Free Effigies by Mary Anna Evans Page A

hid her. Only the sound of sirens in the distance saved them. Calhoun fled deeper into the woods.
    Minutes passed while they listened to their rescuers’ sirens approach. When Calhoun was out of earshot, Faye risked a peek behind her. Much deeper into the woods was a prickle of orange light so faint that she would never have seen it without her adrenaline-enhanced vision.
    Faye and Joe knew the law had arrived when the sirens stopped growing closer. So far from the road that they couldn’t even see the law officer’s flashing lights, Faye and Joe let the screaming sirens atop the now-stationary cars lead them to their rescuers. When they emerged from their hiding place, they found only an empty house, an idling tractor, and a silent pickup truck.
    One officer stated the obvious. “He’s on foot.”
    Oka Hofobi, Davis, and their father rushed up, hauling hunting rifles. “We heard the racket,” Oka Hofobi started, but he was interrupted by a six-and-a-half-foot-tall deputy who said only, “We’ve got no need for armed civilians.” The three Choctaws hung their rifles on their pickup’s gun rack, but they didn’t leave until they were told to go.
    “Sheriff Rutland—” Faye wheezed, surprised to feel her breath leave her again.
    “She’s on her way.”
    Neely Rutland would probably be gratified to know how safe that made Faye feel. She made a mental note to tell her.
    “Look, there may be someone else out here tonight,” she told the big deputy who seemed to be in charge. “I saw a campfire way out in the woods.”
    “Can you get us there?”
    Faye looked up at the stars as if they could give her directional guidance, but in the end, she would have had to say “No,” if Joe hadn’t interrupted.
    “I can take you.”
    Well, of course he could. Joe could probably tell them what kind of wood had been used to build the campfire, just by the smell. Or by the color of the glowing embers.
    Faye realized how hard she and Joe had run during their escape when she saw how long it took to reach the campfire. They found its dying embers at the edge of a sizeable clearing planted in rows of lush, healthy marijuana plants.
    The man who had built the fire was no longer seated on the well-worn stump beside it. He was sprawled on the ground nearby. Faye recognized him, even with his face half-obscured by blood, by his clothes and his size and his iron-gray hair. The ragged wound across his neck and the blood soaking into the ground around his head told Faye everything she needed to know about what had happened here. His throat had been slit, and the implement lying on the ground beside him was surely sharp enough to do it. The sleek stone knife looked like it would do a very efficient job of cutting a man’s trachea open. Its single cutting edge was bloody.
    The tall deputy nodded to the other lawman, before whipping out his radio to alert Sheriff Rutland. The smaller deputy started resuscitation, but Carroll Calhoun was surely dead.
    Faye tried to make sense of the crime scene. Had Mr. Calhoun built the fire, then left it long enough to chase her and Joe with a tractor? Had someone been waiting for him when he returned? Or was this someone else’s campfire? Had he surprised someone who killed him rather than let him report the illegal crop?
    One thing was certain. His killer hadn’t had much time to flee. As if reading her mind, the tall deputy and his colleague began a routine search pattern, shining bright lights at their feet to illuminate any tracks the killer had left.
    Who wanted Calhoun dead? Well, maybe Faye had, a little bit, if she were to be perfectly honest. And the rest of the archaeological team. And the entire Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians. The man hadn’t done much to attract friends lately.
    She wondered if she would be considered a suspect in the killing. Sheriff Rutland would be a fool if she didn’t investigate a woman who was nearby when the crime occurred. Especially one who’d had two,