If we found a pin that was at least five inches long, then we would suspect we had a hairpin on our hands, and the person in the grave most likely was a female. If we found a safety pin, then the grave was post-1857. If we found a shroud pin, then the person in the grave had been reverently wrapped in a winding cloth when he or she was buried. Should we find brass wire fasteners for cloaks, then the grave may very well be seventeenth century. As for needles, Dr. Kelso would probably mention, we hardly ever find them because they rust unless they are made of bone, in which case we might conclude the remains were those of a rugmaker.
"What about thimbles?" I might ask Dr. Kelso as I gently brush soil away from the zipper stain in my grave.
"It varies," he could very well reply. "Depending on their usage."
Thimbles of the 1500s and early 1600s were squat and heavy, as a rule, and rarely decorative. Should I uncover a very tall thimble, most likely the grave was mid-seventeenth century, and if a thimble had a hole punched in it, very possibly it had been traded to a Plains Indian who had hung it on a thong as a tinkler to spruce up clothing and pouches. The early Native Americans had a great sense of style and very much enjoyed wearing beads, bits of copper, household implements, and heads and body parts of wooden dolls.
Most doll parts available to the Native Americans were cast in pipe clay from a two-piece mold. Highly prized by colonial boys were toy guns and cannons cast in pewter or brass and with fully drilled barrels, suggesting the little boys could shoot up James Fort if they pleased, or if a Native American got hold of such a toy and wore it on a thong, he might accidentally shoot himself in the foot or worse.
Sadly, I did not find any toys or toy parts during my research with the Jamestown archaeologists, nor was it my good luck to find coins or even a button, although I did find a number of musket balls and an arrowhead and the skeletal remains of a woman who had been a chronic pipe smoker and hadn't cut her hair in four to seven years.
In keeping with being a truthful narrator, I will state for the record that I did not find a zipper while excavating at Jamestown. But if I had, I most certainly would have recognized it on the spot and gathered abundant information from it.
To return to that scoundrel Major Trader, he is at large and unremorseful. He was last seen shooting a pistol behind Freckles and quite likely is still in the city, going about his nefarious business as usual. If you click on the small jail icon in the upper right-hand corner, you can view a recent photograph of him with Governor Crimm, who is the gentleman on the left holding a magnifying glass. Please do not confuse the two. The governor is a law-abiding man and I would like to take this opportunity to say the following to him:
I know it is a delicate subject, sir, but you really must do something about your eyesight, and I'd like to suggest either a guide dog or a guide horse. I actually think the latter is the best way to go because the wait for a mini-horse is not as long, they live much longer than a dog, and you already have a dog who might take exception to another dog. I have taken the liberty to inquire as to how you might get a minihorse, and I've found that one is available this very minute. He is housebroken and at ease in sneakers so he doesn't slip on smooth surfaces. He enjoys traveling in the back of the car or van, likes other pets and children, and his name is Trip, because he loves to travel. I have taken the liberty of e-mailing the breeders to hold little Trip for you and call your office with the information, which they have promised to do immediately.
On another subject, sir, someone should look into your butler's situation with the Department of Corrections. It has been brought to my attention that there may be a computer error and it is past time for your butler to be released from the prison system and work for you as a civilian instead of an inmate. And if I were you, I would look into Moses Custer's condition, too, and make sure he is in protective custody so his assailants don't hurt him again or worse. It is possible these same violent offenders struck again early this morning when a convenience store clerk was murdered, and they may even be connected to the brutal slaying of Trish Thrash.
Governor Crimm, it is time for you to show Virginians that you personally care about them and have no agenda other than what is best for the Commonwealth.
Be careful out there!
Twenty-one
Possum read the latest Trooper Truth essay several times and felt certain that the anonymous web crusader suspected that the assailants he mentioned were Smoke and the road dogs.
"Why wouldn't he figure it out?" Possum whispered to Popeye, who was snoring on the bed. "Everybody knows Smoke's broke out of jail and is up to no good, 'cause he ain't capable of being up to anything else. Oh Lord, Popeye, what if the police somehow find our RV and haul us away, or Smoke gets in a shoot-out with 'em and all of us end up dead?"
Popeye instantly woke up.
"It ain't fair!" Possum went on, getting angrier. "What'd they have to go and kill that Seven-Eleven lady for? Now there's a 'scription of Smoke on the news 'cause somebody saw the shooting!"
Possum took a deep breath and glanced back at the closed door several times.
"Well, it's time I did something, " he whispered to Popeye. "And I'm gonna do it and just hope Smoke don't find out!"
Possum typed an e-mail.
Dear Trooper Truth,
That Trader man you just wrote about is a pirate on the web who calls hisself Captin Bonny. I figured it out 'cause of what you said the other day on your web about Trader being relations with that woman pirate who I guess must be dead now.
I think you could trap Captin Bonny by sending him an e-mail and setting him up. Just say you will leave him a waterproof suitcase full of what he's got coming to him and when he shows up, get him! Make up a screen name that's the same as mine so he thinks the e-mail's from me.
P. S. There is a score planned that has to do with Popeye! That Trader man is the one who set her up to be stolt!
Possum clicked on SEND NOW and glanced at the closed door with relief. Thank God, neither Smoke nor any of the other road dogs had seen what Possum had just done. Smoke would kill him for sure if he caught Possum sending an e-mail to Trooper Truth and turning in a source. Smoke would stomp, kick, and beat on Possum, leaving him for dead, just like Smoke had done to that innocent man Moses Custer, who, even as Possum was thinking all this, was being handed the telephone inside his hospital room.
It's the governor, " Nurse Carless said in a blaring voice as the cuff of her nurse's uniform knocked over a cup on Moses' food tray and spilled orange juice all over the front of his hospital gown.
"You sure?" Moses didn't believe her and thought if she caused one more accident, he was going to find the emergency alarm button and push it hard. "I mean, what if it's one of them pirates trying to find me?"
Nurse Carless took the phone away from him, clunking him in the chin. "I'm afraid he's not here, " she said over the line as she wiped up orange juice and elbowed Moses in the Adam's apple.
"No!" Moses grabbed the phone back from her. "What if it is the gov'ner? I can't be hanging up on him! Who is this, if you don't mind me asking?" he said into the phone. "Before we go looking around room to room for Moses, assuming he's even in this hospital or still alive, we need to make sure who wants to know. "
"This is Governor Crimm. "
"Which Gov'ner Crimm?" Moses asked, still unconvinced.
"Governor Bedford Crimm the Fourth. There is no other Governor Crimm because each time there's been one, it's always been me. I've been the governor of Virginia three times now. Or is it four?"