a discovery like that stops whatever’s going on around it. Even major construction. Doesn’t matter whether the land is public or private.”
“Oh, man. The local politicians would crap their drawers.” Nadine is working it all out in her mind. “But for how long? It’s one thing if a team comes in, catalogs things, then moves them to a museum. But you can’t move a Poverty Point. That’s like discovering the pyramids.”
“You’re right. That level of find would kill the paper mill. The Chinese would move on to one of their alternate sites. Arkansas or Alabama.”
“Is the paperwork not fully completed? They’re breaking ground in less than an hour, for God’s sake.”
“That’s all for show. Gold shovels and glad-handing. The Chinese company has an office here and reps, but nothing’s final-final. The associated state projects are finishing the planning stage. The I-14 route is on the verge of final approval, but technically the mill is at binding letters of intent. There’s still due diligence to be done. If the Chinese really wanted to, they could fold up their tents and leave next week.”
Nadine sits back in her chair. “I’d say that’s a motive for murder.”
“I’m not sure how many people truly understand that risk at this point.”
“Does it matter? Anybody who fears the worst could have killed Buck. Even some hotheaded version of Dr. Bortles.”
“I guess so. Well, the powers that be will want this to go down as an accidental death. But it’ll be tough to hide. Buck has a massive skull wound, maybe from a rifle bullet, maybe a rock.”
Nadine is studying me as though trying to see behind my eyes. “What are you thinking, Marshall? I know you. You’re going to go out there and try to dig up some bones yourself, aren’t you?”
I take another long sip of coffee. “I’m not anxious to get my skull caved in. But Buck was right. Old B. L. C. Wailes wouldn’t have wasted time drawing maps of nothing. I think there are bones out there, thousands of them. The bones of people who were living in this county four millennia ago, and maybe five or six. Right where you and I grew up.”
Nadine steeples her fingers and smiles the way my favorite English teacher used to, as if she’s about to test me in some private way. “In a vacuum,” she intones, “I’d say that’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard. But the way things are now . . .” She sighs.
“Go on.”
“Bortles is an asshole, but he raised a real dilemma. What if you go out tonight and dig up some bones? You trace out the Woodhenge and uncover a major archaeological site. A new Poverty Point. Would you kill the paper mill deal to do that? Would you kill the future of this town to do it?”
There’s surprising passion in her voice. “Killing that mill deal wouldn’t kill the town.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She raises her right forefinger, and again I flash back to school. “The new white-flight neighborhoods in the eastern part of the county have brought in some money from Jackson, and there’s some smaller commercial activity going on—indie retail, like my store—and some light industry. But to really survive, Bienville has to have something like that paper mill. Hundreds of jobs that pay sixty or seventy grand, with good benefits. God knows how many ancillary jobs will be created. The construction alone will be a bonanza for this town. Then—”
I lift my right hand to stop her. “You’re right, no question. The bridge and the interstate alone mean hundreds of millions. Even the ancillary stuff . . .” I look up into her bright eyes. “They killed Buck, Nadine. You know? They murdered him.”
“Who’s ‘they,’ Marshall?”
I sigh heavily. “Quinn Ferris thinks the Poker Club did it.”
“The venerable Bienville Poker Club,” Nadine whispers. She raises her hands and makes a mock show of reverence. “The descendants of the hallowed founders. I’d say Quinn’s instincts are dead-on, as usual.”
“I’m about to see most of them at the groundbreaking ceremony. I may try to talk to a few.”
The front bell rings again. Nadine looks over to see a familiar customer, an older lady, who walks to the mystery section. Turning back to me, she whispers, “What does Jet say about all this?”
“I haven’t spoken to Jet.”
She looks surprised. “Why not?”
“She’s out of town today, taking a deposition in that suit over rigged construction bids. She probably hasn’t even heard Buck’s dead.”