Bones (6 page)

On the way to town, I explain what happened. Dr. Bob listens intently. At the hospital, two orderlies wheel Annabel in, and a young doctor examines her. He declares that she has mild hypothermia and orders her wet clothing removed. The nurses wrap her in blankets and tell me to give her sips of warm tea. In minutes, she has improved dramatically.

“Just as well you stopped reciting Pi when we got here,” I say. “The doctor would have thought you were much worse.”

“Reciting Pi is a sign of not being confused,” Annabel says with a weak smile.

“Okay.” The doctor bustles in. “It's down to X-ray for you. Let's see what damage you did to that ankle. You two might as well go get a cup of coffee,” he adds, turning to Dr. Bob and me. “I'll let you know when the X-rays are done.”

I squeeze Annabel's hand as she's wheeled out, and Dr. Bob and I go find a vending machine. As soon as we have our warm drinks, Dr. Bob takes out his cell phone and moves off to one side. I slump gratefully into a nearby chair and sigh with relief. Annabel is in good hands. I rescued her. That makes me feel good. I push back all the other confusing thoughts and dwell on that.

Dr. Bob comes back over. “I think we were lucky,” he says. “I just talked to Greg. The fossils are still there. I guess you disturbed the thieves before they could load up.”

“It's a shame Greg left the site,” I say, unable to resist a dig at my rival for Annabel's affection.

“He shouldn't have,” Dr. Bob says, “but who could have predicted what happened? Maybe it's just as well he wasn't there when the thieves arrived.”

“I suppose so,” I say.

“Are you sure it was Battleford you saw?” Dr. Bob asks.

“I got a good look at him in the lightning, and it was his dog in the Hummer.”

Dr. Bob nods. “When did you learn to drive?”

“About two hours ago in the Hummer, coming out of the coulee,” I say.

Dr. Bob laughs. “Well, good that you did—although, technically, you stole the Hummer.” I hadn't thought of that. Seeing my worried look, Dr. Bob goes on. “I doubt Battleford will press charges. We may not even see him. The police won't have any trouble finding Darren and Beetlebrow, but Battleford is a different matter. If I were him, I'd disappear.”

We are interrupted by the doctor. “Nothing's broken,” he says as I stand up. “Your friend has a grade two sprain. This means there's ligament damage that may take some time to heal. But with a few days of rest, ice and anti-inflammatories, she should be well on the way to recovery. I've asked the nurse to get a set of crutches and some ice packs. As soon as they're here, you can be on your way.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Bob and I say at the same time.

Annabel is much better now that she's warm and dry. “You owe me ‘Stairway to Heaven,'” she reminds Dr. Bob as he drives us back to the farm. Despite the late hour, Mom and the others fuss over us and demand to hear about our adventures. At last I drop off to sleep, only slightly worried about Humphrey Battleford.

Chapter Eleven

It's daylight when Mom wakes me from a deep sleep on Sunday morning. “I was going to let you sleep on,” she says, “but there's someone here to see you.”

“Who?” I ask groggily.

“He didn't give a name. I invited him in for tea, but he said he'd rather wait outside.”

As the events of the previous night flood back, I struggle into my clothes, stumble downstairs and go outside. At first, all I can see is a taxi. Then I notice a figure by the fence. He has a black dog on a short leash. It's Humphrey Battleford and Percy.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as he turns toward me. He is smiling, and Percy is straining against his leash.

“I heard you were in the neighborhood, so I thought Percy and I should say hello,” he says in his cultured American accent. He's immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit, even though it's already warm.

“I thought you would be long gone by now,” I say, “after your failed attempt to steal the fossil.” It feels good to point out that Battleford has failed.

“And what gave you the impression that I was trying to steal anything?”

“I saw you,” I say triumphantly, “and Percy.” I bend to scratch the excited dog's ear. It's not his fault his master's a crook. “Last night in the coulee with Darren and Beetlebrow.”

“Beetlebrow?” Battleford looks confused.

“The courier guy with the eyebrows.”

Battleford chuckles. “Good name for him,” he says.

“Anyway, I'm going to the police this morning to make a full report.”

“Commendable of you,” Battleford says with a smile. His calmness is unnerving. “But I fear your trip will be wasted. You see, you are mistaken.”

“I'm not mistaken,” I say. “I saw you.”

“You may think you saw me, but in the middle of a storm as violent as the one last night, who can be sure what they see?”

“Percy almost knocked me over.”

“Is it not true,” Battleford says slowly, “that your friend Darren has a similar breed of dog?”

“He's not my friend, and it
was
Percy and you.”

“Hmm.” Battleford rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall accompany you to the police station. You see, my Hummer was stolen last night. I should probably report it. I have to go and pick it up anyway. It's damaged. Only slightly—a few scratches, a dent or two—but these vehicles are terribly expensive to repair. Actually,” he says, as if remembering something, “wasn't it you who drove my Hummer to the party by the river?”

“I was bringing an injured person down from the coulee,” I say with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Most commendable,” Battleford says again, “but failure to ask permission is theft nonetheless.”

“So you admit you were in the coulee last night,” I say triumphantly.

“Not at all.” Battleford is unfazed. “I was dining last night with a colleague in the precious-fossil business, a fact she will confirm. My Hummer was taken from town. Probably kids out joyriding, but that doesn't alter the fact that you were seen driving a stolen vehicle with several thousand dollars' worth of damage to it.”

Battleford looks at me carefully. I feel trapped. I've seen what this man's lawyers can do. If he wants me to be liable for the damage to his Hummer, I will be in a lot of trouble. And what do I have? My word that I saw him and his dog under less than ideal conditions at a place where no crime was committed?

“I suggest we forget the whole thing,” Battleford says in his silky voice. “After all, no harm was done. You still have your fossil, and I was thinking of selling the Hummer anyway. It uses too much gas, and one must be environmentally conscious these days, don't you think?”

“I suppose so,” I say.

“Excellent. Excellent. I shall go and collect my vehicle, and we will say no more about this unfortunate event. Come on, Percy. Time for a walk by the river.”

Battleford turns toward the cab.

“What about Darren and Beetlebrow?” I shout after him.

“Ah yes, Darren and Beetlebrow.” Battleford half turns and speaks to me over his shoulder. “It seems they were out for a drink on a pleasant evening when they saw someone driving a Hummer in a dangerous manner. Being good citizens, they followed the vehicle on its erratic course but lost contact and headed back to town.” He smiles broadly at me. “Goodbye, Sam. I enjoy our little conversations, but I hope this is the last.”

I go back into the house to find Annabel sitting at the kitchen table. She has her right leg raised and an ice pack on her ankle. “How's your leg?” I ask.

“A bit better. I slept with it on a pile of pillows, and the swelling's down this morning. Was I a real idiot last night?”

I laugh. “You could reduce your
IQ
by ninety percent and you'd still be smarter than most people. You were great.”

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she says. “My knight in shining armor. Where have you been?”

“We had a visitor,” I say.

“Who?”

“Two visitors, in fact. Humphrey Battleford and Percy.”

“What? Why was he here?” Annabel looks so agitated, I think she's about to jump up on her injured leg and run around the kitchen.

“He came to tell us not to talk about last night.”

“We have to,” Annabel says. “We have to go to the police. He tried to steal the fossil.”

“He did,” I agree, “but ‘tried to' is the important part of that sentence. We have no evidence that he intended to steal the fossil, and the only crime committed was my stealing his Hummer. He's not the one who'll go to prison if we pursue this. Besides, he says he has an ironclad alibi for last night, dinner with some woman in the valuable-fossil business.”

“But…” Annabel's brow furrows in thought. “I guess you're right. Battleford wins again.”

“But he didn't get the fossil,” I point out, “and Dr. Bob said they were collecting it first thing this morning. It's safe now.”

The furrows deepen. “Why do you suppose he went to the effort of telling us to keep quiet if no crime was committed? He had nothing to worry about.”

“I don't know. He doesn't like loose ends, I suppose.” We fall silent. As I think of loose ends, something else preys on my mind. I have to mention it before it drives me crazy. “How do you feel about Greg?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“Greg?” Annabel drags herself away from her thoughts. “How do I feel about Greg? What do you mean?”

“Do you…like him? Prefer him to me?”

Of all the reactions I'd imagined, laughter was not one. Eventually, Annabel gets herself under control. “Why would I prefer pirate boy to you?”

“He's cool. He's smart. He knows a lot about the same stuff you do—Pi and all that. He's the same height as you.”

Annabel shakes her head. “For an intelligent person, you sure are dumb sometimes. Greg is a pompous twit with way too high an opinion of himself. Sure, he knows some stuff that makes him interesting to talk to. This can also be said of Dr. Bob. Are you jealous of him, too?”

“Of course not.”

“Come here.”

I move around the table and Annabel struggles to stand. I reach out to help and she falls into my arms. We hug, and she kisses me on the cheek. “I find nothing remotely attractive in Greg,” she whispers in my ear. “I like my men shorter and a little bit dumb. That way I can feel superior to them.”

I laugh and hug Annabel back. A sense of relief washes over me.

Then Annabel pushes me away. “Wait,” she says. “What if a crime
was
committed?”

“What do you mean?”

“We have to go to the museum.”

“Why?”

“I have to check something.”

“How? The bikes are destroyed, and even if they weren't, you can't ride with your ankle.”

As if on cue, my mother bustles into the kitchen. “Some of us are going into town in the van,” she announces cheerfully. “You guys want to tag along?”

“Yes. No,” I say. “Can you drop us off at the museum?”

“Sure,” Mom says. “You up for that, Annabel?”

“I'm fine,” Annabel says. “I just need my crutches.

Confused but happy, I follow the others as we all pile into the ancient Volkswagen van and chug off toward town.

Chapter Twelve

“We need to see Dr. Bob.” Even on crutches, Annabel is an unstoppable force of nature. I don't think the receptionist even considers not doing as she's asked. Within minutes, Dr. Bob appears through a nearby
Staff Only
door.

“Good morning,” he says cheerily. “You both look better than last night. How's the ankle?”

“Fine. Did you collect the fossils this morning?”

Dr. Bob looks taken aback by Annabel's abrupt question. “Yes,” he says. “We went up first thing and loaded them. They're in storage in the back.”

“Can I see them?”

“Sure, but why?”

“I want to see something.”

Dr. Bob shrugs, as much in the dark as I am, and leads the way. Annabel clumps impatiently along behind him.

The three lumps of white plaster are at eye level on the blue shelving. Annabel leans forward and studies the one that contains the skull for a moment. “They've been switched,” she announces, stepping back.

Dr. Bob and I stare at her.

“This isn't the fossil. The casts have been switched.”

“That's impossible,” Dr. Bob says when he finds his voice. “They were where we left them. They're the right size and shape. They even have the correct identifying information on them.” He points to the location and date information written in black marker on the top.

“They don't have any Pilish on them.” We both stare stupidly at Annabel. “Greg and I made up a Pilish saying and wrote it along the edge of the skull cast.
Now I find a skull anciently
in clever rocks
. He said you wouldn't mind,” she finishes weakly.

“I don't,” Dr. Bob says, peering at the cast. “Where did you write it?”

“Here.” Annabel runs her finger along the bottom edge of the cast.

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Dr. Bob leans forward and taps the cast several times. Then he scratches the surface with his fingernail. “You're right,” he says eventually. “The composition is different from the mix we use at the museum.” He takes a pocket knife out of one of his many pockets and digs a small hole through the cast. “Not even the right kind of rock,” he says. “Looks like this is a boulder from some farmer's field.” He folds the knife and steps back. “How did they do this? They are the same size and shape as the real casts. There wasn't enough time to make these fake ones last night.”

“Greg helped,” Annabel says.