“What?”

“Well, I did a little checking up on him. It wasn’t easy to dig up, but I’m a historian and I’m good at finding obscure stuff on the web. You know he used to be a big-shot divorce lawyer in California, right?”

“Yes.”

“He says he switched careers because he got tired of the rat race. But the real truth is he got into trouble. He was representing this young woman who married a rich asshole, it seems, with a prenup. He hired a shady detective, who illegally broke into the guy’s mansion, got caught, and ratted him out. Burleson lied to the cops. And when they tried to arrest him he got all pissed off and took a swing at one of them. They charged him with perjury, assault, B-and-E, attorney misconduct, obstruction of justice. He barely escaped jail time. It looked like he was going to get disbarred, so he resigned his license to practice law and came out here.”

“Wow. He mentioned to me something about getting an unfriendly push out of the profession but nothing like this.”

“I mean, Nora, if you look at all the problems we’ve had, every single one originated with Burleson’s crew—not us.”

“You think he’s got a hidden agenda?”

“I don’t know. He’s got a temper, he drinks a lot, and now we know he’s dishonest, hires crooks, and is a liar. And there’s twenty million in gold buried out there. Motive enough for all kinds of evil deeds.”

Nora thought about this. Even though Burleson seemed like a straight shooter, Clive had a point—a good point. “We’d better keep an eye on him,” she said.

“Dr. Kelly? Dr. Benton?” came a crisp voice from behind them. They turned to see Dr. Jill Fugit, President of the Institute, approaching them from across the saloon.

“I’ve been looking for you two,” she said, a displeased look on her face. She glanced around. “Let’s talk in private. My room.”

43

FUGIT HAD TAKEN the best lodging at the inn, a large room under the eaves with a kitchenette and a sitting area with a gas fireplace. A row of dormer windows looked out over the forest, rising steeply into the mountains. As they entered, Fugit waved them into wing chairs on either side of the fireplace while she took the sofa.

“You can guess why I’m here,” she said. “I’m very concerned about what’s going on. I’m especially worried for the safety of our people.” She paused. “And I’d also like to know how a simple, uncomplicated archaeological expedition spiraled into murder and scandal.”

She sat back in the sofa, arms crossed, her gaze on Nora.

Nora felt a flaring of anger at her attitude. After dealing with that arrogant FBI agent, the last thing she needed was Fugit’s interference. But getting into a fight with her boss was a bad idea, so Nora swallowed and tried to modulate her voice. “Let me start by saying the excavation has been an unqualified success. We’ve mapped the entire camp and uncovered a trove of information and artifacts that will be studied for years to come.”

“Except, of course, for the stolen bones.”

“Dr. Fugit, the bones had to be kept in situ, and there was no way to protect them or lock them up until they could be removed for curation at the close of the dig. Nobody had any idea Peel would steal them. And in any case, all the bones we’d found have been recovered, except for one cranium and a few vertebrae.”

“What about the death of this man Wiggett?”

“The FBI are investigating. They won’t give us any information.”

“I intend to speak to this FBI agent as soon as she comes back down from the site. I talked with her once before, and she sounded out of her depth, hurling accusations left and right.”

God help her, Nora thought, not without satisfaction.

Fugit turned to Clive. “And your views on the situation?”

“I agree with Nora. It’s been a successful expedition. I don’t see how these problems could have been anticipated or avoided. Certainly none of them are Nora’s fault. To be blunt, all the difficulties seem to lie with the wranglers hired by the Institute—not us.”

“Speaking of the Institute, do you have any idea how much this project has cost us to date? Just shy of half a million dollars. You need to get back up there, finish the dig, and if possible find that gold.”

“Agent Swanson said we could return in forty-eight hours.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t account for the big storm that’s rolling in. If it’s as bad as they’re predicting, it could be days before you can get back up there.”

“We’ll deal with that once Nora gets the green light from Agent Swanson,” Clive told her. “I’m certain the gold is up there. We’ve narrowed the search to a single area.”

“I certainly hope that’s the case. Now, I understand the FBI are going to be conducting detailed interviews. Keep in mind the Institute needs to be cast in a favorable light.” She leaned forward. “As you said, these troubles originated with the Red Mountain Ranch and their wranglers. Nothing to do with us. Right?”

“Right,” said Clive.

“Thank you. Now I’d like a few private words with Nora, if you don’t mind.”

Clive rose and left the room. Fugit turned to Nora, her look softening. “I’m sorry to seem so critical. I know this has been difficult. And I suspect my arrival was not exactly a pleasant surprise.”

Nora hadn’t anticipated this change of tone.

She went on. “I was truly concerned when I heard there had been an accidental death, and then a murder. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Dr. Benton, but I hope you understand that I couldn’t stay away.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Nora lied.

“Now we need to talk about the press. So far, nothing’s come out. But it will. You’ll have to be prepared.”

“How?”

“You’re going to be asked questions—pointed ones. My advice is to say as little as possible without seeming evasive. Anticipate the questions and write out your bullet points ahead of time. The dig was a great success; you accomplished everything you came here to do; the historic importance of the discovery is peerless. Yes, there were some unfortunate events, but only involving the wranglers hired to support the expedition—nothing to do with the Institute.”

Nora nodded. It was, after all, true, and not just spin the president of a prestigious organization would be expected to employ.

“Do you agree with Dr. Benton? That you’ll find the gold, I mean?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Fugit seemed to relax a little, and then she actually smiled. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of him, but I want you to know: I think you’re doing an exceptional job under difficult circumstances.” She leaned over. “You’re a first-rate archaeologist, Nora. The best at the Institute. And I’m going to make sure that FBI agent doesn’t impede the completion of your work. I know people in Washington. I can pull strings and, with any luck, rein in that overeager rookie.”

“Thank you,” Nora said sincerely. “I’d appreciate that very much.”

“When the FBI releases the site, make it a priority to get the bones prepped for transport and the dig secured—just in case they try to bother you again. And find that gold. The Institute can hardly afford to go half a million dollars in the red.”