Before Sunrise. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ THREE

      THE NEXT MORNING, Phoebe heard sirens racing past her small cabin just as she woke up. She hoped there hadn’t been some terrible accident. The mountain roads were narrow and some were dangerous in this part of the area. They’d had flatland tourists go over guardrails occasionally. The drop was inevitably fatal.

      She dressed and grabbed a quick cup of coffee before she drove her old Ford to work. The museum parking lot was usually empty at that hour, except for her car and Marie’s. But a sheriff’s car was sitting at the entrance with the motor running.

      Frowning, she got out of her vehicle, shuffling her purse and briefcase. At the same time, Drake got out of the patrol car. But he wasn’t smiling, and he looked uneasy.

      “Hi,” she greeted him. “What’s up?”

      He rested his hand on the butt of his service revolver in its holster as he approached her. “You said you talked to a man yesterday about some skeletal remains, right?”

      “Right,” she said slowly.

      “Did he give his name?”

      “No.”

      “Can you tell me anything about him?” he persisted somberly.

      She hesitated, thinking back. “He said he was an anthropologist…”

      “Damn!”

      Her lips parted. She’d never seen easygoing Drake look so angry. “What’s happened?” she asked.

      “They found a DB on the Rez,” he said quietly.

      She blinked, trying to recall the terminology. “A dead body,” she translated, “on the reservation.”

      He nodded curtly. “Just barely on it, about a hundred feet or so from the actual boundary. He appears to be of Cherokee descent, because we also found a tribal registration card, with the name and number missing, and we found part of a membership card from a professional anthropological society, which we assume was his—the part with his name was missing. So was his driver’s license.”

      She gasped. “That man who called me…?”

      “Looks like it could be. We can’t go on Cherokee land unless we’re asked. And this makes it a federal matter. But I have a cousin on the reservation police force, and he told me. It’s all real hush-hush. The FBI is sending a special agent out to investigate, someone from that new Indian Country Crime Unit they’re forming. I just wanted to warn you that they will want to talk to you.”

      “What?”

      “You were the last person who spoke to the victim,” he said. “They found your telephone number scribbled on a pad next to his phone at his motel and looked it up in the phone book. That’s when Cousin Richard called me—he knows I hang around the museum a lot.” He studied her worried expression. “Somebody killed the guy, in his motel outside Chenocetah, or on the deserted dirt road where he was lying. The road leads the back way onto some construction sites, near a mountain honeycombed with caves. A jogger found him lying on the side of the road early this morning with a bullet in the back of his head. She’s still being treated for shock at the local clinic,” he added.

      Phoebe leaned against a pillar at the front of the museum, trying to catch her breath. She’d never imagined that she might end up involved in a murder investigation. It took a little getting-used-to.

      “Maybe I should join her,” she said, and not completely facetiously.

      “You’re not in any danger. At least…I don’t think you are,” he added slowly.

      She lifted her face and met his eyes. “Excuse me?”

      He frowned. “We don’t know who killed him, or why,” he said. “Unless that story of his was concocted. And even if it is, there are three new big construction projects underway in the area. If what he told you is true, there’s no way of knowing where he was looking when he found that site.”

      “Who did he work for?” she asked.

      “They don’t know yet. The investigation is still in its preliminary stages. There’s one other thing—you can’t tell Marie.”

      “Why not?”

      “She can’t keep her mouth shut,” he replied quietly. “There’s an investigation going on, and I’m telling you about it because I’m worried for your safety. I don’t want it told all over the county, though.”

      She whistled softly. “Oh, boy.”

      “Just in case, have you got a gun?”

      She shook her head. “I shot a friend’s pistol once, but I was afraid of the noise and I never tried it again.”

      He bit his lower lip and drew in a long breath. “You live out in the country. If I can get a target, will you let me come out and teach you how to shoot?”

      She felt the world shake under her feet. Drake was happy-go-lucky on ordinary days. But he wasn’t kidding about this. He was genuinely worried about her. She swallowed hard.

      “Yes,” she said after a minute. “I’d be glad to have you teach me, if you think it’s necessary.” She gave him a searching look. “Drake, you know something you aren’t telling me,” she murmured.

      “A site like that, with an unknown set of possible Neanderthal remains…” he began slowly. “If it existed, it would make it impossible for any developer to build on it. We’re talking millions of dollars in time and materials and labor, wasted. Some people would do a lot to avoid that.”

      “Okay,” she said, forcing a smile. “So I’ll learn to shoot.”

      “I’ll talk to the FBI agent when he, or she, gets here,” he added, “and see what we can come up with by way of protection.”

      But she knew how that would end. Government agencies, like local law enforcement, had the same budget problems that she did. Funding for around-the-clock protection wouldn’t be forthcoming, despite the need, and she certainly couldn’t fund it herself. All the same, the thought of taking a human life made her sick.

      “You’re thinking you couldn’t shoot somebody,” he guessed, his dark eyes narrowing.

      She nodded.

      “I felt that way, before I went into the Army,” he told her. In fact, he’d just come out of it the year before, after a stint overseas. “I learned how to shoot by reflex. So can you. It might mean your life.”

      She winced. “Life was so uncomplicated yesterday.”

      “Tell me about it. I’m not directly involved in the investigation, but jurisdiction is going to depend on where the murder actually took place. Just because he was found on the Rez is no reason to assume he was killed there.”

      “Would a killer really want the FBI involved?” she asked.

      “No. But he might not have known he was involving federal jurisdiction. The local boundaries aren’t exactly marked in red СКАЧАТЬ