Mary Anna Evans - Faye Longchamp 05 - Floodgates by Mary Anna Evans

Author:Mary Anna Evans
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - Archaeology - New Orleans
ISBN: 1590585925
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2008-07-02T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Faye wished her cell phone hadn’t rung. Well, it didn’t ring, actually. It played the memorable strains of The Sorceror’s Apprentice, because they were just bombastic enough to catch her attention when she was deep in an excavation, hard at work. She couldn’t believe that Jodi had gotten her cell phone company to honor her maintenance contract and get it replaced so quickly. Badges were handy things to have.

If her phone had just stayed silent or if Jodi hadn’t managed to get it replaced or if Faye had managed to somehow ignore those bombastic strains, then she could have gone a little longer without knowing the truth about Nina’s accident-that-wasn’t-an-accident. As it was, she wished she had just switched the phone off, instead of listening to what Jodi had to say. But Faye was a realist. Given a choice, she would always opt for the truth, no matter how grim. Jodi’s voice had sounded tight—choked, even—when Faye answered the phone, so she’d had early warning that this was one of those times when the truth was grim.

“My divers found some things in the river, under the dock where Nina fell in.”

Faye’s analytical mind reflexively began trying to figure out what the divers found. She decided that it had to be something heavy enough to sink, and shaped in such a way that it dropped to the bottom before the mighty river moved it far downstream…then she stopped herself. Some of the possibilities were icky enough that she didn’t want to think about them. Besides, Jodi was going to tell her anyway.

“The most important thing we found was an archaeologist’s trowel.”

Jodi sounded like she wished she didn’t have to tell Faye that.

Faye didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking her.

“At least, I think it was an archaeologist’s trowel, but it doesn’t look like the ones I saw in your office.”

Faye’s answer was slow in coming. “There are other kinds of trowels out there in the marketplace. It’s just that archaeologists are just a boring bunch, so most of us use the same kind. Was it…did it have a blunt end, like a spatula?”

“Yes. And the shape of the cut on her head and the bruise around it matches that odd shape. At least my forensics people say so. You’ve seen one like it lately?”

“It was Nina’s.” The anger surged so quickly that Faye was hard-put to say where it had come from. Apparently, it had been there all the time. “Who did it? Who did this thing?”

“We’re a little short on clues, other than the trowel. You and Joe tracked the dock up with your old dirty boots, so I can’t say whether anybody else was out there who might have pushed Nina.”

Faye said, “I’m so sorry—,” but Jodi wouldn’t let her finish the apology.

“Crap, Faye. If Joe hadn’t tracked mud out there, Nina would be dead right now. And if you hadn’t left another trail of grime, Joe might be dead, too. Let it rest.”

Nina had been attacked with her own trowel, a tool so intimate that it rarely left her hand during working hours.

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