Cold Path Page 2
3
Davina peered down into the woman’s sightless jade eyes as if they might hold answers instead of endless questions.
In the pocket of her lab coat, her watch beeped. Game time. Any minute, Sully Sullivan and his formidable grandmother, Margot Rutherford Sullivan, the matriarch of the family, CEO of … well, everything related to the Rutherford fortune, and the most influential person in town, would arrive to view the coffin.
A knock sounded on the windowless laboratory door. Davina raked her fingers through her hair and buttoned her white coat as it if were armor. Then she strode across the room and pulled open the door.
Margot stepped through it like a queen, regal and straight-backed. Davina could easily imagine a crown atop the perfectly coiffed strawberry blonde curls, no doubt fresh from her weekly wash and blow out. Her pale blue eyes were lively and alert, and her thin frame was weighed down with jewelry. Dazzling rings dripped from every finger. Heavy earrings hung from her lobes, sparkling in the weak sun that streamed through the low basement windows. A chunky string of pearls encircled her throat. She looked like a million bucks, literally.
Margot curved her mouth into a smile, but Davina wasn’t fooled. She’d seen the steel that girded this particular magnolia. Her southern lady demeanor was largely camouflage. Or, to be accurate, aggressive mimicry. To Davina’s mind, the matriarch of the Rutherford family was no different than an alligator snapping turtle.
Jace, her youngest nephew, had shown her one of the turtles last summer at the river. The thing looked more like a dinosaur than a turtle, with its scaly skin and spiky shell. They’d squatted in the long grass and watched the creature as it lay motionless in the still water. Jace told her to focus on the turtle’s open mouth, where a bubble-gum pink appendage hung from the tip of its tongue. The turtle wiggled the pink thing, making it squirm and dance just like a worm. As soon as it lured in an unsuspecting minnow, it snapped its powerful jaws shut.
Margot Rutherford Sullivan was an alligator snapping turtle, and her Southern belle exterior was nothing more than a fake worm. Davina would do well to remember that. She’d hate to end up as turtle chow.
Margot’s grandson trotted in on her heel. As always, when Margot was in the room, Davina hardly noticed Sully. For all his blather the rest of the time, he was virtually mute around Margot.
“Mrs. Rutherford, Mr. Sullivan, I’m so excited for you to see this.”
“That’s clear. I can’t recall the last time I received a telephone call before nine o’clock in the morning.”
Snap went the turtle.
“I apologize if I woke you—either of you. But a discovery like this, honestly, it’s worth getting out of bed for.”
Margot waved away the apology with one heavily be-ringed hand. “By all means, then, show us what you found, Professor Jones.”
She guided them to the table that held the coffin. “Earlier this morning, we started to dig in a new location. We located this Reconstruction-Era iron coffin.”
“Why?” Sully asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you deviate from your plan. I thought you were focusing on the areas that had the strongest hits on that remote sensing device you showed me?”
Talk about missing the point. She was about to show them an astonishing find, and he wanted to know why she hadn’t followed her predetermined procedure.
“Divine inspiration, I guess.”
Margot arched a brow. “Really?”
“Well, maybe equal parts inspiration and desperation. Sully ... er, Mr. Sullivan has explained that it’s crucial to find something dazzling to serve as the centerpiece for your fundraising efforts.” She swept her arms out and gestured to the coffin like a game show host. “This is it!”
They leaned forward and craned their necks to peer down at it.
“And you say it’s iron?” Margot’s nostrils flared as if the metal was somehow distasteful.
“Yes. Airtight iron coffins were popular in the U.S. from the 1840s until about the 1870s—pre-Civil War through Reconstruction. The original iron coffin was invented by a man named Almond Fisk. Based on the quick research I did this morning using the university’s online collections, this one dates to the 1860s or 70s.”
“How can you tell?”
“By the shape. The original design was effective, but it closely resembled a sarcophagus. It never really caught on with the public, because people thought it was creepy. Mr. Fisk eventually licensed the idea to a handful of other manufacturers, who later introduced plainer designs, like this one.”
“I see.” Margot’s tone was flat.
Davina’s gut twisted. Why weren’t they more enthusiastic about her discovery? Did they not understand how extraordinary it was?
Just push through. Make them feel it.
“And it’s difficult to see through the glass, but the woman in the coffin is remarkably well-preserved. Once we’ve cleaned the coffin, I think the public will be lining up to view her. With luck, we should be able to see the detail in her brooch and—”
“Brooch?” A flicker of interest crossed Margot’s face.
Ah, right. Look at her. Of course, she’s interested in the jewelry. Run with it.
“Here, come closer so you can see it better.” She touched Margot’s elbow and positioned her at the head of the coffin so she would have a clear angle. “See the pin at her throat?”
Margot made a small noise, like a breath catching in her throat, and stared for a long moment as if she were spellbound.
Got her.
“Grandmother?”
Sully’s prompting broke the spell. Margot blinked and turned to her grandson. For a wild second, Davina thought she saw a warning in the woman’s eye. But then it was gone.
“It’s difficult to believe that woman has been dead since the mid-1800s. Impossible, actually.”
Davina tried not to hear the ominous emphasis Margot placed on impossible. But it was, well, impossible not to. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and thought for a moment.
When she spoke, she chose her words with care. “I can authenticate the coffin. I have the requisite expertise. I can’t date a corpse, that would take a forensic specialist. But it stands to reason—”
“We can’t guess, Davina.” Margot’s voice was kind but firm. Very, very firm.
“It’s not a guess. It’s logic. And I think you may not realize what a crowning achievement this is. This is it. The big, splashy find that Sully wants for his capital campaign? You have it. You can sell tickets to a special exhibit. You’ll get international interest. This is huge.”
“It is huge,” Sully agreed.
Another look from his grandmother. Snap goes the turtle.
He clamped his mouth shut.
“It could be,” Margot agreed. “But we have to be careful, measured. I understand that this is your big break, dear. But surely you understand that we have to proceed deliberately and cautiously.”
Davina’s moment was slipping out of her grasp. She was being set adrift. Her legs threatened to buckle.
“What are you saying?”
Margot gave Sully a small nod. Go ahead.
“We’re saying we need to be absolutely sure before we make an announcement that both the coffin and the woman are from the Reconstruction Era.”
“You’re going to sit on it?” Her mouth hung open. She knew, but she didn’t care.
“We’re going to be patient. And we’re going to ask you to do the same. We’ll reach out to the forensic anthropologists, forensic archaeologists, what have you. We’ll assess and confirm. And then we’ll share the news, assuming your beliefs can be verified,” Margot explained.
Davina’s temper was rising. She could feel it. So she clamped her mouth shut and nodded.
Margot took a final look at the woman. “The brooch ... extraordinary,” she murmured.
“I have a necklace just like it,” Davina offered, hoping to smooth over the unpleasantness.
4
Bodhi was washing his hands when a car pulled into the driveway. He squinted at the vehicle while he dried his hands on a checked dishtowel. He couldn’t place the powder blue minivan.
Who would be visiting him so early in the morning? He’d been awake for hours, but it was hardly a civilized time for a pop-in.
The driver emerged, clutching a bakery bag, and Bodhi smiled when he recognized Saul David’s distinctive loping gait. He hurried to the kitchen door to greet his former co-worker.
“Saul, this is a surprise,” he said as he pulled open the door.
Saul hurried inside and thrust the bag toward Bodhi. “Pastries from that vegan bakery you like. You got any coffee?”
He stamped the snow off his boots, then shrugged out of his heavy wool overcoat.
“Thanks, and I do. I’ll put on a pot in a minute. Here, give me your coat.” He placed the breakfast goodies on the counter and reached for the coat and the long plaid scarf that Saul unwound from his neck.
“It’s frigid out there.” He blew into his bare hands to warm them.
“No gloves?”
Saul jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the driveway. “My car’s in the shop, so I had to borrow Mona’s mom-mobile. I’m sure they’re in there somewhere, buried under a mound of schoolbooks, gym clothes, and half-eaten lunches.”
He shuddered, and Bodhi figured it was due more to the state of the family minivan than the chill in the air.
“Well, we’ll get you warmed up with a mug of hot coffee.”
“Now you’re talking.”
Saul pulled out a kitchen chair and flopped into it while Bodhi measured out the coffee and water.
“Hello, Saul David,” the bird chirped from her perch.
“Hi, Eliza Doolittle.”
Once the machine was percolating and the coffee was underway, Bodhi joined his guest at the table and offered him first choice of the baked goods.
Saul waved the box away. “Nah, I already ate. Those are for you.”
Bodhi eyed him. “You need a favor.”
“Actually, you’re wrong for once. I have no bizarre, unexplainable deaths to explain. All the bodies in the morgue right now have run-of-the-mill causes of death. Heart attacks from shoveling snow, head-on collisions on icy roads, and fire victims from malfunctioning electric blankets and heaters. ’Tis the season.” There was a hint of disappointment in the medical examiner’s voice at not having any exotic deaths to offer.
“So, you borrowed your wife’s car, ventured out in bad weather, stopped at a bakery you don’t care for, all during your vacation week, to show up unannounced because …”
Saul nodded toward the carafe. “Coffee’s done.”
Bodhi crossed the kitchen and pulled two mugs down from the cabinet. Saul was stalling. Which was not like him. Chief Medical Examiner David was known for his forthright manner. He didn’t pull his punches.
Bodhi’s chest sank, suddenly heavy. He returned to the table and passed Saul a mug of coffee.
“I don’t want to come work for you,” he said in a neutral voice.
Saul’s laugh rumbled up, deep and hearty. “While you have a standing offer, I’m not holding my breath on that front. No, this visit isn’t about forensic pathology at all. It’s … personal.”
“Are you and Mona having problems?”
Saul swigged the coffee before answering. “Not my personal life. Yours.”
“Mine?” Bodhi cocked his head. “What about my personal life?”
“More like, what personal life, don’t you mean?” Saul arched an eyebrow at him.
“Pardon?” He tore off a corner from a cranberry scone and nibbled it while he awaited clarification.
“You’ve been dating this lady police chief for, what, two years now?”
“About.”
“Mona and I haven’t met her. Maisy hasn’t met her. Sasha and Leo haven’t met her. As far as I can tell, nobody’s met her.”
“She lives in Onatah, Saul. It’s not as if we can get together for happy hour with the gang at a moment’s notice.”
“Idaho isn’t on the moon, buddy.”
“She lives in Illinois, Saul. Still Illinois. Not Idaho, not Indiana, not Iowa.”
Saul snaked out a hand and cadged a chocolate cruller. “The midwestern states should have picked another letter if they wanted people to tell them apart. Who decided they all needed to start with ‘I’?”
Bodhi raised his hands in an unconcerned gesture. “I wasn’t consulted.”
“No matter. We’re straying from the point.”
“Which is?” He was genuinely curious. Saul’s point, or aim, or whatever he was hoping to achieve, was a mystery.
“Which is that you keep Bette at a distance. Why? You seem happy with her. Embrace your relationship. Move to Onatah already. Nothing’s keeping you here. You can be a forensic consultant from anywhere. Commit already, man.”
Bodhi blinked at the fierce note in Saul’s voice. “Where is this coming from? Is Mona behind this?”
Saul dismissed the question with a shake of his head. “We’ve talked about it, sure. But, no. This is coming from my heart.”
Bodhi hid his surprise behind his mug and waited for Saul to elaborate. For a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the hiss of the radiator near the door, releasing hot steamy air. Saul looked down at his hands and nodded several times as if he was pumping himself up.
Finally, he raised his head and continued, “If you love Bette, you need to take a leap of faith, take a risk. Life is short. Sharing it with someone makes it enjoyable.”
“You don’t understand. The Buddha counsels us to practice non-attachment.”
“Yeah, yeah. And monks are celibate. I know. But regular Buddhists, they get married, have kids, whatever. Right?”
“Some. Not all.”
“Not you, you mean.”
“Saul, I’m happy with the path I chose.”
Saul locked eyes with him and fixed him with a piercing gaze. “Are you? Or are you afraid you’ll hurt this woman the way you hurt Eliza?”
Shock rushed through his veins like a spray of ice water at the sound of Eliza’s name in Saul’s mouth. Before he could formulate a response, the macaw shrieked.
“Bodhi hurt Eliza? Bodhi hurt Eliza. Oooh, no, poor Eliza Doolittle.” Her already shrill voice wavered and increased in pitch.
Saul closed his eyes and shook his head. Bodhi lifted the bird off her perch and soothed her.
“Shh, pretty bird. Not you; a different Eliza. But nobody’s been hurt. It’s okay.”
He smoothed her ruffled feathers, figuratively and literally. After a moment, she hopped from his arm to his shoulder and settled into a comfortable position.
He eyed his friend. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
Saul went on, “You say you’re following a path of enlightenment, and I respect that. But you can take that path and make room in your life for connection, true connection, with another person. I don’t think it’s Buddhism that’s stopping you—I think it’s your history with … uh, Dr. Rollins.” He cut his eyes toward the regal blue and gold bird on Bodhi’s shoulder.
Eliza Doolittle tilted her head and blinked at the coroner, unperturbed.
Bodhi, in contrast, was not. His emotions roiled, churning and seething. The memory of Eliza Rollins, and the way he’d treated her so long ago, still held sway over him.
He slowed and centered his breath, then chose his words with care. “I appreciate your concern. You’re a good man and a good friend. But you’re just wrong about this. You don’t know what happened between us. It was a long time ago … and I was a different person.”
Saul held up a hand.
“Please, if anyone understands the concept, it’s me. As your friend, I’m not inclined to judge you harshly. As a Jew and as a sinner, I’m in no
position to judge you at all. But I suspect you are judging yourself and that’s why you keep Bette at a distance.”
“I don’t keep her at a distance.”
Saul twisted his mouth in a display of skepticism.
“I don’t,” Bodhi insisted. “Besides, I made things right when I saw Eliza in Canada the year before last.” Or, as I right as I could, at any rate.
Saul raised his palms. “Fine. I’ve said my piece. Just think about it, huh? You deserve more than a tenuous long-distance arrangement—and the mysterious Chief Clark no doubt does as well.”
“For your information, we’re taking a weekend trip together. Tomorrow. Is that serious enough for you?”
Saul grinned. “A getaway? That’s great. Where to?”
“Alabama. Some fancy resort.”
Saul clapped him on the back. “Why didn’t you say so? Need a lift to the airport?”
“That’d be great. I … need to confirm my flight time. I’ll text you the details.”
“Sure, sure.” Saul drained his coffee mug and pushed back his chair. “I should get back. A week off school in this weather means our kids are climbing the walls. I’m sure Mona could use a hand.”
“Thanks for the treats. And the conversation.”
“I hope I haven’t overstepped.”
Bodhi walked with him to the door. “Not at all. I’m glad you brought it up. It clarified some things for me.”
Saul flashed him a quizzical look but didn’t ask.
Bodhi showed him out, closed the door, and picked up his phone.
BK: I’m in.
BC: Really? Great! I didn’t even have to play my ace card.
BK: ???
BC: The resort has a meditation garden and miles and miles of mountain hiking trails.
BK: Perfect. Can’t wait.
5
Rutherford Nature Preserve and Open-Air Museum
Friday afternoon
Davina checked her reflection in the mirror hanging over her lab sink. The purpose behind a mirror at a sink meant for washing hands and sterilizing equipment was a mystery to her. But there was no reason to let that stop her from using it to her advantage, she thought as she pulled out her teddy bear brown lipstick and lined her lips.