Read Online Shadows in Scarlet by Lillian Stewart Carl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lillian Stewart Carl
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that, though. A peasant, maybe, cannon fodder, but an officer?"
"A wealthy man,” Carrie added. “Good family connections, no doubt, to secure his commission. Proud enough of his name and his ancestral estates to carry mementos of both around with him. Not the man you'd expect to end up in an obscure, unmarked grave."
"We'll probably never know the truth.” Hewitt lifted his magnifying glass and turned from the badges back to the bones. He peered so intently at them Amanda expected them to disintegrate before his eyes. “If we could find living relatives we might be able to do a DNA test, confirm his identity. Then let them decide what to do with the bones. Carrie, will you ask for Grant's military records from England, please? Time to move from the forensic evidence to the historiography."
"Amanda already has, Bill. I'll let you know the minute they come in."
"Good, good. Very efficient."
"Thank you,” Amanda told him, although efficiency had nothing to do with it.
Carrie put her glasses back into her purse. “This has been absolutely fascinating, Bill, but I have to get back to the library."
"Thank you, Dr. Hewitt,” Amanda said. “It's all just too cool for words."
He waved vaguely in their direction. The women showed themselves the door.
Carrie burbled about Grant and Melrose, probability and congruence, as they walked across to the library. Amanda didn't have the chance to respond with more than the odd monosyllable, which suited her just fine.
"Thanks,” Carrie said outside the door. “That was the best lunch break I've had in years. I'll write up another new spiel for the tourists—properly larded with ‘it is believed’ and ‘the evidence points to', of course—and bring it with me tomorrow. I hope London answers your query soon. I can't wait for the next chapter in the Grant saga."
"There may never be another chapter,” Amanda pointed out, as much to herself as to Carrie.
"Curiosity over chance, remember?” Waving, Carrie hurried into the building.
Amanda unlocked her car, waited a minute while the heat dissipated, and then drove away on automatic pilot, only a tenth of her mind noticing such petty details as traffic lights.
The rest of her mind rocked and rolled. All right! Hewitt had named James Grant's bones sooner than she'd dared hope, thanks partly to the tips she herself had given Carrie. But she'd gone way overboard worrying about her supernatural source.
Why shouldn't she already be on the trail? She was a grad student in one of the historical disciplines, wasn't she? If Williamsburg archaeologists could find Jefferson's toothbrush in a place he was known to have lived, in a stratum dated to the time he'd lived there, then nothing was all that weird about finding Grant's bones under similar conditions. So they hadn't been looking for the toothbrush or for the bones. That only legitimized the discovery.
Still Amanda felt like she'd just gotten away with something underhanded.... Yeah right. Like Hewitt, or Cynthia, or even Carrie would believe the truth. It was Wayne who'd believe her, and that sure wouldn't help.
What was really coincidence was that she was the person—the woman—loitering outside the gates of purgatory when they opened far enough for James Grant to slip through. She hadn't asked for him. While she was interested in his time period, her only interest in psychic woo-woo was the occasional New Age album.
It was like he threw himself at me. And she hadn't exactly thrown him back. So what if she was susceptible to a handsome face—or at least to the image of one? She had hormones. She had intellectual curiosity, too. Helping James reclaim his name and his rank—repaying a two hundred-year-old insult—had started her on a great research project. All was well that ended—well, no, she had to get her thesis and its footnotes together. Maybe she could come up with a good reason why James Grant was buried in Sally Armstrong's back yard.
Amanda turned into a
"A wealthy man,” Carrie added. “Good family connections, no doubt, to secure his commission. Proud enough of his name and his ancestral estates to carry mementos of both around with him. Not the man you'd expect to end up in an obscure, unmarked grave."
"We'll probably never know the truth.” Hewitt lifted his magnifying glass and turned from the badges back to the bones. He peered so intently at them Amanda expected them to disintegrate before his eyes. “If we could find living relatives we might be able to do a DNA test, confirm his identity. Then let them decide what to do with the bones. Carrie, will you ask for Grant's military records from England, please? Time to move from the forensic evidence to the historiography."
"Amanda already has, Bill. I'll let you know the minute they come in."
"Good, good. Very efficient."
"Thank you,” Amanda told him, although efficiency had nothing to do with it.
Carrie put her glasses back into her purse. “This has been absolutely fascinating, Bill, but I have to get back to the library."
"Thank you, Dr. Hewitt,” Amanda said. “It's all just too cool for words."
He waved vaguely in their direction. The women showed themselves the door.
Carrie burbled about Grant and Melrose, probability and congruence, as they walked across to the library. Amanda didn't have the chance to respond with more than the odd monosyllable, which suited her just fine.
"Thanks,” Carrie said outside the door. “That was the best lunch break I've had in years. I'll write up another new spiel for the tourists—properly larded with ‘it is believed’ and ‘the evidence points to', of course—and bring it with me tomorrow. I hope London answers your query soon. I can't wait for the next chapter in the Grant saga."
"There may never be another chapter,” Amanda pointed out, as much to herself as to Carrie.
"Curiosity over chance, remember?” Waving, Carrie hurried into the building.
Amanda unlocked her car, waited a minute while the heat dissipated, and then drove away on automatic pilot, only a tenth of her mind noticing such petty details as traffic lights.
The rest of her mind rocked and rolled. All right! Hewitt had named James Grant's bones sooner than she'd dared hope, thanks partly to the tips she herself had given Carrie. But she'd gone way overboard worrying about her supernatural source.
Why shouldn't she already be on the trail? She was a grad student in one of the historical disciplines, wasn't she? If Williamsburg archaeologists could find Jefferson's toothbrush in a place he was known to have lived, in a stratum dated to the time he'd lived there, then nothing was all that weird about finding Grant's bones under similar conditions. So they hadn't been looking for the toothbrush or for the bones. That only legitimized the discovery.
Still Amanda felt like she'd just gotten away with something underhanded.... Yeah right. Like Hewitt, or Cynthia, or even Carrie would believe the truth. It was Wayne who'd believe her, and that sure wouldn't help.
What was really coincidence was that she was the person—the woman—loitering outside the gates of purgatory when they opened far enough for James Grant to slip through. She hadn't asked for him. While she was interested in his time period, her only interest in psychic woo-woo was the occasional New Age album.
It was like he threw himself at me. And she hadn't exactly thrown him back. So what if she was susceptible to a handsome face—or at least to the image of one? She had hormones. She had intellectual curiosity, too. Helping James reclaim his name and his rank—repaying a two hundred-year-old insult—had started her on a great research project. All was well that ended—well, no, she had to get her thesis and its footnotes together. Maybe she could come up with a good reason why James Grant was buried in Sally Armstrong's back yard.
Amanda turned into a
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