farm equipment. I'm not sure. Might have to install a metal gate, like the one I use in the fields. I could chain that up between the columns after dark. Let the teenagers find somewhere else to hide from their parents."

Claire opened the kitchen door so Sean could carry the cooler to the truck. "So, you think I'm crazy, right? Ghosts can't drive cars. These people were real."

He pulled down the tailgate, and Geronimo jumped in. Sean slid the cooler in beside him.

"The car was real. The tire tracks were real. But the lady I saw coming back to the house hiding in the woods, not so much."

Claire grabbed his shirt. Sean turned around to look at her. "You saw her?" she asked excitedly. "You actually saw her?"

"Sure did. She scared the hell out of me. Yellow dress. Funny hat. Looked like death warmed over."

Claire smiled. "That's because she's dead, Sean. Did you recognize her?"

"It was dark, and she was in the woods. I couldn't really see her face. She didn't look like anyone I remember. So, if you're crazy, then it must be catching. I wouldn't want to meet her again all alone in the cemetery. Now, let's go do something more crazy like digging in the hot sun looking for post holes!"

Sean dropped Claire and her dog off at the excavation site of Mound #1. "It's slow going isn't it?" he asked her, looking at the small square covered by a tarp. He pulled it off for her and laid it against the fence.

"Tearing off the turf took lots of time. But I got my five feet square mapped out and started. Remember, I'm not exposing the whole mound, just a section. That way, I can carefully sift for evidence and detect the subtle changes in the soil I'm looking for. Dark soil indicates the decay of organic matter, like wood."

Sean set the cooler down near the other equipment at the fence. He glanced at her sifted pile of dirt. "Find anything interesting?"

Claire put on her ball cap. "Not yet. I'm still at the top layer, and this is recent sod. I'll have to go further down."

"Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to bale the hay in case a thunder shower hits this afternoon. You have all that archaeology fun you were talking about."

Claire laughed and reached down to reapply her bug spray. She watched Sean drive off toward the barn. She worked on lifting several layers of dirt before lunch, sifting each bucketful of soil carefully. Sean returned with the hay baler, and soon large round bales littered the field around the mounds. Geronimo followed the tractor, sniffing here and there.

Claire took a break and sipped on a water bottle under a shade tree near the fence. She counted thirty large round bales in the field so far. She poured some water for her dog.

At noon, they went back to the house. Claire made bologna sandwiches with tomato soup. Sean's phone rang, and he answered it. "What's going on, John? In the paper? Okay, I'll go get it."

Sean went out the door and returned a few minutes later with the newspaper. "You've got to see this."

He threw it down on the table. Claire picked it up and saw a large picture on the front page of Gaghonwaw Chief Kevin Bransome. Dressed in black shirt and jeans, long grey braid down his back, Chief Bransome was carrying a sign in front of the courthouse in Hooverton which read, "Leave Our Indian Ancestors Alone! Don't Dig Up Our Dead!"

"Is he referring to me?" Claire asked, looking at Sean. "He never mentions me or the mounds specifically. Local farm, he says. How did this happen so fast?"

"A certain policeman probably told the chief that a certain student was house-sitting at the Sylvester farm. The farm has known Indian mounds. The rest is tabloid history."

Claire sighed. "This is the last thing I wanted to happen, Sean. It was supposed to remain a secret. Do you know this Chief Bransome? Is he really an Indian? Looks fully white to me."

Sean nodded. "Oh, I know him all right. Everyone in town knows him. He's a pain in the ass and so is his jackass brother, Larry the real estate king. They think they own this town because they're Indian. The Gaghonwaws have a lot of backing from the state government, but that's not where the real money is. Still pushing for federal recognition so everyone can get a piece of the government pie. Once they can prove their ancestors were here first, then the federal grants will follow. You're right, though. He doesn't really look Indian. That was a couple hundred years ago, right?"

Claire finished her last bite of bologna sandwich. She handed a slice to Geronimo under the table. "You know, Sean, the Gaghonwaws are never going to get that federal recognition they want. Virginia census didn't list Indians as anything except mulattoes. There were no permanent Indian villages in this area that are documented by colonial accounts. The real villages were along the coast and to the north. When the settlers wanted their freed slaves to vacate the state in the 1750's, many of the families started to claim they were Cherokee. After a hundred years, even they believed it. Have they done DNA testing?"

Sean put his dishes on the counter. "I'll ask him if I see him. That'll shut him up, won't it? Prove it, buddy. Can't the federal government force them to take DNA tests if they want the money?"

"The government doesn't have to insist on anything. The burden of proof is on them. If they can't prove it historically, that's the end of it. I bet DNA testing is something they don't want to happen for obvious reasons. Like you said, it would be put up or shut up for good."

They headed back to the truck, ready to return to the dig. Claire turned to Sean. "Why do you suppose your father would make a point of telling this chief what he thought I was doing at the mounds? What does he get out of it?"

Sean shrugged. "The knowledge that he made my life miserable."

Claire rolled down her window as they took off. "I just don't get it. Why would the sheriff want to stop a preliminary dig? This has nothing to do with him."

Sean sighed. "I gave up trying to understand him long ago."

### Chapter Nine

Sean and Claire soon developed a routine of starting by seven o'clock in the morning when the air was cool and then knocking off around three when the sun was overbearing. Claire concentrated on the project, making sure she followed all the rules for excavating a site. Her next two weeks were filled with measuring and plotting each level while recording the data in her journal.

At night she and Sean made dinner together. Their conversations went long into the night, and Claire found that she really enjoyed Sean's company. More and more she was convinced that Sean belonged in an academic environment rather than shut away from the world on a farm. She told him so one night while they sipped beers at Ben's Place, Hooverton's local bar.

"It's not too late to start over, Sean. Determination and motivation is all you need to turn your life around. Why languish here in a cow field when I know you're dying to get out there and see what you're really capable of achieving?"

Sean shook his head. "You make it sound so easy, Claire. Just leave all I know behind and take a chance on failing somewhere else. What if I can't cut it at college? I didn't even make it through high school."

"Sure didn't, son." They turned and saw Sheriff Harry Martin standing at their table. He was out of his uniform, dressed casually in a short-sleeve shirt and jeans. "Is this pretty girl putting hopes of grandeur in your head, Sean? She does know you were in prison, right?"

Sean glared at his father. Claire slipped her hand over his and squeezed. She looked up.

"I know all about it, Sheriff Martin. I also know it was a long time ago, and people grow up. Sean's not that person anymore."

Harry Martin ignored his son. Instead he focused on Claire.

"How's the work going out there on Dr. Sylvester's farm?"

Sean pushed away his beer. "Why would she tell you anything, Dad? You'll go straight to Chief Bransome, and we'll read all about it in the morning's paper."

Sheriff Martin continued to look at Claire. "She was acting like she had something to hide, Sean. A cop knows these things. I hate liars."

Claire glared back. He was making her feel uncomfortable. "It's just a preliminary dig, Sheriff Martin. There's no indication whatsoever that the mounds are burial mounds. I know the Virginia law inside and out. I wouldn't do anything that was illegal, and I don't appreciate you insinuating to the chief that I would. Tell him to stop by, and I'll show him exactly what I'm doing. So far, I haven't found a single Indian relic, Gaghonwaw or otherwise."

Sean crossed his arms. "You won't be satisfied until you ruin Claire's career."

The sheriff chuckled. "She's still here, Sean. Looks like she survived a little bad publicity. You're starting to irritate me like always so I'll move along. Got some friends over there. Claire, good luck with hanging out with my loser son."

Sean slammed his fist on the table. "What a bastard," he grumbled. They watched him leave. Claire touched Sean's shaking hand. Sean squeezed it back. "If you heard that all your life, would you think you could ever leave this place and succeed?"

"I did hear it all my life, Sean. That's the point. Yeah, I would have to agree with you that Harry Martin is a piece of work. Not an ounce of compassion in him. You're not like that, Sean. I wonder what makes him so hard and cold."

"Ran my mother away. No one could live with him. When he ends up alone, he's got no one to blame but himself. I'm done with him. Been done for a while now."

Sean got another beer and stared at it. "Claire, why haven't we seen your ghost lately? It's been two weeks already, and she's a no show. If she's trying to contact you, I would think she would be in the yard every night."

Claire shrugged. "So far I must be doing what she wants. When it's time for me to act, she'll show up. She wanted me to see her the first night I was here, and she showed herself to you. That means you're going to help me. Help me do what, I'm not sure. The dead aren't on a schedule, unlike me and this dig."

Sean grinned. "We'll do it together, Claire. I've got your back."

• • •

The good news was that Claire was developing a dark tan, but the bad news was she was disappointed in the actual results of the dig. More and more it was becoming obvious that Mound #1 was contaminated. She was still hitting twigs and decayed leaves in levels that should have contained evidence of Indian occupation.

Claire stood at the edge of her growing hole. "I have a hunch that someone has dug up this mound before and then filled it in. This mound is useless."

Sean returned from dumping a bucket of dirt in the sifter. "Who do you think that was? Dr. Sylvester didn't know anything about that. Do you think some of his ancestors might have dug up the mound out of curiosity? Looking for Indian treasure?"

Claire held up a mushy black leaf. "No, I think it was recent. Perhaps a decade ago. You'd be surprised how fast grass and trees grow back. I think I'm going to move on to Mound #2. This mound is giving off bad vibes."

Sean frowned. "Bad vibes? Is that a professional term?"

Claire smiled. "Not really. I just get the feeling that something bad happened here. I can't really describe it. I feel dread when I stand here and look at the ground. Goose bumps."

"Does this have something to do with your ghost?"

Claire didn't answer. She was staring at a clump of dirt in the corner of her bared site she hadn't noticed before. She reached down and picked up the round and hard clump of red dirt. She loosened the dirt carefully with her fingers until she saw metal.

"Look at this, Sean. What do you think it is?" He took it from her hand and picked up his bottle of water. Pouring the water over the clump, the loop of a silver ring appeared. He quickly handed it back to her and pointed at the white Ford Bronco making its way through the field toward them.

"Here comes trouble," he grumbled. Claire shoved the ring into her jean pocket. "It's Chief Bransome, Claire. This is going to be good."

The Ford Bronco parked near the mound, and a tall man wearing a familiar black T-shirt and matching jeans got out. Claire again noticed his long gray ponytail that hung to the middle of his back and his silver chains with Indian symbols around his neck. He was definitely trying to perfect his Indian image.

Sean kicked at the dirt. "I guess my dad passed on your invitation to visit the site as soon as we left the bar. Think you can handle him?"

"I've dealt with these types before. Let me do the talking. You keep your fist in your pocket, no matter how heated this conversation might get."

"I'm not making any promises."

Chief Bransome shut his door on his Bronco and made his way through the stubs of the hay field to where Sean and Claire were standing. He held out his hand. Claire shook it.

"Hello, there. I'm Kevin Bransome. I represent the United Federation of the Gaghonwaw Tribe of Virginia. I already know Sean so you must be the archaeologist from Richmond that I've heard so much about."

Sean crossed his arms. "Only because you made it your business to hear about it."

Claire gave Sean a be-quiet look. "I'm Claire St. John, the graduate student Dr. Sylvester hired for the summer. How can we help you?"

"I'll get right to the point. You're digging up Indian burial grounds, and we want you to stop. Indian remains should be respected."

Claire fixed a smile on her face. "You've been misinformed, Chief Bransome. These are not burial mounds. As I already explained to Sheriff Martin, there are no bodies here. I was hoping to find evidence of ceremonial platforms, often used by the Mississippian Culture Indians."

Chief Bransome peered into Claire's empty hole. "You didn't find anything?"

"No, sir, I did not. In fact this mound appears to have been dug up previously and then refilled for some reason. Besides, this is private land, Chief Bransome. You have no jurisdiction here or any right to demand that I stop anything. Virginia code 10.1-2302 and I quote: 'Exclusive title is retained with land owner to some or all objects of antiquity recovered if not located on state-controlled land.'"

Chief Bransome frowned. "Let me quote Virginia Code 10.2-126. 'Any person who unlawfully disinters or displaces a dead human body in any vault, grave, or burial place is guilty of a class four felony.' Do you have a permit, Miss St. John? From the director of the Department of Historic Resources?"

Claire shrugged. "Why would I have a permit? It isn't necessary on private land."

Chief Bransome pulled out a slim digital camera from his jean pocket and snapped a picture. Sean moved forward.

"You can leave now, Chief Bransome. There's nothing here to see. You tell my father to stay out of our business."

Chief Bransome wouldn't be hurried. "What are your plans for the other mounds? Couldn't they be burial mounds?"

Claire sighed. "Probably not. Rest assured, Chief Bransome, that if I did find human remains, I would stop the dig."

"That's good to hear, Miss St. John, because we could cause quite a stink in this town. We would demand the return of all Gaghonwaw artifacts found and sue if we had to. I doubt if Dr. Sylvester wants that kind of publicity. Here's my card. I expect you to call me if you discover anything of interest."

Claire took his card.

"We understand each other then?" he asked, glaring at her.

Sean was angry. "We understand you're threatening us, Bransome. We get that loud and clear."

"Not threatening, Sean. I leave that to my lawyer sister, Jean. Good day then." The chief marched back to his Bronco and drove off.

Claire shook her head. "I don't think he heard a word I said. This isn't even a Gaghonwaw site. Doesn't matter. He can still stir people up with his lies. This was just what Dr. Sylvester didn't want."

Sean pointed to his truck. "Let's get lunch. Chief Bransome's bark is worse than his bite. He loves to put on his war paint and squawk. I wouldn't be too concerned. He saw for himself there was nothing here."

Claire put Geronimo in the back of the truck and climbed in. She pulled the dirty ring from her pocket. "I don't think this belongs in the mound, Sean. Definitely not an Indian relic."

Sean laughed. "Maybe it belongs to the person who dug up the mound. Can you tell how old it is?"

"Not by just looking at it. Jewelry is not my thing."

They stopped at the farmhouse. Claire poured Sean a glass of iced tea while she heated up some soup. She got the leftover hot dogs out of the refrigerator and stuck them in the microwave.

Sean carefully rinsed the ring in the sink and wrapped it in a paper towel. Once dull with dirt, it was now a shiny silver band. Sean held it up. Reads "Love Always S. A." Doesn't ring a bell. Could be anyone."

Claire placed the ring in a clear specimen bag and left it on the table while they ate their lunch.

"So, I have the sheriff and the Indian population up in arms so far. And I'm only on Mound #1."

Sean munched his hot dog. "Yeah, so what's the next plan?"

"Mound #2. I'll need your help to clear the turf off."

Sean smiled. "I aim to please. The hay is caught up, and it's too hot to mow until evening so I'm all yours. Use and abuse me. By the way, I made that call to my friend at the airfield. We're good to go tomorrow afternoon if the weather stays clear."

"Great! I can't get in trouble buzzing the farm, I hope. I'll need those aerial pictures to complete my sad paper."

They were only half done with clearing the scrub from Mound #2 when a thunderstorm rolled in. As the big drops of rain started to fall, they hurriedly covered their equipment and ran for the truck. Geronimo galloped behind. He knew the way home.

### Chapter Ten

It was easy to cut the chain across the entrance way to Windleigh. The man quietly drove his truck over the newly cut chain on the ground and followed the driveway past the dark windows of the mansion and garage apartment. It was three in the morning, and the driveway was wet from the evening thunderstorms. Dark clouds obscured the road, and he could barely see where he was going. But he didn't dare turn on his lights and show himself. This wasn't the first time he had trespassed on Windleigh Farm, and he was relying on memory to get him to the mounds. Several minutes later he was at the hay field and turning off his truck engine.

The grass was wet and slippery as he climbed out of his truck. He stood in the quiet darkness at the base of the exposed mound remembering a similar night twenty-five years ago. She was surprised when he got out of the truck, instead of her lover. Dressed in that yellow dress, suitcase at her feet, she backed away.

"You tricked me," she accused him. "You wrote that letter. I won't go back. I don't care what you say."

He didn't say anything. Instead, he dragged her into the brush and placed his gloved hands around her neck. She struggled against him, kicking and gouging at his eyes, but he was too strong. In just a few minutes, her lifeless eyes stared back at him as his hands loosened their grip. Not satisfied, he smashed her head over and over against the cold ground.

Then he got control over himself and straightened up. He went back to his truck and got the shovel out of the back. He dug a hole in the mound from the top. The deeper he dug, the more he sweated. He buried her there and covered the dirt with brush. He tossed the suitcase in the back of his truck. He'd burn it later in his trash barrel.

• • •

Now he stood once again at the mound with the same shovel and a garbage bag he had taken from home. With his flashlight, he saw the university girl's tarp covering the excavation site. He carefully pulled back the plastic and glanced into the empty pit. Relief poured through him as he realized the archaeologist hadn't found the body. She was digging in the wrong place and had stopped short of uncovering the woman's remains. Now was his only chance to move the bones.

He hacked at the earth around the side of her carefully dug square, dislodging the archaeologist's grid string and spikes. That's when he heard the rustling in the trees. He looked up from the digging, but all he saw was his flashlight on the ground.

Then it came again, a moaning that floated on the breeze. He picked up his flashlight and pointed it in the direction of the trees. Nothing looked back at him. He whipped around and looked back at his truck. Beyond, in the field, he saw her coming toward him.

"What the hell?" he murmured and crawled out of the pit. She was wearing that old yellow dress and floppy hat, her face sunken and eyes black. "You're dead," he wanted to scream. "Get out of here. I killed you!"

His light went through her, and still she floated toward him. Her bony pale hand hung at her throat where he had strangled her. The air had suddenly turned cold, and he shivered.

He thought he heard his name. Backing up, he fell into the muddy bottom of the pit. His shovel scraped his back. When he put his hand down, he felt the bone of her foot sticking out of the soft earth. Bones were the only thing left, he figured. Her restless soul was standing in the field, arm and finger extended in accusation. Hatred poured over him, and he grabbed the plastic bag lying in the pit. Frantically he dug at the bones, scooping them up and into the bag. Soon they would be at the bottom of Sylvester's lake weighted down by a cinder block. Finally he got to the skull and slammed it into the full bag with a vengeance.

He climbed out of the pit, dragging the bag behind him and the shovel over his shoulder. He glanced around, sensing her presence but not seeing her in the darkness. Then he smelled the foul stench of rotting flesh. She whispered in his ear.

"They're coming for you."

He whipped around, and she was standing behind him, staring into his eyes. Her yellow plaid dress hung in rags on her gaunt frame, covered with the red soil. Brown, stringy hair clung to her head, the floppy hat obscuring half her face. He could see his fingerprints glowing red on her thin, bony neck.

He screamed, almost dropping the bag. The shovel fell to the ground as he reached into his pocket. With his revolver out, he aimed and shot at the apparition. She seemed to smile at him as the bullet passed through. The ghost dissolved into mist and blew away.

For a few minutes, he stared into the darkness. Then he heard the sound of a truck starting. Lights were on at the farm. There was only one road down and someone was on it, blocking his escape. Now he could see truck lights bobbing in the distance. He grabbed the bag and his flashlight and fled into the woods.

• • •

Claire's phone rang at 2:47, waking her and her dog. Geronimo stood up, barking at the shrill noise. Claire sat up, roughly grabbing the receiver.

"Huh?" she managed to say. "That you, Sean?"

"Who else at this hour? Get up. Throw on some clothes. There's someone up in the field. I saw some lights flashing. They're messing with your excavation site. Let's nail these juvenile delinquents."

Claire climbed out of bed. "That's university property! Don't let them take the equipment or my butt is toast. Putting my pants on now. Start the truck."

Sean was throwing a pitchfork in the back of the truck when Claire and Geronimo came running out the kitchen door of the house. Claire hopped in the passenger side while Sean shifted into gear. Geronimo trotted behind, sniffing the smells of the night.

"Got your gun?" Claire asked him.

He shook his head. " I can't be caught with a gun. I don't have a license since I have a prison record. But I have a gun, of course. It belongs to Dr. Bob. Here, you take it." He pulled an object out of his black jacket pocket.

Claire felt the heavy revolver on her lap. "Jesus, Sean, I don't know how to use this thing."

"Aim, point, and pull the trigger. Mostly point and threaten. I'll tackle the creep."

Minutes later, after bouncing hard up the dirt track, they were at the entrance to the hay field. The gate was wide open, but they didn't see any flashlights.

"Where did they go?" Claire asked, peering into the blackness.

"Wait, I see something moving in the woods. There's a light going down the hill. They won't get far on foot. Look, there's their truck they left behind. They can't leave. Funny, no plates on the white Ford. Nice looking, in good shape. Not that old either. It's certainly no farm truck."

Claire studied the truck as they drove up. One door was open, a dim light outlining the interior of the truck. "This can't be good," Claire said, climbing out of Sean's truck and leaving the gun on the seat. Geronimo caught a scent, barked, and ran off in the direction of the woods.

Sean opened the glove compartment of the white Ford and saw that it was empty. "Clever. No way to trace this truck. Nothing left behind. No paperwork and no numbers."

"No keys either," Claire said. "Just this slight dent here on the fender." She ran her finger over the depression. "Let's check the mound."

Together they walked the short distance across the field to where the tarp lay rolled away from the excavation pit. Claire looked at the dirt heaped on the floor of the pit.

"There was something in this pit that someone wanted. He dug it out of the side there." Claire climbed into the hole and poked around in the dirt. "Let me see your flashlight, Sean."

Claire held up a piece of yellow fabric. "Here it is again, the dress material that the ghost was wearing in the picture. Was she buried here? Is that what this is all about?"

Sean looked toward the woods. "Then it's not some teenagers in the woods, Claire. I don't really know who we're dealing with. I'll get that gun after all."

"Wait. Shouldn't we call the police, Sean?" Claire called after him. Geronimo was barking in the woods, getting further and further away.

"And say what, Claire? The charge is trespassing right now. They only get a fine for that. You can hold up the fabric, but do you really want to explain to my dad that it belongs to some ghost we saw in the yard?"

Claire frowned. "No, I guess not. He'll lock us up."

"That's right. Nothing seems missing. Let's head down to the lake and see if we can cut them off. Or him. Maybe it's Kevin Bransome. He didn't want to believe that these weren't burial mounds. Maybe he decided to check for himself."

Suddenly Geronimo's barking stopped, replaced by a yelp of pain. Claire charged out of the pit. "They're hurting my dog! Let's go!"

They ran back to Sean's truck. Claire cradled the gun as they shot through the field and turned right at the gate. Claire hadn't been this far down the farm road before. A deer took off up the bank when the truck lights hit it.

"How far is this lake?" Claire asked, rolling down the window. "I don't hear Geronimo now."

"Just around this curve. They came into a clearing and parked, leaving the truck lights on. Claire could see a wooden dock built over the dark water of the lake, now shimmering in the headlights. She grabbed her flashlight and got out, handing the gun to Sean.

There was a noise to the left. "Stay here, Claire. I'll go check it out. Here's the pitchfork." Sean put the wooden handle in her hands. "Don't hurt yourself with it."

Claire watched Sean move off behind the trees. She listened to the crickets, frogs, and lake noises, trying to pinpoint where Geronimo might have gone. With her light, she looked around the woods where she stood. "Hey, boy, where are you? Geronimo!"

There was a bark to her left. Leaning the pitchfork against the truck, she headed off with her flashlight leading the way. She recognized blood on the ground and moved faster, calling frantically for her dog. Weaving in and out of the trees and around the briar bushes, she followed the thin line of blood to a large oak tree. Geronimo was lying on his side, blood caked on his head. His tail wagged weakly at the sound of her voice.

Claire stopped, staring at the woman in the yellow plaid dress. She was standing beside the dog, her arm up and pointing beyond Claire. Then she faded into the darkness.

Claire felt her heart lurch. Geronimo moaned, and Claire looked down at the brown lump. "Oh no," she gasped, getting down on her knees to touch the fur. Geronimo whined, his eyes opening. "Where are you hurt, boy? Sean, over here. He's hurt!"

There was a noise behind her, footsteps. As she turned, something large came at her. She saw the outline of a man dressed in dark clothes. She searched for a face, and then felt the blow that came out of the darkness. Screaming, she fell forward onto the cold, wet ground. The pain was intense, her vision fading. The last thing she saw was a shovel as the blackness enveloped her.

Then she was choking on dirty water. Claire fought for her breath, coming fully conscious as the coldness of the water brought her around. "Help!" she screamed as she surfaced, still unclear as to where she was. Her arms and legs didn't seem to work, and she sank again under the murky water. She tasted algae.

"Claire!" Sean's voice floated nearby. Then she was lifted up and brought to the surface. She breathed the fresh air, spitting out the sour water. Sean set her on the bank, turning her over on her side to drain the water from her lungs. Claire coughed violently. She sat up, shivering in her wet jeans and T- shirt.

"My head," Claire moaned, grasping Sean's arm. "Someone hit me with something sharp. A shovel, I think." Sean reached for his flashlight sitting on the bank, and looked at the back of her head. Fresh red blood was gushing from a long cut.

"How bad is it?" he heard Claire asking.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. Going to need stitches. Probably got a concussion. He wasn't fooling around. Probably thought you'd drown before you woke up."

"I almost did. What about my dog? He's bleeding. The bastard hit him too."

"He's in the back of the truck, Claire. I found him after you screamed. Saw someone run off when I got back to the truck. That's when I saw you thrashing in the lake. We'll take care of you first. I'll lock the dog up in the bathroom of the farmhouse while we get help. He'll keep. His cut looks worse than it really is."

Sean carried Claire back to the truck and helped her into the passenger seat. He started the truck and drove slowly along the farm road back toward the house. Claire winced at every bump. He paused for a moment at the gate of the hay field. The intruder's truck was gone and so was any proof that he had been there. Sean didn't have time to search the grounds for clues. Claire's life was in his hands.

### Chapter Eleven

Sean parked at the kitchen door of Windleigh. Carefully, he carried Geronimo to the door. The dog wiggled, trying to get out of Sean's arms, but Sean held him tight. He got Geronimo corralled in the bathroom and shut the door, leaving towels on the floor. Then he hurried back out to the truck where Claire was now slumped over, her head on the dashboard. "Claire?" he called out, but she was unconscious. Blood trickled down her shirt.

Sean slid into his seat and took off for St. Catherine's, the county hospital forty minutes away. He paused for a moment at the entrance to Windleigh where he saw his chains laying on the road, cut and pulled away.

Claire woke up off and on, mumbling. "She was there, Sean. The woman in the yellow dress."

"I don't think a ghost hit you upside the head, Claire. That was a real person. Nailed your dog too. Wait till I catch up with him. I promise to return the favor, double fold."

Sean sped down the road, hoping none of Amberson's four policemen were watching for speeders. They pulled into the parking lot of St. Catherine's Memorial Hospital. When he opened the truck door, Claire fell unconscious into his arms. He carried her into the emergency room. Heads turned as he struggled in, and people rushed forward to help Sean get Claire on a gurney. They were both soaking wet and covered with blood.

Alarmed, the security guard followed Sean into the waiting room. "Hang on there, buddy. You can't bring a gun in here."

Sean immediately remembered the revolver in his jacket pocket where he had shoved it while he drove to the hospital. Looking down, he saw the handle sticking out of his pocket and in full view of everyone sitting in the room.

"Oh God," he murmured. "I can explain," he tried.

"Sit. Explain. I'm all ears. Only, give me the gun first."

Sean sat down and handed over the gun. Fifteen minutes later he looked up to see his father, Sheriff Harry Martin, coming through the sliding doors. He was in his regular clothes, jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, because he had been off duty.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, boy?" he yelled, his hands on his hips. "Got a call from the dispatcher. Man armed with a gun in the emergency room and covered with blood. He's carrying an unconscious girl. Oh yeah, it's your son, Sheriff Martin. So what's the story, boy? You go after that cute girl working for Dr. Sylvester?"

Sean was speechless. He glared in anger at his father. "I didn't do anything to anyone. We're the victims here. Someone was digging in the mounds. They cut the chains at the entrance to get in. Then they took off into the woods when we showed up. We tried to find them, but they found Claire instead. They hit her in the head and threw her in the lake. For good measure, they whacked the poor dog too. Ask Claire when the doctors are done, and you'll see I'm telling you exactly what happened."

The security guard held up the gun. "He was wearing this when he came in." Sheriff Martin took the gun and examined it. He frowned at Sean.

"Whose gun is this, Sean? I don't think you have a permit for a gun, do you?"

Sean looked at his feet. "It's Dr. Sylvester's. He lets me use it on the farm. Listen, that doesn't matter. You need to get out to the farm and see who was trespassing tonight. Claire could have been killed. Don't forget to ask Chief Bransome where he was tonight. He didn't like Claire digging in the mounds."

Sheriff Martin crossed his arms. "Did you actually see Chief Bransome tonight?"

Sean shrugged. "No. There was a truck there, though. White Ford without plates. Nothing in the glove compartment either because we checked. It's pretty obvious that someone was digging in the mound. We saw a light in the woods so we headed down to the lake to see if we could stop them. Or him. I don't know how many there were. But anyway, Claire heard her dog whining, and she went to find him. That's when she got hit and thrown in the lake. While I was fishing Claire out of the water, they escaped and took off in the truck. See, Dad, Claire was attacked. I expect you to do something about it."

Sheriff Martin nodded. "Simmer down, Sean. I can see you're wound up. Sure, of course, we'll look into it. I'll need to hear Claire's side of it. In the meantime, put that gun back and leave it alone. If you see someone else trespassing on the farm, give us a call. We'll sort it out. Don't be Rambo."

Sean shrugged his shoulders and looked away. "Right," he said without enthusiasm. He watched Sheriff Martin walk away and whisper to a nurse in the hall.

Another nurse came in and asked for Sean. He was led back into a treatment room where Claire lay on a table, head thickly bandaged. Her eyes were closed. The doctor, an older woman with glasses, was writing on a chart. She looked up at Sean.

"Nine stitches. Concussion. We're admitting her overnight for observation. She's very lucky. The blow was more surface damage than depth. There's no bleeding in the brain at the moment. I expect her to be groggy for a few days. Make her take it easy because I understand she's an archaeologist. Keep her inside. By the way, did you see what hit her?"

Sean thought back. "No, I didn't really. She said it was a shovel."

"That's what it looks like to me. That's consistent with the cut in her head. I'll put that it in my report." The doctor put down her clipboard. "For the police."

"Right," Sean said. He reached over and squeezed Claire's hand. He hadn't realized until that moment how much she meant to him. She'd grown on him, with her lectures about how he could be break away from the farm and make his dreams come true. She had made him feel alive again, worthwhile, and important. He loved her for that. He could picture himself marrying her in the far future. All he had to do was convince her he was serious.

Claire rolled her head and opened her eyes. She smiled at him.

"I hate to leave you, Claire, but I have to see about Geronimo. I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up. You have my cell phone number so call me if I need to get back here. I'd do anything for you."

Claire looked up into his eyes. "I know you would, Sean." She went back to sleep.

Sean left Claire in the hands of the doctor and headed home to see to her dog. He found Geronimo asleep in the bathroom on the towels he had thrown on the floor. Carefully and thoughtfully, he cleaned off the blood on the dog's head and tended a long cut behind the ear. Geronimo looked up and licked Sean's face.

"Looks like you're going to be okay, big fellow. Surface cut." The dog followed Sean out of the bathroom and ate a bowl of dog food. Sean let him out to go the bathroom in the yard and then resettled him in the bathroom for the night.

"See you in the morning, buddy. Sleep tight."

• • •

Sean heard pounding on his garage apartment screen door and woke with a start.

"Sean, you in there? Get up, boy. The police are here."

Sean looked at the clock. It was nine in the morning. Sean had slept in, forgetting to set the alarm. The sun was already hot in the sky.

He yelled he would be right out and found his jeans and a clean T-shirt. His father, dressed in his brown pressed uniform and hat, was standing at the door. A deputy stood behind him.

"We already looked at the gate. They used cutters, but I think you guessed that. You need to show us where the assault took place."

Sean rubbed his eyes and donned his ball cap. "Sure. You can follow me. Let me let the dog out first. He's locked in Claire's bathroom."

Sean let Geronimo out into the yard and put out a bowl of dog food. He followed Sean to his truck. The sheriff and his deputy were already in their police SUV and waiting.

Sean opened the door, and Geronimo jumped onto the seat. He stuck his nose out the open window. He drove up to the mound first, careful to avoid the place where he saw the truck last night.

"Here is where it started, Dad. There was a truck parked here last night." For the next couple of hours, Sean and the policemen went over the crime scene. They looked for anything someone might have dropped, measured the tire tracks, and stared at the empty hole in the mound.

Sean pointed to the side of the trench. "We think they dug something up here and carried it away."

"Indian relics?" Sheriff Martin offered.

"There aren't any, Dad. Like Claire said, the mound is contaminated. It's already been opened. She never found anything here. All her equipment is still here. They weren't interested in stealing that."

They nodded, took notes, and then drove to the lake where Sean attempted to find the spot where he found Geronimo.

Nothing was there, just dried blood. "It was dark. I think this was the spot, but I can't be sure. See the blood. Could be the dog's or Claire's. She said she was standing by the tree, leaning over the dog when she heard someone behind her. She turned, saw a dark figure, and then bam. She woke up in the lake."

The deputy rolled a rock over with his foot. "That's what she told us in the hospital. There's nothing here now that we can use."

They made their way back to their vehicles. Sheriff Martin opened his door and threw his clipboard on the seat. "I don't know what to tell you, Sean. I'll look for this truck, but otherwise, I got nothing here. Just a girl in the hospital creamed by a sharp object. You're the only witness, and you didn't see the incident. Nothing really to investigate."

Sean frowned. "Someone tried to kill her, Dad."

"You don't really know this girl, Sean. Shows up from Richmond and says she's here to do a dig. For all you know, she could be selling drugs at that university of hers, and someone decided to collect a debt. Maybe I'll see if she has a criminal record. You always were a sucker for a pretty face."

Sean shook his head. "Stupid as always. Okay, then. You do what you have to do. Looks like she's only got me to depend on. You guys are useless. Move your SUV. I've got to get to the hospital."

With that, he opened the door for Geronimo to climb back in, but instead, the dog got behind Sean's legs. He growled at Sheriff Martin. Then he started to bark.

The sheriff's eyes were cold. "Control your dog, Sean, or someone might get hurt."

"Get in the truck, Geronimo. I know how you feel. I'd growl too if I could. I'm just too disgusted." Sean helped the dog up onto the seat. Sean followed the police down the farm road. He stopped by the farm to let Geronimo out at the house and then drove on to town.

Claire was sitting up in bed, fully dressed in oversized clothes a nurse had lent her. Her dirty and bloody clothes were in a bag to take home. Sean was shocked to see her swollen face. Her eyes were slits. She managed to smile when she saw Sean.

"I must look horrible, I know. The doctor says the swelling will go down soon. I don't have a comb. Or a mirror."

Sean handed over his comb from his back pocket. "I don't expect you to be a beauty queen under these circumstances. Don't have a mirror to give you. Real men don't use mirrors. Did you eat your lunch already?"

Claire pointed to her mouth. "Jaw hurts too much. They said I either fell hard on my face when I was struck or he continued to hit me in the face after I fell. My head stills hurts, and my vision's pretty fuzzy. At least I'm alive. That's the good news."

Sean sat down on the side of the bed. "Best news ever!" He took her hand and squeezed it.

"This is my second head trauma. I've been through this all before."

Sean looked up, shocked. "Someone attacked you before?"

Claire leaned back on her pillow. "No. It wasn't like that. When I was four, I was riding my bike, and a car backed over me. My brain swelled, and I almost died. After that, I remember seeing the old man who hit me in my hospital room. He wanted to say he was sorry. There was only one problem."

Sean looked into her eyes. "He was a ghost?"

"Yeah. Seems he died that afternoon of a heart attack from the stress of hitting me. No one believed me, but I knew he had come back just to see me. After that, I continued to see spirits. Like the woman in the yellow plaid dress. She wanted us to find her, not the person who dug up her bones in that mound. Did your father find any evidence of who attacked me?"

Sean laughed. "Not a damned thing. He's investigating you. He thinks you brought trouble here from Richmond."

Now Claire looked shocked. "Do you think he's covering for his Indian friend? Only Chief Bransome knew exactly where I was digging. It would only make sense that if I was close to a body, he would have to come back to dig it up before I accidently found it. Your dad could at least ask him where he was last night."

Sean ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "I told him that. Told him lots of things. Showed him the dog. He's good, by the way."

"Glad to hear it."

"My dad is treating this attack as if you deserved it. Provoked it somehow with your digging. I don't get it. You were seriously hurt. You could have drowned in that lake."

Claire nodded. "You know, I got the impression right from the start that I was the enemy. He didn't like me conducting a dig or being friends with you. I think he'd be happy if I went home after all this."

Sean wrapped his fingers around hers. "You're not, are you? I'm kind of fond of you."

Claire smiled. "No. I'm not that easy to kill. Besides, we owe it to the ghost to solve this mystery. She was standing there when he attacked me. I want to know who killed her, buried her in that mound, and then had to split my skull open to hide it. I'm in it for keeps now. The murderer has my full attention. I know that something bad happened on that farm and that I'm supposed to discover it."

"How do I fit into this crime-solving scenario?"

"I'm kind of fond of you too, Sean."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear." Sean stood up. "Then let's get you checked out of here and back to the farm where I can protect you. I'll put up a metal gate I have in the barn, and we'll see how easy that will be to dismantle. I won't leave you alone again, Claire. Consider me your shadow."

Claire smiled. "I like the sound of that. You know, Sean, I have a cousin who's a cop in Richmond. I could call him and run all this by him. We could show him the piece of cloth we found in the cemetery. Do you still have the one we found at the mound?"

"Yeah, in my truck. You better leave out the ghost part, though. He would say you've been hit one too many times on the head."

"Oh, I'm sure he's heard the family rumors. We used to play together as kids."

There was a knock on the door behind them. They turned to see Sheriff Martin coming in. He tossed a newspaper to Sean. The front page showed Chief Bransome giving a speech on the Richmond capital steps.

"Here's the alibi for Chief Bransome," the sheriff told them. "He was in Richmond last night. Didn't get back until this afternoon. Got any other theories? Domestic violence, for instance? You hit her, Sean?"

Sean glared at his father. "I can't believe you're even asking me that, Dad. In fact, I don't think I'll ever speak to you again."

Claire leaned forward, her face set. "You have my statement, Sheriff Martin. I was attacked with a shovel in the woods by the lake. That's all we have to say. We're going home now. Your job is to find the man who attacked me, not treat us like criminals."

They stormed out of the room.

### Chapter Twelve

They stopped by the drug store to pick up some pain pills for Claire. Then they drove back to Windleigh. Geronimo was waiting for them in the yard when they drove up.

Claire scratched his head, careful to avoid the cut. "Probably could use some antibiotics. Got some in the house. Here, boy. I bet you're hungry."

They went into the house. Sean had picked up sandwiches for lunch, and they heated them up in the microwave.

"I did talk to your father last night, Sean. He came in after you left to get a statement. Then he asked me when I was leaving town."

"What?" Sean laid the sandwiches on paper plates. "Let me guess. For the good of the Sylvester family, right? You're ruining their reputation because Bransome keeps writing articles about how you're desecrating imaginary Indian graves."

Claire poured her Coke into a glass. "Said I could be in danger and that you couldn't protect me all the time. A subtle threat, I think. The message being, go back to Richmond where you belong, and things will go back to normal."

"I got news for him. Things will never be normal again, as far as I'm concerned. I'm through with him. I'll protect you with my last breath."

Claire frowned. "That shouldn't be necessary, Sean. Still got your gun, though?"

"Yeah. I had to promise to leave it in the Sylvester gun cabinet where it belongs. I accidently walked into the hospital with the gun in my pocket, and the guard saw it. Prison flashed before my eyes again. It's in my truck right now. It's not really going back in the cabinet, of course."

Claire nodded. "Teach me to shoot. It might come in handy even in Richmond. Oh, what's that flashing light on the phone? Someone called me. Push the button, Sean."

Sean leaned over and punched the message button on the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. It was Sean's friend, Jack Copeland, at the airfield. The weather tomorrow was promising, and his schedule was clear to take Claire up for aerial photos of the mounds.

Claire thought about it. "Call him back and say I'll go. He doesn't do loops, right? My head couldn't take it."

"Not in his plane. He doesn't allow it. Strictly business. He has an aerial camera, and we'll have to get the photos developed outside Hooverton or everyone in town will know what we took pictures of."

Claire agreed. "Sheriff Martin included. Let's go back to Richmond for a day. I want to stop by my cousin's office and get his advice. His lab can tell us the age of the scraps of cloth. I can show you around the university."

Sean put down his glass. "I'd sure like to get off this farm for awhile. Sounds great. Well, I'm off to the barn to bring around a spare metal gate. It'll serve as a barricade for now. Come on, Geronimo. He's become my sidekick." Geronimo followed him out, wagging his tail.

• • •

The next morning they headed for the Hooverton Air Field, leaving Geronimo to run free on the farm. On the way, Claire told Sean about her phone call to her police cousin, Fred St. John. She reached him at home, and first they got caught up on family business. Then she relayed the events of the last two days and how Sheriff Martin didn't seem interested in helping them to find the assailant. She mentioned the cloth they found in the trench at the mound.

"He'll have it analyzed for us. I don't think he'll find anything like blood now. It's too old. Still, I want him to give it a shot. You never know."

Half an hour later they arrived at the Hooverton Air Field. Claire was surprised at how small the airport was. There were two hangars and two small runways for coming and going.

"How do you know Jack?" Claire asked as they pulled up to a hangar.

"Knew him from high school. He learned to fly in aviation school thanks to the army. He works for Chief Bransome's brother Larry who handles all the real estate in Amberson County. He has him fly clients in from all over Virginia to look at property here. Summer homes. Investments. A lot of people retire here because it's got a lot of scenery, and it's cheap. Larry would love to get his hands on Windleigh. Dr. Bob told me he wanted to build homes around the lake."

Claire climbed out of the truck. "But Dr. Sylvester won't sell?"

"Nope. Another reason the Bransomes hate us. We're standing in the way of their progress."

Claire laughed. "You mean greed."

"Same thing. Here's Jack. Hey, Jack, this is Claire, the archaeologist I was telling you about."

Claire shook hands with Jack Copeland, owner of the Red Eagle. He was Sean's age, his blonde hair hidden by his ball cap. Claire noticed he also had a red eagle tattoo sticking out of his shirt sleeve. A realty logo was painted on the side of the black plane with Bransome Enterprises written underneath.

"Ah, the famous Claire of the Indian mounds. Chief Bransome sure is giving you a hard time in the papers. Sheriff Martin said you had had some trouble recently. I take it that bandage on your head was the result. Anyone charged yet?"

Sean shook his head. "Nope. Someone hit her in the head with a shovel, and he thinks it's our fault. I wish my father would do more investigating than spreading rumors with Chief Bransome."

Jack laughed as he helped Claire get into the small cabin of the plane. She buckled up. Sean sat scrunched up in the back seat.

Jack got in and started the plane. He yelled over the engine, "I'm going to run the camera as I fly. Did you want the whole farm or just the mound area?"

Claire yelled back, "The mounds are my first priority. It would be great, though, if we could get the whole farm to determine the overall topography. There might be other mounds that we can only pick up from the air."

"Okay. The whole farm it is. This will be the second time I photographed this farm. Larry had me do it a couple of weeks ago."

Sean leaned forward between the seats, listening to Jack's words. He had to talk over the noise of the engine. "They wanted to offer Dr. Sylvester a lot more money and see if he would sell out in the end. Larry had some plan for the land and needed the pictures for the pitch."

"I don't think it went well," Sean said from the back. "No For Sale sign out front."

Jack chuckled. "I heard Larry talking to Jean Browderman, his lawyer sister, about tearing down the mansion and putting houses in the fields. Designer homes for Richmond retirees would go in around the lake. All they had to do was change the zoning and convince Dr. Sylvester. That was the hardest part."

Sean nodded. He leaned toward Claire. "Chief Bransome has plenty of irons in the fire around here. He and his brother have put up several developments. They do the selling, and their lawyer sister handles the titles and closing costs. Jean also knows who owes back taxes and takes their land if she can find a legal loophole. These are my father's so-called friends."

"You'd think Chief Bransome wouldn't want to put up houses on land with Indian mounds. Isn't that against his principles?" Claire asked.

Sean shook his head. "What principles? It's all an act. Everyone knows it."

Jack pointed to the land below. "That's the farm. Starting the camera now." They buzzed the mansion, and Claire could see Geronimo standing in the yard looking up at the plane.

Claire waved. "I think he knows it's us, Sean. He's barking."

They were over the mounds, Claire's blue tarp clearly visible from the air. Then they were flying over the woods and the lake.

"Wow," Claire pointed out the window. "I didn't realize how large the lake is. That's quite a lot of property."

Then they circled the barn and surrounding woods, opposite the hayfield and left of the mansion. Claire noticed a sharp ravine visible through the trees that lined the hill leading down to the lake.

"What's that, Sean? That metal thing down there in that big ditch? Something just flashed between the trees."

Sean looked out the window. He told Jack to circle the barn again. He saw a large silver square in the ditch.

Claire turned around. "Looks like an old abandoned car. Did the Sylvesters use the ravine for trash?"

Sean stared at the ground. "No. He recycles all the scrap metal. I've never seen any old cars on the property. He never mentioned it."

Claire shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't know about it."

"It's against the law now to abandon vehicles on your land," Jack said. "He'd better move it or he'll be fined."

"I'll tell him," Sean said. A few minutes later they were back at the air field. Claire, slightly dizzy, was glad to be back on the ground. Sean helped her out of the plane while Jack unloaded the film canister. He handed the film to Sean who already had his wallet out, unrolling several bills.

"What's the extra money for?" Jack asked, counting.

"Don't say a word to my dad or any Bransomes that we were here or that you took pictures. I'm tired of him knowing my business."

Jack nodded. "I understand. They won't hear it from me. Just taking some friends sight-seeing."

They waved goodbye and headed home.

That night, sitting around the patio after Sean had grilled a couple of steaks and opened a bottle of wine, Claire and Sean stared at the stars.

"Claire, I had a thought about that ring you found at the mound with those initials, S. A. Looking through the phonebook, I found out there's not a lot of families here with last names that start with A. There's one in particular, the old widow Phyllis Anderson, who still lives in Hooverton. I was just a kid, but I remember she had a son named Sam who moved away. He used to run the local gas station and gave me candy. Nice guy. One day I came by and the station was closed. Never saw Sam again."

Claire sipped her wine. "Hmm. Was he married? The ring's too small to be a man's. What connection would he have to this farm?"

"None whatsoever. What connection does your ghost have to this farm? Sam wasn't married that I know of. But then, I was a kid. I wasn't exactly the most observant."

Claire nodded. "It doesn't hurt to ask. Maybe we could pay her a visit when we're in town. She might recognize it. But the big question would be, how does a ring from someone like that get buried in an Indian mound?"

Sean scratched his head. "Well, you think it has something to do with the woman in your picture, right? Since you saw the cloth in the trench, then you might assume the woman was buried there. It's her ring. A clue you're supposed to find."

Claire nodded. "I'm sure the ring is the key to everything, but as always, I'm just not sure of the details. You all set to run up to Richmond tomorrow to see my cousin Fred?"

"Sure. Let's slip up to the woods in the morning, though, and check out that car in the ravine. I had one of your bad feelings when you pointed it out to me today. It's not supposed to be there. I need to know if it's been there awhile or was put there recently. With all that's been going on around here, I can't take the chance that the car is just something else I've missed. I'm sure Dr. Bob would want me to get it pulled out of there."

Geronimo suddenly appeared from the yard and laid his head in Claire's lap. She fed him some leftover scraps from the steak dinner. He licked her fingers.

"Okay. Bright and early, before it gets hot. I've got to get started on Mound #2. My career depends on it. Mound #1 was a bust."

"Not really, Claire. The ring. A concussion. Cloth from a floating ghost. I'd say you hit the jackpot."

Claire sighed, feeling her bandage on her head. "Except for meeting you, Sean, this summer is the worst one on record as far as making progress on a dig. It can only go up from here."

### Chapter Thirteen

The next morning Claire, Sean, and Geronimo got into Sean's truck and headed in the direction of the barn. Claire had never seen this side of the farm before. Stretched out in all directions were green pastures with black cows scattered in the distance.

Claire asked Sean, "How many acres does Dr. Sylvester own all together?"

"Almost three hundred, I think. Now he doesn't own it all himself. His brothers and sister all have a share in the estate, left to them by Dr. Bob's father. They let him rent the place out, and Dr. Bob treats the house like his summer home. It's a win-win for everyone. He's the trustee of the estate. He makes all the financial decisions for the whole family."

"But Dr. Sylvester is the only one that intends to live here?"

"Yeah, his brothers and sisters are scattered all over the country. None of them are coming back. I think they'd sell in a minute, but Dr. Bob won't let them. He wants to keep it in his family."

They drove around the barn to the back of the property where the forest met the fields. A wire fence separated the woods from the pasture.

"The lake is on the back side of the woods, so I figure the ravine is just down the hill. You want to remain in the truck while I scout it out?"

Claire opened the truck door and got out. "No. Too hot in the truck. I'll be careful. You lead the way."

Geronimo immediately ran ahead, sniffing the grass and disappearing into the woods. Sean pulled up on the wire fence to allow Claire to slip through. He followed, helping her through the brush. They stopped at the edge of the ravine, the sunlight filtering through the trees. Light reflected off the metal of the car like a flashing star.

"There it is. It's a car alright. Ready to go down? There might be snakes so be careful. Don't fall, you don't need any more stitches," Sean warned her.

"I'm just trying to keep the ones in my head in place. I'll hold on to you."

They practically slid down the bank, Sean doing his best to keep Claire and himself upright. Large blackberry bushes had grown up in the ravine, obscuring the car. All that showed was the underside of the car with its rotten tires in the air. "Upside down. I wonder how that happened," Sean remarked. He pushed his way into the brush and stomped down the briars until he uncovered the passenger door of the car.

"It's an old Ford Thunderbird. Someone pushed it over the edge of the ravine so it would flip upside down. Wedged it there pretty tight." Sean got down on his knees and peeked into the dirty window. "I can't see much. Wait a minute."

Sean went to find a rock. Then he returned and smashed in the window, careful to smooth down the edges where the glass had been. He waited to see if any animals would rush out, but it was quiet.

"The glove compartment is open," he told her. "Nothing there."

"There's a lot of that going around," Claire said.

Sean got down on his stomach, turned on his back, and began pushing himself through the open window.

Claire grabbed his foot. "What are you doing, Sean? You have no idea what's been living in there!"

"Sure I do. Looks like mice. Or a groundhog," he called out. "Something square in the back seat. Wait, I can almost reach it. Oops, it's large. Like a suitcase or something. Stuck. Stand back. I've got another idea."

Sean slid out of the open window, his back covered with dirt and spider webs. Claire had moved around to the back of the car, looking for a license plate.

"No plate," she observed, taking a picture with her cell phone. "You didn't see any bones in there, did you?"

"No, but the animals might have carried them off by now. Thunderbird, man, that was decades ago. I'm going to break the back window now."

He smashed the glass with his rock and cleared it away from the opening. He and Claire peered into the back seat where two suitcases sat on the ceiling of the car.

Claire grabbed his shoulder. "How suspicious is that? Suitcases. Why would you abandon a car in a ditch without taking the suitcases out? This reeks of foul play."

"Oh yeah. Stinks to high heaven." Sean reached in and grabbed a corner of one of the black suitcases. His hand went through the case. Carefully he scooted it toward the window.

"Rotten," he told Claire. "Won't come through the window in this state. Wait, I feel clothes. I'm going to pull this stuff out of the suitcase."

Sean dragged out a flannel shirt which had been partly eaten by mice. "A man's clothes. Here's something else."

Next came a pair of black pants, some yellowed underwear with holes, and three more shirts.

"One last thing. It's hard. Wrapped up. Just a second." Sean strained against the car frame, extending his arm as far as it would go. His fingers grabbed the bundle and pulled it out of the crumbling suitcase and onto the ground. Claire gingerly unrolled the shirt until a revolver fell out. They both stared at it.

"A man expecting trouble," Sean said.

Claire frowned. "Looks like he found it." She wrapped the revolver back up. "My cousin can trace this gun. Maybe."

"I doubt that they registered guns back in those days. But maybe he can tell us something about it. How old it is or whether it's been fired or not. Maybe there's a serial number."

Claire hugged the bundle. "We should call the police, don't you think? This may be a crime scene. We may be in trouble if we keep silent, and they find out about it later."

Sean stood up and brushed himself off. "That would mean calling my dad, and that's not a good idea. Not yet. Let's think about it some more."

He grabbed the rotted clothes, and they carefully made their way back up the ravine to the truck. Geronimo was waiting on them with a stick in his mouth. When Sean opened the tailgate, he dropped the stick and jumped in.

"Later, boy," Sean patted him on the head. "I promise." They drove back to the house where Claire put the revolver and clothes in an empty box she found upstairs. While Sean took a quick shower and changed clothes, Claire took a pain killer and relaxed. She changed the bandage on her head, not wanting to shock Fred. He hadn't seen her for awhile.

They left Geronimo out to roam the farm. Stopping at the bottom of the drive, Sean opened the heavy metal gate that now blocked the entrance way. He also checked the mail. Claire watched as he pulled a large yellow envelope out of the black mailbox. He stared at it for a minute, looking perplexed. He slowly walked back to the truck.

"What is it?" Claire asked him as he climbed back into the truck. He showed her the front of the envelope.

"It's addressed to you but has no postage on it. Someone delivered it personally. What's even weirder is that the letters are cut out of magazines just like in the movies. This can't be good."

Claire went to reach for it, but Sean held it back. "Nope. Don't think you should even touch it, Claire. Let your cousin open it. Check for fingerprints." He threw it into the box on Claire's lap that contained the newly found revolver, clothes from the car, and specimen bags of cloth.

Their first stop in Richmond was at the paint store where Sean stocked up on porch paint, paint brushes, and door locks. He still had to paint the front porch of Windleigh and change all the door locks. They stopped by Claire's apartment for a short time and picked up her mail.

"None of my neighbors know that I'm gone for the summer. That's how apartments get robbed in Richmond. Only the people at the university know where I am and what I'm doing. Your father's theory that someone followed me to Amberson County is nuts."

They dropped off their aerial film at a photo shop Claire was used to working with, often developing her site pictures for the university. They drove over to Bradford University and parked behind the anthropology department. Sean put Claire's parking sticker in the windshield to keep the truck from being towed. They found Dr. Jobin working in her office.

"My God, Claire!" The professor jumped up out of her seat. "Why do you have a bandage on your head?"

Claire explained the recent events at the farm. "I didn't know Indian mounds could be so dangerous. Dr. Sylvester didn't mention I could get killed."

Dr. Jobin hugged her. "I'm sure he never dreamed that you would get hurt. And I thought Richmond was a dangerous place! Well, come on back home. I'll find you another project to finish up your summer. You don't have to put up with stalkers."

Claire shook her head. "No can do, Dr. Jobin. Sean and I are both committed to finishing what we started. I'm still convinced I can find evidence of ceremonial platforms, and I'm not about to throw that away now."

Dr. Jobin eyed Sean. "And who is this fine young man at your side?"

Claire introduced him, explaining his job as manager of the farm. Sean flashed her a smile. "I'm helping Claire with the dig when I'm not busy mowing and mending fence. She's taught me a lot about what goes on during an archaeology dig."

Claire squeezed his arm. "He already knows I'm no fun so don't bother telling him."

"Ah, you just need someone who will appreciate you. Sounds like Sean knows all about you and is still at your side. I think he's a keeper, Claire."

Claire looked at Sean. "I'm beginning to think that too."

After they left the school, they went back to the photo shop to pick up the pictures. The aerial pictures were so large that they were packed in a box. They went through a fast food drive-thru for lunch.

"I used to work here," Claire explained. "That's how I ended up in Amberson County this summer. I didn't want to go back if I could find a better offer."

Sean nodded. "I'm awfully glad you did."

Later, sitting in the police parking lot, Claire went through her site pictures and the aerial pictures to see if any should go to her cousin.

Claire slid a picture to Sean. "Look at this." Sean was shoving a fry in his mouth. He wiped his hand on a napkin. "It's a good picture of the car in the ravine, but it's hard to see because the car is upside down."

Sean held the picture up to the window. "That was the point, wasn't it? Hide the car all these years. Even from the air, it was tough to see it. It wasn't meant to be found."

They went into the busy police station, carrying the box of evidence. They gave their names to the policeman at the window who let them walk through the scanner. It buzzed because of the gun, and they handed over the box, their cell phones, and watches.

"In trouble already?" Fred St. John met them on the other side of the metal detector. Four years older than Claire but with the same blonde hair and cheek bones, they looked like twins. Fred hugged Claire and shook hands with Sean. He looked like a detective, dressed in his blue shirt, khakis, and a loose dark blue tie. His blazer and gun holster hung on the back of his desk chair.

Fred led them to a seat at his desk. "How long has it been, Claire? Ten years, maybe?" He motioned for them to sit down. "You've changed. All grown up. I hear you're an archaeologist now at Bradford. Judging from the bandage on your head, it must be pretty rough."

Claire shrugged. "Oh I think you have a more dangerous job, Fred. This is Sean, my friend and witness to many of the events I'm going to tell you about. I can't believe you turned out to be a cop, Fred. You were always the defiant one."

Fred smiled. "Well, they make the best cops. Someone has to fight the bad guys, and it takes one to catch one. Let me get my notebook so I can jot the facts down. We're supposed to use Ipads, but I can't get used to the darned things." He also placed a small tape recorder on the desk and pushed start.

### Chapter Fourteen

Claire touched Fred's hand. "Hold on, Fred. I want the first part of this conversation to be off the record. It involves a ghost."

Fred nodded. "Of course it does, Claire. Sean, I've heard all my life from my mother that Claire can communicate with the dead. I imagine this is all new to you."

Sean nodded. "New yes, but I'm afraid the dead woman appeared to me too. And I have no history with the dead. Never asked for it. I'll swear on a pack of Bibles that what Claire will be telling you is the absolute truth."

Fred turned off the recorder. "Okay, let's hear it."

Claire started with the sudden appearance of the woman in the picture of the farm she was given by Dr. Sylvester. "This woman came again the first night I was at Windleigh. I told Sean about it, and the next night he went looking for her and saw her in the woods. She was wearing a dress made from this." Claire reached into the box she had brought and pulled out the specimen bags filled with the yellow plaid cloth.

Claire told Fred about the Indian mound and the bad publicity she had gotten in the newspaper thanks to Sheriff Martin and Chief Bransome. "I found a silver wedding ring in the dirt. Sure doesn't belong there, Fred. So when we saw someone at the mound two nights ago, I wasn't surprised to find that they were up there trying to beat me to the punch. It's pretty obvious something was dug up that night. Again, this cloth was there in the trench. We chased this person through the woods and tried to cut him off down at the lake. That's when he came at me with a shovel in the dark and tried to drown me in the lake."

Fred leaned back in his chair. "That's quite a story, Claire. You're convinced that this cloth is the key to a past murder?"

Claire nodded. "Yes. That's what the woman in the picture is trying to tell me. I think her body was in the mound, and I was meant to find it. Instead, someone heard I was digging in the mound and beat me to it. Can you analyze this cloth?"

Fred held the specimen bag up to the light. "For?"

"Age. Blood. Dirt. Hair. DNA. Anything that might be helpful," Claire suggested.

Sean pointed to the box. "Then there's exhibit B. We found a car hidden in a ravine on the farm. It was upside down, but I broke out the back window to find two suitcases in the back. These clothes and that gun were in one of the suitcases. We were wondering if you can trace the gun."

Fred pulled out the bag with the gun and set it on his desk. "Old. Worn. Loaded. Well, Claire. I do think you might have stumbled upon something askew at the farm even without the ghost's help. But unless you can prove there's been a murder, as in real bones, a missing person, or blood, I don't think I can get involved. This is legally a case for the sheriff's department of Amberson County. They're the ones with the missing person reports and bank robberies."

Claire crossed her arms. "I don't think I can expect any help from Sheriff Martin, Sean's father. I even think I need to file a complaint. Sean has a prison record so he's always the sheriff's department's first suspect. His father practically accused Sean of beating me and lying about it. Said he needed to investigate me. His reasoning was where there are university students, drug dealing follows. Fred, tell Sean that I am exactly who I say I am. A poor archaeology student."

Fred nodded. "That she is, Sean. You two are welcome to bring these issues up with the county government. Might make things harder on you though when the sheriff finds out who is accusing him of not doing his job."

Sean reached for the last thing in the box, the sealed envelope that had arrived in the mail that morning. He handed it to Fred. "Exhibit C."

Taking a pair of latex gloves out of his desk, Fred carefully opened the large envelope with his letter opener. Then he slid the letter out and unfolded it.

"St. John. You have no business here. Go back to Richmond and leave the Indian graves alone. We don't like your kind here. Next time you'll lose your whole head," Fred read aloud.

"Wow," Sean gasped. "Now that's a threat. Has to come from the guy who attacked you in the woods, Claire."

Fred slid the letter back into the envelope. "I'll have the lab check for fingerprints, Claire. Looks like he cut the letters out of magazines."

"So, you'll help us?" Claire asked him.

He shook his head. "Again, my hands are tied, Claire. This case is out of my jurisdiction. I can ask the sheriff if he needs my help, but that would tell him you'd been here. I'll run the evidence through the lab. I'm on vacation next Wednesday. Why don't I come by and have a look around? Make some inquiries. The sheriff doesn't know me or my connection to you."

Claire's face brightened. "That would be great, Fred! Okay, we'll leave this stuff with you and start back to the farm. You have my cell phone number if anything turns up."

Fred hugged Claire. "Sure do. Have a safe trip back, and keep the doors locked. This person seems hell-bent on stopping you at the mounds. Be careful."

They left police headquarters. It was now late afternoon and time to head for home. Geronimo was waiting.

"I feel hopeful," Claire told Sean. "Now that we have told Fred everything we know so far, I think he'll be able to help us sort all this out. He's pretty level-headed. Maybe we could get the proof we need to go over the sheriff's head and get the higher ups to step in."

When they reached Hooverton, Sean made a detour and filled the truck up with gas. "This is where that old gas station was that Sam Anderson ran when I was a kid. His mother sold it after he left." Then Sean drove a couple of blocks to a small white house on a corner. The grass was overgrown and the walkway cracked with weeds growing between the stepping stones.

"Someone lives here?" Claire stared out the window. There was a light in the house.

Sean got out. "Let's find out. Bring the ring and the shirt we saved from the car."

Claire pulled the ring in its bag out of her purse and picked up the shirt rolled up in a grocery bag on the floor of the truck. She had saved one from the collection she gave Fred. Sean knocked on the door. They stood there for a few minutes, deciding whether to go. Then they heard someone slowly unlocking the door.

A very elderly woman in a pink housecoat and slippers opened the door. "Yes, what is it?" Her hair was snow white, pulled back into a tight bun. She was wearing a faded green housecoat and pink bedroom slippers. Standing behind her walker, she stared at them.

"Mrs. Anderson, it's Sean Martin. Harry's son. This is Claire St. John from Richmond. We're living at Windleigh, the Sylvesters' old home. We wanted to ask you some questions about your son Sam."

Her face lit up with alarm. "Sam! What do you know about Sam? Have you seen him?"

Sean shook his head. "No, Mrs. Anderson. We hoped you might know where he is. We found something we think might belong to him."

A tear rolled down Mrs. Anderson's wrinkled cheek. She opened the screen door. "I haven't heard from Sam in twenty some years."

Claire and Sean looked at each other. Sean nudged Claire through the door. They followed Mrs. Anderson into the living room and sat down on an old yellow couch where several cats jumped up and ran away at the sight of visitors.

Mrs. Anderson sat down in a red chair after dumping her knitting back into a basket on the floor. "Sam told me he was going to California and would write me when he got there. The last time I saw him, he was tossing his suitcases in the back of his car. It was a Friday night in September, I believe. He was picking up a woman, and they were going to get married secretly. He told me no one could know because she had a jealous boyfriend. And that was the last time I saw him. No cards. No letters. It broke my heart."

Claire felt the hair on her arm stand up. "Mrs. Anderson, what kind of car was he driving that day?"

"White Thunderbird. His dad's car."

Sean leaned forward. "There's an upside down Thunderbird in a ravine at the farm, Mrs. Anderson, with two suitcases in the back. Do you recognize this shirt? It's one we found at the site."

Claire held up the faded blue flannel shirt. Mrs. Anderson shrugged her shoulders. "He often wore shirts like that. It's been a long time. What else did you find?"

"A revolver," Sean told her. The old woman's mouth hung open in shock.

"Yes! He took his dad's gun! This can't be a coincidence. What was Sam doing over at the Sylvester farm? Did you find anything else?"

Claire showed her the ring. "I found this buried in the Indian mound on the farm. It has the words, "Love Always, S. A." on it. Have you seen this before?"

Mrs. Anderson fingered the ring. "No, but he told me he was getting married. Maybe this is the ring he took with him for his bride."

"Who was this mysterious bride?" Sean asked her.

"I don't know. I never saw her. He kept everything so secret. He said the boyfriend would hurt her if he found out. I wish now I'd been more nagging. I could have got it out of him, perhaps. You know Lew Fisher, Sean?"

Sean nodded. "The old jeweler?"

"Yeah, you might ask him if he remembers selling that ring to Sam. He's retired of course, but I think his number is in the book. Even your dad would remember Sam's old car. Has he seen it yet?"

Sean looked away. "No, you're our first stop. The police in Richmond are coming out to look at the car next week. Best not to mention this to my dad just yet. We have to have our ducks in a row. Have some evidence before we go to him with a theory. Did you ever file a missing person's report with my father?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. Your father said he would take care of it. I never heard back from him. I don't think he found anything."

"He doesn't have a good track record," Sean grumbled.

Suddenly the old woman was crying again, holding a tissue to her eyes. "Sammy's dead, isn't he? I guess I've always known that deep inside. Somewhere in this town is a murderer. That boyfriend found them, didn't he?"

Claire squeezed Mrs. Anderson's shoulders. "We don't know anything for sure, Mrs. Anderson. There was no sign of a body in the car. Until we get the suitcases out, we're only guessing that the car is Sam's. We'll let you know more when we know more. Here's my cell phone number if you remember anything else."

Claire scribbled her number down on a napkin and handed it to Mrs. Anderson. Then they left for home.

"So the plot thickens," Sean told her in the truck. "You know, my dad wasn't sheriff back then. He was a deputy. Still, I wonder why he didn't help Mrs. Anderson."

"It's not against the law to leave town, Sean. Sam was a grown man. If he chose not to call his mother, your father couldn't make him."

"She's a little old woman, for God's sake. She used to be my Sunday school teacher. He could have at least acted like he was looking for Sam."

Claire shrugged. "I don't think your dad does anything that doesn't benefit him. Finding Sam didn't interest him. Missing person cases are the worst."

Back at Windleigh, Sean unwired the gate against the entrance way and wired it back after he drove through mumbling, "For all the good it does. They can always cut the fence somewhere and drive on through. Tomorrow, I'm going to check the fence line just for that reason."

Geronimo was waiting for his dinner by the kitchen door. He was wet from a dip in the lake, shaking vigorously all over Sean.

Sean jumped away. "I can see your dog had an exciting day chasing groundhogs in the woods. Looks like he decided to cool off in the lake. You might want to feed him outside until his fur is dry."

Claire laughed. She brought Geronimo's food bowl outside. After dinner, Sean and Claire sat around the living room looking over the aerial pictures.

Claire showed Sean what she had discovered. "See the mound configurations? There's a definite pattern here. The mounds are lined up with the North Star. I think I can prove that this is a Mississippian Culture site and that these mounds were ceremonial platforms after all. Good news for my career."

Sean handed her another picture. "There's another mound here, I think."

Claire nodded. "See, you're an archaeologist already. Great observation. These woods weren't there when this mound was built. You have to imagine what it would have looked like before the forest sprang up. Now I have something to prove and write about so this summer won't be all about being pounded on the head with a shovel."

Sean smiled. "No. It is hereby known as the summer you met Sean Martin."

She grinned. "And the summer you met Claire St. John and changed your life."

### Chapter Fifteen

That night Sean stretched out on the couch with a blanket he found in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Dr. Sylvester's gun was back in the gun cabinet, but the cabinet door was unlatched for easy access. He made sure all the doors of the house were locked. Then Geronimo and Claire went upstairs to bed, leaving Sean to stand guard downstairs. Sean reached for the newspaper to catch up on his reading but soon fell asleep.

• • •

The man cut a hole in the fence instead of bothering with the elaborate metal gate and new chains blocking the entrance way to the farm. It was easier with the bolt cutters to clip the fence and peel back the wires. In just a few minutes he was off the road and in the pasture, the truck lights off. He crossed the driveway and pulled down to the Sylvester Cemetery gate.

The garbage bag of bones and rotting clothes, all that was left of the dead woman, was in the back of the truck.

"You always were a lot of trouble," he grumbled as he opened the door and quietly slipped out into the night. It was dark, but he could sense a thunderstorm coming. He would have to be quick this time and finish the job once and for all. He didn't want any complications like a dog or zealous archaeologist. If it came down to him or her, it was going to be him that walked away. He'd killed before, and he wouldn't hesitate to kill again. She'd better stay out of his way.

First he put on his plastic gloves. Then he turned on his flashlight. Careful not to slam the door hard, he got out and reached into the back to grab hold of the bag and set it on the ground. Then he got his shovel, the same shovel that had Claire's blood on it, and walked up the dark driveway. He slid open the garage door as quietly as possible and slipped the shovel inside. Then he returned to his truck and shouldered his new shovel. Dragging the bag and his flashlight, he walked toward the cemetery.

The wet grass stained his pants, the moisture going through his tennis shoes. He shivered, despite the heat. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head, the air thick and still. Far off, in the distance, lightning lit up the sky, flashing orange and red streaks.

He came to the cemetery and the open gate. He couldn't chance burying her there. It was the same reason he couldn't dig a hole in his own backyard. Someone would notice the fresh dirt. No matter, he had another spot in mind. Dr. Sylvester had talked once about the slave graveyard which was now in the woods behind the family cemetery, covered now with briars, brush, and poison ivy.

White stones stood like soldiers in the dark. He glanced nervously around, hearing a rustling in the trees. He walked to end of the cemetery rusted rod-iron fence and tossed the bag and his shovel over. Then he climbed after them, practically stepping over the already leaning fence.

Now he was in the woods. The dirt here was soft, spongy from last week's rain. He tripped over a rock, caught himself, and leaned against an old cedar tree. Here he saw with his flashlight an old tombstone within the roots of the tree. He moved to the right and dug his shovel into the black soil. But it was too rocky, and he couldn't make any headway. He looked around again, shining his light over the rough ground.

The ground was uneven, pitted with sunken graves. He chose one nearby and dug there. This time, he was able to make a large hole. Thunder suddenly sounded, and he almost dropped his shovel. He was only down two feet or so, but he was exhausted from the heat. Perspiration poured off his forehead, his heart pounding hard.

He tossed the bag in and hastily heaped the dirt over it. Even if animals dug up the bag, there was little chance that anyone would see it. The bones would be scattered, like some dead animal had died there. No one would guess they were human.

"The end," he said to himself. He was finally in the clear. She would be impossible to identify in this state of decay. No one could determine the cause of death now.

There was that rustling again. He picked up his light. He thought he heard someone moaning. Or crying. The wind came up suddenly, swirling the dead leaves around his feet. Then he saw her, not five feet away. She looked straight at him, her hat half covering the black eyes. Her hand clutched the necklace at her neck while her stringy dark hair stuck to the faded yellow plaid dress. Her mouth was open like a black hole, and he thought he heard his name coming from the vile rotting lips.

He put his hands over his ears. "Shut up! Shut up! You rotten bitch!" He reached for his shovel and swung at her. It went right through her, and he struck the cedar tree with a wrenching force. His shoulder burned with intense pain.

He turned, grabbed his light, and ran. He didn't bother to jump the fence but ran blindly through the brush around the Sylvester Cemetery. He forgot his fear of snakes, tromping loudly over the blackberry vines. He had to get back to his truck to escape the dead woman behind him.

She followed, floating through the trees. Whenever he looked back, he could just catch her yellow dress moving toward him. Finally, he jumped into the cab of his truck and locked the door. He quietly backed out and turned the truck around. She was in his back mirror as he drove off. He raised his fist in the air, cursing her name and shaking in anger.

• • •

That night Claire dreamed of the rock wall near the hay field. She was in a long white gown, walking down the farm path to the lake at twilight. Somehow she knew the sun was setting, and she needed to hurry or she would be in the dark. She started to run, but her gown wrapped tightly around her legs and stopped her. She fell into the soft mud at the base of the rock wall. When she tried to rise, she noticed her hands were wet. And red. She'd fallen into a pool of blood leaking from under the pile of rocks.

She sat up, wiping her bloody hands on the gown. Then she heard a hissing sound and saw a huge wooded rattlesnake coiled nearby in the rocks. He reared up, looking at her with evil black eyes and shook his tail. Claire froze in horror, not daring to move.

The snake suddenly turned and went into a hole between the rocks. That's when Claire's eyes fell on an object laying on the rock. It was a big hunting knife covered in fresh bright red blood.

She stood up, reached down, and grabbed the knife by the handle. Blood dripped down the front of her gown. There was another noise, and she whipped around to look in the trees. A dark figure stood there, watching.

"Who are you?" she called out. The figure receded into the shadows. She stepped forward to follow, knife still in her hand when something bit her leg. She looked down and saw the rattlesnake hanging on her gown at her ankle. She screamed.

And woke up. Claire was back in her dark bedroom at Windleigh. Geronimo looked up from the rug on the floor. She reached down and petted him. "There's a bloody knife out there in the rock wall I have to find, Geronimo," she told the dog. "I know where it is. Someone else does too. We'd better get there first."

The next morning Claire told Sean about her dream. "I've been in that spot before. I saw a man kill another man at that rock wall and lose the knife in the stones. It was just before I came here, before I saw the woman in the picture. I think the two are connected, but I just don't know how."

It was Sunday, but Claire was behind on excavating Mound #2. Sean offered to help. "Probably going to come up a thunderstorm this afternoon. I saw heat lightning last night. So, let's work until noon. We'll knock off for some recouping. I need to fill out that college application before the approaching deadline, and you need to catch up on your writing."

Claire looked up, surprised. "So all this talking I've been doing about getting on with your life and coming out into the world has had an effect after all?"

Sean smiled. "Maybe. I've hidden myself on this farm long enough. It's time I went after some dreams of my own. I hope you'll be part of my future. Be at my side, that sort of thing." He reached out and grabbed her hand. She wrapped her fingers around his.

"I think we could try being a couple. I'm warning you, though. Still got that career thing going. Maybe I can squeeze you in there somewhere, though."

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "We won't know until we try. I hope to have my own career thing going. As long as we're together, I think we can work it out. We're more alike than you think. We both want more than we've been given and are willing to go out and chase our dreams. If I hadn't met you, I'd still think I was worthless. You changed all that. I want to be the best I can be. Not just Sean Martin, ex-con."

Claire stood up from the table and hugged him. They got ready to head to the hay field, rounding up the cooler, bottled water, and Geronimo.

Looking at the hole in Mound #1 which was now filled up with water, Claire sighed. "Seems like I've been gone a couple of weeks, but it's only been a couple of days. The police should really dig up this mound and search for human bone fragments. The murderer couldn't have gotten every little thing."

"I don't think my father would do that," Sean told her. "We don't have the evidence to even prove there's been a murder. Just your visions. That would go over well with my father, I know. He already thinks you're trouble with a capital T."

Claire nodded. "Yes, you're right. Forget it. Let's finish the trenching at Mound #2. I'm looking for pottery shards or charcoal that would indicate a fire, and hopefully black earth that would mark post holes for a platform. Let's get to work."

For the next couple of hours, Claire took the site down inches at a time using her trowel. Sean shifted the dirt she accumulated, stacking up the rocks and pebbles he found.

"Ah ha!" Claire finally declared. "I think this is a post hole. See the dark earth. Give me a red flag from my pack. I'll mark it. I'll have to enlarge the trench because I think the length between poles will be at least four feet. This is so exciting!"

Sean frowned, looking down in the trench. "To be honest, this is just too slow going for me, Claire. I think I'd rather be the person researching the history of the site."

Claire stood up, climbing out of the pit. "A historical researcher? That's an excellent field, Sean. We can make that happen. You can start with putting together a history of this farm for me. I'm going to need it for the paper!"

Suddenly thunder roared in the distance. They grabbed the tarp and weighted it down with stones. Sean repacked the equipment against the fence and covered it up. Claire yelled for Geronimo who ran out of the woods.

"Do we have time to stop by the rock wall?" Claire asked, remembering her dream.

Thunder sounded again overhead. "If you're quick about it." Sean started the truck. At the gate of the hay field, they turned right onto the dirt road that led to the lake.

Claire looked at the wall carefully. It grew taller as they rode along. Then Claire spotted a tree by the road. She told Sean to stop and climbed out to stand by the tree.

"I remember this tree. Someone fought here, died here. He dragged the man over here to this spot by the wall. Pushed him down hard on a rock." She walked across the path, pointing. Sean picked up a stick and began rolling the rocks loose from the wall.

"Want to give me a clue as to what I'm looking for?" he asked, poking between the rocks with his stick.

Something clanked. Claire's eyes went wide. "A knife?" Sean continued to dig with the stick, trying to pry the rocks apart.

"I saw a snake too in my dream, Sean. Be careful."

Finally a rock rolled forward, and Sean looked down to see the glint of something metal in the shadows. He started to reach down when Geronimo suddenly barked. He felt something hard hit his leg.

"Snake!" Claire yelled, too late. A brown wooded rattler coiled at Sean's feet, its fangs embedded in Sean's pants. Sean whipped his stick around like a golf club and smashed into the snake. It went flying and landed in the road, near Claire and her barking dog.

"Geronimo, quiet. Stay. Stay. Don't move." The dog followed her command and froze. The snake slithered quickly away into the woods on the other side of the road. When Claire turned back to Sean, he was examining his leg.

She grabbed his shirt. "Let me drive you to the hospital. I'll get the truck. You shouldn't move."

Sean shook his head. "He didn't get me, Claire. Only the pants leg. That was close, though. That's what you get for digging into rocks during the summer."

Claire's eyes went blank. She stared at the rock wall. "He was afraid of snakes, Sean. That's why he didn't go back for the knife. Look, you got it out. There it is."

Sean looked back surprised. It was a large hunting knife with a white bone handle. The blade was brown, covered with dirt and rust. Sean handed her his handkerchief, and she carefully wrapped up the old knife.

"You think there's a body in there too? Sam Anderson perhaps?" Sean asked her.

"No. Only the knife. This is where he killed him. It was raining so all the blood washed away. He planned it that way. He wanted the knife too, but the thought of snakes terrified him. I felt all this while I was watching him kill this poor man in my vision. Someone else was here, too. Looking on from the woods. I thought maybe it was the woman, but I'm not so sure now. Maybe there are two killers."

Suddenly a streak of lightning crashed above their heads, sending them scurrying for the truck. By the time they got back to the house, it was pouring rain. Trees swayed from the strong wind. Dripping wet, they decided to call it a day. Geronimo shook water all over the kitchen and Sean ran for towels.

Claire laid the knife carefully on the table and backed away. "The evil men do," she quoted.

### Chapter Sixteen

After lunch, Sean retrieved his community college application and brought it over. He worked on that while Claire worked on her gathering notes so far on the dig and getting them in a logical order. She disappeared for awhile in the attic where she stashed the knife among the numerous boxes on the third floor. She brought down a box of Indian arrowheads to show Sean how to divide them into categories and time periods using some of her textbooks she had brought from the university. She took pictures with her digital camera and rearranged them in Dr. Sylvester's boxes. She labeled the outside.

Sean needed copies of his high school transcripts and GED certificate to finish his application. They decided to ride into town to pick up some groceries and stop by the library to make copies.

They left Geronimo on the porch to guard the house. Then they braved the rain and took off in Sean's truck. They had only gone a few feet down the driveway when Sean suddenly put on the brakes. He pointed over the steering wheel.

"Someone drove across this driveway. Look at the muddy tire tracks. He came from that direction. From the field. This is not good."

While Sean was undoing the various chains binding the metal gate to the entrance columns, Claire glanced along the fence line that stretched from the entrance way to the cow pastures. She noticed a roll of fence laying in the grass and deep tire tracks leading into the farm. She pointed this out to Sean when he got back into the truck.

"Bet someone cut the fence because of the gate. Wait a sec. We're lucky the cows haven't found it. They always sense a way to get out." Sean, holding up an old black umbrella, walked through the wet grass to check the fence. Claire watched as he pulled the roll of wire fence toward the hole. Then he stretched the fence out and saw that it was only cut on one side, the other side still connected to the fence. He closed up the hole in the fence with the wire and temporarily hooked it back. When he was certain it would hold until he returned from town, he walked back to the truck.

"Bastard cut the fence and drove through. Tracks lead right back to the drive. I'll fix the fence when we get back. Looks like I'll have to check the fence line every day at this rate."

Claire shook her head. "What is he after, Sean? First there was the digging in the mound where he might have moved a body. Why come back here, though? The scene of the crime? Why not dump the body in some remote area far from here?"

"Maybe he was going to dump it in the lake, but we stopped him. He had to get out of there fast with us on his tail. Why did he think he had to come back? Maybe another body, you think? There's the woman in the picture. Then the man you saw killed on the path. He's running scared that everything is about to be uncovered."

Claire thought about it. "Maybe. But all he knows for sure is that an archaeologist was digging in the mound. He doesn't know that I can see the dead. He doesn't know we located the car in the ravine or that we found an old ring that led us to Sam Anderson. He doesn't know I have a cousin in the Richmond police department."

"And let's keep it that way, Claire. Or he'll come after you with more than a shovel."

Claire nodded. The whole situation was getting dangerous.

They soon came to Hooverton. Sean showed her the old remodeled school house that was now the library for the county. After Sean made his copies, he drove her to the Lucky Mart to pick up more dog food and groceries. Sean loaded them into the metal storage chests in the truck bed.

Sean decided to stop for some cash. As they drove up to the bank, Claire clutched his shirt.

"Look Sean. Look at the truck over there. The one with the sale sign on it. Isn't that the one we saw that night at the mounds?"

Sean was surprised. "I think you're right. White Ford. No tags. Hold on." Sean got his cash from the teller and then asked about the truck on the lot. He was told it had been repossessed, and the bank was selling it. If he wanted more information, he could check inside.

"Park it, Sean. Let's ask some questions." They parked next to the truck in an empty parking space. Sean glanced inside.

"All clean and tidy."

Claire nodded. "Not a speck of dirt on it either. Remember how it was raining that night? He had to spin rubber getting out of that muddy field so fast. The car wash? Imagine how it would all sound to your father, Sean. We've got no evidence that this was the truck except for this dent on the fender. I remember that specifically. I ran my finger across it. I'm sure it's the mysterious truck all right. This doesn't make any sense."

Sean led the way. "Let's see what they have to say about it." Claire and Sean went into the lobby of the bank, shaking the water off Sean's umbrella. A teller led them to an office down a hall.

Sean asked the woman bank manager at the desk about the truck.

"2008 Ford. Only 53,000 miles. Quite a steal at $15,000. Guy couldn't make the payments."

"What guy?" Sean asked. The bank official explained she couldn't give out that information.

"We saw that very same truck up in a field one night a week ago. Same dent. Same truck. What we really want to know is who has access to this truck? Could a bank employee steal the keys and joy ride after hours?"

The lady looked shocked. "Absolutely not. Only I have a copy of the keys. You're mistaken, sir. That truck hasn't moved from the lot except when I let some people test drive it. All prominent people from this town and all during working hours."

Claire looked at Sean. "They probably had a copy made when they test drove it." She turned back to the lady at the desk. "Can you tell us who has taken the truck out for a spin at least?"

"No. Against bank policy. We guard people's privacy here. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the sheriff. If he asks, I can release the information. He needs to verify that this truck was involved in a crime. Shall I give him a call?"

Sean shrugged. "Don't bother. Not going to happen, lady. He won't verify anything for us. Let's go, Claire. We're wasting our time here. Anyone could have hot-wired that truck."

They went back out to Sean's truck. The sky had lightened up, and the rain was now a drizzle. They started back home.

Claire rolled down her window. "I have a feeling a Bransome might have taken the truck for a test drive. He qualifies as a prominent citizen."

"He had an alibi, remember. Once again, we have no evidence. I bet she's dialing my father right now to tell him that we think that truck was up in the field that night."

Claire frowned. "Let's think about this. Someone doesn't want to take a chance on someone spotting his truck so he manages to steal this truck from the bank parking lot. Then he returns it before the sun comes up. No one is the wiser, and we can't prove a thing. This is maddening!"

"He's pretty clever. He also has access to the keys."

Claire nodded. "We're missing something here. Maybe it isn't about the truck keys. Maybe it's about the bank keys. If you had a key to the bank, then you could go to the office and pick up the keys. You have to ask yourself, who could let themselves into the bank and no one care?"

"I haven't a clue," Sean told her. "The security guard? A teller? I went to high school with these people. None of them are old enough to know anything about the woman in the picture. We were all kids then."

Claire sighed. "Still trying to work that out."

They drove back to the farm. While Claire put the groceries away, Sean went to the barn to get his staple gun to fix the fence more permanently. Claire was slipping the milk into the refrigerator when her cell phone rang.

It was her cousin Fred St. John. "Still coming out in two days, Fred? The plot is thickening here." She told him about the white truck in the bank parking lot.

"Wow. Great detective work, Claire. You'd make a great cop too. I wanted to let you know that I got the results back on that material you gave me. You were right. It's pretty old, say about twenty-five years. Red clay. Probably buried for a long time. No human blood. Now the gun was registered to a John Anderson of Hooverton back some thirty years ago when the law first started. It wasn't a new gun, even then. You think this Samuel Anderson was given this gun by his family?"

"I do, Fred. His mother told us he took his father's gun when he left. She never saw him or the gun again. Do we have a case or not?"

Claire sensed his hesitation. "No, Claire, you do not," he finally said. "You have a gun in a missing car. No body. You have a bunch of old material from a dress with no blood. No body. You have some ghost appearing on a regular basis wearing said dress. I don't have to tell you what that says about your creditability."

"It screams insanity, I know."

Fred laughed. "You said it. I didn't."

Claire thought of something else. She explained about finding the knife through a vision. "You could test it for human blood, right?"

"Sure. After all these years, though, I'm not too hopeful. I'll pick it up when I see you. Look, it's going to be late when I get there. Sorry, but it'll be dark. Is your couch free?"

"Sure Fred! I'm looking forward to picking your brain about all this. Maybe you can make some sense of it, despite the lack of evidence."

"I'll give it my best shot."

Claire hung up, still feeling hopeful.

### Chapter Seventeen

Sean didn't know what time it was when he woke up in the darkness. A cool breeze blew through the hall and chilled him. Disoriented, he remembered he was on the couch in Dr. Sylvester's house. The dog was gone.

Bam! Sean jumped up and threw off his blanket. He reached for his tennis shoes and slid them on his feet without tying them. The front door was wide open and slamming against the wall. He remembered locking it before he fell asleep.

"Claire!" Sean yelled, bounding up the stairs to her bedroom. Her door was open. When he flicked on the light, he saw an empty bed. The picture sat on the sheet. He picked it up and looked for clues. There was the dead woman standing by the hedges. Something was out of place. Sean studied it closer. There was a small tombstone protruding from the ground at the woman's feet.

Sean ran down the steps. He picked up his flashlight on the coffee table and ran out the front door and down the porch steps. "Claire! Geronimo!" he called as he walked across the lawn to the driveway.

Sean could hear Geronimo barking in the woods surrounding the cemetery. That was the last place he wanted to be in the middle of the night, but he had no choice. In the darkness, the trees seemed larger. Animals scurried through the brush as he ran down the path.

"Claire, where are you?" he called out in the darkness. Sean stood at the gate of the cemetery, his light flashing over the gray lumps that were old tombstones. Then he heard her, sobbing.

"I'm here," she yelled, her voice broken and raw. She was standing by a tall tombstone, leaning on it for support. Sean pushed over the rusty gate and narrowly missed tripping over a stone. Claire collapsed in his arms. They sat down in the wet grass.

"What the hell happened, Claire? What are you doing out here in your pajamas?"

"Honestly, Sean, I don't know. I woke up out here."

Sean wiped the hair from her eyes. "You were sleepwalking?"

"I'm not sure. I don't remember anything except waking up out here in the dark. I fell over a tombstone and bashed my knee. When I got up, I saw her, Sean. The woman in the picture. She was standing over there by the fence. I could tell she wanted me to follow her, but I was too out of it."

Sean glanced around. "The picture was on your bed. She was in it, and there was a tombstone in the picture too! That's how I figured out where to look for you. I think we're both supposed to be here. Can you walk?"

"Help me up. I feel weak, that's all. And my knee is bleeding. Geronimo is here somewhere. We need to find him, Sean, before he gets hurt chasing a ghost."

Claire leaned on Sean as they slowly made their way to the back of the cemetery. Geronimo was suddenly standing at the fence, his hair wet and covered with burrs. He barked at them.

Claire suddenly grabbed his arm. "Look at that!" There on the rusty fence hung a necklace with a locket. Sean reached for it and felt the cold wet metal and grit from dirt. It slipped easily off the wire and into his hand. He gave it to Claire.

Geronimo barked again, lowering his tail and backing up against the fence. Sean yanked opened the back gate that was stuck with rust and let Geronimo run through.

"There she is," Claire whispered. They both stared at the floating form near a tree. The features were unclear, but they both knew it was the woman in the picture. There was a yellowish dress, a white blur for the face, and a brown floppy hat covering at least half of the face.

The apparition faded into the darkness and was gone.

Claire shivered against Sean. He turned her around and pushed her toward the house. "Let's get back to the house before you get a cold, Claire. You've got the necklace. I think that's what we're supposed to find out here."

Claire glanced back. She saw only blackness behind them. She gripped the necklace tightly in her fist. She noticed she was barefoot when she stepped on a briar. Sean picked her up and carried her to the driveway. Geronimo rushed before them, heading for the safety of the house.

Claire and Sean went up the steps and back through the open front door. Sean locked it behind them and turned on the lights in the living room. Sean threw his blanket over her to stop her shivering.

Claire glanced at the clock which read two o'clock. Tired and confused, she sat down on the couch. "I've never done that before, Sean. It's like she compelled me to walk down there."

Sean sat down beside her. "I was afraid you'd been kidnapped, Claire. That Mr. Evil had stopped by to finish what he started down at the lake. What a great place to finish you off, in some old cemetery. How did the door get opened when I have the keys sitting here on the coffee table?"

They both turned to look on the table. No keys. "Okay," Sean sighed. He felt under his newspaper and college application papers. "Who took my keys?" Claire looked down on the floor and found them by the couch.

She handed them to him. "Ghosts don't need keys. My keys are still in my purse. Or they were. I don't know how the picture got out of my purse and onto my sheet. I wasn't looking at it. Do you think someone was actually in the house?"

Sean looked frustrated. "I want to say yes, but I just don't know. Here are my keys. The picture seems to just appear when she wants to get in touch with us."

Geronimo laid his head on Claire's blanketed lap. "If only the dog could talk," Claire told Sean. She unrolled the necklace onto the newspaper on the coffee table. It was covered with dirt. The locket part was round, engraved with some design like a flower. Claire tried to pry it open with her fingernail, but it was stuck.

"You know anything about lockets?" she asked Sean. He took it and rolled it around in his palm.

"My mother used to have a locket. Had my baby picture in it. I have a picture of her wearing it somewhere. This is really stuck. Maybe we should take it to Lew Fisher along with the ring. Like Mrs. Anderson said, he's retired now. but I think he might help us out."

"Sounds like a plan." Claire got up and got a specimen bag from her backpack. She slid the necklace into the bag and zipped it shut.

"I wonder where all that dirt on it can from." Sean wiped the grit off his fingers.

Claire shook her head. "I don't think you would like the answer to that."

Once again Sean reclined on the couch while Claire and Geronimo went upstairs to finish the night. Claire didn't find the picture on her bed. It was back in her purse where she remembered leaving it weeks ago. The woman was gone.

• • •

The sun was well into the sky when Claire and Sean got up and moving. Claire showered and fixed some breakfast while Sean returned to his garage apartment to get ready to mow the lawn and cemetery.

Sean dropped Claire and Geronimo off at the site, helping Claire pull back the tarp on Mound #2. Then he returned to the barn to get a gas can and start the mowing. The sun was hot, and the air was thick with humidity after yesterday's rain. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed around their heads, looking for unprotected flesh.

When Sean returned to pick up Claire for lunch, she was excited to show him her new find. Sean studied the twelve large circles of dark soil which she believed were post holes.

"These are the main support posts for the roof. At last I have my proof that this site was the chief's platform for ceremonies. These mounds are definitely not burial mounds. Look at this!" Claire unrolled her fist and showed Sean a reddish chuck of rock."

Sean wiped the sweat from his brow. "And that is?"

"Pottery shard. If you look closely, you can see faint traces of paint, probably made from local plants. When I find the fireplace, I can do carbon dating and get a precise time frame. Maybe some bone fragments, animal of course. The chief had to eat."

Sean and Claire walked back to his truck. "So your summer has been productive after all?" he asked her.

"My future is looking better, yes. Oops, don't look now but we have company. Of the Indian kind. Isn't that Chief Bransome's Bronco down at the house?"

Sean growled. "I'm in no mood for this. Seems I forgot to re-chain the gate after I got the newspaper this morning." They drove through the hay field and turned at the rock wall. They followed the farm road back to Windleigh. Kevin Bransome was getting out of the Bronco as they drove up to the garage.

Chief Bransome, dressed in a black suit and tie, opened an umbrella over his head to shield him from the heat.

"I'm on my way to court this afternoon and thought I would stop by to check your progress, Miss St. John. Can we talk somewhere cooler?"

"Sure," Claire told him. He and Sean followed her to the back door and into the kitchen. Sean let Geronimo in. Claire motioned for Chief Bransome to sit down at the table while she poured glasses of iced tea.

"What can I do for you, Chief Bransome?"

"I heard from the sheriff about that terrible attack on you at the lake. I'm concerned for your safety out here on this isolated farm with only Sean to protect you."

Sean frowned. "So concerned that you wrote another one of your scathing articles about her digging up Indian bones while she was in the hospital? You know, Bransome, the first person we thought of who might beat Claire with a shovel in the dark like a coward was you. But Dad said you had an airtight alibi. Marching for your cause in Richmond."

Claire put her hand on Sean's shoulder. "What Sean is trying to say, Chief Bransome, is that your unnecessary stirring up of trouble might have encouraged someone to attack me. I have never misled you, sir. I'm not digging up Indian graves. Those are ceremonial platform mounds of the late Mississippian Era, and today I found the proof I need to substantiate my claims. Why don't you write an article about that?"

Chief Bransome squirmed in his chair. "Of course, I could write about your findings I guess. In view of your recent troubles, however, don't you think it more prudent that you stop the dig? Someone is obviously after you."

Claire sipped her tea. "And it has nothing to do with my work, Chief Bransome."

"So I hear. Sheriff Martin believes you brought trouble here from Richmond. We don't want any of your drama spilling over into our town. Take it back to Richmond."

Sean reached out and grabbed the man by his collar. Claire pushed Sean back as he tried to pull Bransome from his seat. "Don't, Sean. Don't give him a reason to press charges," she begged. He let go, and Chief Bransome stood up, shocked at Sean's sudden attack.

Sean leaned forward, snarling. "Did my father send you here to get Claire to leave, Chief Bransome? So far, that's all anyone around here has been interested in. Claire has no drama, Bransome. You're causing all the drama. Now, get the hell out of here before Claire can't talk any more sense into me." Sean stepped forward, and Chief Bransome ran for the door. Minutes later, they heard his Bronco back down the driveway.

"Good riddance," Claire chuckled. "I do believe you scared him all the way back to town."

Sean sat down again. "And back to my father. When does your cousin Fred blow into town? That should push my father over the edge. A Richmond cop on his turf."

"How's he going to find out? We're not going to tell him."

Sean smiled. "Just wait. He'll find out. Nothing happens in this town that my father doesn't know about."

"Fred comes in tomorrow night. We're going to meet him at Little Pompeii for dinner first. He's going to sleep on the couch, and then we're going to look at Mound #1 and the car in the woods. Maybe interview Mrs. Anderson again. You mentioned that jeweler, Mr. Fisher. Maybe there are some initials in the locket that might be helpful."

Sean shrugged. "So far, nothing has been very helpful. Why doesn't that ghost just tell us who killed her?"

"It doesn't work that way, Sean. She can't talk directly to us. Sometimes they moan. Sometimes they whisper. Scream. But you can't sit down and have a normal conversation. They want something done, and eventually we'll figure it out what that something is."

"You almost got killed trying to figure it out, Claire. Someone out there has already figured it out, and he's not on our side."

### Chapter Eighteen

Homicide Detective Fred St. John drove into the parking lot of Little Pompeii in an unmarked black sedan.

"Oh yeah," Sean remarked to Claire sitting in his pickup truck. "No one is going to notice these antenna and Commonwealth license plates. I give my father five minutes before he shows up to give us the third degree."

Claire laughed. "Calm down, Sean. Let's have a quiet dinner. We can do this. If he shows up, he shows up. We aren't doing anything illegal. Fred is my cousin, for God's sake. He can't arrest us for that."

They got out and greeted Fred at the door. Sean led him inside, and they took a booth in the back of the restaurant. The place was almost full with people eating, talking, and laughing out loud. Claire was certain no one could eavesdrop over the constant noise.

Claire passed Fred the knife she and Sean had found in the rock wall, wrapped in an old dish towel. Fred slipped it into his satchel. He leaned forward so they could hear him.

"I can't guarantee that anything's left on the knife to analyze, Claire. All I have is your vision of seeing someone stabbed with this knife. Where's the skeleton? That's what you need to ask your ghost."

Claire nodded. "We know that. It's the best I can do for the moment, Fred. She hasn't been very helpful so far. We have the material from her dress. The ring with the initials S. A. and, oh, look at this. Seems I sleepwalked into the cemetery a night ago, and Sean saw this on the fence when he found me. It certainly wasn't there before."

Claire handed her cousin the specimen bag with the necklace inside. Dirt lined the bottom of the bag.

"Buried, you think?" he asked her.

Sean took a swallow of his beer. "It was in the cemetery."

"But hanging on the fence," Claire told Fred. "Has it been buried? Probably. With a body? Probably. The woman I saw in the picture had something she kept clutching around her neck."

"What's inside the locket?"

"We can't get it open. Rusted shut. Sean knows a jeweler in town. We're hoping he'll help us."

"Good. Let me know what you find. Maybe someone will recognize the picture inside, if there is one."

"Something's rattling around in there," Claire said. She put it back into her purse.

They ordered dinner. They were almost finished when a shadow fell over the table. Sheriff Harry Martin stood beside the booth, smiling. He was dressed in his brown uniform, his pistol strapped to his side and sheriff's star pinned to his chest.

"Hello, Son. Claire. Who's your friend? He wouldn't be driving that Richmond unmarked car, would he?"

Claire put her hand over Sean's. Her eyes told him to calm down. Relax.

"This is my cousin, Fred St. John. He's visiting us at Windleigh."

"Driving an unmarked surveillance car, Fred? You must be in law enforcement. Narcotics? Vice?"

Fred sat up straight, his black sports jacket falling open. Claire could see his handgun strapped inside. "Homicide, actually," Fred said causally. "Richmond. Came to see my favorite cousin."

"Sure," the sheriff laughed. "I just heard someone was spreading rumors around town that I'm not doing my job. Complaining about me at the bank. Are you thinking about filing an official complaint, Claire? You really here on official business, Officer St. John?"

Fred smiled. "It's Detective St. John. Why Sheriff, we both know I have no jurisdiction here. I can't arrest anybody or conduct any investigations. Claire has asked my advice on some things, that's all. Not against the law to have a friendly conversation with my cousin, is it?"

Now the sheriff smiled. "No. You'll find that the department and I did a thorough search for Miss St. John's assailant. We had little to go on. Miss St. John hangs out with known felons so there's no wonder trouble follows her. As for the truck at the bank, Sean, I checked it out. No evidence that it was ever at Windleigh. Not a drop of mud on the tires."

Sean glared at his father with anger. "Someone ran it through the car wash before he returned it to the lot. Doesn't mean we're wrong. In fact, we both remember that dent very clearly. You can't convince me that wasn't the truck someone drove up to the mounds that night."

Sheriff Martin grinned. "Well, Sean, I don't have to convince you of anything. It's really the other way around. Officer St. John, I hope you'll take what these two tell you with a grain of salt. They'll lead you on some wild goose chase like they did my department. My son was in prison. Don't take the word of a thief. Have a nice night."

The sheriff walked off, leaving them staring at each other at the table.

Fred suddenly laughed, breaking the silence. "So, everything I've heard about Harry Martin is true."

Claire slumped in the booth. "Yes, he's a man without any heart. For a civil servant, he's barely civil. Serves himself, I think. I feel sorry for this town. I wonder if he solves any of his cases."

Fred chuckled. "Lucky for him, not much happens here. Occasional meth lab in the trailer. Some burglaries. His record is good, actually. Nothing unusual stands out. I did see where he got his police training in the army. As for personal charm, well, they don't teach that at the academy."

Sean took a swig of beer. "Any complaints from the good citizens of Amberson County?"

"Not really. Not even from that Mrs. Anderson. I guess she believed he'd done all he could do. She didn't want to believe her son might be dead."

Claire sighed. "His car, gun, and clothes were in a ravine at the mansion. Someone pushed that car down there just to hide it. I think the man I saw in my vision may be him. Mrs. Anderson said he was leaving with a woman. I think that woman was the woman in the yellow dress. That means the man who died on that rock wall was Sam Anderson. Now, all I need are the bodies."

Fred nodded. "You have to connect the dots legally."

Their dinner came, and they ate while chatting about family. Fred told Sean about his childhood memories of Claire.

"She's was so smart in school that we called her Nerd Girl. Always had her nose in a book. The teachers loved her, but the students taunted her. I was sorry to hear about your mother, Claire. That was bad business. Ruled an accident, I heard."

Claire nodded. "I never believed that, Fred. She drove off that bridge herself. She was terribly depressed, and holidays were agony to her. That Christmas she was more depressed than usual. Uncle Ralph had disappeared into thin air, probably drowned, and she took it really hard. Drank even more."

Sean looked up. "Who was this Uncle Ralph?"

"My father's younger brother. He spent a lot of time over at the house. My mother seemed to take a shine to him. He brought her out of her alcoholic coma with his jokes and light-heartedness. He had a beach house down at Myrtle Beach where he wrote his books. One day he just disappeared and never came back. Like Sam Anderson. My father finally had him declared dead. The beach house is still in the family."

Fred looked at Sean. "So you see, our family is just as dysfunctional as yours, Sean. We all do the best we can."

Suddenly the fire alarm went off at the firehouse down the block. Sean peeked through the curtains. He saw two fire engines rush by and head up the street.

Sean turned to Claire. "I wonder what's going on. I can still hear them. Must be close by. Let's get out of here."

They paid their bill and went outside. The night was dark, but the air was still hot and thick. "It never cools down here," Claire told Fred who was sweating though his shirt.

"Just like Richmond in the summer."

They paused at Fred's car. Sean could see down the block.

"The fire engines are at the bank. How in the world did something catch on fire down at the bank?"

Claire moved around the car to see. "Not the bank, Sean. Something in the parking lot. You can smell the smoke from here. Something blew up. The flames are pretty high."

Fred, Claire, and Sean looked at each other for a moment. Then Claire grabbed Sean's sleeve.

"It's that truck, isn't it? The one we identified as the one at the mounds? That lady at the bank blabbed to your father and who knows who else. Now that evidence is gone too. No checking for blood, DNA, or fingerprints. Someone just blew it up."

Fred opened the door to his car. He turned on his scanner as he slid into the seat. They all listened as the firemen radioed to the police about an explosion at the bank. The white truck sitting on the lot had suddenly become a fire ball. Nothing was left of the truck except the scorched metal frame. The tires were melted into the pavement.

"Sounds like a bomb of some sort," Fred told them. "I have to hand it to you, Claire. You seem to have rubbed someone the wrong way for sure. I don't think this person is going to stop any time soon. I'm ready to agree with Sheriff Martin. Maybe you should go back to Richmond. You'd be safer there."

Claire shook her head. "I've got a job to do up at the mounds, and I want to finish it. I only have a few weeks left before Dr. Sylvester returns. I need to wrap this all up, and I'm making progress now. I won't be run off."

Sean turned to Fred. "She's hard-headed like that. We'll be careful, Fred. At least we have an alibi for the truck. We were all at the restaurant so the police can't say I blew up that truck."

Fred shrugged. "Depends on what they find. A bomb could have been set to go off at a certain time. Wouldn't matter where you were."

Sean motioned Claire to get in the truck.

"Quit thinking like my dad, Fred."

Fred smiled. He followed Sean's truck out of the parking lot. As they passed the bank, they saw the sheriff's car parked behind the fire truck. He was talking to a firefighter, notepad in hand. Sheriff Martin turned as they drove by, staring hard at Fred.

### Chapter Nineteen

Sean was beside himself when they drove up to the entrance to Windleigh. The fence was cut again.

"How can you tell?" Claire asked him as he opened the truck door. The chains between the brick columns marking the entrance way were still in place. The sun was beginning to set, the sky lit with shades of orange and pink.

Sean pointed to the field. "I can see the wire half way up in the field. He must have dragged it under his truck for a ways before it got loose. Deep tire tracks too."

They drove up to the house. Claire noticed the front door was open. She expected to see Geronimo come bounding down the driveway to meet them, but he wasn't there.

Claire quickly got out of the truck. "I don't like this, Sean. Something's very wrong. I feel it. Geronimo! Geronimo!"

She ran to the back door at the kitchen. It was unlocked, the screen door banging against the siding with the wind.

Claire went in and heard Geronimo's muffled barking somewhere in the house. Walking to the hall, she heard the dog scratching behind the bathroom door. When she opened the door, he came running out barking and wagging his tail.

Sean was right between behind her. "Someone trashed your stuff, Claire. The living room's a mess. Your computer's on the floor. Papers everywhere."

Claire looked up. "At least, Geronimo's okay. No sign of blood. They just locked him up to keep him out of their way. Thank God. I can replace everything else." She let Geronimo outside.

Fred ran back out to get his camera. He told them to stay out of living room until the police got there.

Claire looked at Sean. "Do we even want to report this?"

"Too late. It was an automatic response with Fred. He's dialing 911 from his car."

Claire glanced down the hall at her scattered belongings. "What do you think this guy was after? No one knew about the knife or the locket. What else do we have in this house that someone would want?"

Fred reappeared and took pictures of the living room. He was careful not to touch anything.

"Is anything missing that you can see?" he asked Claire.

"No. Just trashed. You have all the evidence I've collected, Fred. The cloth, the ring, and the gun. It's safe at headquarters. So, no, I don't have an explanation as to why someone would want to go through my school work."

Sean watched at the window for the police. "Did they say when they would be out? I expect they're tied up with that burned truck."

Fred was on his knees, checking for footprints. "Oh, the sheriff turned that over to his deputy. He's coming right out. Claire, I think someone is sending you a message, probably for the last time. They want you to go back to Richmond. There's no reason to stay because the research is gone. Simple."

"It's not going to work. I'm staying," Claire told him. "I have to stay to finish the project. And I want to help the lady in the picture. She wants us to find her murderer."

Fred pointed to the overturned coffee table. "What if you had been here, Claire, all alone? How was that ghost going to help you?"

Sean moved away from the window. "Dad's here. Here we go again. Round two."

Fred met Sheriff Martin at the door. The odor of smoke floated in with him as he came into the kitchen.

He looked at Claire. "Why am I not surprised?"

Fred stepped forward. "We meet again, Sheriff Martin. Unfortunately, someone beat us home from the restaurant and ransacked Claire's things. We'd like to file a police report."

Sean crossed his arms. "What happened to that truck at the bank?"

Sheriff Martin whipped around. "Blew up in the parking lot. Someone torched it. Odd, you were just asking about that truck. I want you to know the fire marshal is going over it with a fine tooth comb."

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, you saw us at the restaurant. I was nowhere near that truck."

"I'll get to the bottom of it, Sean. See if I don't. Deputy Boothe is picking up the former owner for questioning as we speak. Now, Miss St. John, is anything missing?"

Claire glanced down at her pile of papers. "Not that I can see. Just rearranged for my entertainment. Fred told me not to touch anything. He thought you might want to dust for fingerprints."

"Maybe. Your dog didn't do this, did he? Was he locked in the house while you were gone?"

Claire frowned. "We found him shut up in the bathroom. When we left, he was outside in the yard."

"You just said nothing was missing. I'm not convinced there's a crime here."

Sean pounded the wall. "For God's sake, Dad. We just told you the dog didn't do this. Someone is trying to rattle Claire and make her leave. How do you explain the cut fence section out in the field and the heavy tire tracks? Someone uninvited was here while we were out. If you don't believe me, look for yourself."

The sheriff turned to Fred. "Okay. Let's see these tire tracks."

They went back outside to Sean's truck. The sun had now set, and it was dark. He handed Claire a flashlight as she climbed in. Fred slid in beside her.

The sheriff followed Sean in his police SUV. They passed through the gate to the open field. They stopped at the six foot section of fence slightly rolled up on the ground. Sean got out and stood over the section of wire.

"Here's the remains of my wiring where I tried to attach it back the first time. He cut it on both ends this time."

Sheriff Martin nodded. He took his flashlight and followed the tire ruts on the ground. "Heading that away, toward the woods. What's in the woods?"

Claire's eyes went wide. "The car in the ravine. Evidence that someone ditched Sam Anderson's car and his belongings where they would never be found."

The sheriff's eye brows furrowed. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Sam Anderson. We found his car in the ravine."

"And when we're you going to tell me about this turn of events?"

Sean pulled Claire away from his father. "We'll explain later. Maybe someone is still at the ravine. Better hurry or they'll get away."

Fred motioned them to return to the truck. "Let's see where this car is, Claire. See if these tracks go there. Whoever it was in this field was carrying a heavy load for the tracks to be this deep."

Sheriff Martin looked up. "A heavy load of what?"

"We'll see when we get there," Sean said. They raced across the field to the edge of the woods. They stopped at the fence separating the woods from the field. The tracks ended at the large gaping hole in the fence. They stood at the top of the ravine and looked down into the darkness.

"This is where he went," Fred pointed to the tracks. "You say the car is down there somewhere?"

Claire nodded. "With Sam Anderson's suitcases in the back. His mother recognized them. She said the gun belonged to Sam's father." Claire turned to Sheriff Martin. "Why would he leave his suitcases there if he left town? Wouldn't he take them with him? It screams foul play to me."

Claire couldn't see the sheriff's face in the dark. "You didn't find a body did you?" she heard him ask her.

"No, but maybe it's there somewhere. In the brush. Don't you think it's worth searching the area?"

The sheriff moved forward. "Didn't say I wouldn't look into it, Miss St. John. I need a search warrant because it's private property. You wouldn't want me to do anything illegal, would you?"

The wind shifted. Sean smelled the air. "Is that gasoline I smell?"

Then the ravine exploded, flames shooting high into the air. The blast was deafening, knocking Claire and Sean to the ground. Ears ringing, Claire looked up to see Fred and Sheriff Martin getting up off the ground. The sheriff ran for his car to call for backup and the fire department.

Fred helped Claire to her feet. Sean lay still on the ground. She shook him as burning leaves floated around them like candles. The fire lit up the sky like daylight. Claire could see a gash across Sean's cheek and blood flowing down his face.

Sean opened his eyes. The heat was like a blowtorch. Claire tugged him to his feet and helped him to walk away from the intense heat and flames. Sean limped to his truck.

Claire said something to Sean, but he pointed to his ears. He couldn't make out the words just yet, the ringing was so loud. She was pointing to his face, and Sean felt the wetness on his cheek. Blood. He dabbed at it with his handkerchief.

Fred returned. "Can you hear me, Claire?" he asked her.

"It's like you're in a well, Fred. What the hell happened down there?"

"You remember the truck in the bank parking lot? Looks like the same arsonist. Who else knew about this car in the ravine besides you and Sean?"

Claire thought for a moment. "Mrs. Anderson. And the airplane pilot who we paid to keep quiet. No one else. We even had the pictures developed in Richmond to keep anyone local from seeing them."

Sean shook his head. His hearing was back. "You're forgetting the person who put it there in the first place. The person you saw in your vision. The man on the mound the night you got assaulted. He knew all about it. Perhaps he heard we were asking Mrs. Anderson some questions."

Sheriff Martin suddenly appeared at Claire's side. "The fire trucks are on their way, folks. The fire marshal will want to have a good look at this too. I already see a common denominator. Sean and Claire. Everywhere you two show up, something gets blown up. Go home and let the police, the Amberson County police that is, work the scene. Take Fred with you. This is a crime scene now."

Claire pulled Sean back toward his truck. "Ignore him. We have a mess at the house to clean up. Let the fire marshal sort this out. There's nothing else we can do."

Fred agreed. They rode back to the house while sirens sounded down the road. Sean watched two more police cars pull in the driveway. Fred directed them across the field and toward the woods where the fire was still blazing high into the sky.

Claire brought Geronimo back into the house and out of the way of the police and fire trucks. She, Sean, and Fred started to straighten up the living room. Claire turned her upside down laptop over and plugged it back in.

"Looks like the computer is okay," she told them. "Still working. All my files are here. I think this whole ransacking scene was staged just to frighten me."

Fred nodded. "Is it working? It could have been us roasted down in that ravine."

Sean scooped papers into a box on the floor. "Do you think someone was waiting on us to get there before they detonated the explosion?"

Fred shrugged. "Maybe. But you saw the fence in the pasture. He didn't know it was caught on his truck and fell off in the field or he'd have picked it up on the way back. He was probably in the process of setting the charges when we drove up and surprised him. In the dark, we didn't see him, but he could see us. He blew the charges so he could get away cleanly."

Claire stacked up her notebooks on the coffee table. "But how? We never saw another vehicle when we drove up. Just the tracks."

Sean swept up the glass from a broken vase on the floor into a dustpan and dumped it into the small trashcan by the couch. "He could have escaped through another opening in the fence on the backside of the property. If his truck was pulled up into the woods, we couldn't see him in the dark. During the explosion, he could have made a run for it. None of us were looking in that direction."

"Crazy," Claire said out loud. "And still the sheriff blames us."

They all went out onto the porch. The flames were lower now, smoke filling the air. The fire truck lights illuminated the woods, and they could see firemen shooting water into the ravine.

Claire sighed. "There goes any evidence that Sam Anderson died on this farm. There won't be anything left to identify that old car."

Sean put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't give up, Claire. This isn't over yet."

Fred looked off into the distance. "No, it isn't. The arsonist is still out there, and he knows where to find you."

### Chapter Twenty

An hour later Sheriff Martin knocked on the kitchen door. He was holding an empty bag of fertilizer with a gloved hand.

"This is what I found in the clearing where someone had parked a vehicle. Empty diesel fuel cans and fertilizer bags. You recognize them, Sean?"

Sean nodded. "I keep the bags of fertilizer in the barn, Dad. Gas cans too. Anyone could get them. I can't lock the barn."

"No, you can't. Mind if we have a look in the barn? To see if the arsonist left anything behind?"

Sean crossed his arms. "I've got nothing to hide, Dad. Look all you want. I was with you when it blew up, remember? No bags of fertilizer in the truck."

"Fire marshal said the bomb was rigged and detonated from a distance away. A timer thing. Just like the truck in the parking lot. Fertilizer and diesel fuel. You'd have to be pretty smart to do something like that. A university student, perhaps."

Claire shook her head in disgust. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

Fred glared at the policeman. "That really is an unwarranted accusation, Sheriff Martin. I expected you to be more professional. You have a crime to solve. Be on your way instead of harassing innocent people."

Sheriff Martin laughed. "Oh, I'll be on my way all right. A call to the judge for a search warrant. You can bet on that." He stormed out the door.

Fred turned to Claire and Sean. "That's the last straw. I'll file a complaint myself. He's made an enemy of me, and I can pull a lot of strings in Richmond to get him investigated. I'll start with Mrs. Anderson. I'm sure she'd have a thing or two to say about how Harry Martin looked so diligently for her son."

It was late into the night when they finally decided to go to bed, and the last of the fire trucks drove away. Sean gave Claire the address of the retired jeweler, Lew Fisher in Hooverton. She wanted to get the locket opened and perhaps cleaned so she could read any inscriptions. She also wanted to ask him about the ring she'd found in the mound.

"After work tomorrow, we'll try to hook up with him," Sean told her. "By the way, does Dr. Bob know about the trouble we've been having here at the farm?"

Claire pointed to her laptop. "Just got an email. He's coming home from England next week. There's a semester break at the university where he's guest lecturing. He wants to see my work at the mounds and have a couple of words with Chief Bransome. I told him about the car in the ravine, and he wants us to have it towed out. That's not going to happen now."

Fred agreed. "Crime scene. The police will have it towed out of the forest for examination, but for arson, not murder. I doubt if anything is going to prove the car once belonged to the Anderson family now."

Claire sighed. "I'll just have to think of another way."

• • •

The next morning Fred returned to Richmond and his job as a homicide detective. Sean and Claire headed up to the mounds to finish the final levels of the dig. While Claire peeled inches of soil from the site floor with her trowel, Sean carefully sifted through the loose dirt. He collected pottery shards, small charcoal lumps, and smooth round rocks from past campfires.

"I tried calling a locksmith this afternoon to change the locks on the mansion, but he can't come until next week," Sean said. "Someone let himself in yesterday. The only way they could have gotten in without breaking something is to have used a key. Dr. Bob keeps spares in the garage. Some of them are missing. Someone knew where to find them."

Claire stood up from the mound and stretched her arms. "The first place to look is always in the garage, Sean. Dr. Sylvester shouldn't keep spare keys in there. Hey, isn't that your father's car down at the mansion? Gee, here comes more police SUVs. Looks like he's brought the whole department over."

Sean stood on the mound and looked down the hill to where the mansion and the garage sat. He counted four police SUVs.

"I guess this is about that search warrant he mentioned last night. It's time for lunch anyway. Let's go and keep an eye on them. I don't trust my dad."

Claire covered the mound and her equipment before putting Geronimo in the back of the truck and riding with Sean down to the house. As they drove up, a deputy was coming out of the garage. He was carrying a shovel. Geronimo bounded out of the back of the truck and barked furiously at Sheriff Martin. Claire called the dog back.

"Hey," Sean called out. "Put that right back where you found it, buddy. You can't carry off Dr. Sylvester's tools."

Sheriff Martin appeared at the garage door. He was dressed again in his uniform, his sheriff's badge pinned to his chest. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Evidence, Sean. Search warrant right here."

Sean slammed the door to the truck. "Evidence of what? That's my garden shovel. It's been in the garage all summer."

The deputy slid a plastic bag over the bottom of the shovel. Harry lifted the back door on his SUV where he carefully laid the shovel in the trunk.

"Oh, it's been out of the garage recently. There's blood on that shovel. I'll have tested. I think it's going to match Claire's blood type. Is there anything you want to tell me before I go through all that trouble?"

Claire glared at the sheriff. "That's insane, and you know it. It wasn't him!"

"Your blood. His shovel. We'll see. What else we got, Deputy Boothe?" Sheriff Martin motioned the policeman forward. He was getting out his handcuffs while two other policemen encircled Sean.

Deputy Boothe opened his small notebook. "Fertilizer matching the type used in the bombing of the car in the ravine and the truck at the bank. Wire. Fuses. Material used to make bombs in the barn. Sean's fingerprints probably all over the stuff."

Sean was speechless. A deputy reached for his wrist and slapped a handcuff over it. He began to read Sean his Miranda Rights.

"No, you're wrong!" Claire protested. "You know you're wrong. Someone planted that stuff to frame Sean."

Sheriff Martin chuckled. "Maybe you did. Told you, Sean. She's bad news. Now you're off to jail."

"Just like you always wanted!" Sean grumbled. He turned to Claire. "Claire, the keys to the truck are in the ignition. Get Dr. Bob to post bail. Find a lawyer in town. I'll be out by tomorrow if you post bail."

Sean disappeared into a police car. "Don't count on it," Sheriff Martin yelled over the roof of the car. Claire watched as the police SUVs drove away.

"I can't believe this!" she yelled to the sky. Geronimo rubbed against her leg. She looked down and patted his head. "You and me against the world, it seems. Let's get some lunch and do some thinking. It looks like I'll be going into town."

While frying a hamburger for lunch, Claire brought her laptop into the kitchen. She quickly emailed Dr. Sylvester and told him that Sean had been arrested. He wrote back that he was wiring the money for bail. She only had to let him know how much she needed. As for a lawyer, he didn't have any suggestions. There was only one lawyer in Hooverton, and she was Chief Bransome's sister. Jean Browderman had handled all the legal matters for the town for the last twenty years since she moved back after her divorce. For the sake of expediency, Dr. Sylvester told Claire to go see her. They had always been friends, despite the friction with her brothers.

Then she called her cousin Fred and left a message about Sean's sudden arrest on his cell phone.

After lunch, Claire let Geronimo out and climbed into Sean's truck. Getting to town was going to be an ordeal since she was so rusty driving a stick shift. Soon though, she was shifting gears without scraping them and coordinating the gas with the clutch.

• • •

She managed to drive into town without any accidents, parking in front of the police department. She barged in through the old wooden doors of the brick building and marched up to the glass window where a policewoman sat. When she slid the glass back, Claire demanded to see Sean Martin.

After taking a seat to wait, Claire looked through the phone book for the phone number of Jean Browderman's law office. She called the number on her cell phone.

Jean's secretary answered. Claire quickly explained that Sean Martin had been brought into the police station and needed a lawyer. A few seconds later, Jean herself picked up the phone.

"What in the world?" Claire heard the lawyer say. "Do you know the charges?"

"Not yet. Dr. Sylvester will post bail if that's allowed. Will you help us?"

"I'm on my way, dear. I'm just down the street," she said. Claire relaxed as she turned off her cell phone. At least one person was on their side. A deputy came out and motioned Claire to his desk.

"I'd like to ask you some questions, Miss St. John. Sean's being questioned right now by the county prosecutor and the sheriff."

Claire crossed her arms. "Not till my lawyer gets here. Jean Browderman. She'll be representing Sean or the both of us if Sheriff Martin thinks he can get some evidence on me. But I'm telling you right now that neither Sean nor I had anything to with those explosions. We're victims here."

The deputy pulled out a form from his drawer. "I take it you won't be pressing charges against Sean for the assault at the lake?"

Claire glared at the policeman. "That may have been the shovel that creamed me that night, but it wasn't Sean that swung it at my head. Someone came back and tossed it in the garage. The sheriff is dead wrong."

Claire felt a tap on the shoulder. She turned to see a woman with short dyed blonde hair and a close resemblance to Chief Bransome standing behind her. About fifty, she was wearing a pin-stripe jacket and skirt, her leather briefcase in hand. The lawyer smiled at the deputy.

"Lewis, I'll handle this. Can we borrow a room to talk?"

The officer nodded. "First room on the left."

"Follow me, dear." Claire got up and followed Mrs. Browderman into the empty room. Mrs. Browderman shut the door quietly behind Claire. She sat down in an empty chair and motioned Claire to sit.

"Hello, Claire. I'm Jean Browderman. Call me Jean. Now, I apologize for this town's way of treating strangers. I understand that Sheriff Martin has arrested his son for destruction of property and arson. That translates into blowing up those vehicles. He also wants to charge him with assault."

Claire took a deep breath before she explained the series of events that led to the assault at the lake and how they discovered the car in the ravine. She left out the ghost part.

Jean leaned back in her chair. "So you think all of this is related to what may have been buried in that mound?"

"Yes. Someone was afraid I might find something he hid in the mound so he went back for it using that truck that was parked at the bank. We found the car in the ravine and asked Mrs. Anderson about the disappearance of her son Sam two decades ago. The gun matches. He was leaving town, and the car was the same kind of car owned by Sam's dad. It all fits."

Jean smiled. "How does an archaeologist turn into an investigator? That's quite a bit of sleuthing for a summer dig. Are you related somehow to the Andersons?"

Claire shook her head. "Sean told me about them. I found a ring in the mound with the initials S.A."

Jean looked up, surprised. "And where is all this evidence?"

"Richmond. I entrusted it to my cousin, Fred. He's a homicide detective there."

Jean crossed her arms. "I see. Well, they did find bomb- making materials in the barn and the type of fertilizer that was used in both explosions. I think we can make a case that it's all circumstantial. As for the shovel, they don't have a case if you won't press charges. Let me see if I can arrange bail."

Claire lit up. "Yes, please. Dr. Sylvester is coming home next week, and he said he would wire the money for Sean's bail. Just let me know how much. How long will this take?"

Jean rubbed her chin. "Probably overnight. I have to file papers, and we don't have too long before the court closes. I'll start filling out the paperwork. Can we meet again, say around dinner time?"

Claire stood up. "Yes, great. At the Italian restaurant?"

"Sure. I'll know something then. And Claire," Jean grabbed her arm and squeezed. "Don't worry. I'm going to take care of this."

Claire smiled as relief poured over her. "Thank God you're on our side," she told Jean. "It seems no one else in this town is."

"Okay, dear. You run along, and I'll take care of the details."

Claire walked out of the room, feeling a black cloud lift overhead.

### Chapter Twenty-One

"Where's the sheriff?" Jean asked the deputy outside the room in the hall.

"He just finished questioning Sean Martin. I think he's in his office typing up the report on his computer."

Jean turned and marched down the hall. She didn't even knock, but barged into the small, cramped office where files were piled up on an ancient oak desk. She slammed the door shut behind her. Harry Martin looked up, smiling. He hung up the phone.

"Hi, babe. Didn't we decide we shouldn't be seen together?"

Jean glared at him and then shoved some of his files off the desk. He jumped up and caught a few before they landed upside down on the floor. Papers spilled out, littering the floor.

She glared at him. "What kind of idiot are you?"

"Come again, bitch? Get up on the wrong side of my bed?"

Jean grabbed his collar and pulled tightly. He stared at her, growing red in the face.

"Claire called me to represent Sean Martin. You don't have a case, you moron. You're ruining everything. Planting evidence is a crime, even for you. She's on to you, Harry. I know you thought she'd turn tail and run back to Richmond, but she's not. She's in love with your son. Now she's gone and brought in a cop from Richmond. They'll start asking questions. That's the last thing we want."

She released his collar. He sat down heavily in his seat.

"I got it covered," he grumbled.

"No, you don't. This acting on your own has got to cease, Harry. Stick to the script. You go down, we all go down. Remember that. Release Sean. We don't need him. Claire said Dr. Sylvester's coming home from England next week. That's when all this madness ends, you understand. Now you be a good boy and do as you're ordered."

"What about the evidence I've gathered against Sean?"

Jean frowned. "Circumstantial. Make it happen. The lab comes back with no fingerprints. Claire isn't pressing charges so you have no assault case. You keep the arson case open, but you haven't any suspects at this time. Act like you're actively investigating for once. Make them believe it and make amends with your son."

He glared back at her. "That son of a whore? What if I don't?"

"You don't want to think about that, Harry. Prison is not for ex-cops, and forever is a long time. I don't like this any better than you do, but we have no choice. Quit acting on your own and do as you're told."

Harry looked away, fuming. "I'm done after this, Jean. No one can tell me what to do. I'll disappear and then who'll do your dirty work?"

"Keep dreaming, Harry. You like being sheriff too much. Remember who put you there. Now, I'll come by later after I arrange Sean's release. You sign the papers. Claire's coming back to post bail. You see that things are smoothed over by then."

• • •

Claire got directions to Lew Fisher's house from the deputy. She got back into Sean's truck and headed out of town. After turning down some country roads, she pulled up into the driveway of a brick rancher. An older man was mowing the lawn, his black ball cap covering his gray hair. When he saw Claire get out of her truck, he stopped his mower and pulled out the ear buds to his iPod.

"Can I help you? Are you lost?"

Claire introduced herself and explained about her excavations at Windleigh. She asked if she could show him a locket she'd found to see if he could help her get it open.

Lew Fisher led her into his house. They sat at his kitchen table while his wife Molly poured them tall glasses of cold lemonade.

"First, Mr. Fisher, I wanted to ask you about a ring I found in one of the mounds. It was a silver band with the initials S. A. and the words "Love Always" inscribed inside. Do you remember selling a band like that to someone in this town? Say twenty or so years ago?"

"Oh my, Claire! I've sold hundreds of silver wedding bands at my store. S. A., you say?"

"Sam Anderson? He was the service station owner. Does that name ring a bell?"

Mr. Fisher's face lit up. "Yeah. I do remember now. You're absolutely right. I did sell a wedding band to Sam. He moved away, didn't he? I never saw him again. He was going to get married. I guess he got married somewhere else because I never saw the announcement in the paper. Hank Wilson took over the station."

Claire leaned forward. "That's just it, Mr. Fisher. Sam Anderson disappeared, and not even his mother ever heard from him again. I found that ring in a mound on Dr. Sylvester's farm at Windleigh."

Shock registered in Mr. Fisher's face. "Really? That's odd. I'd have to see the ring to identify it, of course, to be sure. So you think Sam met with foul play?"

Claire shrugged. "We don't know. His car was in the ravine at the farm where it was dumped. I think foul play is a fair assumption, but the police in this town aren't convinced. You don't have a picture of Sam, do you?"

Mr. Fisher looked at his wife. She turned and went back into the living room. She returned with a scrapbook of old newspaper articles.

Mr. Fisher spread it out on the table and opened it. "Sam had a grand re-opening of the station after he took over for his father who had a stroke. Lots of people were there, and it made the front page of the paper that day. Here's Sam in his white uniform. Gas attendants wore uniforms back in those days."

Mr. Fisher pointed to the man in the middle of the picture dressed in a white shirt and pants and a red cap with the name Esso printed in black. Claire looked hard at the grainy face. He could have been the man in her visions, but she wasn't sure. The picture had yellowed and was faded.

"Did you know who he was going to marry, Mr. Fisher? Did he ever mention her name?"

"Sorry. That was a long time ago, and I don't remember him ever mentioning the young lady. In fact, he told me to keep quiet about it until he announced it. He said it was going to be a surprise."

Claire looked again at the picture. She scanned the people, looking for clues and other faces she might recognize. To the left of Sam Anderson was a blurry image of a woman. Claire saw at once she was wearing a droopy hat that obscured her face. Sunglasses hid her eyes. Claire stared at her dress, sure of plaid pattern but unsure about the color. The paper was too faded to determine details, but in her heart, Claire knew she was looking at her ghost. Her arms got goose bumps.

Claire pointed to the woman in the picture. "Do you know who this woman is, Mr. Fisher?"

Both Mr. Fisher and his wife looked at the image, squinting. Finally Mr. Fisher said, "Sorry, Claire. We don't know after all this time. The whole town was there that day. He was giving out free popsicles, and everyone wanted one."

Still reeling from recognizing her ghost, Claire reached in her bag. "One final thing, Mr. Fisher. The locket. It's sealed tight. I am hoping you can open it for me. I was afraid I might break it."

Molly fetched her husband's jeweler's tools. With his eye glass, he looked at the locket. "Old," he said. "Silver. Ornate carving here on the outside." He turned it over. "I can barely make out the initials L. M. Looks like it's sealed from the dirt. Been in the ground, you say?"

Claire didn't want to say any more. "I believe so."

"Needs a good cleaning."

Taking out a small pick, Mr. Fisher worked at the edges of the locket. Dirt fell on the table as he loosened the seal. Suddenly it popped open, and he laid it on the table. Claire could see a small picture, yellowed, in the left side. There was a black clump of hair curled in the right pocket.

"Baby pictures. A boy in blue. I think that other stuff is hair. People used to keep a lock of hair in these lockets for good luck. Is this what you were expecting to find?"

Claire looked up. "I didn't know what to expect, Mr. Fisher. I don't know who L. M. is. I don't know how she is related to Sam Anderson. This is the puzzle Sean and I are trying to solve. I thank you very much for all you have told me."

Claire got up to leave. Mrs. Fisher gave her some cookies, and she finished her glass of lemonade before returning to Sean's truck. As she drove away, Mr. Fisher waved from the window.

She drove back to Hooverton and parked in the lot at the Little Pompeii Restaurant. She waited almost half an hour before a police SUV drove up beside her. Claire turned to see Sheriff Harry Martin and Jean Browderman in the front seat. Sean was in the back. He hopped out, and Claire ran into his arms.

"You're free!"

Sean squeezed her. "Sure am. All charges were dropped due to insufficient evidence. Thanks so much, Mrs. Browderman."

The sheriff remained in his car while Jean got out and shook Sean's hand.

"My pleasure, Sean. Sheriff Martin and I talked it over and decided that the charges wouldn't stand. He's dedicated to finding the real culprit. Isn't that right, Sheriff Martin?"

"Yes I am," Sheriff Martin said through the open window. "I guess I got a little carried away, Sean. I jumped to conclusions. But you have to admit, it didn't look good for you. I'll keep the investigation going. We'll find our criminal. In the meantime, you keep Claire safe."

Sean and Claire got back into their truck and drove away from town. On the way home, Sean told her about his time in the interrogation room with his father.

"He kept hammering me. How long had you and I been planning to blow up the truck to cover our tracks? Were we stealing artifacts and selling them? He wanted me to confess. I never said a word. What were we really digging up at the mounds? Where did I get the fuses and timer to set the car on fire? He went on and on. Did he really think I would confess to something I was innocent of?"

Claire shook her head. "If he was so convinced you were guilty, why did he let you go?"

"Not sure. Jean came in and said I was free to go. Dad had changed his mind and dropped the charges after all. Crazy, all of it. My life in prison flashed before my eyes all over again, and it wasn't pretty."

"I would never let that happen, Sean. Dr. Sylvester would have hired the best lawyer in Richmond for you. I'm just surprised that your father gave up so easily."

Sean nodded. "Harry Martin is a man not to be crossed, Claire. You're right. He's being too nice about this, and it's not like him at all. Anyway, I hope I never see him again. The sooner I leave this county, the better."

They drove back to the farm. Geronimo was waiting patiently as usual on the porch. It was his dinner time. As Claire fed her dog, she told Sean about her visit with the retired jeweler.

"He said he remembered selling an engraved wedding band to Sam Anderson right before he disappeared. He didn't know who it was for. He thought Sam had just sold his business and moved away."

Sean rifled through the refrigerator. He pulled out some leftover pot roast. "Ah, dinner. The food in jail was awful. Can we make a salad to go with this?"

Claire pulled out the lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers and set them on the counter. "Sure. There's some green beans in there too. Yummy. I skipped lunch. Let's eat."

Claire helped Sean heat up the food. As they were eating, Claire pulled the locket out of her purse. "Mr. Fisher had a picture of Sam and the reopening of the gas station. I saw her, Sean. The woman in the yellow plaid dress. She's in the background, blurry of course, but it's her. I'm sure of it. Mr. Fisher couldn't tell me who she was."

Sean was surprised. "Wow. That's great news. You think she's the woman who was supposed to run off with Sam Anderson?"

"It's a theory. Now, look at this locket." Claire carefully slid the locket out of the specimen bag. She turned it over. "He could see some initials on the back. L. M. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I'm tired of thinking, Claire. Nothing comes to mind at the moment."

"How about these people?" Claire opened the locket and laid it on the table facing Sean. Sean leaned forward. His mouth fell open in shock. Claire grabbed his arm.

"What's the matter, Sean? Do you know them?"

For a second, Sean said nothing. His eyes began to tear up.

"It's me. My baby picture. Oh God! L. M. My mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Moseley. They called her Lizzie. Lizzie Martin. This was my mother's locket, Claire. That thing in the woods is my mother!"

### Chapter Twenty-Two

Claire hugged Sean as he wiped his eyes. "That son-of-a-bitch! He told me over and over that my mother ran off with another man and that she didn't want us. He wanted us to think she had abandoned us. I thought she didn't care about us. What a liar he was! All this time, she was dead and he knew it."

Claire sat back down and looked into Sean's eyes. "Sean, we can't prove your mother's dead until we find the body. All we have is a locket. Do you have a copy of the same picture in your apartment?"

Sean looked up. "Yes, I have that picture in an old album. I don't have many pictures of my mother, though. My father destroyed them. What's that other stuff? Hair? My baby hair?"

Claire hugged Sean again. "I think so. It's all coming together, Sean. I was brought here to you to find your mother and to catch the person who killed her. She must have planned to run off with Sam Anderson. I'm sure she intended to take you with her, but somehow, your dad found out about the plan. He killed her and Sam. Then he buried her in the mound all those years ago, thinking he was safe. The murderer didn't count on me excavating the area in the future."

Sean pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. "I can't believe this!" He held his head in his hands. Tears fell again. Claire stood at his side, her arms wrapped around him.

"How do we make my dad pay for this? For killing my mother? Killing Sam Anderson? Ruining my life! It's time he got what's coming to him."

Claire nodded. "Yes, but we have to prove it. It was so long ago. Tell me what you remember about her leaving. I know you were little."

"Yeah, about four or five. I didn't really understand what was happening. There were fights with lots of screaming and yelling. I would hide under my bed when they got going. One night she kissed me goodnight, and the next day she was gone. My father read me a letter she left saying she was going away with someone she loved more than us. She couldn't take us with her so Dad would take care of us from now on. My little sister Allison cried for days after that. From that time on, my father never mentioned our mother. I thought we'd been bad and somehow had driven her away."

Claire rubbed his shoulders. "Do you still have that letter?"

Sean shook his head. "He burned it. I couldn't read anyway. How would I know what it really said or even if she wrote it? I just accepted that my dad was telling the truth. I had no one else to tell me different."

"That's so sad, Sean. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I think we can have this hair matched to you. Hair follicles have DNA. Then there would be no doubt that the locket belonged to your mother. We just couldn't prove she was wearing it when she died. Do you have anything else that belonged to her?"

Sean nodded. "I have a box under my bed in the garage apartment with some of her things she left behind. Dad got rid of all her clothes and belongings right after she left. As a kid, I didn't ask questions, but I wanted to be close to her. I took some things when he wasn't looking. I have her combs and brushes in the box. Maybe you could still find a hair. But unless we find her body, we can't prove it's her. No one will believe us, and my father knows it. He is trying to get me out of the way by putting me in jail."

"No, not you. Me. He wants me to go back to Richmond and end the dig because there was something in the mound that might convict him. It had to be him who hit me with that shovel and then put it back in the garage."

Sean nodded. "And stole that truck. As the sheriff, he had access to the keys. There's a copy of the bank keys at the station for security. What about blowing up the car in the ravine? How did he manage that? He was with us! Did he have help?"

Claire thought about that. "I don't know. We need to put our heads together and see how we can prove what we know. You're right, no one will believe us. I'll call Fred. Maybe he can think of something."

Sean went over to his apartment to find the box of his mother's things. Claire dialed Fred and was told he was out on a case. She left her number.

Sean came back with an old ragged cardboard box that was filled with ticket stubs, old coins, and other mementoes of Sean's life.

"If I wanted to save something, I tossed it in here. When Mom left, I remember going to her chest of drawers with the mirror and scooping everything I found into this box. Earrings, brush, combs, anything she left behind went in. At night, I would fish the things out and hold them. It was comforting to me just to know she had touched these things."

Claire smiled. "I did the same thing after my mother died. Her shirts. A shoe. A piece of jewelry. It wasn't long before my father packed up everything else and took it to the Goodwill. I still have some of her things in my closet so I don't forget."

They sat down and began going through the box. Claire helped Sean sort items until he came to her brush and combs. Getting her plastic gloves from her backpack, Claire carefully placed the brush and comb in a large specimen bag.

"Oh God, look." Sean held up his baby picture, a larger version of the picture in the locket. "See, it's me. That's got to be the locket she always wore and probably the locket that was around her neck when she died. She never forgot me after all."

Claire squeezed his hand. "Oh course she didn't, Sean. She just couldn't get back to you. That's why she's here now. She wants us to find her and end this mystery. She's doing that through me."

"What's our next step, then? We don't know what to do."

Claire reached for her purse and pulled out the picture of Windleigh. "Actually we do. I'll get the picture of Windleigh, and you get the flashlight from the drawer."

Sean followed Claire through the hall to the locked front door. She unlocked it, and they stepped out onto the porch. It was dark now, the stars visible overhead. Crickets and frogs sang in the distance. Even though the sun had set, the air was still hot.

Geronimo stood between them, sniffing the night. In a single bound, he leaped off the porch and trotted to the woods.

Claire held the picture up. "Shine the light on the picture, Sean."

They both looked and saw Windleigh in the picture once again. This time, the woman was standing right at the edge of the frame, her bony arm extending toward the driveway. Her face wasn't visible because she looking away from the camera. Claire started down the steps to the front lawn.

"She wants us to go that way. Back to the cemetery," she told Sean. "Back to where we found the locket."

As they walked, the wind suddenly picked up. Tree branches swayed with the strong breeze, and dead leaves circled their heads. There was a sound, like moaning floating in the wind.

"This is creeping me out," Sean said. They came up to the cemetery gate. Claire started in, but Sean grabbed her arm.

"Wait. See over there to the side of the fence? It looks like someone or something barreled through there recently. See how it's all mashed down?"

"You're right. Someone walked through there. Look, there's a footprint in the dirt, but it's going out. Not in. A tennis shoe, I think. Let's follow where it came from."

Geronimo hung back at the cemetery gate. Claire chuckled. "He's all brave with a squirrel, but chicken with a ghost. The supernatural creeps him out too."

They waded through the opening, trampling the blackberry vines to the ground. The briars tore at their jeans, but they pushed on. In a few minutes, they were coming around the back of the cemetery where the leaning fence separated the family plots from the pines.

Claire shone the flashlight over the uneven ground. Even with the little light she had, she could see depressions in the ground. The roots of the pines had grown around the river rock tombstones and encased them. The wind rattled the branches overhead as Claire stepped over a rotted log.

"This is the old slave graveyard, Sean. See the depressions? Those are sunken graves. Masters never took care of the slave cemetery. All those rocks are crudely carved tombstones. Some would have been wooden. All gone now."

Sean shivered. "Now I'm really creeped out. What are we looking for?"

Claire stopped without answering. She pushed the flashlight up until the light spread out into the woods. In front of them, off in the distance, stood the woman. Her rotting floppy brown hat obscured part of her face, but she stared at them with cold, black eyes. Stringy brown hair hung around her face. She was clutching at her neck, but this time the locket was gone. Instead, Claire could see a blood red mark stretching across her throat.

Claire took a step in her direction, pulling on Sean's T-shirt. "Walk in her direction. I think she wants us to go there."

"I'm not sure I want to. This is scaring the hell out of me."

Claire shrugged. "She's dead, Sean. She can't hurt us. She wants us to give her closure. We owe it to her to try. Come on."

"I can't believe that thing is my mother," Sean protested.

Geronimo refused to move. They left him behind as they carefully stepped around the briar bushes, rocks, and tree roots. As they moved forward, the woman moved back until at last she faded into the trees.

Claire and Sean carefully climbed over the fallen tree branches and navigated the depressions until they came to a grove of pine trees where the ghost had been standing. Sean shone his flashlight over the landscape, pulling some dead limbs off the ground as he went.

Claire pointed excitedly to a fresh mound of dirt that was uncovered when he moved the tree branches.

"That's got to be it. He moved her from the mounds to the slave cemetery. Brilliant. Without the ghost, we would never have found it. Break me off one of those sticks. I'll feel around."

Claire sank to her knees while Sean held the flashlight over her shoulder. With a thick stick, she dug a small hole through the loose dirt. It went in easily. Using the stick, she went down and down until she hit something. She widened the hole.

"Sounds like a plastic bag. That makes sense. How else would you move a body that's decayed? He scooped it up in a trash bag. This is what we'll do. I'll wait here. You fetch a box and my trowel from my backpack. Oh yes, my gloves too. We don't want to contaminate the crime scene, although there's probably nothing here that would lead us to your father. The recent rains took care of that."

"Be right back." Sean took off, and Geronimo soon joined him. They went back the way they came. Sean found an old box in the garage. Then he went inside the house and got Claire's trowel and rubber gloves. He threw them on the seat in his truck. He stopped and got his spare shovel from the back of the garage and tossed it in the truck. He drove down to the cemetery.

When he got back, Claire had uncovered some of the plastic bag.

"Oh my God," Sean complained. "What's that terrible smell? It seems to be everywhere."

"That's the smell of death, Sean. The smell of a life ended in violence. The smell of evil." Claire pointed to a rip in the bag.

"Shouldn't she be dried bones by now? What's smelling?"

Claire opened the rip in the bag with her stick. He could see greenish tissue and black hair strands. "We're lucky. The bag created moisture and bacteria. This can all be tested for DNA. The killer wasn't thinking when he moved her. She would have disintegrated completely in the mound but not here in an airtight bag. He finally made a mistake."

Sean handed her the white rubber gloves, which she slipped on. Then she quickly uncovered the rest of the garbage bag shoved in the shallow grave.

Sean gagged as he used his shovel to lift the grisly package and drop it gingerly into the waiting box.

"How come the smell doesn't bother you?" Sean asked her.

"I excavated a Civil War battlefield recently. The soldiers were heaped in water-logged trenches. A lot of the human tissue survived, along with the pieces of uniforms and hair. We had a list of the missing and were able to figure out who was who from the DNA of relatives. I had to work at the trench day after day."

Sean leaned on his shovel. "Did you see their ghosts then too?"

Claire nodded. "It was a very scary time."

### Chapter Twenty-Three

In the end, Sean re-bagged the body in an extra large garbage bag at the house to keep the remains intact.

Sean turned to Claire after parking the truck at the garage. "What should we do now? We can't go to the police or we'll be arrested for disturbing a grave. No one will take us seriously. My father will see to it that we're both locked up, and the body will be gone for good."

Claire agreed. "Let me call Fred again. He's our only hope."

They went into the house, careful to take Geronimo with them. They didn't want him sniffing around the body. Claire's cell phone was blinking so Claire redialed Fred. He answered on the first ring.

"Everything okay down there? You aren't in the hospital again, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. But we have a body, Fred. You've got to help us." Claire described Sean's arrest and her visit to the jeweler. She connected the locket to Sean's mother.

"This is going to be tricky, Claire. You dug up a body in the sheriff's county. I don't have any jurisdiction there. They have the right to investigate. However, by law the body must come to Richmond's state examiner so I'm just skipping the step where you file a report with Sheriff Martin. I'm sending an ambulance to the house to pick up the body. Hold tight until they get there. I'll need the picture and locket."

Claire looked at Sean. "All bagged and ready to go. Do we have a case?"

"Not yet. You don't really know who buried that body out there. At the very least you have solved what happened to Sean's mother if the DNA connects. The sheriff will be brought in for questioning."

Claire was disappointed. "I don't think he's the confessing type, Fred."

After they hung up, Claire told Sean an ambulance was traveling from Richmond to pick up the body.

Sean looked sad. "What kind of tests will they do on the body?" he asked her, looking again at the box of mementoes he'd left on the kitchen table. He pulled out an old stick of lipstick and opened the cap. "This was her favorite shade. I remember watching her put it on."

Claire got another specimen bag and let Sean put the lipstick in the bag. "They'll try to date the bones, determine the sex, and date the pieces of her clothes. In the end they'll try to match the DNA. The body's probably too far gone to determine the cause of death, but I think we know. You saw that red mark on the neck."

Sean looked up. "He strangled her. Yeah I saw that. I think I need to have a conversation with my father."

"No, not yet," Claire put a hand on his shoulder. "Let Fred handle it for the moment. I know it's hard, but you won't get anything out of your father except an assault charge. Don't risk it."

"I want to strangle him myself," Sean grumbled.

"Of course you do, but wait. He can still hurt both of us and do it legally. We need more evidence."

"Okay. I hear you. I don't like it, but I understand. It's going to take some time to be at peace with this. To think that my murdered mother was on this farm all these years, and I didn't have a clue. I wasted all this time on self-loathing, letting my father convince me that I was the bad guy."

Claire nodded. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Sean. Did you mail off that college application?"

"Sure, but I'm not counting on a positive response."

Claire smiled. "I am."

After the ambulance came and they transferred the body into the custody of the state examiner's office, Claire and Sean went to bed. As Sean lay on the couch, his mind was racing about the day's events. He still couldn't believe he had found and forever lost his mother in one night. He was too restless to sleep so he finally got up and went outside to the front porch. A full moon overhead lit up the lawn with an eerie white light.

He made a decision. He left the porch and went to his truck that was parked by the garage. He checked to see that Claire's light was off before he got into the truck and turned on the ignition. He took off for town, his mind full of dark thoughts. He set Dr. Bob's gun on the floor on the passenger side and glanced at it off and on.

It was late, almost one am. No one was out on the road at this hour. He turned off on a side road he knew well, the road leading to his father's house. He was careful to pull over in the middle of the long driveway and park his truck off to the side. He stared for a long time at the gun he had brought. In the end he left it behind. He wanted to believe he was the better man.

Sean carried his turned-off flashlight instead, relying on the moon to help him walk the rest of the way to his father's small white house at the end of the driveway. He saw his father was home, his police SUV parked out front. A red Cadillac was also parked behind his police car.

Sean recognized it at once as belonging to Jean Browderman, the lawyer in town and sister of Chief Bransome. No lights were on in the front of the house. As he came by the corner of the house, he spotted a soft glow coming from his father's bedroom.

Sean absorbed this new knowledge, wondering when Jean had become his father's new girlfriend. While he was home, his father had never even dated or so he thought. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He had to be extra careful not to alert them as he looked around for more evidence.

He focused on the white garage beside the house. It was a separate building a short distance from the house. He remembered helping to align the white cinderblocks when he was a teenager. He moved quietly to the door and tried the doorknob. To his surprise, it turned easily. After all, who would rob the sheriff's house? Sean grinned to himself and entered the garage.

Harry Martin's personal car, a Toyota Camry, was parked inside. Sean wasn't interested in that. He flicked on his flashlight and moved it around the walls. He walked around the old white refrigerator. There was a shelf crammed with auto parts, rusted tools, and plastic gas containers. He moved around the car, looking for and finally finding the empty sacks, which had contained pellets of ammonium nitrate, stacked in the corner. Sean then stuck his finger in the black goo coming from a large metal drum beside the empty sacks. He recognized the familiar smell of diesel.

"You evil son-of-a-bitch," Sean whispered. He went back to the counter. Diesel fuel and fertilizer were bomb-making materials. But Sean needed to find something else that would clinch it. He found an empty box on the other side of the car that was crammed into an overflowing trash can. Sean pulled it out and read about blasting caps and detonating chords on the side of the empty box. Sean knew a license was required to buy such materials from a dynamite company, but he guessed his father knew how to circumvent all the paperwork. He was the law in this county, after all.

Sean heard a noise like a slamming door and quickly shut off his flashlight. He realized he was trapped in the corner and ducked down behind his dad's car. The light in the garage suddenly came on, and he heard his father's voice.

"Just getting another six-pack, Jean. I'm thirsty," his father, in his bare feet and striped pajama bottoms, shouted as he opened the door to the spare refrigerator. He grabbed a pack of beer and flipped off the light. The door slammed shut behind him.

Sean breathed again. Grabbing one of the boxes from the trash, Sean made his way to the door and looked out. The house was dark again. He slipped out the door and walked quietly across the lawn. When he got to his truck, he threw the box on the floorboard. He backed down the drive without lights until he got to the main road.

As he drove back to Windleigh, he thought about all he had found out. He knew enough about police procedure to know that he had just committed breaking and entering. Any evidence he had found would be declared inadmissible in court. His father seemed to be untouchable, quite capable of getting away with murder all over again.

He pulled back up to his garage and carried the box back inside the kitchen of the mansion. The sun was starting to creep up over the horizon. Sean sat on the front porch, watching streaks of white and yellow lighten the sky. His thoughts turned back to the gun now back in the gun cabinet and how he could have set it right tonight. But he was no good to Claire in prison. Thinking of the murder of his mother and the betrayal of his father, he wept quietly.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

A hundred miles away, Fred St. John knocked on the door of Federal Agent Sampson Jeter of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Richmond office downtown. In his hand he held the typed report of the "Amberson County Incident" as he referred to it now and the results of the state examiner's examination of a body in a bag. The DNA results would follow next week. Right now, Fred was concerned that Claire and Sean were in danger. He'd had a text message from Sean Martin in the wee hours of the morning saying that bomb-making materials could be found in Harry Martin's garage. He wouldn't say how he had gotten this information. Fred felt they needed to act now.

Agent Jeter had already been briefed by Fred's superiors in the Richmond homicide department. An older black man dressed in a gray suit and tie, Jeter smiled at Fred as he opened the door.

"Come in, Fred. Have a seat. I was just looking over the file we have on Sheriff Harry Martin. What do you have there?"

"The report from the state examiner's office. The results are promising. We have female about thirty. Teeth intact in skull and some strands of hair to match the brush Sean Martin gave us. The cause of death is undetermined, of course. Too much time has passed. No fingerprints lifted from the original plastic bag."

Jeter sat back in his chair behind his desk. He picked up his coffee cup and sipped. "You're convinced that this is Sean Martin's missing mother who disappeared twenty-five years ago?"

"Sean is. First they found a ring identified by a retired jeweler as a ring purchased by Sam Anderson. Then they found a locket near the body site, which Sean identified as his mother's. Inside was a lock of hair we hope to connect to Sean and Sean's baby picture. He gave us a copy of the same picture. Here's my timeline of the events leading up to this discovery of the body starting with the truck at the mound and assault on Claire St. John."

Jeter offered a cup of coffee to Fred who took it gratefully. Jeter opened the report from the state examiner. After a few minutes, he looked up.

"Her feet are missing?"

Fred nodded. "I believe they're still in the Indian mound where my cousin was excavating for Bradford University. The suspect thinks he got the whole body, but I strongly feel we need to move quickly to find the rest of the body and perhaps other clues that might lead us to make an arrest."

Agent Jeter sat back down again at his desk. "And this suspect is Sheriff Martin?"

"Yes. He had the motive. His wife was leaving with Sam Anderson so he killed her and probably Sam as well. I think Sam's buried on that farm too, but I have no proof of that."

Agent Jeter sighed. "Sheriff Martin filed a missing person's report on his wife twenty-five years ago. A year later he filed one on Sam Anderson on behalf of Sam's mother. He did everything by the book, Fred. You have absolutely no evidence that Martin killed these people. You only have a body. I do agree that we need to look for the missing parts, though. We have jurisdiction over the county police in this instance. Abduction. Murder. That's our business, and I will see that everything is done to uncover the facts. You have my word on that. I've already sent a team to the farm."

Fred nodded. "That's great, sir. I'm greatly relieved. I also just received a tip from an anonymous source that inside Harry Martin's garage are fertilizer bags and diesel fuel as well as a box from Hiram Dynamite Company that once contained blasting caps. A search warrant may be in order."

Agent Jeter pointed to the file on his desk. "You knew that Harry Martin is an army vet. I researched a little deeper and found that he was trained in bomb defusing. If he could take a bomb apart, no doubt he could put one together. As the county sheriff, he could request blasting caps as part of the department's arsenal. There's got to be a paper trail leading back to him. I'll put another team on that. This all sounds like we can make a claim of terrorism and start our investigation that way. Was this interesting tip from Sean Martin?"

Fred nodded and handed over his cell phone and let Agent Jeter read the text message.

"I can't imagine what this boy is going through."

"He has a prison record and is afraid his father will think of a way to send him back."

Agent Jeter emptied his coffee cup. "I can understand that, but he won't have to testify against his father if we find the evidence we need. After all, he didn't witness the murders."

"Harry Martin attempted to frame him for the bombings but before things got too far, he released him. We don't know why. Claire had enlisted a local lawyer, Jean Browderman, on Sean's behalf. Sean now believes she's involved with his father. He's scared of being railroaded back to prison, Agent Jeter. The sheriff, and the Bransome family own that town."

Agent Jeter stood up. "Not on my watch. Fred keep me informed when the DNA results come back. I'm off to Amberson County to oversee the investigation. You're a good cop, and your cousin is lucky to have you as kin. Thanks for bringing this to my attention."

Fred shook Agent Jeter's hand and left. On the way back to the office he called Claire to say that the feds were finally on their way. Help was coming.

• • •

Claire stared at the box Sean had left on the kitchen table. He was scrambling eggs in a bowl over the sink. Bacon sizzled in the frying pan.

"Blasting caps? Detonating chords? What's all that for?"

"A fuse for a fertilizer bomb, Claire. There's another empty box in the trash where I found this one. Near the empty ammonium nitrate sacks and a drum of diesel fuel."

Claire unwrapped the bread and put two slices in the toaster on the counter. She opened the refrigerator to get the butter.

"I still can't believe you sneaked into his garage last night. He could have shot you as an intruder, and no one would question it."

Sean poured the eggs into the frying pan. He flipped the bacon with his fork. "That goes both ways, Claire. I could have shot him for being a bastard, but I didn't. I was only thinking about you and our future together. That stopped me from walking in there and shooting him in the head."

Claire was shocked to hear his words. She hugged him as he stood at the counter. "I know this is awful for you, but you only have to hold it together for a little while longer. The FBI is coming, and all of this will come out into the open. Your father will be exposed for the man he is, and he'll pay for what he's done. Don't let him take you down with him."

Sean sighed. "I know. It's just hard to hold it all inside."

They sat down to breakfast. Sean unrolled the paper, and a letter fell out on the table. Claire picked it up.

"From Richmond Community College. That was quick. You just sent it. I wonder why it came back so fast."

"I think you know why," Sean said glumly. "A rejection."

"Open it, Sean. Don't assume the worst. You had references from Dr. Jobin and Dr. Sylvester. That had to count for something."

Sean put down his fork and ripped open the envelope. He pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and read it silently.

Claire finished her toast and drank down the last of her orange juice. Sean was still reading.

"Well? Well?" she pulled on his arm. "What does it say?"

Sean suddenly smiled. "I start on September 14th. You're looking at a freshman in college. They even offered me a part-time job on the maintenance crew."

Claire laughed. "Didn't I tell you that you could do this? That it was possible to start your whole life over, and this time become the man you were always destined to be?"

Sean grinned. "I remember you saying something poetic like that. It takes awhile to get something through my thick skull. Dr. Bob will be here the day after tomorrow. How will I tell him that after three years here, I'm going to move on?"

Claire put her plate in the sink. "He always knew you would leave when you were ready, Sean. He wrote that reference, remember? He wants you to get out of this place and make something of your life."

Sean handed her his empty plate as she filled up the sink with water. "Where will I stay in Richmond? Apartments don't grow on trees. I'll have to take out a loan to pay for school."

Claire looked into his eyes. "You'll stay with me to start with. I have a spare room. Sure it's got all kinds of junk in it, but now I'll have a reason to clean it out. A roommate would be great."

Sean got up and pulled her into his arms. "That sounds like a commitment, Claire St. John. Are you ready for that?"

"I think it's time we explored these feelings between us and see where it leads. I'm looking forward to spending time with you without work deadlines and ghosts. So far it's been a roller coaster ride of danger and tragedy. With all this behind us, do you think we will be able to stay together?"

Sean pulled her closer and kissed her deeply. "I'm sure," he whispered. "More than anything, I want to be with you."

"Then it's settled. Pack your bags, Sean Martin. We'll leave here together when Dr. Sylvester returns. Now I have to close down the dig and repack the equipment. It's a crime scene now."

"What about this box? I can't leave it here. I'm not supposed to have it. Breaking and entering."

Claire reached into a drawer and pulled out the grill lighter. "Burn it while I change clothes. I'll meet you at the truck."

Sean went out to the trash barrel in the back yard near the brick patio. He tossed the box in and lit it on fire. When Claire came out, it was a pile of ash.

She held up her cell phone. "I took a picture and saved it. Just in case. We can always delete it."

"Good thinking."

Geronimo danced around Claire's feet. "He's going to hate being back in Richmond. Locked up in my apartment all day. You're spoiled rotten, aren't you, boy?"

"I promise to walk him in the park, for old time's sake," Sean told Claire.

They rode up to the Indian mounds. Claire took her last pictures of the site. They pulled back the tarp over the university's equipment and began the process of repacking the site tools. They loaded up the last of the trowels and cleaned off the soil sifter. Soil specimens, pottery shards, and charcoal fragments were already packed in specimen boxes and waiting at the house for transfer to Claire's lab at the university.

Sean was fastening the tailgate on his truck when he spotted two black vans and a black sedan pulling up to the mansion below them.

"They're here, Claire. Are we done?"

Claire walked back to the truck. "For now. I'll finish packing at the house. You'll want to show them around the farm."

Claire called Geronimo back, and they went back to the house, parking at the garage. A black man was getting out of the sedan. He peeled off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt. He pulled out his wallet and showed them his ID badge.

"Agent Sampson Jeter, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I think Fred told you we were coming. We have a search warrant for the grounds which includes the ravine, cemetery area where the body was found, and the Indian mounds. I understand Dr. Robert Sylvester is the owner of the property. Is he here by chance?"

Sean shook his head. "I'm Sean Martin, caretaker. Dr. Sylvester is flying back from England and will be here Friday. I'm prepared to take your men to the places they need to go."

"Good. A tow truck will be here shortly from Hooverton to remove the car in the ravine. We're taking it back to Richmond for closer examination. I'll put this court order in your hands since the owner is absent. Your cooperation would be appreciated." Agent Jeter handed Sean the court order in a large mailing envelope.

Claire smiled. "We're happy that someone finally took us seriously. I'm Claire St. John, by the way. Sean is going to unload his truck and then take you up to the mound."

Agent Jeter put on his black ball cap with the letters FBI embroidered on the front in bright yellow. He motioned his men out of their vans. They quickly helped to unpack Claire's excavation equipment and left the boxes in the garage. Then they followed Sean's truck up the dirt farm road to the Indian mounds. Agent Jeter left his car at the garage and rode in the van.

Claire put Geronimo in the house and saw that he had food and water. "You have to stay out of their way, boy. Sorry." Claire left the dog in the house and walked up the road to the Indian mounds. Already, yellow tape with the words "Crime Scene" was draped around the whole site. Sean was pointing to Claire's first excavation at Mound #1. Men in FBI T-shirts and black ball caps were photographing the hole and beginning to carefully dig through the dirt.

Claire came up to the open gate of the hay field and stood at the rock wall that marked the entrance. She started to go by the rock wall, but stopped as goose bumps rose on her arms and she shivered from an invisible cold breeze. She glanced around, startled.

Then she saw him. He was standing next to the rock wall. Her sixth sense told her he was dead, dressed in a faded red flannel shirt and muddy jeans. Half of his face was missing, his skull deformed and flattened on the right side. Black dried blood covered the other half. His one eye was open, staring at her. The lips from his open mouth moved silently. More black blood covered the center of his shirt.

"Sam?" she whispered.

Then Sean touched her shoulder, and she nearly screamed. She buried her head in his shoulder.

"What on earth, Claire? Are you all right?"

"I just saw Sam Anderson. He's buried somewhere in that rock pile. Jesus, he was frightening. His head was bashed in. It was just like my vision. God, that was awful."

"I'll get my shovel," Sean told her but she grabbed his shirt to stop him.

"No. We can't find him, Sean. We could never explain how we knew. They'd lock us up."

"What do we do then? He's the last piece of the puzzle. He's telling you he wants us to finish this."

Claire nodded. "I know, Sean. God, I know."

### Chapter Twenty-Five

Still shaking, Sean led Claire to the mound where the FBI men were carefully bagging dirt.

"Found something?" Sean asked Agent Jeter.

"Bone fragments. Oh, what's that, Jim?"

The agent reached down with his gloved hands and pulled up a black leather shoe, flattened by the soil and the years.

Agent Jeter turned back to Claire. "The body was missing her feet so we hope to find the rest of her shortly. Sean, take your truck back and lead the tow truck to the ravine. The driver just radioed that he's ready to drive through the field. An agent's with him at the mansion."

Sean nodded. "Sure. Come on Claire." Claire got back into the truck.

As they went through the open gate again, Claire stared at the rock pile. Sam was gone.

"So Sam was not in that car in the ravine when he died?" Sean asked her.

"No, he was stabbed with that knife we found and then had his skull bashed in with a rock. He died at the rock wall. The murderer moved the body and got rid of the car later. I remember walking behind the murderer dragging the body through the mud up this path. Of course, I didn't know what I was seeing because I hadn't been here yet. It's only now that I am putting the pieces together. And Sean, the murderer wasn't alone. Someone else was there, watching from the woods. Someone else knows about all this and has kept quiet all this time."

They came to the house. Sean let Claire out while he led the towing truck and another FBI van back through the field and toward the woods where they would extract the burned remains of the car in the ravine and search the woods for the body of Sam Anderson.

Claire went back inside the house and greeted her dog. She let him out briefly for a bathroom break while she started to pack up her papers, notebooks, and laptop to make the trip home to Richmond.

She had just started when she heard a knock on the front door. To her surprise, she saw Sheriff Martin standing there on the porch in his official uniform. His SUV was parked at the garage.

Claire stepped out onto the porch, a little afraid to be alone with Sean's father. She nervously glanced down in the field where she saw Sean's truck still parked with the tow truck and FBI van.

"What the hell is going on here, Claire? I was told the FBI is here. I think I should be informed when federal agents descend on my county. What has Sean gotten himself into now?"

Claire frowned. "They're digging up the feet of a woman who died twenty-some years ago in the hay field."

The sheriff looked puzzled. "An Indian? This is all about those mounds?"

"No, it's about your wife. Remember her? Sean's mother?"

Harry Martin went pale, his bluster suddenly gone. "What are you talking about? I knew you were trouble the minute I saw you with my son. You've twisted his mind with some of your lies."

Claire crossed her arms. "What lies? I just came here to excavate the Indian mounds. You did everything you could to stop me. Now I know why. Thought I'd run away back to Richmond after you bashed my skull in with that shovel. But here I stand. You know why I couldn't leave? She wouldn't let me. How do you sleep at night, Sheriff Martin, or do you still see her in that yellow dress in your dreams?"

His eyes went wide with fear. His hand went to his holster as he quickly unsnapped his gun. Claire turned and was halfway through the front door when the sheriff jerked her back out onto the porch with a strong arm. His gun came out, and he pulled her to him. His angry face looked straight into her face.

"You're a crazy bitch! Where are you getting this stuff?" he growled. "You don't know me. You couldn't. Who's been talking to you?" He poked her sharply in the ribs.

"I saw you kill Sam Anderson that rainy night. Yeah, that's right. I see things, Sheriff Martin. Bad things. Things the dead want me to see with their dead eyes. The knife is already in Richmond, matching DNA with the hairs they found on the clothes from the suitcase. You may have burned up the car, but I already carried a sample to Fred. They have everything they need to get you the electric chair."

Claire looked down at the gun and then back up into his hard, cold green eyes. "Shooting me won't change the fact that Sean and I dug up your wife's body after you buried her in that shallow grave in the slave cemetery. She was standing right there leading us to the spot. You've seen her too, haven't you? She haunts you, doesn't she, Sheriff Martin."

The sheriff shoved Claire hard against the door. "You've got nothing on me. Some old bones. A burned car. There's nothing linking me to anything, and you're crazy if you think I'm going to confess. I'm not sorry. She can haunt me as long as she wants."

"Drop it, Sheriff Martin!" Agent Jeter called out as he came around the porch, both hands pointing a gun at the sheriff. Harry Martin grabbed Claire to his chest and held the gun barrel to her head. "Who the hell are you?"

"Agent Jeter. FBI. You don't want to do this, Sheriff Martin. We have a warrant for your arrest."

He laughed. "On what charges? Claire here just assaulted me, and I'm subduing her. You're interfering with justice."

"You have a funny sense of justice, Sheriff Martin," Jeter answered. "Let the girl go. Shooting her won't solve anything."

Agent Jeter was quickly joined by four other agents who fanned out across the lawn, guns out and moving slowly toward the porch. Sean was suddenly there, by the hedge at the bottom of the front porch.

"Dad, let Claire go. Lower your gun. They know all about the explosives in your garage and your army job of defusing bombs. They're charging you with destruction of private property. But if you hurt Claire, I'll kill you myself."

Sheriff Martin looked at Agent Jeter. He was moving closer. "That's right, Sheriff Martin. The charges are illegal use of firearms, arson, and destruction of private property."

The sheriff didn't answer. He looked past Agent Jeter to the woman in the yellow plaid dress standing at the edge of the lawn. Claire saw her too. Her bony arm raised up, pointing at the sheriff.

"She waits for you," Claire whispered to the sheriff. "I see her too. You'll never get away from her and what you've done."

Sheriff Martin suddenly shoved Claire down the porch stairs and into the waiting arms of Sean. "She'll have to haunt me in Hell then. I can't go to prison."

"No, Dad. Don't do this!" Sean yelled.

Claire looked back to see Sheriff Martin pointing the gun at his own head. He pulled the trigger, spraying Claire with bright red blood. Then he collapsed on the porch with a heavy thud, his gun landing in a fresh pool of blood.

Sean ran up the stairs and kneeled by his father's side. His father looked up, into his son's eyes. Blood was everywhere. Claire heard Agent Jeter call for an ambulance.

"I never deserved you," his father whispered. "You never deserved me. I'm so sorry." His eyes went blank, and he didn't speak again. Sean stood up and beat his fists on the mansion walls in utter frustration. Claire pulled him close and let him weep on her shoulder.

• • •

The ambulance took the body away as the deputies of Amberson County talked with Agent Jeter and processed the death scene alongside with the FBI. Everyone was in shock.

Sean was calmer now, standing by a tree and watching his father disappear into the ambulance under a sheet. Claire stood at his side, wiping the blood off her face and neck with Sean's handkerchief.

"We'll never know the truth now," Sean was saying. "He took it all to his grave along with the whys, the whens, and the wheres."

Claire wadded up the cloth and pushed it into her pocket. "He didn't think he did anything wrong, Sean. He believed she deserved it because she was leaving him. He couldn't live with that, being upstaged by another man. A man she loved more."

Sean looked at her. "I'm all alone now. All that's left is my sister who doesn't speak to me. My father turned her against me long ago."

"You were her son, and he hated you for it. He took everything out on you. You were lucky to survive, Sean. No matter what, you still have me. I know exactly what you're going through. I lost my mother too because of a bad father. You can rebuild your relationship with your sister now that your father is gone."

Sean took Claire into his arms. "Thank God for you. You're the only thing keeping me sane."

The FBI and deputies took statements from Claire and Sean. It was now late afternoon, and the tow truck had returned with the burned hull of the Ford Thunderbird. Agent Jeter ordered it on to Richmond. Sean called his sister who was shocked to hear that their father was dead. They agreed to meet later to make the funeral arrangements. Sean didn't want to explain the details of their father's death over the phone. She would read about it soon in the papers. It was enough to hear his sister's voice on the phone after all these years.

At the end of the day, Agent Jeter knocked on the kitchen door. Sean let him in and invited him to sit at the kitchen table where Claire gave him a glass of iced tea. Sean sipped on a beer.

"No body was found in the ravine so far. We'll be back tomorrow with cadaver dogs. Can I have Mrs. Anderson's address? I want to touch base with her before I leave for home. She may still have some of Sam's old clothes that would help the dogs. It's a long shot, I know. Where was the knife found?"

Claire pointed to a spot on Jeter's hand-drawn map. "About here, at the rock wall. I'd check the hay field too. Maybe he's in one of the mounds I haven't excavated."

Agent Jeter nodded. "Sure. Makes sense. You okay, Sean?"

Sean smiled weakly. "About as okay as a person can be who finds out that his mother was murdered by his father. Be sure to talk to Jean Browderman, the lawyer in town. I think she was chummy with my father. She may know something, like where Sam Anderson is buried."

Agent Jeter wrote down the lawyer's name and number. "The men are loading up the boxes now. We'll leave here shortly. Tomorrow, I'll need the location of where the body in the garbage bag was found. We'll need to process that area too."

"Of course," Claire said. "But with Harry Martin dead, it won't lead anywhere now."

"We have to be thorough. As it was, we didn't have enough information to charge him with murder. We were counting on a confession."

Sean set his beer down. "His death was his confession. He couldn't live with the guilt anymore. He thought of her every time he looked at me. I was just another reminder of what he had done."

Claire sighed. "He was a haunted man, Sean. You know that."

Agent Jeter nodded. "Until tomorrow, then. There'll be a deputy posted at the gate for the night. Don't want any gawkers on the property. I'm sure the news will spread like wildfire through the whole town."

Agent Jeter went out to meet with his men. They moved out in single file down the driveway and disappeared.

### Chapter Twenty-Six

When Jack Copeland's plane touched down at the Hooverton Air Field, Claire and Sean were waiting with Dr. Sylvester's truck. Jack helped the professor off the little plane and retrieved his luggage from the back.

Dr. Sylvester, in a wrinkled short-sleeved shirt and jeans, stretched his legs. "Nothing like an eight hour flight from England and then a hop from Washington in a puddle-jumper. I'm bushed! Let's get back to the mansion, and you can fill me in on what's going on around here. If I can stay awake that long."

Sean offered to drive Dr. Sylvester back to Windleigh in the professor's rented car while Claire followed in Sean's truck. They were both afraid he would fall asleep at the wheel.

Geronimo greeted them in the driveway when they returned. Dr. Sylvester pulled his suitcase out of the trunk of the rental car while Geronimo licked his hand.

He rubbed Geronimo's fur. "Claire, Sean told me of the tragic turn of events with Sheriff Martin. I'm so sorry you both had to go through that. What a strange turn of events. Harry was a hard man, but I had no idea of the secret he carried all these years. Are the FBI men still here?"

Claire pointed up the hill to the hay field. "They're searching the mounds today. I'm heading up there. Sean's going to get you settled and watch Geronimo for me. You have a lot of catching up to do, and I'll leave you to it."

Claire walked up to the gate of the hay field. Agent Jeter and his men were letting the German shepherds smell some old shirts they had collected from Mrs. Anderson. To the agent's surprise, the dogs bounded away from the mounds and toward Claire. They headed straight for the rock wall, sniffing and barking. One dog crawled up the rock pile and stood on the top, busily smelling between the rocks. As he leaped off and landed on the ground, several rocks tumbled down after the dog. Claire walked over as Agent Jeter joined her at the rock pile.

"Rocks from the field, piled up for generations to make a wall and keep the cows out," Claire explained. "It looks solid, but that could be an illusion." The dogs barked around Agent Jeter's feet.

Taking his tall stick, Agent Jeter began unloosening more rocks at the top of the pile. A white finger bone fell out.

"He must be stuffed down in that hole, all doubled up. How clever to just pile more rocks on the body. Even more clever than hiding a body in plain sight in an Indian mound. Why here, though, on this farm?"

Claire pondered the question. "Dr. Sylvester was related to Lizzie Martin, and she cleaned the house for the family when they came down for the summer. I think she and Sam must have met here, out of sight of her abusive husband. Then when Harry found out, he surprised them here on the farm and killed them before they could escape. Leaving them here was a great cover so he couldn't be linked to their disappearance. It would look like the Sylvesters killed them. Did you get any information out of Jean Browderman?"

Agent Jeter signaled his men over to begin the tedious extraction of Sam Anderson from his rock pile grave. "She didn't tell us a thing. Threatened to get a lawyer of her own, but I could tell Martin's death was a blow. Mrs. Anderson may be more helpful. See, Jean was once engaged to Sam Anderson. He left her at the altar for another woman. Coincidence that she was involved with Martin? I think not. We'll sort it all out in time. I smell more than one rat. I'm thinking Martin wasn't in this alone."

Claire nodded. It all made sense now. Those eyes in the woods, watching the murder of Sam Anderson had to be Jean Browderman's, the scorned lady. She had fooled everyone.

Slowly the skeleton of Sam Anderson emerged from the rock pile. Claire recognized the red flannel shirt that clung to the bones and the flattened skull with turfs of hair sticking on it.

The skeleton collapsed into a pile of bones as the rocks were carefully removed. An old moldy brown wallet rolled out of the grisly collection. Agent Jeter picked it up and opened it.

"Faded pictures. Big bills. Ah, a folded up piece of paper." Agent Jeter handed the wallet to one of men while he unfolded the paper. He read it silently, then smiled.

"It's a letter to his mother explaining why he was leaving and how he intended to marry Lizzie Martin as soon as the divorce came through. After the buzz settled down, they would return to claim Lizzie's children. They were afraid of Harry Martin."

Claire looked again at the bones that made up the remains of Sam Anderson. "They were right to be afraid. I wonder who told Harry about the affair. They almost escaped."

Agent Jeter carefully folded the letter back up. "Maybe a woman who wanted to see both of them dead. A woman who was still in love with Sam Anderson and couldn't stand to see him with anyone else."

Claire nodded. "Jean Browderman."

• • •

That night Sean, Claire, and Dr. Sylvester sat around the fire pit in the back yard enjoying the last of Sean's steaks and the professor's stored merlot. Geronimo chewed on a steak bone in the grass.

Dr. Sylvester raised his wine glass in a toast. "So, you're leaving me, Sean, for the big city of Richmond. I'm sad but happy all at the same time. It's time you made a life for yourself. I always knew you were capable of more than mowing the grass around the farm."

Sean reached over and took Claire's hand in his. "Claire convinced me that I needed to venture out into the big bad world and see what I was capable of, Dr. Bob. All that mowing experience will come in handy at the community college when I start that part-time job in maintenance."

Claire smiled. "Sean has life experience. That will count for a lot on campus. You won't have to worry about him flunking out because of college partying or skipping class. Thanks so much for pulling some strings in the history department for Sean."

Sean nodded. "I won't let you down."

Dr. Sylvester refilled his wine glass. "What do you think you'll want to do with your degree, Sean? History majors don't find a lot of work. Claire already told me that you don't have a passion or the patience for archaeology."

"No. I'll let her sift through the dirt for pieces of charcoal. I'd rather teach history. Be a professor like you. Research and write books. I loved creative writing in school, but that was a long time ago."

Geronimo was done with his bone, and he sniffed Claire's fingers looking for more. She patted his head. "I'm all packed up, Dr. Sylvester. Sean will be making funeral arrangements tomorrow, and then we'll be going back to Richmond. I'll finish writing up the site there. Sean has a little more packing to do."

Sean sighed. "Yes. Years of stuff to get rid of. A lawyer I've never heard of left a message on my phone. He wants to talk to me about Dad's legal affairs. He had life insurance or something. Anyway, I'm meeting my sister at the funeral home tomorrow to plan the details and tell her about our father. She needs to know the real story."

Dr. Sylvester finished his wine and let Geronimo lick his plate clean. "It was in the paper this morning describing how the local sheriff shot himself on the steps of a Civil War mansion. The mayor is choosing a temporary replacement while the police department finishes their investigation. You'll both have to come back here to testify later."

Dr. Sylvester's cell phone suddenly jingled in his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and answered it.

"Just got back from England today. Jet-lagged. Tomorrow? I already told you I'm not selling the farm. I'm retiring here. Okay, okay. We'll talk, especially about those articles you wrote while I was gone, Kevin. Come around ten. I'll be here for a couple more days."

The professor hung up. "Those Bransome brothers never give up. Must have heard I was back. They said some guys in New York have an offer that I can't refuse. They won't take no for an answer, so they're coming over tomorrow to show me the contract."

Sean laughed. "You could be a millionaire if you sold this place."

"I know, but I grew up here. My family is buried here. I want to stay for awhile until I can't fish in the lake or go up the stairs. Then I'll cash it in. I won't be rushed into selling this place just because they want to be millionaires too. There's something about those brothers I just don't like."

Claire looked at Sean. "After the run-ins with Chief Bransome, we can honestly say we don't trust the family either. I think their motives are clear."

Dr. Sylvester laughed. "They've always been clear about what they wanted, Claire. I have to hand it to them. They're persistent, if nothing else. I'll hear them out and then send them on their way, disappointed as usual."

### Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sean left early for the funeral home. Claire waved from the kitchen window as he drove off. She filled up the sink with water and attacked the pile of dirty dishes from last night and this morning. Dr. Sylvester got up late, asked for coffee, and then went off to take a shower.

Claire continued to pack up her clothes and personal items, cramming them into her suitcase. She left her dirty clothes in a garbage bag, bound for her apartment's washer and dryer in Richmond.

She was watching Geronimo run around the front yard from the upstairs window when she saw a white van drive up. The Bransome brothers were here. She hurried downstairs, yelling to Dr. Sylvester that he had company. He was changing in his bedroom.

Through the kitchen window, she saw Kevin Bransome get out of the van along with his brother Larry, dressed in old T-shirts and jeans. They moved to the back of the van and opened the doors. Kevin pulled out a large duffle bag while Larry unloaded two gas cans and left them on the pavement. They came toward the kitchen.

Claire frowned. "What are the gas cans for?" she asked Dr. Sylvester as he walked into the kitchen combing his wet hair.

"What gas cans?"

The brothers didn't knock but walked boldly into the kitchen. Kevin pointed a small handgun at the professor's heart while he set the duffle bag on the table. Larry followed behind him carrying in the two gas cans.

Kevin waved his gun. "Welcome home, Dr. Sylvester. Long time no see. Probably not the welcome you expected."

Dr. Sylvester was angry. "What's the meaning of this, Kevin? Claire, call the police. You two get the hell out of here right now."

Larry moved to stop Claire who was dialing her cell phone. He knocked it into the sink with the dishes. He shoved her against the professor.

"Here's the plan, Dr. Sylvester. With the sheriff gone, we lost our policeman in our pocket. He covered up all our shady deals and illegal sales. He was our enforcer. In return we didn't tell anyone he whacked his wife and her lover. It was a wonderful arrangement until he blew his brains out. So we're moving up our timetable and retiring with your money. Your wife is fixing to become a tragic widow and so heart-broken that she'll sell to us with no questions asked."

Dr. Sylvester was shocked. "You'll never get this place, Kevin. I left my share to my children already in my will."

"Yeah, Jean has the will. Loophole. It goes to your wife first because she's your heir. Didn't check Virginia law, did you? After the fire, the memory of how you burned to death in this old house along with that young archaeology student will be too much for her. She'll sell and convince the others to get rid of this place finally. She'll never want to set foot in here again."

Kevin motioned for them to move. "Living room, please. Sorry about this, Claire. You did help me by excavating those mounds. Indian burial grounds would have complicated the division of the property into house lots. No bodies, no problem. They'll bulldoze." You just wouldn't go back home like we asked. We gave you enough hints, didn't we? Wrote that note. Blew up that car at the bank and trashed your stuff. We were waiting for you at the ravine too, but even that didn't deter you. You're just so hard-headed."

Larry dragged two kitchen chairs into the living room and placed them back to back. He shoved Claire down onto the seat. Kevin held the gun to her head.

"Sit down, professor. We're pretty experienced at this. Larry, get the duct tape."

"Sean will be back any minute. You won't get away with this," Claire told them as they taped her feet together.

Kevin laughed. "Sure we will. Jean's parked across from the funeral home, watching Sean right this minute. He's going to be tied up for awhile with his grieving sister. She'll call us when he leaves. By then, you'll be dead, and the police will find the gas cans in Sean's apartment along with rolls of duct tape and Dr. Sylvester's wallet. If Sean's father had done his job, you would already be dead and Sean in jail. But he didn't hit you hard enough with that shovel, did he?"

Larry pulled more duct tape out of his duffle bag. He wrapped both of their wrists together and then went around their arms and the chairs. Claire squirmed, but she was stuck fast.

Then she smelled the gas fumes and heard Larry's footsteps upstairs as he doused the second floor with gasoline.

"This could have all been avoided if you'd just seen reason, Dr. Sylvester. Stubborn to the end. You forced us to use our last resort. This doesn't have anything to do with you, Claire, but here you are. Right in the middle. Such a pretty girl, but you know too much."

Larry came down the steps with an empty gas can. Kevin saluted the professor, picking up the duffle bag. "We'll be going now. Wish we could have parted on happier terms."

They went out the front door. Larry tossed a match in the hall, and Claire heard a whoosh sound as the gasoline caught fire and raced up the stairs to the second floor. She desperately tugged at her tape, but it didn't budge.

Dr. Sylvester also tried to break the bonds. With all the motion, they found themselves on their sides on the floor still taped and in trouble. Smoke was filling the room, billowing down the stairs.

They were both coughing, trying to inch forward toward the door leading to the front porch. Dr. Sylvester was coughing and wheezing, trying to catch his breath. There was a loud crash somewhere above her, and Claire guessed the upper floors were collapsing. Even if they made it to the door, they could be crushed by the falling timber.

Someone touched her. Claire looked through the haze and saw the woman in the picture. She smiled at Claire, her body now fully restored. No longer was she a rotting corpse. Instead, she

kneeled in front of Claire in a clean yellow plaid dress. Her long brown hair cascaded around her shoulders and touched the floor. Her eyes were bright as she looked into Claire's face.

"It's not your time," she said to Claire. "Take care of my son." Then she faded away into the black smoke.

Somewhere Claire heard glass shattering and voices yelling. She coughed violently, her vision fading and going dark. She was suffocating. Then everything went black.

Sean shattered the living room window using the crowbar from his truck. Fighting the smoke and glass shards, he pushed through the opening and fell on the rug. The smoke was thick and choking. Crawling on his knees, he blindly reached out and touched Claire's head, felt the chair, and found Dr. Sylvester. Neither answered him when he called their names. Taking out his pocketknife, he cut the tape that bound the two to the fallen chair. At the same time, he heard the front door burst open as firemen finally broke it down. Immediately the smoke cleared from the floor as it was sucked out the open door.

"Help!" Sean yelled. The firemen turned and rushed over. One grabbed Claire, and the other pulled the unconscious professor to the front porch and fresh air. Claire revived suddenly, began coughing, and sat up. Sean was right behind the fireman as they moved Claire and Dr. Sylvester out to the lawn. Two more fire trucks came up the drive. One fireman gave Dr. Sylvester oxygen, strapping the mask on his face.

"They're going to put an oxygen mask on you, Claire. Don't fight it," Sean said, kneeling at Claire's side. She nodded and looked at the house. What had once been a beautiful historic mansion was now a burning hulk. The third and second floor had gone up quickly and fallen into the first floor. All that was still standing were the walls of the first floor. Lucky for Claire and the professor, the living room walls were the last to burn and had protected them from the brunt of the flames and the collapse of the timbers.

Claire pulled her mask off and coughed. "My dog?" she managed to ask, her voice a squeak.

Sean slid her mask back on. "He's locked in my truck. Safe."

Claire's eyes reflected her relief. Dr. Sylvester was coming around, coughing, and sitting up in a daze. He glanced over at Sean and Claire. He pulled the mask off and tried to speak.

"Thank God, you got us out, Sean."

Claire looked at Sean. Pulling down her mask. "Your mother was there, Sean. She told me everything was going to be all right. I knew you would find us before it was too late."

Sean hugged her to his chest. "Thanks to Agent Jeter. His men were following Jean Browderman, and they arrested her outside the funeral home. She had to be watching me. She wouldn't tell Agent Jeter anything, but he knew she was up to something. I came straight here and saw the house was on fire. Agent Jeter went after Jean's brothers. He alerted the fire department and police. They were right behind me."

Agent Jeter joined Sean and Claire on the lawn. He had his cell phone in his hand.

"Kevin and Larry were caught at the county line by the state police. They're being escorted back to jail in Hooverton. An ambulance is on the way. Both of you need to go to the hospital."

"Was anything saved from the house?" Claire asked Sean.

"Well, your clothes are toast, but the university's equipment is safe in the garage. Good thing you took your laptop out to the truck last night along with your summer's work. All that was left to pack was your suitcase. None of that matters now. I just couldn't lose you."

Claire smiled, fighting the urge to cough. In the distance, she heard the ambulance approaching. "I think it's finally over, Sean. The good guys won."

### Chapter Twenty-Eight

Two weeks later, Sean and Claire said their goodbyes to Mrs. Anderson at the Hooverton United Methodist Church on a hot Sunday afternoon. They had just attended a double memorial service celebrating the lives of Sam Anderson and Elizabeth Martin. Claire smiled as the doomed couple were finally laid to rest side by side in the cemetery. Sean placed large bouquets of flowers on each grave. His sister Allison stood at his side, wiping her tears.

Dr. Sylvester stood with them along with Fred St. John and Agent Jeter. The old Windleigh mansion had been knocked down that week, and the spot made ready for the new house Dr. Sylvester was planning over the coming months.

Sean kneeled by the pink granite tombstone and ran his finger over his mother's carved name. "I wish I had known her," he said to Claire.

Claire smiled. "In a strange way, you did. Through me."

Allison looked at them, puzzled. Harry Martin had been cremated the week before and his ashes buried privately at the other end of the cemetery with only Sean, Allison, and Claire attending.

It would be a few months until the Bransome family went to trial. Sean, Claire, and Dr. Sylvester were all scheduled to testify against them in court. Charged with the attempted murder of Claire and Dr. Sylvester and past murders of two other local farmers, they had little chance of escaping prison. Jean finally confessed to helping her brothers and turned state's evidence against them. She still refused to talk about her role in the murders of Lizzie Martin and Sam Anderson. She would be losing her license to practice law.

It didn't matter to Sean and Claire. They already knew the truth. The DNA from Sean's mother's brush matched the hair on the skull in the slaves' cemetery. Likewise, the hair in the locket was Sean's. Hair found on the clothes from the suitcase in the car in the ravine matched the DNA found on the body in the rock pile. Finally, it was time to put all the unhappiness behind them now and move on to their new lives.

Sean's first semester of college was about to begin, paid for by the life insurance of Harry Martin. Sean and Allison had put the house up for sale and donated his furniture to the Salvation Army.

Claire would be teaching a couple of anthropology classes in the fall at the university. She planned on turning in her doctorate thesis in December, becoming a full-fledged professor.

As Sean and Claire walked back to Claire's car, they held hands. After this summer, they knew they could face anything fate threw at them as long as they were together. The tragic past was behind them, and a bright future was before them. As they drove away from Hooverton, neither looked back.
