Bones (4 page)

“Yeah,” I say without much enthusiasm.

“Are you okay?” Annabel finally notices that I'm not at my cheerful best.

“I'm fine,” I say. I'm saved from explaining further by Mom calling us for our nettles and Gruyère cheese.

The evening turns out better than I expected. Greg isn't a major topic of conversation. Supper with the other members of Mom's commune is okay, although some of them are so relentlessly upbeat that I doubt I could stand living there for long.

Afterward, Annabel and I skip the yoga session in the living room and watch
Jurassic Park
on my laptop. We play spot the flaws in the movie. I think I'm doing well by noticing that the goat being fed to
T. rex
is making noises like a sheep. Annabel blows me out of the water by pointing out that the mosquito in amber is a male and only the females drink blood. The male wouldn't have any blood in him, so they couldn't extract dinosaur
DNA
. I go to bed feeling no smarter but happier.

Chapter Six

“This is so cool.” Annabel leans over the rail to peer down at Drumheller between the teeth of the world's largest
T. rex
. She's so enthusiastic that I can't bring myself to mention how tacky this giant dinosaur statue is. We may be inside the biggest dinosaur, but it's not the only one. Drumheller has a dinosaur on every street corner, ranging from cartoonish to fairly accurate. I'm a lot less miserable today. Wandering about town this morning has been fun and relaxed.

“It is kind of fun,” I agree, looking down at the forest of tourists in the parking lot below, all pointing cameras up at us. Small children are happily crawling over the
T. rex
's toes. Then I notice the beat-up red truck in the corner of the parking lot. When I see the black dog in the back, I'm sure it's Darren's truck.

“I wonder how it's going at the dig,” Annabel says before I can point out the truck. “Greg says there's a lot of work to be done today to get the casts ready for transport. Maybe we could drop by later and see how things are progressing.”

My heart sinks. The last thing I want to do today is spend the afternoon with Greg.

“Darren's in town,” I say to change the subject. As I say this, Darren and Beetlebrow—the courier from the museum—emerge from a café and saunter over to lean on the truck. Darren lights a cigarette.

“So Beetlebrow and Darren are buddies,” Annabel says.

“It's a small town,” I comment.

“I wonder who that is.” Annabel points at a black Hummer that is turning into the parking lot. It pulls up beside the red truck, and Darren and Beetlebrow walk over and lean in to talk to the driver. In the back of the pickup, Ajax goes berserk, and I can hear another dog barking from the Hummer.

“Darren has some rich friends,” I say.

The conversation below us doesn't last long. The Hummer pulls away onto Highway 9, toward Calgary, Darren calms Ajax and stamps out his cigarette, and he and Beetlebrow head off in the opposite direction.

“What was all that about?” Annabel wonders.

“Who knows?” I say, happy that we've moved away from a conversation about Greg. “Let's go check out that fancy rock shop we saw on the way here.”

We climb down
T. rex
's right leg and head for the fossil store.

The woman behind the counter in Precious Fossils and Gems gives us a chilly look. It's obvious that we can't afford much in this place. I feel uncomfortable, but Annabel smiles at the woman, says, “Good morning” and begins looking at the treasures.

The first thing I see is a slab of pale rock containing a perfectly preserved, two-foot-long fish. I can have it for my bedroom wall for a mere $3,500. I try not to gasp as I wander around the store. The place is incredible. There's a complete saber-toothed tiger skull ($70,000), a small bird ($23,000), a squid ($28,500) and a weird spiny thing called
Quadrops
($5,750).

The woman watches me like I'm going to slip a six-foot-long slab of rock containing a perfect shark fossil ($675,000) under my jacket and run for the door. The only thing in the shop that I can afford is a small curled shell for only $65. I'm totally mesmerized. There's obviously a lot of money in fossils.

“It must be a good area around here for getting fossils for your shop,” Annabel says sociably to the woman.

“Not really,” the woman replies. “The fossils here are mostly single bones and fragments, curios for the tourists. We're not that kind of shop,” she adds snootily.

“But,” Annabel persists, “if someone brought in something—an unusual skull, for example—you could prepare it and sell it?”

“We don't have the facilities to prepare fossils. There are companies who do that, mostly down in the States. So in the unlikely event that we acquired a fossil such as you suggest, we would ship it to them for preparation before we displayed it.”

“So if you don't get fossils from around here, where were all these collected?” Annabel asks.

“All over the world,” the woman replies with a fake smile. She's still watching me out of the corner of her eye. “For example, most of the fish come from the Green River Formation in Wyoming, and the shark that your friend is interested in is from Germany.”

“Aren't they protected?” Annabel asks.

“Not unless they're in a park,” the woman says, obviously bored by the conversation. “Anyone can dig up fossils.”

“How do you know they weren't dug up in a park?”

The woman glares at Annabel. “We only deal with reputable suppliers,” she says in a voice that would freeze water. “Now, if you would care to purchase something, I would be happy to assist you. We do not encourage browsers.”

“Well, thank you for your help,” Annabel says in her sweetest voice. “I
was
looking for a birthday gift for my father. He's quite a well-known collector. Perhaps you've heard of him. Humphrey Battleford? Anyway, I think I'll look elsewhere. Have a nice day.”

Annabel pivots on her heel and strides out the door. I hurry after her, desperately trying not to burst out laughing at the expression on the woman's face. Her jaw is almost on the floor.

Outside, I follow Annabel around the corner and we both collapse in gales of laughter. “That was priceless,” I say when my breath returns. “The look on her face when you left was great. I bet she thinks she's lost the biggest sale of the month.”

“How did she look?” Annabel is suddenly serious.

“Shocked,” I say.

“What else?”

I think back. “A bit worried, I suppose, but that makes sense if she thought she'd missed a big sale.”

“Let's walk back past the shop,” Annabel says.

“Why?”

“I'll bet you a plate of fries she's on the phone.”

We walk past the shop and peer in the window. The woman has her back to us, but she is holding her cell phone to her ear.

“Okay,” I say when we're past. “I owe you a plate of fries, but what did all that mean?”

“I was just being silly when we left the shop. I used Battleford's name to make the birthday present story seem more real.”

“It certainly worked,” I say.

“Yes, but why? As soon as I mentioned Battleford, we went from being a pair of annoying kids to a lost opportunity for a big sale.”

“She knows Battleford!” I say in sudden realization.

Annabel nods. “And I'll bet a burger to go with the fries that it was Battleford on the other end of that phone call.”

“I can't afford any more bets with you,” I say, “but her knowing Battleford doesn't mean anything sinister is going on. He's a filthy-rich collector, and he's certainly mixed up in some shady dealings, but that doesn't mean everything he does is illegal. He probably buys from places like this all over the world.”

“I didn't say anything illegal was going on. Though it's criminal that such incredible specimens aren't put in museums or given to scientists to study. I do think it's odd that Battleford's name keeps cropping up everywhere.”

“You brought his name up,” I point out. I'm enjoying listening to Annabel work things out.

“True, but she knew it and so did Dr. Bob. Greg knows about him as well. He was telling me about all the incredible fossils Battleford owns. He's supposed to have a fossil that proves the link between dinosaurs and birds.”

My good mood evaporates when Annabel mentions pirate man. I'd almost forgotten about him. “Fascinating,” I say. “Let's go and get those French fries.”

Annabel gives me an odd look but follows me down the street to Dino's Diner. I order a brontosaurus burger and fries from a bored kid wearing a cap with picture of
T. rex
on it.

A tuneless piece of piano music rings out. Annabel tells me it's Pi if you translate musical notes into numbers and play them. It's no “Smoke on the Water.” She flips open her phone and says, “Hi.” I hope it's not Greg on the other end. She listens, nods a few times and finishes with “Great. See you tonight. Looking forward to it.”

Please don't let it be Greg, I think.

“That was Dr. Bob,” Annabel says as she flips the phone closed. I sigh with relief. “He invited us to the barbecue. We are going, right?”

“I don't know,” I say, thinking the evening will be a complete bust if Annabel spends the whole time with Greg.

“Unfortunately, Greg can't be there.'

“Oh,” I say, trying not to smile.

“He's going to be watching the fossils tonight. It's a shame he'll miss the barbecue.”

“Yeah, a shame,” I say, but it's nowhere close to what I'm thinking. “The barbecue sounds like fun.” Suddenly, it does, and I tuck into my brontosaurus burger.

Chapter Seven

“I hope you brought swimsuits,” Dr. Bob says. “It's a tradition to go for a midnight dip in the river.”

“It'll certainly feel good,” Annabel says, and she's right. It's ten at night, and it's still hot. We're on the riverbank close enough to Mom's farm that we could cycle down. The sun has disappeared below the horizon, but the twilight is still bright enough to see the smoking barbecue pits and the inviting cool water winding its way between sandbars.

“Those ribs were great,” I say, remembering how the delicious meat fell off the bones.

“A secret recipe,” Dr. Bob says with a smile. “Although I think anything would taste good beside the river on a night like this.”

“The forecast mentioned thunderstorms,” Annabel comments.

Dr. Bob scans the sky. “It's possible. There are some thunderheads off to the west. Might develop, might not.”

“Will Greg be all right at the dig?” I cringe at Annabel's mention of the pirate guy. It seems I can't escape him.

“He'll be fine,” Dr. Bob says. “His tent is set up on the prairie, so he won't get washed away if it rains. It was decent of him to volunteer to keep an eye on things. I don't think anything will happen, but it can't hurt.”

“He volunteered?” I ask.

“Yes,” Dr. Bob says. “After Annabel phoned me and suggested it might be a good idea, I mentioned it. Greg volunteered straight away.”

“You phoned Dr. Bob?” I say, turning to Annabel. “You never told me.”

“It wasn't a secret,” Annabel says. “After we talked about the possibility of the bones being stolen, I phoned Dr. Bob with the idea. I guess I forgot to mention it. Anyway, how about we ride up while there's still some light and see how Greg's doing? He must be lonely while we're all enjoying ourselves down here.”

“I thought Dr. Bob was going to play us some classic rock,” I say, in a panic over Annabel's suggestion.

“That is indeed true,” Dr. Bob says. “I brought the guitar, and I play a mean ‘Stairway to Heaven.'”

I look at Annabel with what I hope is a pleading expression. It doesn't work. Annabel becomes all businesslike. “Okay,” she says. “Look, I'll pack up some ribs, pedal up the coulee and see how he's doing. I'll be back in half an hour. Don't play ‘Stairway' until then.”

“Deal,” Dr. Bob says.

Annabel leans over, gives me a quick peck on the cheek and is gone.

“Quite the girl you've got there,” Dr. Bob says.

I mumble “Yeah” and head along the riverbank into the deepening shadows. I need to be alone. What's going on? I can't escape Greg. Annabel and I will have a wonderful couple of hours and then, wham, there's Greg again—either in person or sneaking into the conversation. Is he taking Annabel away from me? If so, what can I do about it?

A black thought begins to take shape in my mind. What if Annabel and Greg planned this? What if the suggestion to Dr. Bob that someone camp out at the dig was simply a way to allow Greg to volunteer? What if Annabel planned all along to go and see him tonight?

This is ridiculous. Now I'm building conspiracy theories out of nothing. Annabel suggested that we
both
go see Greg. My stupid uncertainty kept me here. Hadn't she given me a kiss on the cheek when she left?

Maybe it was a goodbye kiss.

It's no good. Once the seed of doubt is planted, it grows like a weed. Feeling utterly miserable, I sit down on a rock and begin chucking stones into the river. There is nothing I can do. I've always known it was only a matter of time until Annabel met someone more suited to her intelligence than I am. I just wish it had taken longer.

“Hey, man, you can't throw stones in the river once everyone goes for a dip.” I spin around to see Greg coming toward me.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice welcome. I came down to snag a couple of beers and some ribs to take back up to the tent. I don't think our fossil's going to run off in the next hour.”

“Where's Annabel?”

“What?”

“Where's Annabel?” I almost shout. “She went to visit you. Didn't you see her on your way here?”