Dana Cameron - Ashes and Bones: An Emma Fielding Mystery

I SAT ON THE ROCK BY THE EDGE OF THE

WHAT THE HELL? I STARTED TO TREMBLE.

TWO DAYS LATER, I LIMPED DOWNSTAIRS AFTER my morning shower,

DEAR GODI STOOD UP. BRIAN NEEDED TO SEE; I

I WASNT THERE, SHE SAID. I JUST GOT THE CALL

WITH ARCHAEOLOGY, YOUD THINK THINGS WOULD be straight forward, but

I WAS PROBABLY TOO DEEP IN THOUGHT ON MY WAY

IT WAS WITH A STRANGE MIXTURE OF APPREHENSION, vindication, and

AFTER MARTY HUNG UPSLAMMED DOWNI stood there for a while,

I SAT IN MY OFFICE, WONDERING ABOUT DORA AND the

HEY! HEY! I SHOUTED, LOOKING FOR A WAY TO open

THE DAY OF MEGS WEDDING THE SATURDAY BEFORE Labor Day

NOLAN SHOVED ME HARD, BACKWARD.

I SLEPT WELL THAT NIGHT, AND AFTER CLASS THE next

ITS NOT HIM, I SAID. I COULDNT STOP STARING AT

CONCENTRATION CAME A LITTLE EASIER THE NEXT day, Saturday, and

SAY THAT AGAIN. I LEANED AGAINST THE CAR, not sure

I SWALLOWED, TRIED TO KEEP MY KNEES FROM BUCKLING, and

I SPENT A LOT OF TIME AT THE HOSPITAL AFTER

I SAT ON THE ROCK BY THE EDGE OF THE REDDISH clay path, watching the Aqua Velva water churning on the toothy black rocks below. The sharp salt air was tempered with the heavy freshness of the nearby forest, and that kept the bright sunshine from being excessively hot. Seabirds, not so different from the sandpipers and seagulls I was used to, wheeled and played on the updrafts far beneath me, while still being an easy hundred feet above the water. It would only take a subtle shift of weight, merely straightening my legs at the hip, and I would slide from my narrow perch and finally find out if all those falling nightmares Id been having lived up to the real thing. Even if I didnt hit one of those eager rocks, the impact on the water probably would break my back. I wondered if I would crash into one of the seabirds on the way down or if they would flap out of the way. But because I wasnt really feeling suicidal, I allowed myself the shiver of vertigo for another moment or two, enjoying the thrill and the view, before I very carefully got up and picked my way back down to the picnic spot that Brian had chosen. Pity about the morbidity, I thought disinterestedly, particularly when things were so perfect.

Im in what most people would call paradise, which on Earth is known as Kauai, with the man I love. I have everything Ive always wanted: a tenured position, books with my name on the cover, plenty of students, hot sites to work on, and a livable if unfinished house, a genuine vacation, and I am about as much fun as a cold slate gravestone.

As a polite person, against my will I have developed into something of an adequate liar over the years, so convinced myself that I wasnt spoiling my husband Brians vacation. He has a naturally happy disposition, particularly when the weather is warm; the booze, sex, idleness, and great food were a significant bonus. As far as our first real vacation since our honeymoona vacation that wasnt wrapped around a conference or research tripit was a smashing success.

The fact that I was miserable, however, was unrelated.

I found my way down the slope and crossed the sand along the water. The beach was nearly empty, not because it was a Thursday but because wed outlasted the other tourists and the beach wasnt any good for surfers. We could almost imagine that it was ours alone.

Physically, I felt great. Id been catching up on my sleep. I had lost a little weight, but chalked it up to a stressful semester. No archaeologist field tan, elbow to fingers, here. Id been super careful about the sun and could actually boast of having a tan that extended everywhere my bikini didnt, and Brian claimed the freckles that came automatically with my dark red hair were cute. The bags under my eyes had faded and most of my bruises from my Krav Maga training were gone. Id had just enough fieldwork before coming out so that my muscles were tolerably toned and I didnt have the professorial slouch that seemed to settle in from October to May.

About twenty feet away from Brian and our towels, I remembered what was missing. I carefully smiled and waved at him. His dark brown hair was mussed from the wind and flaking out; his honey skin was glowing from the sun.

You should have gone up, I said, sitting down. The view was great. I could see whales way out there.

All the views are great, he said. Here, Ive got warm sand under my butt.

To each his own, I said. I ate the last of the mango in my fruit salad. I then flopped over on my stomach and closed my eyes. There were palm fronds rattling, and small waves endlessly lapping at the beach. The heat from the sand, eggshell white, was lulling.

Em. Youve been sleeping an awful lot lately.

His voice was tight, the sentiment came out of nowhere. Crap. I dodged it. Since when are you opposed to napping, Lazy Boy?

This is something else. I mean, ever since school got out, youve either been going full tilt or youve been asleep. Here, its been worse.

The sun turned the insides of my eyelids red and it was too bright. I turned my head to the other side, shaded my eyes, and watched the little crabs scuttling sideways just a foot away.

Em?

Its called a vacation, Bri, or had you forgotten whose idea this was? I sounded a lot bitchier than I meant to, but he was the one picking a fight.

There was a long sigh, and I thought he was giving it up. Then he said, Em. The fingerprints werent Tonys.

What fingerprints? I was so nearly asleep, if he could just not raise his voice or anything, Id be off in a few moments

Dont be like that. The fingerprints on the postcard. The postcard that you got back in January, the one that could have come from your disgruntled student or even a few people who might be upset that you got them arrested. It couldnt be from Tony Markham. Tonys dead.

Whatever. I shouldnt have answered; I was awake now. Hed pushed too many buttons in one go.

You know, I was fine when there was still a possibility that Tony was alive, that hed sent that card. But the policeyour friend, Detective Badersaid that the prints werent his, werent a match for any they had in thewhatdoyoucallit.

The AFIS database. Automated Fingerprint Identification System.

Right. And the handwriting was similar, but not a real match, and there wasnt even enough to be conclusive. You saw that yourself, right?

I didnt answer. Tony Markham was once a colleague of mine at Caldwell College in Maine, an archaeologist like myself. Hed happened onto a couple of petty criminals, people responsible for, among others, the death of my dear friend Pauline Westlake, and found himself intrigued by the possibilities that life outside the law offered. Something about his first murder awakened a diabolical spark in him, and although the authorities believed that Tony was deadlost at sea during a hurricaneI had never been convinced. Tony was too wily to die so easily.

But the fingerprints, that is conclusive, Brian continued. I think we need to just chalk it up to a bad prank. You did everything you could.

Everything I could? I went to Detective Bader, asked a favor. What else could I do?

I could hear him as he sat up now, quite serious. Worry, apparently. I dont know why youre letting this get to you so bad. Youve been so depressed