Reading the Bones. Gina McMurchy-Barber

the remains of someone who lived and died on this land more than fifteen hundred years ago.”

      “Or even as long as five thousand years ago,” Officer Pratt added. “Unfortunately, accidental disturbances to ancient burials like this one have happened often over the past century in Crescent Beach.”

      Aunt Margaret’s face was still ashen, and now Uncle Stuart’s right eye was twitching. While they looked miserable, I felt as if I’d just won a lottery. Finding a dead guy in the backyard — well, that just had to mean something cool was about to happen. About time, too. I was starting to feel like Little Orphan Annie stuck in the middle of nowhere.

      “You know, everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, but we’re the only ones that have them in the backyard, too!” I quipped.

      Officer Pratt chuckled, but Aunt Margaret wasn’t amused. “Peggy, that’s not an appropriate remark to make at a time like this.”

      Actually, I thought it was totally appropriate. Lots of people use humour to release tension at stressful moments.

      “Oh, I just had a dreadful thought, Officer,” Aunt Margaret said. “Do you think there are more dead ... ah, bones or skeletons around here?”

      “Yes, ma’am, it’s possible there are more prehistoric human or cultural remains in this area. But I hope you’re not planning on digging them up.”

      “Certainly not, Officer Pratt.” My aunt looked shocked. “But tell me, just what are we supposed to do now?” Her initial alarm had now turned to irritation.

      “Don’t worry, Mrs. Randall,” Officer Pratt said. “Now that Dr. Forsythe and I have determined that this matter isn’t a concern for contemporary forensics, we’ll contact the Archaeology Branch in Victoria. They’ll be glad to hear we have your assurance there will be no further disturbance to the remains until they can send someone to deal with all this. I’m sure the Archaeology Branch will also want to contact the nearest First Nations band.”

      “Did you say First Nations band? Why do the Indians need to get involved?” Whenever Aunt Margaret’s voice got edgy like that, I made sure to stay out of her way.

      “It’s out of respect, ma’am,” Officer Pratt said. “Any accidental discovery of human remains of aboriginal ancestry needs to be reported to the local First Nations people.”

      Uncle Stuart’s face had turned red, and as he spoke his voice was a little jittery. “Sounds like we’re getting into a lot of red tape. What happens next?”

      “Well, then an archaeologist will come and determine what to do next,” Officer Pratt said. “I guess in the future you might want to think twice before digging up your backyard.” He grinned, but Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stuart didn’t find him funny.

      “So what were you making, anyway?” Dr. Forsythe asked.

      “A pond,” I blurted. Then I glanced at my aunt and uncle, whose faces were drawn and pale. “Well, look on the bright side. At least we weren’t putting in a swimming pool!”

      CHAPTER 2

      The next morning I woke to the sound of voices coming from outside. When I glanced out the window, I saw a police car out front, along with a battered red pickup truck. A new cluster of people hovered on the opposite side of the street. I ran into my aunt and uncle’s room, which overlooked the backyard. Through the window I saw Officer Pratt talking to someone dressed in a khaki safari shirt and pants, and a fishing hat covered in collector’s pins.

      The night before, Uncle Stuart had gotten a call from someone saying an archaeologist would be coming to the house in the morning. I didn’t know much about what archaeologists did, except that they dug up old things. Once, I watched a movie with my mom called Raiders of the Lost Ark. She said it was a classic. The main character, an archaeologist named Indiana Jones, was always in and out of life-threatening adventures as he travelled around the world in search of ancient stuff for museums. But the chubby gnome standing in the backyard hardly looked like a daring treasure hunter to me.

      I ran back to my room, threw on my favourite ketchup-stained Vancouver Canucks shirt and some shorts off the floor, then dashed downstairs. Just as I got to the back door, Aunt Margaret came in. “Oh, there you are. I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here.”

      I grinned as I brushed past her.

      “Wait a minute! You’re not going out looking like that!”

      Too late — I was already leaping down the back steps three at time.

      “Ah, here she is, my niece, Peggy,” Uncle Stuart announced as I arrived at his side. “She was the first to recognize it was a skull. Peggy, you remember Officer Pratt from yesterday?”

      I smiled at the officer.

      “And this is Dr. McKay,” my uncle added. “She’s an archaeologist.”

      The stout figure bent over our pond hole straightened to greet me. “Please, just call me Eddy, short for Edwina. All my friends do.”

      My eyebrows were arched so high my forehead must have looked like corrugated cardboard.

      “Bet you were expecting Indiana Jones in a fedora cracking a long whip!”

      The adults beside me chuckled.

      “No, not really. I just wasn’t expecting you’d be an old lady.” I heard my aunt gasp from behind. Then Officer Pratt laughed again.

      “Well, I can understand what you mean,” Eddy said. “Most blue hairs I know prefer digging around in their gardens instead of old burials.” Then she smiled, and her warm eyes were like deep pools filled with unspoken words. She rested her hand lightly on my shoulder. “You seem to be a keen observer, Peggy. When I come back tomorrow, maybe you could help me excavate these remains.”

      “Sure,” I blurted. Then I felt a sting of guilt about having called her an old lady. “I’d like to help. I mean, really, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”

      My aunt’s voice cut through my excitement like a knife. “Well, now, just wait a minute. I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing a child should be doing. Peggy’s only twelve years old, Dr. McKay.”

      Aunt Margaret was my mother’s older sister. I used to think she was cool, but that was before I came to live with her. She didn’t have children of her own, and I think she had unrealistic expectations about what kids were really like. She was always asking in a critical tone, “Is that what your mother lets you do?” Or said stuff like, “I can’t believe your mom lets you get away with that!” She didn’t like my hockey jerseys, she was always giving me “logical consequences,” and what was it with her and tidy bedrooms? And just because digging around in the dirt wasn’t her kind of thing, it didn’t mean she should stop me from having fun. Besides, they were just old bones; it wasn’t like a real person.

      “Maybe we should call Peggy’s mom and see what she thinks,” Uncle Stuart said. He flashed me a secret wink before Aunt Margaret shot him a piercing glare.

      We all followed Eddy and Officer Pratt out front where the neighbours were still gawking from across the road. Aunt Margaret mumbled something to Uncle Stuart, but I only caught the last word — embarrassing.

      “Okay, folks, there’s nothing to be worried about,” Officer Pratt said. “The Randalls have accidentally uncovered a prehistoric burial in their backyard and we’ve just finished securing the area. You should all go on home now.”

      After the officer’s announcement, most people drifted away. By the expressions on their faces, it wasn’t the kind of exciting news they were hoping to hear. Then I noticed this old guy leaning on the police car.

      “Hey, Pratt, got any idea what phase it’s from?” The man’s voice was as gruff and gnarly as an old tree.

      “Can’t tell much yet, Walter,” the officer replied.