and I’d been ready and waiting on pins and needles for two hours. But when she stepped out of the truck I nearly giggled out loud. She was wearing the same old fisherman’s vest she always wore with its dozen tiny pockets that held everything an archaeologist on the go needed — a plumb bob, a measuring tape, calipers, a dental pick, string, a compass, a miniature flashlight, a small soft-bristled paintbrush, a spare set of reading glasses, a couple of zip-lock bags, a waterproof pen, and her old Swiss Army knife. But what was different about her was the wild and wiry silver hair sneaking out from under her green DON’S EXCAVATING: WE DIG PEOPLE LIKE YOU baseball cap. I smirked. “Hi, Eddy. Get your hair done?” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, you would have to mention it, wouldn’t you? I let Mabel talk me into getting a perm the other day. I was in for my usual cut, and she said, ‘Edwina, just because you go around dressed like a man all the time doesn’t mean you can’t look at least a little feminine.’ ‘What do you suggest?’ I asked her.
