A place she recognized, with a feeling of personal violation. Her ancestors were buried here; most of the Osage in the area knew about this place, though no one was likely to talk about it to an outsider.

She wasn’t certain whether to curse or be perversely pleased. This probably meant that the relics that had been bulldozed up had not been buried there originally. Which meant that this might be a case of two crimes and two criminals; one grave-robber, and one terrorist.

Or—

Another thought; what if the grave-robber had cached his stolen relics and had blown up the dozer to prevent them from being uncovered? The idea had enough merit that even if it wasn’t true, she might be able to get the cops to take an interest in it and take some of the heat off the construction workers and the local activists, at least for a while.

She beat her wings rapidly to take her up into the sky again, and resumed her quest. She might get more answers. She might not. But in either case, now she had another place to start looking. And she had until morning to keep asking.

Brothers, sisters, where should I look next?

CHAPTER EIGHT

TONI CALLIGAN KEPT glancing apprehensively at the closed door of Rod’s office every time she went past it, going between the kitchen, the utility room, and the kids’ rooms. And not only glancing at it, but hurrying past it as quickly as she could without actually running. It gave her the creepiest feeling, as if there was something lurking behind the door, listening to her, waiting for her to turn her back on it.

It’s the boxes, she thought, burdened with an armload of clothing from the hamper in Jill’s room, wishing that Rod had never brought the things in the house. It’s whatever’s in those boxes. I keep having bad dreams about them. I feel like I’m in a grade B horror movie, and Rod is the evil scientist who’s brought his work home with him. Ever since he dragged those boxes home. I keep getting the feeling that there is something in his office that is watching me, laughing at me, waiting for me to walk in there so it can get me.

This was not rational, and she knew it. There was probably nothing in those boxes but old papers. If she told Rod how she felt, he’d laugh at her in that way that made her feel about ten years old.

She began sorting laundry with one ear listening for Rod. Or if he’s had a bad day, he’ll have a fit and chew me out until I feel as if I was six years old and mentally retarded to boot. It would depend on how he felt.