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In the main building, Hilarity and I were escorted to a back office where a raven-haired woman in jeans and red and black plaid shirt sat at her desk. Ignoring our presence for a marked fifteen awkward seconds, she signed whatever document she pretended to peruse, then grudgingly stood and walked around her desk towards us.
“I see you’re both right on time,” she said with a dry sniff.
“Hey, Maggie, great to see you again,” Hilly said cheerfully. “Callie, this is Dr. Margaret Thunders, Snoqualmie’s heritage director here. Maggie, this is my friend, Callista McEwan, that I told you about.”
“You did,” the woman stated with a dry sniff. “So you’re theexpertin Native American archeology.”
Her comment held a snide tone of doubt, distaste and dismissal, which made my back instantly go up. Still, sticks and stones.
“Nice to meet you,” I greeted with outstretched right hand.
“I read your resume, Miss McEwan,” she added. “You’re a high school teacher. Interesting, um, career choice.”
Not a PHD or published, tenured Ivy League professor like herself, her unspoken comment pointed out. In other words, not a genuine, world famous archeologist qualified to question her own expert opinion.
“Youth are the nation’s future,” I replied, tamping down my rising hackles.
“Which nation?” Maggie Thunders muttered.
I opened my mouth to express which nation I’d like to personally launch her into, but Hilly kicked my hiking boot, and I shut my trap.
“Tom said you’d drive us up to the site today,” Hilly said to distract us both as we visually circled each other.
“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Maggie commented, then forced a cheerless smile at the burly man with black hair and light copper skin walking into the office. “Hello, Tom.”
“Rachel said our guests arrived,” he said eagerly, extending his right hand to me. “This must be the historian friend you spoke of, Hilly. Ms. McEwan, is it? Tom Black, very nice to meet you.”
“Thank you,” I returned. “Please call me Callista.”
“Callista, then. All of us here are so grateful here that you took time out of your busy schedule to come examine our latest discovery.”
Not all of you, I noted as Maggie Thunders narrowed her brown, almond shaped eyes at me.
Still, at least this man seemed happy enough at my presence. Based on Black’s business casual attire and his vote of confidence in my abilities, I assumed he wasn’t one of the hardcore traditionists trying to chase me off his reservation with tomahawk. Dr. Thunders, on the other hand...
“Let’s all sit down and talk about our project here,” he suggested, leading us to the table in the corner. “We’re all eager to get started.”
Photos and documents were laid out. Itemized tasks and goals were discussed. As Hilly originally told me, it wouldn’t take but a few days to accomplish everything officially with minimal disruption to the site and area itself. No one lived around the forested mountainside, so there wouldn’t be any pulling up of structures or homes or roads. Easy peazy, in and out, in my rough estimation.
“You will take them up to the site today, won’t you, Maggie?” Tom prodded as we ended the roundtable meeting and stood to leave.
“I do have that budget meeting to prepare for,” she said with narrowed eyes at him.
“I’d consider it a personal favor,” he added with his own pointed look that clearly reminded her that he was still the man in charge.
She glared daggers at Black for a long moment, then gestured her grudging acquiescence. Obviously there was a story here, but far be it from me to get in the middle of it. One thing I learned in this profession, it was always wise to stay out of local politics.
“Wonderful,” he said, smiling broadly. “Then I’ll leave you all to it. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have another meeting...”
“Tom, you didn’t call to tell me that our historian arrived,” said an attractive, blond man who suddenly appeared at the open door.
“Logan,” Black greeted with a downturn of his lips. “Didn’t know you were coming here today.”
“Lucky for me that I dropped in when I did and Connie told me she was here, or I would have missed our lovely guest. Logan Thorne,” he introduced himself to me with a firm handshake and charming smile. “Glad to have a chance to meet you, Ms. McEwan. Can I call you Callista?”
“You may.”
Thorne, I learned, was the CEO of Newcastle Industries, footing most of the expenses for this specific project. Based on his preppy Eddie Bauer clothes and Nordic looks, I couldn’t help but wonder about his interest in native Snoqualmie culture. But interested, he was, and greatly so. In fact, he seemed put-out for not being included in our original discussion and was asked to be quickly briefed.
