Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

hangers-on. All their attention was fastened on a man surrounded by television cameras and holding one hell of a press conference.
    “Seagreen Island is pristine. There are precious few unspoiled spots on Earth and, when they are gone, there will be no more. Florida doesn’t need another resort.” State Senator Cyril Kirby spoke eloquently for one so recently drawn to the environmental movement. In his years in the legislature, he had supported his land development backers to the hilt. There was a time when it could be said that Cyril Kirby had never met a swamp he didn’t want to drain.
    “Let south Florida bury itself under pavement and strip malls,” he continued. “We here in the Panhandle understand quality-of-life issues. Saving Seagreen Island will be an uphill battle against shadowy figures and their bulging bankbooks, but we must fight it. If we do not concede defeat, we can have this idyllic spot annexed into the national wildlife refuge, where it will be protected forever.”
    Senator Kirby delivered this ringing challenge directly into the maws of the television cameras belonging to three local broadcast channels. He had not even announced his candidacy for the U.S. House of Representatives and already he looked to Faye like a politician that plenty of voters could get behind. Time would tell, but his recent reversal on environmental issues might prove to be his shrewdest move yet, except maybe for recruiting Douglass Everett as a major campaign contributor.
    Faye noticed that Everett was carefully positioned just inside the perimeter of the cameras’ range. Senator Kirby was the star, but nobody could mistake the power of the man in the wings. Douglass Everett was the most influential African American in north Florida. He had accomplished much in his life, but then a man who managed to finish high school while helping his daddy sharecrop a few acres of sand is no stranger to accomplishment.
    Douglass Everett owned a lucrative construction business, but he never forgot his roots. He was a deacon in his church. He provided sole funding for a homeless shelter. He had the black vote in his hip pocket and he was a handy man for any politician to have around. Faye noticed that Senator Kirby never missed an opportunity to share a camera with Everett.
    Their mutual admiration society had kept local movers-and-shakers scratching their heads for years. Whatever their original motivations, the two gentlemen had both benefited from their relationship. Everett, who started life with exactly nothing, had amassed considerable wealth through state contracts. Kirby, an upwardly mobile redneck who was now a viable candidate for Congress, could count on his friend to deliver the black vote, no matter what. Their opposition to the resort on Seagreen Island was getting them media exposure worth more than all the paid political announcements that mere money could buy.
    Faye leaned against a tree to watch a seasoned campaigner perform. Douglass Everett tried to catch her eye. She ignored him, even though he was her best customer. Rather, she ignored him because he was her best customer. Some of her best finds were on display at his privately owned Museum of American Slavery; he was willing to acquire unprovenanced artifacts with shady histories and he was willing to pay well. Her chronic need for money meant that she needed to talk to him soon—this week, actually—but that conversation would have to wait. This was no place to talk about the things they needed to discuss.

Chapter 3
    Faye was idly watching the cameramen dismantle their equipment when she saw Dr. Magda Stockard approaching at great speed for someone with such short legs. Faye steeled herself. It was early in the day to be chewed out for lollygagging.
    The older woman’s words caught Faye off guard. They were not, “Get your sorry self to work!” Instead, she said, “Sam and Krista aren’t here,” in a tone that made Faye feel as if she should do something about it.
    “Settle down, Magda. I’m sure they’ll show up.” Faye spoke quietly to avoid being overheard by her fellow workers or the television crews packing up their equipment. “They’re usually so responsible that we forget they’re just kids. Maybe they overslept.”
    “Just because it’s early in the morning is no excuse for being stupid, Faye. If they overslept, then they’d be here. They slept here last night, remember?”
    “Well, they were supposed to.” Faye made an