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got to get rid of this stuff. And we’ve got to get it out of here without anyone seeing us. I want you to finish digging it up with the backhoe. Then smash the bones with the bucket as best you can—enough so that no one can figure out what the hell it is. Especially the skull—that’s the first thing these guys will recognize. One of ’em might even want to take it home for Hallowe’en … I’ll bring my truck around; you can drop the load into the bed; and I’ll dump it in the lake or somewhere tonight.”
    Nikos looked down at the skull, then toward the backhoe, and eventually back to Sean. “I can’t do that, boss.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, you can’t do that?”
    â€œThis is a person. This is the skeleton of a person. It is sacred. He must be given a proper burial.”
    â€œWhat? Are you nuts? He’s an Indian. That’s who lived around here originally … All those tribes, hunting and stuff … living in the woods. He already had a proper burial. That’s why he’s here in the first place …”
    When Nikos didn’t answer, Sean continued in what he hoped was a rational explanation. His pink-red hair bristled, and the skin of his ruddy face glistened with sweat and nervous exertion. “Look, Nikos, if anyone finds out about this thing we’re going to be shut down for weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe a lot longer … We could get archaeologists in here, tribal representatives poking around … Maybe the site is declared off limits for building … Maybe they start uncovering more stuff … a burial mound, stuff like that. Hell, they could even find an entire Indian village up here. And you know what that would mean? It would mean you, me, Taki, everybody on this site will be out of work—and even worse, we’d have one really angry homeowner on our tails. And I bet our Mr. Gordon knows from lawsuits: breach of contract, stuff like that. If he’s got the kind of dough he’s throwing into a place like this …? Hell, I could be out of some major bucks—”
    â€œYou don’t know the skeleton belongs to an Indian.”
    Sean let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Oh, man, what am I talking to here, a wall? The point is: Whoever’s skull this is is dead. A long time. And if our anxious homeowner’s real lucky and the skeleton doesn’t belong to a Native American, the police are still gonna come in here with tweezers and spoons and yellow crime scene tape. Do you have any idea how long that could take?”
    â€œIt’s still not right.”
    Sean placed his arm over Nikos’s shoulder. “What’s the problem here? Do you need a raise? Is that it? A little bonus, maybe?”
    â€œThis man must have a proper burial.”
    â€œDammit, Nikos, he’s already had one. You found him in the earth, right? Well, that’s where people get buried.”
    Nikos walked over to the backhoe, removed the keys, and dropped them into his pocket. “We need to call the authorities, boss. It’s the only way.”
    â€œYou do that and you’re fired, buddy. Do you hear me? You’ll never work for this company again. I swear, Nikos, your name will be mud from Rhode Island to Maine.”
    Nikos shrugged. “So be it.”

CHAPTER 7
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me,” Sean Reilly snapped at Lonnie Tucker. He took a step closer to Lonnie, making his superior size and strength all the more conspicuous. “If you think you can close down this site, you’ve got another think coming, buddy. Mr. Gordon will have every lawyer in Boston down your throat before the sun sets.”
    Lonnie Tucker owned the Chevron station that had once belonged to Gus Waterwick. Besides providing Taneysville with gasoline, car oil, an air pump, and numerous laconic remarks from the various folks who manned the place, the filling station was the only auto repair