Free Past Malice by Dana Cameron Page B

wall—and we shot a couple because the light is at its best here in the late afternoon. I dropped them off to get developed last night!”
    Bader looked startled. “You have pictures of the…site? From late yesterday?”
    I nodded excitedly. “I even have a couple of record shots of the surface from before we started, if that helps.”
    Feldman explained to Bader. “They do that sometimes, just as a matter of course, to record what a site looked like before excavation. They also take pictures throughout the process of the dig, but especially if there was something there worth recording. They might show anything that changed since they left last night.”
    Detective Bader turned to me, with something an optimist might have taken as approval. “Good. Can you get them to me as soon as possible?”
    “They’ll be ready tomorrow morning,” I said.
    “Why don’t you stop by here tomorrow?”
    I said I would, and asked if it was okay to dismiss the crew.
    Bader nodded. Lovell returned and began to cordon off the site; Hill went across the street—to talk to Claire, I assumed. Good luck to him.
    Bucky and I walked around to the front, where the students were hanging around the truck they came in. Today it was Meg’s big red Chevy, the one with the personalized TRK GRRL license plate in front, and since it was registered in Maine and not Colorado, where she’d come from, it made me think she was planning on sticking around for a while with Neal, no matter what she said. The truck was as big as Meg’s attitude and all out of proportion to her actual height, which was just five foot four.
    “What’s the scoop? What’s happened?”
    I filled them in briefly. “So here’s the plan. You’re going to head back to the house with the artifacts we’ve found up to today—the rest of the bags are in the backhouse at home. It’s a wash day, for now. I’m sorry we have to waste the sunshine, but I’m hoping we’ll be able to be out here again tomorrow. I’m going to stick around for a bit, see what they need from me, keep an eye on the units, and then run some errands. Bucky, you head back with them, okay? You can either hang out, go to sleep, or work on the sherds if you want.”
    “Why can’t I stay here?”
    “There’s nothing for you to do here. I probably won’t be long in any case.”
    “Whatever. I’ll work on the sherds then.”
    This brought a murmur of surprise and approval from the crew. The work was dull and tedious, and it took a far better attitude than we collectively had now to do it happily. Another set of hands—and fresh, unjaded ones, at that—was something to celebrate.
    “C’ mon, Bucky,” Meg said. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”
    I could see Meg getting a slight dose of the Chin; when Bucky stuck out her chin at that particular angle, it took me right back to our childhood; she was digging in, ready for conflict. “Great. But call me Carrie, okay?”
    “Emma calls you—”
    “Yeah, well, she’s the only one and someday God will punish her for it.”
    “What’s Carrie short for?”
    Bucky shook her head, making a face like someone who’d just stepped in dog mess. “It’s short for Charlotte, but just call me Carrie. I think my name is really gruesome.”
    “Okay, Gruesome. I’ll show you how to do the lab work.”
    They collected their tools and lunch bags when another large truck pulled up next to us, also filled with tools and young people dressed for outdoor work. I noticed that Dian and Meg brightened considerably and that Rob and Joe rolled their eyes. Bucky looked over as two guys in cut-off jeans, company T-shirts, and work boots hopped out of the cab. For the first time that morning, my sister smiled with genuine pleasure. The landscapers were here.
    “Morning Emma,” the driver called.
    “Morning, Jerry.” I hustled over to the truck before they could start unloading, and explained what was going on. “You might want to check with the cops first,” I