people’s things and siphoning their gas, you wouldn’t be having this problem, Slick. Empty out your pockets, or so help me, I’ll run you in.”
“If I had an arrowhead in my pocket, it would be mine, and you’d think I stole it,” Slick said.
He sounds like a kid , Diane thought as she looked at the boxes of arrowheads. Most of them they hadn’t opened, thank heaven. They had pulled the smaller boxes out of the larger one. She supposed when they discovered they were arrowheads, they pretty much lost interest.
“Just hand it over,” said Deputy Conrad.
Slick pulled a three-inch, black flint arrowhead out of his pocket.
“It’s mine,” he said. “Roy ain’t the only one who collects arrowheads.”
Diane watched Deputy Conrad take the arrowhead and turn it over in his hand.
“You know, Slick, I can imagine you picking up arrowheads and collecting them. But for the life of me, I can’t picture you sitting at a desk and putting numbers on all of them.” Conrad handed the point to Diane. “Does this belong with Roy’s?” he asked, eyeing Slick.
Diane looked at the projectile point, as Jonas Briggs, the museum’s archaeologist, called them. She had no idea what kind it was, but it was pretty. Long and jet-black. Near the base on a flake scar was a small rectangle of white paint with neat, tiny black numbers. Roy said he had numbered each of the items in his grandfather’s collections—all according to the carefully penned outline his grandfather did of each point he found, along with a rather charming description of where he found it and what he was doing that day. It must have taken Roy months to find which point matched what outline in his father’s diary. A real labor of love for him.
“Yes, this is one of Roy’s,” said Diane.
“You lying bitch,” said Tammy. “This is the last time we ever try to help anybody out. They can just lie out in the mud for all we care, can’t they, honey?”
Diane ignored her and carefully put the point away, grateful that it hadn’t gotten broken in Slick’s pocket.
“Tammy, why don’t you and Slick go in the house and fix yourselves some of that cocoa you were talking about,” said Conrad.
“Travis, I never would have suspected what a little piece of shit you are,” said Tammy. “No wonder Carol steps out on you. I saw her getting it on with Pryce Moody the other day out by the lake.”
“Tammy, how would you even know what that looks like?” said Deputy Conrad.
“Why, you pig, I ought to scratch your eyes out,” she said, making clawlike movements with her hands.
“Slick,” said Conrad, “why don’t the two of you go inside, like I suggested. And if, on the way, you find anything that belongs to Miss Fallon, just toss it over here.”
Slick and his girlfriend, Tammy, turned and walked inside, hurling a few more insults that Diane didn’t quite hear. She shook her head. What a pair.
Travis climbed in the back with Diane and looked over the boxes she was repacking.
“Roy was so proud that the museum was interested in his arrowhead collection. He said he might get a plaque with his and his grandfather’s name on it hanging in the museum. He was worried that you might not accept the collection, ’cause he didn’t have an exact location where they were found.”
“His grandfather left a detailed diary telling generally where he found things in the woods,” said Diane. “We don’t have an exact location, but our archaeologist assures me that the collection will be useful—at the very least, to catalog the types of points found in the area.”
“So Roy’ll get his plaque?” asked Deputy Conrad.
“Yes,” said Diane. “This is going to be a nice collection for the museum.”
Travis Conrad nodded. “Good. I’d like to put that in his obituary, that he’s getting a plaque. He’d be proud.”
“Yes, he would,” said Diane. “I’m glad Mr. Massey didn’t get into the boxes with the really large points,” said
“If I had an arrowhead in my pocket, it would be mine, and you’d think I stole it,” Slick said.
He sounds like a kid , Diane thought as she looked at the boxes of arrowheads. Most of them they hadn’t opened, thank heaven. They had pulled the smaller boxes out of the larger one. She supposed when they discovered they were arrowheads, they pretty much lost interest.
“Just hand it over,” said Deputy Conrad.
Slick pulled a three-inch, black flint arrowhead out of his pocket.
“It’s mine,” he said. “Roy ain’t the only one who collects arrowheads.”
Diane watched Deputy Conrad take the arrowhead and turn it over in his hand.
“You know, Slick, I can imagine you picking up arrowheads and collecting them. But for the life of me, I can’t picture you sitting at a desk and putting numbers on all of them.” Conrad handed the point to Diane. “Does this belong with Roy’s?” he asked, eyeing Slick.
Diane looked at the projectile point, as Jonas Briggs, the museum’s archaeologist, called them. She had no idea what kind it was, but it was pretty. Long and jet-black. Near the base on a flake scar was a small rectangle of white paint with neat, tiny black numbers. Roy said he had numbered each of the items in his grandfather’s collections—all according to the carefully penned outline his grandfather did of each point he found, along with a rather charming description of where he found it and what he was doing that day. It must have taken Roy months to find which point matched what outline in his father’s diary. A real labor of love for him.
“Yes, this is one of Roy’s,” said Diane.
“You lying bitch,” said Tammy. “This is the last time we ever try to help anybody out. They can just lie out in the mud for all we care, can’t they, honey?”
Diane ignored her and carefully put the point away, grateful that it hadn’t gotten broken in Slick’s pocket.
“Tammy, why don’t you and Slick go in the house and fix yourselves some of that cocoa you were talking about,” said Conrad.
“Travis, I never would have suspected what a little piece of shit you are,” said Tammy. “No wonder Carol steps out on you. I saw her getting it on with Pryce Moody the other day out by the lake.”
“Tammy, how would you even know what that looks like?” said Deputy Conrad.
“Why, you pig, I ought to scratch your eyes out,” she said, making clawlike movements with her hands.
“Slick,” said Conrad, “why don’t the two of you go inside, like I suggested. And if, on the way, you find anything that belongs to Miss Fallon, just toss it over here.”
Slick and his girlfriend, Tammy, turned and walked inside, hurling a few more insults that Diane didn’t quite hear. She shook her head. What a pair.
Travis climbed in the back with Diane and looked over the boxes she was repacking.
“Roy was so proud that the museum was interested in his arrowhead collection. He said he might get a plaque with his and his grandfather’s name on it hanging in the museum. He was worried that you might not accept the collection, ’cause he didn’t have an exact location where they were found.”
“His grandfather left a detailed diary telling generally where he found things in the woods,” said Diane. “We don’t have an exact location, but our archaeologist assures me that the collection will be useful—at the very least, to catalog the types of points found in the area.”
“So Roy’ll get his plaque?” asked Deputy Conrad.
“Yes,” said Diane. “This is going to be a nice collection for the museum.”
Travis Conrad nodded. “Good. I’d like to put that in his obituary, that he’s getting a plaque. He’d be proud.”
“Yes, he would,” said Diane. “I’m glad Mr. Massey didn’t get into the boxes with the really large points,” said
Similar Books
