Breaking Ground (30 page)

“Power-hungry!” Rich said with a laugh.

“Right. But you understand—I just can't get excited about standing in front of a bunch of adolescents in a classroom. It's great that you love teaching, but what's exciting for me is actually being in charge and making something happen. Funny, though, my dad said the same thing about me.”

“That you're power-hungry?”

“Not quite that. Just that this is a good job for me because I like to run things.”

“He knows you well. I suppose this is the conversation where he pointed out what a loser I am, being a lowly faculty member.”

“Rich, I keep telling you: Dad likes you, and he respects that you're a teacher, like him.” Julie could see from his look that Rich doubted her description of her father's view of him. She continued, more quietly, “We never really talked about that conversation on the hike last weekend. Maybe this is a good time to.”

“Distract me from my deep involvement in reading papers?”

“You don't always have to be so sarcastic,” she said.

“Sorry. Sure, let's talk. I apologized for blowing up and running on ahead.”

“Not quite, not with words.”

“Fair enough. I apologize, Julie. I shouldn't have gotten pissed off, but when you brought your folks into the conversation it just reminded me that I don't know where this is going, where we want it to go.”

“By
this
you mean us, our relationship? What do they have to do with it?”

“I accept everything you say about your dad's protectiveness, that you're his only child and still his little girl. I really do understand that. But I also realize he doesn't think much of me as a boyfriend, and I guess—this is really hard—I wonder if you, well, if you feel the same.”

“About you?”

“Yes. That I'm not really worthy of you, that—”

“That's so Victorian, Rich! What does
worthy
have to do with it—like it's some sort of business arrangement or contract?”

“What's your
it
here?”

She hesitated. He watched her closely. Finally she answered: “Marriage. Isn't that what we're talking about?”

“At some point, yes; or at least I am.”

“What's wrong with the way we are now?”

“Oh, shit, Julie—nothing. Everything's
right
about it, at least for me. But where's it heading? Can you imagine marrying me? Can we keep commuting afterwards? Does marriage fit your view of yourself, of your career?”

“I can't answer all those questions, Rich. Not right now. My career does matter to me, you know that very well, but it's not everything. I guess I just don't know how much it counts, how much else there is, how it all fits together.”

“I bet your dad would say it counts most.”

“Why do you keep bringing up my father, as if I'm a teenager?”

“Because he's such a strong presence in your life, still, even now. And I understand that. I respect that you have that relationship with him. And what he'd respect is that you put your career first.”

This wasn't the first time Julie had considered the points Rich was making, but it was the first time the two of them had talked about her family and its influence on her. And despite the underlying tension of the conversation, Julie suddenly realized she was happy they
could
have it, that she and Rich could focus on something so intimate. “Rich, I don't know if I fully agree with you or not—I mean, about my dad and how all that affects me. But I do agree you're right that I have to sort out my career goals and my other goals and figure out how to find the right balance. It's going to take time, but I think we have that, don't we?”

“Yes; whatever it takes,” Rich said. He got up from his side of the kitchen table and walked around to where, during the conversation, Julie had moved to sit opposite him. He stood above and behind her and stretched his arms around her shoulders and hugged tightly.

“Thanks,” was all she said, but it seemed enough for both of them.

“Think you'll ever finish that puzzle?” he asked.

“Get back to your papers, Professor O'Brian.”

She went back to examining the pieces of the puzzle and fitting them slowly into the map, absorbed now in a concrete task, relieved at their talk but eager to resume the ease of just being together, not talking or thinking.

“Listen to this!” Rich exclaimed, “You won't believe how stupid students can be. Can I just read this sentence to you? It'll confirm how you feel about teaching.”

Julie looked up and smiled. “Read on,” she said.

“Okay.The assignment was to write about the role of Maine in the French and Indian War. Not a trick question. Lots of material in the textbook for them to start on. So this bozo writes, ‘Since Maine didn't become a state until the nineteenth century, it had no chance to play a role in the French and Indian War, which occurred in the eighteenth century.'”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

Julie laughed. “Well, maybe he deserves a C for creativity.”

“More like an F for being not just stupid but also a wiseass. Sometimes I wonder …”

But the ringing telephone stopped his wondering, and Julie leapt up to answer.

“Mike! What's the news?”

Rich looked up from the papers and read the disappointment in Julie's face as she carried on her side of the conversation. After a few minutes, she said, “Well it's not conclusive until you check that out, right?” And then: “Okay, I see. Thanks for letting me know.”

“So?” Rich prompted after she put the phone down.

“I don't know if Mike believes it or not,” she said.

“I'm sure I don't either, Julie, because I don't know what
it
is.”

“Sorry. Seems Frank admitted right away that he didn't stay at the camp. His son is there, and Ted has a girlfriend who's staying over, and Frank didn't want to impose on them. He told his son he was headed home but instead he went back to his office in Boothbay and spent the night there. Slept in his chair, he said. He told Patty he had stayed at the camp because he didn't want her to know about Ted's girlfriend staying over.”

“Guys always stick together,” Rich interjected.

“Right. And he lied to Mike before for the same reason. Oh, I can just hear Frank saying all that—he's so smooth. I'm not sure if Mike believes him, but it'll be hard to verify that Frank stayed at the office by himself and left before anyone showed up. Convenient.”

“Did Mike talk to him about the diary?”

“No, he said it didn't really come up, and if Frank's new story is true it might be irrelevant. But I'm not eliminating Frank. We've got more to do, that's all. Think you can tear yourself away from those papers?”

“That won't be hard, but what's up?”

“The shovel! You know my idea on that.”

“Yeah, but how come you didn't mention it to Mike? You said you would after he talked to Frank.”

“I know, but let's just go ourselves and not get him involved until we find out.”

The drive along the river to Birch Brook took only a few minutes, and when they got to the construction site they were happy to see no other vehicles. Rich parked where he had the week before, and they walked up the rise from the river. The yellow backhoe sat at the top of the rise.

“What if it's locked?” Rich asked.

“It won't be,” Julie said. Just seeing the big machine excited her. It had come into her head the night she lay awake at the Black Crow Inn, and during the past day and especially last night the image kept reappearing. Now it was real—right ahead of them.

“What makes you so sure?”

“I just don't think they have locks on construction equipment like this.”

They were standing directly in front of the backhoe, and its headlights were so like eyes that Julie's earlier notion of its being some sort of prehistoric animal recurred to her.

“Here goes,” Rich said as he moved along the side toward the steps to the cab. He took them quickly and grasped the handle of the door. “You're right!” he said as he pulled the door open and stepped into the cab. “Come on up—there's plenty of room for both of us.”

Julie bounded up the steps but stood outside the cab. Rich's idea of ample room inside the cab didn't exactly fit Julie's sense of space: Backhoe cabs were too tight for her. “I'll stay here,” she said. “Start looking.”

Rich knew what he was looking for, but where he would find it was another matter. He began with a visual survey, carefully examining the cab from top to bottom and side to side. “It's got to be in something,” Julie said impatiently. “If it were just lying around someone else would have already found it.” Rich bent to look under the seat and then got down on his hands and knees to explore the floor. “Nothing,” he said as he stood up.

Julie was peering into the cab from the outside steps. “It
has
to be here,” she said impatiently.

“Hey, you want to look?”

“If you come out, I'll try. There's just not room for both of us in there.” They traded places, and Julie repeated Rich's search while he looked on from outside. “Step down so I can come out,” she said, and then backed out onto the steps and hopped to the ground to join him. “This just doesn't make sense,” she said sadly.

“Tell me your theory again,” Rich said as they stood beside the backhoe.

“It's so simple that I just know it has to be right. Think about it: This backhoe was sitting at the construction site when Mary Ellen was murdered. If Frank didn't want to walk away with a
bloody shovel, he had to hide it—and fast. So he sees this.” She pointed to the machine as she continued. “Voilà—a perfect hiding place! No one would check the backhoe, so he puts it inside.”

“And walks away?”

“Or runs or whatever. But the point is that the bloody shovel would be safe in the backhoe.”

“But he could have already gotten it and disposed of it. It's been over a week, Julie, and the machine has been out here untended.”

“I know, but even if Frank removed it already, there would be signs—blood. Did you look for that?”

“I'm not a CSI, Julie. Besides, if someone took the shovel he'd have wiped up any blood.”

“Probably, but we need the police to check this out.”

“So we'll go call Barlow?”

“I guess so,” she said reluctantly.

“Well, at least you satisfied yourself that the shovel's not here.”

Rich started down the hill toward the parking area, but Julie stayed behind, staring at the yellow backhoe. “I keep thinking it should be able to
tell
us something,” she said with a laugh when Rich, realizing she wasn't beside him, turned to rejoin her.

“I guess you have to be able to speak backhoe,” Rich said.

“Not one of my languages. Let's just look around it.” She walked in front of the machine, then down the opposite side, slowly and carefully examining every feature as if the backhoe were a historic artifact that with the right reading could reveal something. Rich remained at the front.

“The toolbox!” she shouted. Rich came around to where she was standing at the rear of the backhoe. She pointed to a chrome box affixed to the back of the cab. “Can you climb up there?”

Rich grasped a handle on the side of the chrome box and hoisted himself up onto the small platform behind it. He lifted the lid of the toolbox and looked in. Then he turned to Julie and
smiled. “Maybe backhoe is one of your best languages after all. Looks like a bloody shovel down underneath stuff.”

“Don't touch it!” Julie yelled.

“Hey, don't worry,” Rich said as he straightened up and turned to look at her down on the ground. “You want to check for yourself?” He extended his hand and pulled her up beside him. “See—down there underneath those wrenches.”

“And the ribbon's still on!” she said. “We found it, Rich.”

“Looks like it. But now what?”

“We've got to get Mike right away. But one of us should stay here, just in case.”

“I'll stay. You go call Barlow.”

Julie began to trot down the hill toward the car. “Hey,” Rich shouted. “Would you like the keys?” She came back to get them.

“I'll be fast. Be careful, Rich.”

“Not a problem. I'll go up there and sit under a tree till you get back. But drive carefully; there's no hurry now.”

Rich didn't for a minute think Julie would agree, but he felt obliged to say it anyway. He walked toward the higher ground that hadn't yet been logged for the foundations of the condo development and found a shady spot under an oak tree.

He was awakened by the sound of a vehicle down the hill by the river. Could Julie be coming back so soon? The sound grew louder. Cursing himself for dozing off, he stood to walk toward the backhoe to greet her but then saw a black SUV with dark tinted windows coming right up the path from the parking area. He ducked behind the tree. The vehicle kept coming, slowly but powerfully ascending the hill. When it approached the backhoe and slowed, he saw the unmistakable Cadillac logo. It was stopped now, but its engine was running.