AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER 1
Sweet Dreams Are Made of These
“Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.”
A famous line from some very wise, bitter person who must have experienced its seductive siren’s song and fatal consequence.
Not that I didn’t have my own secret fantasies, of course.
Still, I never gave serious thought to the proverb before that fateful day in June of 1988. Until then, I lived a very normal, very boring life.
Graduating from Columbia University with aspirations of becoming the next world-traveling Indiana Jones archeologist, the economic practicalities of life pivoted me into teaching history and social science at a high school in suburban Virginia and driving a seven-year-old compact car that was in the auto shop most of the time.
That’s why I jumped at the chance and on the first airline flight to Washington State when the school term ended. My former college roommate, Hilarity DeVine(yes, that’s really her given name—I verified it from her birth certificate), called me a week earlier with the offer to authenticate some local hieroglyphs in the Pacific Northwest.
“The local Snoqualmie tribe contacted us here at the museum for an expert historian’s opinion,” Hilly said. “Of course, I suggested you, and me being the new director here helped put you in a favorable light. A week of cave-dwelling should do it. Then the rest of the time you and I can hit the Seattle stores and sights. Maybe pick up a few drool-worthy dudes after hours? What do you say?”
A two week, all expenses paid vacation out west, plus a small stipend, doing the thing I loved most in the world with one of my best friends?
Hell yeah, sign me up!
“What exactly do I have to do?” I asked, suddenly suspicious over this too-good-to-be-true offer.
“Just what you do best, Callista,” she answered. “Excavating, photographing, reporting, making nice with the locals so they don’t kick you off their property. A few artifacts brought back would be excellent, but I’ve learned not to expect much. The Snoqualmie Indians are pretty protective over anything found on native land.”
“Why don’t they use their own people to authenticate the pictograms then?”
“Bad press from their last alleged discovery a year ago,” Hilly explained. “Turned out that their eight-hundred-year-old hieroglyph was really a two-week-old charcoal drawing from an ambitious grad student of theirs looking for publicity. Lots of mud on the tribal leaders’ faces, so this time they want an outsider to blame if all goes to pot.”
Sounded legit.
And I was never one to look a gift horse in the free hotel room.
It had been almost a year since I did field work though, the last time being in Brazil with a big-name archeologist I had a major thing for. Both the dig and the narcissistic professor boyfriend were a bust, but at least it gave me more academic credentials most rich donors expect when they foot the bill for these ventures.
The Washington State History Museum was brand new and very small in comparison to the more prominent museums in downtown Seattle. There was one important tribal leader, Thomas “Running Fox” Black, who contacted Hilarity first, having met her at the museum’s grand opening a few months ago. The fact that I worked dirt cheap tipped the final decision with their council elders in my favor.
It was now Monday morning, and I dressed the professional part in a blue pencil skirt and blazer over a pink and white striped blouse, my long, amber-gold hair rolled up into a proper bun.
The taxi dropped me off in front of an older three-story brick building beside a few other local museums of nautical or aeronautical flavor. Eager to dig into this project, I headed inside and straight for the administration office in the rear, asking the flustered punk-rocker slamming the phone down in its cradle if the curator was available.
Yes, I had an appointment, I assured him, then gave him my name.
No, I wasn’t applying for the tour guide’s job. Or the information greeter’s. Or the café sandwich maker’s. The director needed an expert...
Yes, I might be an hour early, but if Ms. DeVine was available now...
No, I didn’t mean to imply that she should be ready at any time of day or that she couldn’t possibly be busy...
“Just tell her that Callista McEwan is here,” I huffed, finally ending the frustrating inquisition. “She’ll know who I am.”
“It could be a very long time, ma’am,” the young hooligan returned, giving me a disapproving up-down after checking his holy appointment book from which my name was apparently missing. “You might want to come back another day. Please call first.”
With gritted teeth, I was about to plant my palms on his desk and lean in to face off with this Green Day wannabe, then decided it wasn’t worth the useless verbal boxing match that was sure to end up upsetting Hilarity. Still, I was too hyped up to see my friend and had spent way too much time on my appearance this morning just to be given the bum’s rush.
“Actually, I’ll check out the museum here until she’s free. Make sure you tell her that I’m around.”
“Absolutely.”
