and sidestepping all morning to stay out of the morass of Stonebarrow Fell, but now, reluctantly, he nodded.
"Okay, but no strings. If I can keep your name out of it, I will, but I can’t promise."
"Uh-uh," Randy said, "no deal. If—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes focused beyond Gideon.
"Private discussion?" Nate asked dryly. He had just come over the rise.
"Nope," said Randy with smooth nonchalance, "just talking shop."
"Well, I was looking for you. When you’re finished, come on over to the dig. Now that everyone’s here, I want to go over our problems with level three. I think we need to talk about pseudostratigraphic indicators."
"Will do, chief; my favorite subject."
He was uncommunicative while he walked with Gideon down to the gate, and when they got there, he glanced behind them. There was Nate at the top of the crest, looking after them, almost hidden in the mist.
Randy unlocked the gate. "Okay, you win," he said hurriedly. "Can I talk to you later? Where are you staying?"
Gideon let out a long breath. He’d thought he’d managed to wriggle his way off the hookwith honor reasonably intact. "The Queen’s Armes, but we’re taking off tomorrow."
"How about tonight? Five o’clock?"
"Okay," Gideon said resignedly, "I’ll be there."
AT 5:45 p.m. Gideon snapped shut the Ngaio Marsh novel he’d borrowed from the hotel library and tossed it irritably onto the low table.
"Let’s go get some dinner."
Julie looked up from her own book. "I thought you said he really seemed to have something on his mind."
"He did, but he was pretty coy about it. I think he just changed his mind."
"What do you suppose it was about?"
"I don’t know, but to tell you the truth, I’m just as glad not to hear it. There are some very funny dynamics going on up there."
"Maybe something held him up at the dig. Why not give him a few more minutes?"
"It’s been dark for over an hour. They shut down long ago. Besides, I thought you wanted me to stay out of academic squabbles."
"I do, but you made it sound important. Do you know where he’s staying?"
"No, and anyway, why the hell should I go chasing after him? He’s the one who wants to talk to me, isn’t he?"
Julie got up and came over to him. She leaned over the back of the big leather armchair and kissed his cheek. "Poor baby. He gets grumpy when he’s hungry, doesn’t he?"
Laughing, he stood up and hugged her. "I do, don’t I? Come on, let’s go get some honest English roast beef and ale. If something’s held him up, he can call and leave a message.
"Oh, by the way," he said, as they shrugged into their coats, "speaking of academic squabbles that I’m so skillful at staying out of, there’s this inquiry on November twenty-ninth…"
FIVE
THEY arrived back in Charmouth on November 27, after a full morning’s drive over country roads. Gideon, cramped after all that time in the car, went for a long walk on the beach while Julie, hungry for some modern American fiction, left in search of a bookstore.
It was a good, muscle-loosening walk, made even more enjoyable when he found a small, perfectly coiled fossil ammonite among the pebbles. The wind began to sharpen after an hour, however, and the afternoon was fading rapidly to a dirty, sleet-spattered gray, so that by the time he got back to the Queen’s Armes he was cold through and glad to close the wooden door of the old inn behind him. He was happy, too, to see the ruddy flicker on the wall of the long entryway opposite the Tudor Room. That meant that a fire had been laid in the snug, ancient chamber that served as a resident’s lounge.
The little Queen’s Armes Hotel was reputed to be over five hundred years old, and although the outside had been stuccoed and modernized many times through the years, the Tudor stonework and age-blackened woods inside gave credence to the reputation. Its owner, Andy Hinshore—a wiry, nervous, darting man, though affable and
"Okay, but no strings. If I can keep your name out of it, I will, but I can’t promise."
"Uh-uh," Randy said, "no deal. If—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes focused beyond Gideon.
"Private discussion?" Nate asked dryly. He had just come over the rise.
"Nope," said Randy with smooth nonchalance, "just talking shop."
"Well, I was looking for you. When you’re finished, come on over to the dig. Now that everyone’s here, I want to go over our problems with level three. I think we need to talk about pseudostratigraphic indicators."
"Will do, chief; my favorite subject."
He was uncommunicative while he walked with Gideon down to the gate, and when they got there, he glanced behind them. There was Nate at the top of the crest, looking after them, almost hidden in the mist.
Randy unlocked the gate. "Okay, you win," he said hurriedly. "Can I talk to you later? Where are you staying?"
Gideon let out a long breath. He’d thought he’d managed to wriggle his way off the hookwith honor reasonably intact. "The Queen’s Armes, but we’re taking off tomorrow."
"How about tonight? Five o’clock?"
"Okay," Gideon said resignedly, "I’ll be there."
AT 5:45 p.m. Gideon snapped shut the Ngaio Marsh novel he’d borrowed from the hotel library and tossed it irritably onto the low table.
"Let’s go get some dinner."
Julie looked up from her own book. "I thought you said he really seemed to have something on his mind."
"He did, but he was pretty coy about it. I think he just changed his mind."
"What do you suppose it was about?"
"I don’t know, but to tell you the truth, I’m just as glad not to hear it. There are some very funny dynamics going on up there."
"Maybe something held him up at the dig. Why not give him a few more minutes?"
"It’s been dark for over an hour. They shut down long ago. Besides, I thought you wanted me to stay out of academic squabbles."
"I do, but you made it sound important. Do you know where he’s staying?"
"No, and anyway, why the hell should I go chasing after him? He’s the one who wants to talk to me, isn’t he?"
Julie got up and came over to him. She leaned over the back of the big leather armchair and kissed his cheek. "Poor baby. He gets grumpy when he’s hungry, doesn’t he?"
Laughing, he stood up and hugged her. "I do, don’t I? Come on, let’s go get some honest English roast beef and ale. If something’s held him up, he can call and leave a message.
"Oh, by the way," he said, as they shrugged into their coats, "speaking of academic squabbles that I’m so skillful at staying out of, there’s this inquiry on November twenty-ninth…"
FIVE
THEY arrived back in Charmouth on November 27, after a full morning’s drive over country roads. Gideon, cramped after all that time in the car, went for a long walk on the beach while Julie, hungry for some modern American fiction, left in search of a bookstore.
It was a good, muscle-loosening walk, made even more enjoyable when he found a small, perfectly coiled fossil ammonite among the pebbles. The wind began to sharpen after an hour, however, and the afternoon was fading rapidly to a dirty, sleet-spattered gray, so that by the time he got back to the Queen’s Armes he was cold through and glad to close the wooden door of the old inn behind him. He was happy, too, to see the ruddy flicker on the wall of the long entryway opposite the Tudor Room. That meant that a fire had been laid in the snug, ancient chamber that served as a resident’s lounge.
The little Queen’s Armes Hotel was reputed to be over five hundred years old, and although the outside had been stuccoed and modernized many times through the years, the Tudor stonework and age-blackened woods inside gave credence to the reputation. Its owner, Andy Hinshore—a wiry, nervous, darting man, though affable and
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