and her crew were waiting for the next batch of apples to ripen, so there was a little breathing room. Not that there weren’t still plenty of things Bree would find for her to be doing back home. And, of course, now there was the pickers’ dinner to prepare for that evening.
“Is this waiting around normal?” Meg asked Seth, during one of the lulls a while later.
“More or less. But I’d rather they were careful than fast. You really don’t know what kind of shape a building is in until you get into it, or in this case, under it. You bored?”
“Not exactly, but I’ve been here over an hour and the hole hasn’t grown a whole lot. I may have seen enough for today. Jeffrey’s still hanging in there. You think he’s really interested, or he’s just enjoying time away from school?”
“At his age, it’s hard to say. He seems like a good kid, but I’d have to call him kind of a nerd. Although I collected arrowheads and various odds and ends at his age, so who am I to judge? They’re probably still in a box in my attic.” Meg realized she had no idea what average young people were interested in these days. She hadn’t spent much time around teenagers since she was one. Seth’s sister Rachel’s kids were still under high school age, and they had provided most of her recent experience. She remembered her own high school days, particularly senior year, as a messy mixture of anxiety and boredom. She doubted that a lot of younger people cared much about history, even if they lived in colonial homes like hers. They probably just complained that the ceilings were too low and that it was impossible to air-condition them, much less add the wiring necessary for all their electronic devices.
The hose resumed its racket again, cutting off conversation. Meg was looking away from the site, admiring the view of the green, its stately maples just beginning to turn color, when she heard shouting. She looked first at Jeffrey, who was gesturing wildly and yelling, “Stop,” which she could hear even over the noise of the machinery. Someone cut it off, and then Jeffrey beckoned to anyone and everyone to come over to the truck.
When they were only a few feet away, he said, “Is this what I think it is?” He pointed to the tray.
Seth was the first to clamber up into the bed of the truck. He looked down at the tray then shook his head. Then he called over to Art Preston. “Art, I think we have a problem.”
“Oh no! What is it?” Gail burst out, climbing up toward the truck bed. Seth stopped her with a hand, and kept her still until Art had joined him next to the tray.
“Crap,” Art said. “I should have known trouble would follow you two. Why are things never simple when you’re around?”
“What is it?” Meg called out.
Gail approached tentatively. “Oh, dear. That looks like part of a skull.”
“It is,” Art said grimly. “Which means it’s time to call in the state police. Sorry, Gail, but for the moment I have to declare this a crime scene.”
6
Work came to a standstill as the news of the gruesome discovery spread among the workers and spectators around the Historical Society building. Luckily, having the chief of police on-scene meant that Art Preston had known immediately what to do.
He must have the state police on speed dial
, Meg reflected. Even to Meg’s inexperienced eye, though, the chunks of skull looked like they had probably been in the ground for a very long time. She wasn’t surprised when Jeffrey asked the same question of Art, who took the time to explain to him that, “Even though it’s pretty likely that this body has been under the building for at least a hundred years, in Massachusetts any unexplained death must be investigated, by law.”
“That’s interesting,” was all Jeffrey said.
When Art went off to make the call, Meg walked over to join Gail and Seth next to the truck, staring at the bone fragments. Jeffrey was still standing on the bed of the truck, looking
“Is this waiting around normal?” Meg asked Seth, during one of the lulls a while later.
“More or less. But I’d rather they were careful than fast. You really don’t know what kind of shape a building is in until you get into it, or in this case, under it. You bored?”
“Not exactly, but I’ve been here over an hour and the hole hasn’t grown a whole lot. I may have seen enough for today. Jeffrey’s still hanging in there. You think he’s really interested, or he’s just enjoying time away from school?”
“At his age, it’s hard to say. He seems like a good kid, but I’d have to call him kind of a nerd. Although I collected arrowheads and various odds and ends at his age, so who am I to judge? They’re probably still in a box in my attic.” Meg realized she had no idea what average young people were interested in these days. She hadn’t spent much time around teenagers since she was one. Seth’s sister Rachel’s kids were still under high school age, and they had provided most of her recent experience. She remembered her own high school days, particularly senior year, as a messy mixture of anxiety and boredom. She doubted that a lot of younger people cared much about history, even if they lived in colonial homes like hers. They probably just complained that the ceilings were too low and that it was impossible to air-condition them, much less add the wiring necessary for all their electronic devices.
The hose resumed its racket again, cutting off conversation. Meg was looking away from the site, admiring the view of the green, its stately maples just beginning to turn color, when she heard shouting. She looked first at Jeffrey, who was gesturing wildly and yelling, “Stop,” which she could hear even over the noise of the machinery. Someone cut it off, and then Jeffrey beckoned to anyone and everyone to come over to the truck.
When they were only a few feet away, he said, “Is this what I think it is?” He pointed to the tray.
Seth was the first to clamber up into the bed of the truck. He looked down at the tray then shook his head. Then he called over to Art Preston. “Art, I think we have a problem.”
“Oh no! What is it?” Gail burst out, climbing up toward the truck bed. Seth stopped her with a hand, and kept her still until Art had joined him next to the tray.
“Crap,” Art said. “I should have known trouble would follow you two. Why are things never simple when you’re around?”
“What is it?” Meg called out.
Gail approached tentatively. “Oh, dear. That looks like part of a skull.”
“It is,” Art said grimly. “Which means it’s time to call in the state police. Sorry, Gail, but for the moment I have to declare this a crime scene.”
6
Work came to a standstill as the news of the gruesome discovery spread among the workers and spectators around the Historical Society building. Luckily, having the chief of police on-scene meant that Art Preston had known immediately what to do.
He must have the state police on speed dial
, Meg reflected. Even to Meg’s inexperienced eye, though, the chunks of skull looked like they had probably been in the ground for a very long time. She wasn’t surprised when Jeffrey asked the same question of Art, who took the time to explain to him that, “Even though it’s pretty likely that this body has been under the building for at least a hundred years, in Massachusetts any unexplained death must be investigated, by law.”
“That’s interesting,” was all Jeffrey said.
When Art went off to make the call, Meg walked over to join Gail and Seth next to the truck, staring at the bone fragments. Jeffrey was still standing on the bed of the truck, looking
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