CHAPTER 20

  

In spite of repeated threats that I would murder him myself, I couldn’t get any more details about the treasure from Rupert. He insisted everything was now under control. Except for the small detail of an unknown murderous villain on the loose.

He didn’t want to “burden” me with whatever plot he and Knox had hatched, including the small detail of why he thought I could help him in the first place. To put my mind at ease, he assured me it wasn’t illegal and would not offend my integrity. In spite of this fact, he turned a shade paler each time I mentioned the idea of turning to the police for help.

He insisted it had to have been someone at the dig or at the Fog & Thistle Inn who had attempted to kill him. Nobody else could possibly have known what they were up to. The dig and their housing were close quarters, so it was entirely possible that someone learned he and Knox had the ruby bracelet.

“It might be as easy as seeing who left the dig,” I said.

“What, your burglary again? You live in a city, love. Crime happens. Luckily not while your pretty little head was at home in this case.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Nothing else makes sense,” he insisted.

But in spite of his protestations, I saw that it unnerved him.

“Look,” he said, rubbing his sore jaw, “just promise me you won’t trust anyone.”

As he filled me in on more details about the dig, I saw how serious he was about making sure I knew what I was getting into. Sometimes Rupert did surprise me.

Malcolm Alpin, the professor heading up the dig, took his work seriously. Knox Bailey and Derwin McVicar were Malcolm’s crew for the summer. Since Knox withdrew from his archaeology PhD program before being formally kicked out for plagiarism, he was able to stay involved in the field to some extent. I didn’t know Derwin, an archaeology graduate student studying under Malcolm Alpin at St. Andrews.

Rupert stressed that it was best not to offend Malcolm, as he pointed out I had been known to do to a scholar or twenty. If Malcolm didn’t like me, he would have no problem banning me from his site, even though he desperately needed additional help.

The dig’s crew members were housed at the Fog & Thistle Inn. The landlord of the inn ran the place with his wife. Two local characters spent a lot of time in the small pub below the rooms, but otherwise it was a low-key establishment.

Rupert couldn’t think of any reason that any of them would have made an attempt on his life. At the same time, he continued to insist that it had to be one of them. I was relieved to learn that nobody knew he had sent me the ruby artifact.

His cell phone had been washed away with several other items in his Jeep. He hadn’t wasted his limited post-mortem funds on a new phone. He was dead, he said, so who was going to call him? I gave him my new number so he could reach me.

I was trying to decide on a strategy for coercing Rupert into telling me more about the treasure he and Knox were after, when he cocked his head to one side. A smirk spread across his face.

“It’s been lovely,” he said, standing up.

“You’re not sending me away until I’m satisfied,” I said.

“But I thought you said you didn’t want to—”

Why did I only know infuriating men?

“You’re going to tell me—”

“This is my stop,” Rupert said. He stepped around me and grabbed the door handle.

The screech of breaks sounded as the train slowed.

“You can’t mean to get off here,” I said. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“Precisely.”

The train came to a halt.

Rupert stepped forward unexpectedly and gave me a quick yet intense kiss on the mouth. He let go of me just as quickly. In my brief confusion, he slipped past me. The door slammed into me, and Rupert ran out of the compartment.

I followed quickly, but stopped on the train’s steps. Rupert was already halfway down the platform. He must have been using all of his reserves of energy.

Both Lane and my bag were on the opposite side of the train. I’d never catch Rupert before the train departed. As the train engine revved up, I watched his red sneakers disappear around the corner of the small town train station. The train started up again. Dumbstruck, I stood watching the platform fade into the distance.

  

I returned to my seat with a cup of overpriced tea in my hands. I’d already polished off a muffin on my walk through the train cars. I didn’t need a lack of calories to make me any shakier than I already was from my encounter with Rupert.

“Long line in the food car?” Lane asked.

I took a deep breath.

“I saw Rupert.”

Lane looked me up and down. His eyes were wide with concern, showing the reflection from the train window of the deep azure sky outside.

“Jones,” he said. The soft waves of his hair swayed back and forth as he shook his head gently. “I’m sorry. I know it must be difficult for you to accept that he’s—”

“He’s not dead.”

“I know his memory lives on.”

“You’re not listening to me! He faked his death.”

“He’s here?” Lane stood up. “On the train?”

I pushed him back into the seat.

“He’s gone.”

After a few deep breaths, I told Lane what I had learned from Rupert. He processed the information quickly. As I spoke, I realized how little I actually knew. I’m apparently not at my best after learning that a dead ex-lover is alive but not well.

“We’ve got to find that treasure,” Lane said once I was finished telling him all I knew.

“I get the point that you’re ambitious. But don’t you think it’s more important that there’s someone out there willing to murder people over this?”

Lane held up his hand to quiet me. I looked around to see what I was missing. Two people were sleeping. A Scotsman was giving travel advice to an American couple a few rows in front of us. An English couple was arguing. None of them were paying any attention to us. Except one. An elderly woman with bright silver hair sat by herself across the aisle from us. A ball of fluffy green yarn lay in her lap. Her hands worked in swift, practiced strokes as she pulled the yarn with her knitting needles. She must have had a lifetime of practice. She didn’t need to look at her hands as she worked. I looked at her, and she smiled unabashedly back.

I turned back to Lane. “Why did you shush me? There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate people,” he said. I would have thought he was joking except that he said it in a voice so close to a whisper that I had to wonder.

“Miss Marple?” I said, following his lead with a quiet voice.

“I doubt it. But you need to be more careful. We don’t know what’s going on. That’s why our main priority needs to be finding the treasure.”

“How can you—” I reminded myself to lower my voice. “That is not the most important thing.”

“But it is what we have the most control over. We’re not the police. We’re historians. We know how to find missing pieces of history. Not attempted murderers.”

I pressed my head against the back of the seat, and willed my shoulders to relax.

“We need more information from your ex,” Lane said. “I’m sure the shock from seeing him alive was why you weren’t able to learn much from him.”

“You have no idea.”

“We need to try again,” Lane said. “How do we reach him?”

“We can’t,” I said. “His phone was swept out to sea. He only has my number to reach us.”

“How convenient.”

“He doesn’t know any more about who tried to kill him. I’m sure of that. He didn’t even tell his best friend he’s alive.”

“But the treasure—”

“What is it with you?”

“He’s wasn’t killed, Jaya. I don’t want to see you or anyone else get too far and end up dead. If we focus on the treasure, we’ll be doing what we know best. If we can get the information we need—from your ex, or his partners at the dig—then we can get out of there quickly. Without giving anyone a reason to do to us what they did to your ex.”

“This isn’t about doing what’s easy.” I grabbed my bag and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Our stop is Aberdeen,” I said. “I’ll meet you on the platform.”

“You tell him, dearie,” the silver-haired woman said as I stomped briskly away.