When Grant found the phone on the floor in the bedroom, its cord had been severed. The mattress was cut up, too, and the pillows slashed.
“The intruder had a knife,” Grant whispered.
“What if Paul went crazy? A domestic argument, then...”
“Shh. Stow your imagination for now.”
They looked in the bathroom, also chaotic. Grant shoved her behind him as he yanked the shower curtain back and glanced in the tub. Kate picked up a large can of hair spray from the counter and held it up like a weapon.
“Don’t leave prints,” he warned.
“I don’t have my pepper spray.”
He just shook his head. She stayed tight behind him as they retraced their steps, back through the living room, then to a hall and out into an area Kate was expecting would be a garage. But the carved door suggested it was Paul’s studio.
They went in, and Grant turned on the track lighting. It was, she thought, as she stepped in behind him, like walking into an enchanted forest, maybe one a wicked witch had put under a curse. Tree trunks, some uncarved, some carved, stood along the walls, their fairy or ogre faces peering at them. One writhed with dragons, another with beautifully carved human skulls that looked so real Kate recoiled.
She saw three large, round, rotating platforms like large potter’s wheels where he evidently carved his work. One held a tree trunk from which emerged what appeared to be Norwegian trolls with huge noses.
One wheel was empty and tipped and—
“Grant, here! He’s here!” she cried and clapped her palms over her mouth to keep from screaming. Feeling sick, she stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at Paul Kettering, obviously dead, with blood on the floor and his skull smashed by his own big tree-trunk carving of the Adena pipe effigy.
Grant pulled Kate away from Paul’s body. He knew his friend must be dead. His skull was crushed under the top part of the tree trunk he’d been carving. It looked as if it had tipped over on him. At least the heavy piece of wood hid what must be horrible injuries.
The scene in the dark hollow of the Adena mound flashed in his mind—smashed skulls.
Still, Grant felt Paul’s cold wrist for a pulse. “He’s gone. I want to lift that weight off him, but he’s gone,” he repeated. “My cell phone has never worked up here. We have to get to a spot where we can call for help. But go ahead—try yours.”
He watched Kate fumble for her phone in her purse, try to call out on it.
“Mine won’t connect, either. It just says ‘searching.’”
“It must have been a freak accident...except for the ransacked house.”
“Just in case of foul play, we can’t touch more things here. Grant, I can go for help. I’ll drive your truck down to where I can get reception, call Jace Miller.”
“Yes, good. Can you drive a truck?”
“If I can drive a stick shift on the wrong side of the road in England, I’ll figure it out. I’ll go out the back door where we came in.”
Grant handed her his keys. His hand was shaking so hard, the keys jingled. “Be careful.”
“Keep a good eye out here in case someone’s still lurking. We didn’t look everywhere in the house or around the grounds.”
“I’ll follow you out until you’re in the truck.”
They retraced their steps and rushed outside, just as a vehicle pulled in.
“It’s Nadine,” Grant said. His heart pounded even harder. “We can’t let her see him like that.”
“I heard you two were coming,” Nadine called to them as she got out. “I’ve been at my sister’s place—stayed there overnight after a doctor’s appointment in Chillicothe yesterd— What? What is it?”
Grant put his hands on her shoulders. “When we got here no one answered, so—”
“Did he forget you were coming? His truck’s here.”
“Nadine, there’s been an accident. His carving wheel with a trunk on it fell over.”
“Is he all right?” she cried, her voice shrill.
“No, and things are messed up in your house. Kate was just ready to drive down toward town to call Deputy Miller because your phone cord is cut inside and our cells don’t work up here. Nadine, he’s gone—dead.”
“Oh, dear God! He can’t be! Let me see him. Here, my cell works, but most don’t up here.”
She thrust her purse at Kate, then pushed Grant’s hands away to lunge toward the house. Grant shot Kate a panicked look and ran after Nadine. He was afraid he’d handled this wrong. But he—and Paul—had handled other things wrong, too.
* * *
An hour later, Kate and Grant sat on the front steps. He had his arm around her waist; she leaned gratefully against him, holding his other hand, which was propped on her knee. Through a front window, they could still hear Nadine sobbing.
Kate saw Grant had tears in his eyes. They were both trembling—he, of course, from losing his good friend in that terrible way, she because the carving that had crushed Paul had an Adena artifact on it, one of the two she’d planned to ask him to carve for her. Pure chance, of course, and yet that shook her to her core. It felt like a curse or a warning to her, and she knew better than to upset Grant more by mentioning it.
Soon after Kate had called 911, people had crowded the house. Nadine was so hysterical that Grant had called Pastor Snell. He and his wife, Jeanie, were with Nadine, and her sister was on the way. The paramedics had been standing around since the county coroner had declared Paul deceased and told them not to touch the body in case there had been foul play. And Jace Miller, who had arrived immediately, still looked shell-shocked. He’d asked the medics to stay in case Nadine needed them. Since she’d insisted she had nothing to do with the ransacking of the place, Deputy Miller had put up yellow police tape around the entire house.
“I suppose,” Kate told Grant, “the idea that someone might have robbed the place means it could have been staged to look like an accident when it was really murder. You know, like Paul recognized them, so they had to get rid of him. But since the Ketterings weren’t rich, what could someone have been looking for? Drugs? Guns?”
That thought seemed to really upset Grant. Frowning, he shrugged and shook his head. “Around here, folks have guns of their own and can get drugs easily—sad to say. I wish Gabe was here. Maybe Jace should call in the BCI. Vic Reingold was just here, but he’s gone.”
“Could Paul have owed someone money, and they came looking to collect?”
“Let’s leave that up to the professionals, okay?”
“I’m just thinking aloud. Professional jealousy over his art, which turned into an argument?”
“Kate,” he said, turning her to face him. “Do you have to dissect everything? Let it go. I said, leave it to the experts.”
“I’m trained to ask the what-if questions. And don’t you wonder what happened to your friend, what someone was looking for?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
She almost mentioned that she’d heard Paul and Todd arguing yesterday, but Grant didn’t want to hear