Forbidden Ground (Cold Creek #2)(42)
“An interesting relic of Americana, just as are the mounds of Adeniana,” he told her, making up that word, but he was right on with the societal observation as usual. However clever she was, Carson was always a step ahead and that had absolutely snowed her for years.
He took a small, flat box from inside his suit-coat pocket. For one moment, her heart skipped a beat. It was a jewelry-size box, and he’d hinted at giving her an engagement ring, but surely not now.
He put the box on the table between them, on his ironed pocket handkerchief as if the table were contaminated. Even here among the country-club golf and tennis crowd, Carson stood out as retro as the decor. She’d found that so alluring about him when she was younger, but now it seemed elitist and even snobbish.
“Oh,” she said as he opened the box. “The star.”
“The blood on the tips is human. Type A positive, as a matter of fact.”
“Great work.” She sighed. “Now I just have to talk Bright Star and his followers into telling me their blood types or letting me give them a blood test. O positive is the most common blood type anyway.”
“If I were writing a horror story, I’d make up the fact that the Adena were mostly A-positive blood types, and their ghosts placed the stars as an invitation for one Kathryn Anne Lockwood to come visit their resting place to pay her respects. And, of course, I’d include the fictional factoid—excuse the paradox—that they themselves are the walking dead, out to haunt beautiful women who sleep close by and don’t come quickly enough to visit—and who are distracted by men who hold the keys to their mound.”
He grinned at her without showing his teeth. “The Adena did some metal work, of course, only this die-cut star is a bit advanced even for them, and—”
“Carson, stop it! Enough!” she protested, but his mentioning the walking dead made her think of poor Grace again, trying to give her some sign, looking like the walking dead herself. Had this star indeed been a pin as Carson had surmised earlier? Had Grace worn one? But to signify what?
When Carson looked surprised at her outburst, she explained. “I know you’re upset with me, but as I said, I have to play things Grant’s way.”
“What happened to Carson’s way—our way?”
“We have to be patient. Worthwhile things are worth waiting for.”
“Really?” he said, again using his favorite subtle—even snide—challenging comment. “I think you’re starting to really enjoy doing things his way.”
“No. He’s angry with me right now because I said I’d like to see how his friend Todd scales trees. Actually, I’m hoping to go with Todd into a tree above the Hear Ye compound and look down into it—spy on Bright Star and his poor robots. I’d also like to pay Todd for his time, since Grant says his family—they have three sons—can always use extra money.”
Carson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’d better concentrate on our task at hand. But if you must go off on a wild-goose chase after this Bright Star, be careful in the air let alone on the ground, darling. I want you with me, intact—and willing—when this is all over. Kate,” he said, leaning forward and capturing her hands in his, “I swear, you are on the cusp of linking two great prehistoric cultures. One unique artifact in common, and you’re partway there, next your articles in the professional journals—even the likes of Time or USA TODAY. I’m sure of it! So let me guide you through all this.”
Again, she scolded herself for not telling Carson about thinking she’d seen the Beastmaster at the garage window. She’d meant to, but she didn’t want him to think that she was losing her grip on reality—or that she might suspect him since he still had the mock-up of the mask she’d made.
“Carson, next time you come, would you bring the facsimile of the Beastmaster mask I left with you?”
“I use it in class, you know. And would like to soon again. Do you need it now?”
“I can show Grant my photo of the Beastmaster artifact, but I thought my mask might show him the kind of thing I’m after in an Adena mound.”
“Of course, darling. Mind if I have one of my grad students copy it first so I still have one? I’ll get back to you on that, and you keep in touch—with me.”
“I hear you. I do have to move carefully, unless you want Grant to dig in his heels. As for Brad—”
Carson shook his head. “I’ve carefully asked around. Grant would have to be as dead as the Adena before Brad would inherit one penny or one breath of say-so over the mound.”
With Paul’s death, and possibly under mysterious circumstances, Kate didn’t like the way Carson had phrased that. She made a move to slide out of the booth, but he held her hands. “Remember that W. H. Auden quote about asking questions, the one from Anthropology 201 that I made everyone memorize when you were just a neophyte—but a neophyte of mine?”
She nodded. “‘History is, strictly speaking, the study of questions; the study of answers belongs to anthropology and sociology.’”
“Right. Top marks for my girl. So be sure you ask the right questions from the right people. Then use your knowledge of anthropology and sociology, not sexology, to get what you want from Grant Mason. Save the latter for me, understand?”
“I understand a lot more than I used to.”