Page 70 of Troy Story
Clarissa’s mouth turned down in a pout. “Not good. When they started digging this morning, Dr. Wagner thought looters might have tampered with the trench. Like they dug up something and tried to put the dirt back into place.”
Looters or Dr. Hughes? From the odd way the professor had been acting, Dusty suspected he’d been the one to disturb the site. But how could he if it was guarded around the clock? “Did Mehmet and his brothers see anyone there last night?”
“No. According to them, no one came through the site after hours. And the Germans got here at 5:00 a.m. because they wanted to start digging as early as possible.”
A nasty chuckle made Dusty shiver. Dr. Hughes had made his way over to the edge of the trench, where he stood looking down at them. “If you ask me, Wagner’s trying to cover his ass. I doubt anyone messed with his site. He’s just ashamed he made a fuss about a piece of garbage.”
Dusty’s skin prickled, but she wouldn’t give her boss the satisfaction of knowing how much his words annoyed her. “They could still find something. They’ve only been digging for a few hours.”
“It’s nothing but a fool’s errand.” He checked his watch. “Time for break. Not that you’ve earned it, working as slowly as you have. Especially you, Clarissa, gallivanting with the Germans as though you’re on vacation.”
Ignoring him, Dusty and Clarissa clambered out of the trench. But as Dusty waited in line to wash her hands, the prickling sensation continued. Where had Dr. Hughes been earlier this morning? Why had he been carrying a knapsack?
Deep in her bones, she knew he’d been up to something. She was tempted to pull Stuart aside and share her suspicions with him. But if she was wrong, she’d be putting him in an uncomfortable position. He wouldn’t risk accusing Dr. Hughes unless he had definite proof.
But she couldn’t let it go, either.
If she went back to the field house now, she could poke around while everyone else was still at the site. This way, she could make sure Dr. Hughes wasn’t hiding anything. In a flash of inspiration, she clutched her stomach and let out a loud groan.
Clarissa turned toward her. “You okay?”
She shook her head. “I just got the worst pain. Like my insides are twisting in knots.”
“Need some Midol? I have a bottle in my daypack.”
“I…I don’t think it’s that.” She let out another cry. “It could be something I ate. I don’t know. I need to sit down.”
She stumbled over to the shaded area and sat on one of the blankets. Closing her eyes, she put her head between her knees. In less than a minute, Stuart was by her side.
He crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”
She looked up at him with a pained grimace. “I don’t know. I started feeling awful. Horrible stomach pains. But I can’t think of what’s causing them. I ate the same dinner last night as everyone else.” She wiped her forehead. “I’m kind of light-headed, too.”
“You should go back to the field house. Do you want me to drive you?”
His concern made her squirm with guilt, but she kept up the act. “You should stay here and supervise. Maybe Mort could drive me back.”
“I’ll check with him.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “But if you go back, get some rest. I don’t want to find you’ve spent the entire time working.”
“I just want to lie down,” she said. “Maybe sleep a little.”
When Mort approached her, she pasted on a humble expression. “I’m so sorry, but do you mind driving me back?”
“It’s fine.” He held out his hand and pulled her up. “Being able to help makes me feel useful.”
She passed by the rest of the group, who were setting out the food for the morning break. “Sorry, but I’m leaving early. I don’t feel well.”
Dr. Hughes frowned. “Female troubles, is it? I thought you were stronger than that.”
His dismissive tone was clearly intended to bait her, but she replied calmly. “It’s more like a stomach bug. I’m going back to the field house. I’ll see all of you later.”
She waited for him to challenge her. He said nothing, though his contemptuous expression spoke volumes.Good. If he regarded her as a weak, pathetic female, he wouldn’t suspect her of trying to carry out another spy mission.
As she and Mort walked back to his car, she slowed her pace, occasionally clutching her stomach for good measure. Once they were driving back to the field house, she rested her head against the window, enjoying the powerful blast of cool air. After weeks of driving the Land Rover, a vehicle with air-conditioning was a true luxury.
Mort turned to her, his face etched with concern. “You can be honest with me, you know.”
Had he guessed her true intentions? If so, her acting ability was worse than she thought. “What do you mean?”
