Forbidden Ground (9 page)

The stars instantly captured his attention. He bent closely over them, whipped his glasses out of his suit-coat pocket—didn’t he know to dress casually around here? But then, Carson came from old money. His great-great-grandfather had made a fortune in the Akron, Ohio, rubber business, knew Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, Thomas Edison and all that meant. Carson’s beautiful old home in a Columbus suburb was full of various art collections.

Carson had tenure at Ohio State, but Kate figured he could leave his teaching career and his collection of adoring students anytime to become an art collector—his other hobby beyond archaeology. Though he appreciated the finer things in life, he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty when he led excavation teams. She watched as he studied the stars close-up.

“Illegal desecration of the mounds,” he said. “But I’m glad to hear you’ve been exploring Mason Mound. That’s our target, darling, and we can’t just go waltzing in there with trowels, sieves and needle picks. Not until you get the man’s permission one way or the other. But, unlike with the old artifacts,” he went on, his voice in lecture mode now, “you’re right about this being clotted blood, so what’s the message here?”

9

A
s they leaned over the table and Carson studied the metal stars, Kate told him her theory. “Grant and I think there’s some symbolic message here, so I’m guessing the blood on the tips ties in to that.”

“Grant and I?” he repeated, taking a seat at the table. “I like the sound of that.” He produced a penlight from his jacket’s inner pocket, slid the cloth with the stars closer to him and shined a thin beam on one of them. “If you two are working together on this, there’s more to come—namely getting into that Adena mound on his property. I could try to get a court order, but it would take a while. Eminent domain versus private-property rights is a touchy subject, and we don’t need a setback or negative PR.”

He smiled at her. “Besides, I’d prefer to set up on his land to explore the interior of the mound, and I’d rather have him on our side. But tell me what you have discovered or analyzed about these stars.”

“We’re theorizing they were put there by a local religious-cult leader, who calls himself Bright Star. He’s got quite a group of followers in the Hear Ye compound not far down the road from here. He doesn’t like me. I got upset and more or less told him the Adena were less pagan than he is. His real name is Brice Monson.”

“The same charlatan who’s entranced the Lockwood cousins you mentioned?” he asked, carefully turning one star over with the tip of his penlight.

“The same. Maybe he thinks by putting these bright stars on the mounds he’s symbolizing that his beliefs are above those he calls ‘pagan dead.’”

“And the blood? It is the Christian symbol of salvation.”

“Carson, like I told Grant, he’s not
Christian.
He’s a weirdo master controller, not that he couldn’t be using blood as some sort of sign or message. Who knows how he keeps his people in line? I swear, my cousin Grace is actually afraid of him.”

“Really? I’ll have some of my grad student assistants circumspectly check some of the other mounds in the area for more of these. And if we can prove this guy is the one defacing the mounds, we can have him arrested and fined. He could do jail time, though what his flock would consider persecution probably wouldn’t free them from his control.”

“I swear,” she said, sinking into the other chair, “he’s cast an evil spell over his followers, like in some gruesome fairy tale. He’s an ogre masquerading as a shepherd—the wolf in Grandma’s clothes from
Little Red Riding Hood.
”

“Then he’s a formidable adversary, so beware. He can’t be an idiot to do all this, especially mind control.” Carson looked up from studying the second star. He clicked his penlight off and replaced it in his inner pocket. “Maybe he’s read up on the Adena, their cult of death, and thinks he can somehow use that to either keep his people in line or scare others off, so he ties the mound to himself—tries to exert control with his namesake symbol above it.”

She sighed. Carson was brilliant, though sometimes she thought he was just restating something she’d come up with. Hadn’t she just, more or less, said that? “Tess told me he buried a couple of dead infants on his property, but he had permission for that.”

He sat up even straighter. “In a mound?”

“Little mounds, I guess, hidden under plastic.”

“Stranger things have happened. But all this aside for now, I’m thrilled to see you. No offense, but let’s get out of here for a while, as the surroundings in this old place are a bit Spartan. How about heading into the big city of Cold Creek to that pseudo-English pub I passed? I can’t wait to tell you about some of the scholars I met in D.C. and how my thesis was received.”

“Sounds great. Let me rewrap these stars. You know, I’m wondering if this could be human blood—even Bright Star’s. And I do realize it’s not a done deal that he’s the one who left these.”

“Actually, I did spot one tiny hint these stars were originally made to be worn—like a badge.”

“Really? I thought of that at first, but dismissed it. Like a sheriff’s badge?”

He whipped his penlight out again and trained the beam on the back of one star. “Look here. It’s smoothly done, but see those two tiny irregular spots where a pin could have been attached on the back so it could be worn? But I think it’s been soldered over. And the metal quality looks quite good—not like it’s a kid’s cowboy sheriff badge, though I suppose that’s another possibility.”

“I do see it. I should have used a magnifying glass, but I don’t have one here. Under a microscope, maybe something else would show up that’s been obscured, like a made-in mark or production number.”

“How about I take one and have it checked for that and learn from a lab at the university whether it’s human or animal blood? Actually, I’d like to talk to this Bright Star Monson.”

“All right, take one of them and let me know what the lab says. But, Carson, don’t confront Bright Star, at least not alone. I’m planning to take the acting sheriff if I go to see him. Speaking of blood, Bright Star chills mine!”

As she rose to get a clean dish towel to wrap a star for him, Carson stood and embraced her. “We make a good team, even when apart,” he told her, not smiling, so serious. His lips moved against her ear. “My darling Kate, let’s continue to work together, however close you get to Grant Mason for the cause, right?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back, then moving away to wrap the stars separately. “But he is a good man, Carson, so I won’t lie to him or hurt him.”

“And I’m not a good man, struggling to advance knowledge for more than just us? Human, universal knowledge is bigger than just a few small people, Kate. Sometimes the ends do justify the means. Without Howard Carter plundering Tutankhamen’s grave or Heinrich Schliemann excavating ancient Troy, mankind would know so much less about the past, even about ourselves. Surely, I convinced you of all that several years ago, at least in the single undergrad course you took from me.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said. “It’s because of that class and your passion for it that I chose archaeology.” It hit her for the first time that, in a way, Carson Cantrell and Bright Star Monson had some things in common. Both were eloquent, charismatic evangelists for their causes, which they fervently believed in. Both were quick with a quote. No way did she want to blindly do Carson’s bidding the way someone like Grace toed the line for Bright Star. And it scared her that both men seemed hell-bent on getting what they wanted, whatever the cost or sacrifice.

* * *

Grant decided not to question or confront Todd at the mill about whether he’d been arguing with Paul the day he died. Instead, he drove to Todd’s house after work. He’d talk to him then call Kate’s cell and pick her up about eight. He wanted to get her away from here for a while—clear his own head, too, and avoid Brad—so he planned to drive them to a restaurant he liked in Chillicothe. He didn’t mind that he’d be two nights straight at his favorite restaurant. He’d set it up long ago that he’d take Todd and Amber out for Todd’s birthday tomorrow.

He pulled into the curved drive at Todd’s neatly kept wooden ranch house. Good—his pickup truck was here. He could hear the kids shouting behind the house where there was a jungle gym and swing set. All three of Todd’s boys were elementary-school age. Seeing the McCollum family over the years had made Grant long for kids of his own, however rowdy the McCollum kids were.

Amber McCollum had been Todd’s high-school sweetheart, as Lacey had been Grant’s. Amber saw him arrive and came to the front door. She was a trim natural redhead with light brown eyes and freckles. She’d been a hairstylist in town before the kids, but preferred to stay at home now, more power to her, though Grant knew money was always tight. He tried to give the kids nice gifts, buy gift certificates for restaurants for their family—the family he wished he had.

“Grant, come on in! Aren’t you and Todd tired of seeing each other at the mill?” she teased and held the door open.

“I just wanted to run something by him in private without all the noise and interruptions.”

“Fat chance with those hooligans out there,” she said with a laugh as he went inside. “They’ll go bonkers when they see you.”

The place looked like a tornado had gone through with toys everywhere and a blanket over a card table as if to make a play fort. It made him think of the mound again. A mounted stag head stared down from the wall. It had colored rings snagged on its antlers as if the kids had used it for a game. It reminded Grant of the argument he and Todd had had over the Adena mask. In their late teen years, Todd had wanted to trade his ax head for the mask with the antlers, but Grant had refused. He just couldn’t part with it. There was something so compelling, so hypnotizing—even if terrible—about that mask. Kate’s Beastmaster.

They walked to the living-room picture window overlooking the backyard and woods beyond. “Can I get you anything?” Amber asked, turning toward him. “A beer? Can of pop?”

“Thanks, I’m fine. If you can let Todd know...”

“He was upset when he came home. It was more than mourning Paul’s death. I don’t know why, but maybe you do. He played with the kids a bit, and I haven’t had a chance to get it out of him what’s bugging him. Pillow talk later will do the trick, I hope.”

Playing with the kids...pillow talk. Grant realized he’d like both of those things in his life.

“Grant, are you here about something he did or didn’t do? Maybe that’s why he’s so upset. I mean, I know Paul’s death really shook him up, the strange circumstances and all that, but— Okay, I’ll tell you where he is,” she added when he shook his head and frowned. “Literally up a tree.”

“His favorite one?”

“Yep. And I was sorry to hear about the tree-house maple. That hit Todd hard, too. He did mention one thing today—that Lacey brought protesters to the mill and was real mouthy. She’s sure changed from our old double-date days, but haven’t we all?”

“You’re a good friend, Amber, and good for Todd.”

“I knew he was Tarzan of our local jungle when I married him. But hey, you just say hi to the boys, then go on out—and tell my man to be home in a couple of hours to help tuck our wild kids in bed.”

She walked him to the back door. Jason, the oldest boy, spotted him and started shouting, “Uncle Grant! Uncle Grant’s here!”

Three kids barreled at him, and he bent down to give them all high fives and hugs.

* * *

You might know, Kate thought, Brad Mason was sitting at the bar in the English pub. When he spotted her with Carson, he sauntered over. All she needed was pressure from Carson not only to get cozy with Grant but Brad, too.

“Yo, Kate of the Adena,” Brad greeted her and held up his free hand, palm forward with his fingers open, two by two, in the
Star Trek
Mr. Spock V. He had what looked like a martini in his other hand. “Just wanted to say hi, but I’ll clear out if this is an up-close-and-personal friend.”

Kate made the necessary introductions, calling Carson her colleague at Ohio State, where she’d taught low-level archaeology courses before her grant to go to England came through. When Carson heard who Brad was, his eyes lit up just like when he’d seen the blood-tipped metal stars.

“Sit down with us,” Carson invited and got up to slide next to Kate on one side of the booth to make room for Brad on the opposite. “Kate and I work together in the study of the Adena. I hear you have a mound on your family’s land.”

Brad put his drink down and leaned back in the booth. “You’re not really BCI undercover here? Some of them dress like that. All you need is sunglasses and one of those earpieces—and to be carrying a gun under that suit coat.”

Kate noted that Brad, like Grant, didn’t want to discuss the mound. “Brad has just come back to town,” Kate started to explain, but Carson cut her off.

“BCI? Bureau of Criminal Investigation? No, though I suppose your brother told you he and Kate found a sort of badge on top of your mound.”

“Actually, he asked me if I put it there. I told him he was nuts.”

“The thing is,” Carson went on, “other than natural growing objects, nothing is to be added to a mound, or it’s criminal intent or worse.”

“No kidding?” Brad drained his drink. “He didn’t say that, but then, those two seem to be keeping secrets.” He winked at Kate, which ticked her off. “And they’re the ones who found Paul Kettering’s body, sad to say,” he added. “So you’re an Ohio State professor, Carson?
Fight the team across the field,
Go Bucks, and all that?”

“Can’t say I take much advantage of college-life frivolities. But I can get good tickets to a football game this fall if you want to come up and go with me.”

Kate rolled her eyes. Carson couldn’t care less even if the Buckeyes lost to their archrival Michigan or never played another game. But she could see the handwriting on the wall—the wall of an Adena tomb. If she didn’t get what Carson wanted out of Grant, Brad would be standing in the wings.

* * *

Grant was glad he had his steel-toed boots on as he hiked up toward the huge pin oak Todd favored for his climbs. Besides living trees, Grant passed brush with new saplings peeking through, hardwood sprawl and downed trees—the generations of a forest. This was a virgin area, perfect for logging, which Todd would never do. To him this area was sacred.

Todd had by nature what Grant had worked hard to gain—brush sense, an instinctive knowledge of the woods. His lifelong friend was what they called out in the redwood forests of the West a “brush cat.” Although Grant got along with loggers as well as he did senators, he’d never have the guts to climb like Todd did. According to the U.S. Department of Labor, logging was the most dangerous job in America, but Todd would have reveled in that career if it weren’t for his family.

“Hey, you up there?” Grant shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“You here as boss or friend?” Todd called down, though Grant could not spot him.

“Longtime best buddy!”

“I’ll be right down.”

From the lofty canopy of oak leaves, Todd descended on a rope, something like mountain climbers used, winching himself down. When he cleared the lower branches, he bounced his boot soles against the trunk, swinging out, then in until he had his feet on the ground.