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house.
    Riversong lined up a shot and said, “Why should I care about the bones under the sump?”
    “I suspect they’re human. They could be a prehistoric burial.”
    “They won’t be disturbed anymore. The pump is fixed.”
    “From what I’ve read of the rehabilitation plan, the basement is going to be revamped. The sump fix is a temporary measure to end the flooding, but what if you want to make more dramatic changes? The fact that there could be a burial there would severely limit what you could do, unless you plan ahead. It’s possible the army placed the house in the middle of a prehistoric burial ground. In the fifties, everyone would have looked the other way.”
    “So what do you propose?”
    “I’d like to have the bone tested to determine the age and if it is human or not.”
    “And if the bone isn’t human?”
    “Then we assume we found the remains of a prehistoric dinner.”
    “And if it is human?”
    “We’ll dig shovel tests in the yard to determine if there are other burials in the vicinity.”
    Riversong was silent for a moment, considering. Finally, he said, “No. We should let sleeping dogs lie.”
    Erica lined up the cue and the eight ball. “I’ve read the tribe’s agreement with the government, which requires you to develop management plans for the Menanichoch land,” she said. “You need to know where your cultural resources—including burials—are. Your land wasn’t set aside by a treaty, so it isn’t technically a reservation. The government could use any perceived mismanagement to nullify your agreement and take the land back.” She paused, never taking her eyes off the table. “The tribe would lose everything, including the casino.”
    Shock kicked Lee in the gut as Riversong’s jaw clenched and eyes hardened. Erica had just threatened a man who ate shortcake like her for breakfast.

    H OLY CRAP. S HE’D JUST THREATENED the casino. The meeting was not following the script Erica had envisioned. First, Riversong’s attitude toward potential Indian remains had stunned her. We should let sleeping dogs lie. Had he really called his ancestors dogs ?
    No. Surely he’d meant they shouldn’t create trouble by digging in a potential burial ground. That made more sense.
    She had good reason to suspect someone high up in the tribe, and Sam Riversong, a former museum curator who knew all the players, was her top suspect. For a year now she’d wondered if an Indian would buy stolen artifacts—trafficking in artifacts was so far outside the value system of every Native American she’d ever known—but now, after finally meeting the man face-to-face, she believed he might.
    While the bones were a curious find, she wasn’t pushing for the tests out of concern they were human. No, her motives were self-serving, and she would add the guilt this triggered to the load she’d amassed over the last year. Someday her conscience would demand deep reckoning, but for now she just wanted to know what really mattered to Sam Riversong: bones, house, tribe, or casino?
    She focused on the table and took her shot. The cue ball smacked into the eight, which obediently slid into the corner pocket but was followed by the white cue. She swallowed a lump of dread. On the most important shot of the game, she’d forgotten to aim low.
    “You lost.” Riversong’s voice was frigid, the look in his eyes even colder. “You might think my win due to your scratch isn’t a real victory for me, but I like to win, and I don’t care how I do it.”
    “I was careless.” She met his eyes without flinching. “And lost fair and square.”
    Riversong’s cold brown eyes pierced her; then suddenly he smiled. “Good.” He snatched a ball out of the nearest pocket. “Let’s place a wager on this game.”
    “Great.” Lee grabbed a cue. “If I win, then Shortcake gets her tests to determine the species and age of the bone.”
    “Shortcake?” she said, bristling at the nickname.
    “And if I win?”