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Edison’s eyes shone. “Let me show you something.” He stood up and walked out of the room, returning a minute later with what looked like a long, straight object. He handed it to Skip.
“An Anasazi bone flute,” Skip said in an almost reverential tone, turning it over in his hands. “I’ve never seen one in such pristine condition.”
Edison laughed. “That’s because there isn’t one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t play those old flutes—most of them are so cracked and decayed, they’d come apart in your hands if you tried to play. I had this one re-created by a luthier in Denver.”
“So it’s playable?”
Edison took it from Skip, played a few bars of a plaintive melody, and handed it back.
“Wow,” Skip said. “It sounds fantastic.”
“Damn right it does. We took three old flutes apart to get the interior measurements and the finger stops just right.”
Skip looked at him. “Three original flutes?”
“Sure. Couldn’t get the tonalities or the finger stops right otherwise. It’s not like those old things were worth much—I’ve got half a dozen others stored away someplace. I did keep the mouthpiece of the nicest one, though, and had the luthier attach it. See how it’s carved?”
Skip looked at the faded rings and geometric patterns at one end of the flute. Then he handed it back. “That’s pretty awesome.” He wasn’t so sure about the destruction of the old flutes to make this one, but he said nothing.
“Remember what I said last time we met? How’s about you and me doing a little investigating on our own? We could get some supplies and backpack into those canyons—camp a few days and do a little exploring. Nothing illegal, of course—just poking around. Bring your ukulele and I’ll bring my flute. It’ll be a blast. What do you think?”
Skip opened his mouth to sayHell, yes—but he stopped himself. He was both flattered and thrilled with the idea. It would be a fantastic outing—and they might just make some interesting discoveries. While going into Gallina Canyon wasn’t illegal, he sensed that Nora would take a dim view of him, an Institute employee, “exploring” ancient ruins with a guy like Nash. She had already hinted to Skip more than once that she thought Nash was a bad influence.
“I—” he stammered. “It sounds great. Do you mind if I just, ah, take a day to arrange it with my work schedule?”
“Well… sure. But don’t dally too long. I might just get antsy and head out there on my own.”
“Don’t do that!” Skip said. Maybe, he thought, he could work this out with Nora, persuade her he would be a restraining influence on Nash when it came to picking up artifacts.
Nash smiled. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll take care of the provisions.” And he patted the bottle of tequila with a grin. “Such as a goodly amount of this firewater to nip around the campfire. Eh, Skip?”
Then he raised his glass. They clinked them together and drained them both down.
25
THE FAT BINDERlanded on Corrie’s desk with a thump, shaking her abruptly out of some unpleasant reveries.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking up to find Nora standing in the entrance to her cubicle at the Albuquerque Field Office, a smile on her face and a visitor’s pass around her neck.
“The PhD dissertation of Miranda F. Driver.”
“Hefty enough. Did you read it?”
Nora took a seat in the cubicle’s only free chair. “I looked through it. It doesn’t exactly break new ground, but it’s nevertheless a sterling piece of scholarship. Driver would have made a fine professor if she’d taken that route.”
“Any insight into the case?”
“From what I can tell, the dissertation brings together pretty much everything known about the Gallina culture, which isn’t much. And it has a brief section covering the archaeological field seasons Oskarbi directed—not as much detail as I’d hoped, but then again not surprising, given that he never published any of the team’s findings and all his notes, photographs, and journals seem to have disappeared.”
Corrie picked up the tome, flipped through it. “How did you get this?”
“From UNM. Dissertations are available online, and you can order hard copies.” She paused a moment, fiddling with the visitor’s pass that hung from her neck. “But this one was harder to find than it should have been.”
“How so?”