“Vicky glanced up at him as they walked along Circle Drive, cutting fresh tracks in the membrane of snow on the asphalt. The wind sprinkled white flecks in her hair. She was wearing a long, black coat that she held closed with one hand. Her briefcase swung from the other, and the strap of the familiar black bag was fixed over one shoulder. She moved with an easy naturalness into the space ahead, displacing the emptiness. “Any chance it’s ancient?” “The elders think so,” Father John said. “They a...sked me to check with Gianelli.” This wasn’t what she wanted to talk to him about. She could have brought up the skeleton back at the museum. Vicky stopped and threw her head back. She gave a little shiver of cold. “The elders asked you?” Then, as if she would have liked to recall the words, she said, “See how they respect you, John? You’re the one they trust to find the truth.” She started walking again, and he stayed in step, not knowing what to say. The elders had turned to him, a white man.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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