Digging Into Death by M.A. Lee

Author:M.A. Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery, archaeological dig, artist, post WWI, Crete, Greek island, stolen artifacts
Publisher: M.A. Lee
Published: 2021-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14 :: Sunday, October 19

Saturday’s wary circling eased into Sunday’s respite. After a nearly silent breakfast, everyone scattered. Kat informed them that her little family and Miss Grey were to have a picnic. They would take the touring car. Gawen closeted himself in his study to finish the third article. Lamb headed out with his camera and tripod. The other students took the smaller truck to explore nearby villages. Cecilia demanded that Madoc crank the smaller truck for her. When her husband warned her not to venture far alone, she glared at him then slammed the door as she left.

Arkwright’s only comment was, “I didn’t think she would carry a grudge that long.”

Madoc said he needed to go into the village.

Isabella watched him leave, wondering why he hadn’t spoken to her. On Saturday he’d been busy at the dig. At breakfast he’d been preoccupied. After Friday’s idyll, she felt bereft.

“Left all alone?” Arkwright said.

She glanced at him. This morning he bore no resemblance at all to a demi-god. Heavy drinking had formed pouches under his bloodshot eyes. She stood abruptly. “I’m going up the ridge, if anyone asks.”

“Madoc, you mean?”

She ignored the insinuation. “To work on a landscape. I have some free time before Gawen gives me the next article.”

“Do you really expect Cessy’s Tod Carstairs to come through?”

Refusing to respond, Isabella escaped. When she came through with her painting gear, Madoc’s easel dragging down one arm, Arkwright had stretched out on the couch. He guarded the drink propped on his stomach with one hand while the other was thrown over his eyes.

Lamb’s tracks led the way over the ridge and up the mountain. Isabella soon veered from the path to the shady spot she had found with Kouri’s help.

She roughed out an underdrawing of the cove then began the color washes for the sky, the sea, then the cliffs. The paint dried quickly, and soon she worked on the slant of shadow on the cliff, the variations of the rock face, the tumbled rocks in the background.

“Painting paradise?”

She nearly dropped her brush. “Oh, Madoc! You startled me.”

He dropped onto the grass and opened his haversack. “Dorcas sends lunch. Ready for a bite?”

“More than ready. Let me wash out these brushes.” While he unpacked the simple fare, she packed up her paints.

“No more work?”

“Not until it dries.” Sinking into the shade, she sipped the wine. “This is wonderful. I thought you had gone to your cove.”

He shook his head but didn’t explain. Looking down, he swirled the wine in the enameled cup then downed it as if it were beer. So Isabella spoke of her watercolor and his lovely gift of the easel and Dorcas’ grandson and possible subjects for Gawen’s next article. Eventually he responded, which made her loath to complain when he turned the conversation to her past.

“You’ve certainly taken this job as an answer to prayer. An escape from the toil of the governess. How does an American become a governess to the British uppercrust?”

“Dr. Ivers’ master plan.

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