Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (73 page)

Victoria turned and left the room; her heels made a receding
clack
on the slate floor as she crossed the foyer to her office.

“When are you going to learn to trust Victoria?” the senator said with a sly smile. “We might as well face it, son—the woman is smarter than both of us combined.”

19

Nick trotted up the shallow stone steps of Alderman Library, the largest and oldest collection of books and rare manuscripts at the University of Virginia. He squeezed past a group of students exiting the building with their ever-present cell phones pressed against their ears and entered the lobby, a cavernous room with a twenty-five-foot ceiling and towering arched windows that made it look even taller. On his left there was a coffee shop, offering both companionship and chemical enhancement for each student's study needs; across the aisle there was a rectangular study area lined with padded vinyl chairs. On the right there was a grid of low cubicles equipped with charcoal gray computers, and across the aisle he found what he was looking for—the reference desk. Nick crossed to the desk and approached the first worker he saw, a young man in a blue scrubs top with the letter
V
embroidered on the breast pocket and a pair of crossed sabers below.

The student glanced up. “Need some help?”

“Yes,” Nick said, “I'm looking for a master's thesis titled ‘The Utility of Arthropods in Medicolegal Investigations.' It was completed at Penn State University.”

The young man looked at him blankly. “I—don't think we have that one.”

“I didn't expect you to keep it on a shelf next to
Seventeen
. I want to know if you can find it for me.”

The student began to slowly peck at a computer keyboard. “Um— I'm not sure what to look under. Let me see if I can find someone who could—”

“Never mind,” Nick said. “You can go back to
Facebook
now.”

Nick walked down to the opposite end of the reference desk where he found a woman seated at a computer. Her hair was a dyed reddish-orange and pulled back in a simple ponytail with short strands that dangled down over her forehead. She wore black-framed glasses with the logo “D&G” encrusted in rhinestones on the temples, and a silver post protruded from the right side of her nose. She wore a navy UVA hoodie even though it was almost summer, which was no surprise to Nick since she was a woman and the library was kept at the temperature of a meat locker.

She looked up as he approached. “May I help you?”

“Yes—I'm looking for a doctoral dissertation titled ‘Systematics, Morphology, and Ecology of
Chrysomya rufifacies
, the Hairy Maggot Blowfly.' Can you find it for me?”

“Where was it done?”

“Penn State.”

“Which one? Penn State has twenty-four campuses.”

“The main campus—University Park.”

Her fingers began to skitter across the keyboard. “Let's try Dissertation Abstracts Online—they cover every American dissertation accepted at an accredited institution since 1861 and selected master's theses since 1962. Do you need an abstract or is this just an author search?”

“I'd like an abstract.”

“The abstracts only date back to July of 1980.”

“It's more recent than that.”

“Can you give me a subject heading? It sounds like entomology.”

“Good guess.”

“Hmm—it looks like ‘Biological and Environmental Sciences' is the closest subject heading they've got. I'll do a Boolean search on ‘hairy-maggot-blowfly'—isn't that what you said?”

“Good memory too.”

“It comes with the territory.”

“The guy at the other end of the desk must come from a different territory.”

“Here we are: ‘Systematics, Morphology, and Ecology of
Chrysomya rufifacies
, the Hairy Maggot Blowfly.' I just sent the abstract to the printer. Would you like me to order the complete dissertation for you?”

“That won't be necessary. I wrote it.”

She looked up. “You don't have a copy of your own dissertation?”

“Of course I do—I keep it on my nightstand. I just wanted to see if you could find it.”

She paused. “What is this, some kind of test?”

“You could say that. I'm looking for a grad student to do some research for me—someone who knows their way around a library.”

“How did you know I'm a grad student?”

“You have that hungry look.”

She looked down at the computer screen. “Author: Dr. Nicholas Polchak.”

“Call me Nick.”

“I'm Carlyn Shaw. What kind of research are you looking for, Nick?”

“Historical research. For starters, I'm looking for colonial-era grave registries for the area around Endor.”

“Endor? Where they're building the big mall?”

“That's the place.”

“I've read about that. Does this have something to do with that graveyard they've uncovered there?”

“As a matter of fact it does. It seems we've got a meadow full of caskets and no idea who they belong to.”

“‘We'?”

“The FBI.”

“You're with the FBI?”

“No, I'm a professor of entomology at NC State. I'm assisting the FBI.”

“Did you try the local library in Endor? That's where I'd look first. Small towns take a lot of pride in their history—you'd be surprised what you can find there.”

“I tried. No luck.”

“Well, then you've come to the right place. UVA has fourteen libraries with five million volumes between them—some really good special collections too.”

“That's why I'm here—and that's why I need you. I don't have time to do all the digging; I need someone like you to do it for me.”

Carlyn considered his offer. “How much?”

“A couple of days, maybe a week or—”

“Money, Nick—I'm a grad student, remember?”

“What's the going rate for research around here?”

“Whatever the market will bear.”

“I'll pay you thirty bucks an hour, and I'll trust you to keep your own time card.” He extended his hand to her. “Deal?”

She looked at it for a moment before she took it. “Deal. Now—tell me exactly what you're looking for.”

Two hours later, Nick stepped into the Endor Regional Library and looked around.
Not exactly UVA
, he thought—but then, to be fair, it wasn't designed by Thomas Jefferson. The library was empty except for a handful of hyperactive after-school kids furiously flipping through picture books in the Juvenile section. He spotted Agnes behind the circulation desk; the old woman seemed to keep turning this way and that, as though she couldn't decide which direction to head first.

Nick approached. “You seem to be in a hurry today.”

“She's coming,” Agnes said solemnly.

“Who's coming? Where?”

She looked at him in wonder. “You don't
know
?”

“I'm working for the government—we're always the last to know. What's up?”

“Victoria Braden—she's coming here—to Endor!”

“No kidding. When?”

“In just a couple of days. Imagine—our own little Victoria is coming home!”

“You're in for a surprise,” Nick said. “She's not so little anymore.”

Agnes looked around the library in desperation. “There's so little time and so much to do.”

“You'd better polish the altar and fire up the incense burners.”

“I'm sorry, Nick, I just don't have time to chat with you today—can you come back another time?”

“I just have one quick question: Remember the grave registries I was looking for? You said you'd ask around for me. Has anything turned up yet?”

“I'm sorry—there's just no trace of them.”

“Because I asked at UVA, and they told me that the regional library would be the best place to look.”

“It is—but I'm afraid we just don't have them. If anyone would know, I would. Now if you don't mind—”

“Sorry, I'll let you get back to your preparations. Don't forget the sacrificial ox.”

But Agnes was already scurrying off.

20

Nick left the library and looked across the street, where Ralph and Edna Denardo were busy draping the lampposts in front of the Skyline with patriotic red-white-and-blue bunting. He looked to his left; in the parking lot behind the Resurrection Lutheran Church he saw Gunner Wendorf 's white Chevy. He crossed the street and entered the church. The Gothic arched door stood wide open, though no one was anywhere in sight.
It figures
, Nick thought. Theft probably wasn't much of a problem in a town the size of Endor—after all, there wasn't much to steal.

He stepped through the narthex and into the sanctuary, where he heard the sound of an electric drill and spotted Gunner kneeling by a pew near the chancel. Nick stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked down the aisle; Gunner had just driven a Phillips head screw into the side of a pew and was tapping in a hardwood plug to conceal the hole.

“You look like you know what you're doing,” Nick said.

Gunner looked up. “The pews keep falling apart—too many sleeping people.” He dropped the hammer and screwdriver into a metal toolbox and hoisted himself to his feet.

“I didn't mean to interrupt,” Nick said.

“I'm glad you did—I could use a break.”

“Do you take outside jobs? I've got a deck that's falling apart back in Raleigh.”

“Sorry—I've got my hands full here. I cover a lot of ground.”

Nick smiled. “That's what I was thinking last night when I saw you at Alena's.”

Gunner smiled back but didn't reply.

“I suppose you were a little surprised to see me too,” Nick said.

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“You're probably wondering what I was doing there.”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“I'll tell you if you'll tell me.”

Gunner shook his head. “It's not that simple, Nick. There's a clergy confidentiality issue here; you see, Alena is a member of my congregation.”

“A witch in the church? You people are really reaching out.”

“She's not a witch—you know that.”

“She seems to think so.”

“No, she doesn't—I think you know that too.”

Nick nodded. “Can we sit down for a minute? I need to talk to you.”

They both took a seat on the newly repaired pew. Gunner wiggled in a little to test the quality of his work.

“These things are just as uncomfortable as I remember,” Nick said. “Nobody could sleep on this.”

“That's sort of the idea.” He waited for Nick to continue.

“I want to tell you why I was at Alena's last night,” Nick said, “even if you can't tell me.”

“Oh? How come?”

“I think somebody else needs to know.”

“Why me?”

“Because I have a feeling you care about Alena's welfare—and because I think I can trust you.”

“You're definitely right about the first,” he said, “and I like to think you're right about the second too. Go ahead—what's on your mind?”

“There was a woman hired by the FBI to locate all the graves at the Patriot Center. I called her ‘Marge'—she had a cadaver dog.”

“Sure, the woman on TV.”

“You saw that?”

“Everybody did. I told you, news travels fast in a small town. She's staying over at the Skyline where you are, isn't she?”

“She was. I have a feeling she's dead.”

Gunner did a double take. “Dead? How?”

“I think she might have been murdered.”

“By whom?”

“By someone who saw that interview; by someone who didn't want those graves to be found; by someone with something to hide.”

“Have you told the police?”

“Not yet. I plan to in the morning. I wanted to wait a day and see if she'd turn up first.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Marge didn't find those bodies, Gunner—Alena did.”

“What?”

“I went up there the other night. I told Alena that Marge just couldn't do the job. I talked her into coming down and helping me with that three-legged dog of hers. She didn't want to come at first; she finally agreed, but only if I promised not to tell anyone she was there. Alena found every one of those graves, but Marge took credit for it—I think that's why Marge is dead and not Alena.”