Bones and Drones

by K A Goodsell

  The echo of the footage rang out into the open cottage, and Tag’ froze. “Is that my—my body cam?” He stalked toward Gage and me, whipping back the hood of his rain jacket and pointing at the camera on the table. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “We found it at the cemetery,” I blurt out, then cover my mouth.

  “Andre, where’s Teddy?” Tag’s voice echoed once again, and then there was a muffled noise. I looked back at the screen to see that Andre had scuffled with Tag, and it looked like he was dragging him behind his truck, as Tag was holding onto the straps of his vest and body cam, then trying to grab at the truck and ground as he was dragged along. A moment later, the body cam was back on Andre, and Tag was standing.

  “I think you need to turn off that damn camera or I will.”

  The video footage went black.

  Gage tapped the space button to pause the video.

  “No,” Tag said. “Unpause it.”

  Gage looked at him. “But the video’s over.”

  “You know better than that. Unpause it.”

  Gage looks back at the computer and hits the spacebar again. The video remained black, but then the voices returned. At first, it was muffled, and then it became clear once more.

  “I haven’t seen Teddy since this morning,” Andre’s voice chimed in. He sounded almost defeated. “The minute Rebecca showed up, he said he couldn’t handle it and walked out of the house.”

  “Rebecca seemed concerned when I just spoke with her. Did something happen?”

  “Was she in the van then? With that ex of hers? He’s the one that’s bad news, not Theo.”

  “Did Teddy say he was going anywhere?”

  “He always goes up to the Inn or the boathouse. That’s his place to blow some steam off.”

  Tag pointed to the laptop. “Now you can pause it.”

  Gage pushed the space bar once again. “So, Teddy was actually missing for most of the day?”

  Tag nodded. “I went searching through the boathouse, and Andre had earlier that day, too. We didn’t see anything. He even brought his tools to dig underneath some boats that had fallen because of the rotting wood just encase he got stuck in one. But nothing.”

  “That’s why he was loading tools into the back of his truck in the photograph at the Inn.” I looked over at Gage. It was all making sense now.

  “He was in my drone picture from Friday.” Gage reached for a copy of the picture and showed it to Tag. “Paislee noticed he was in the corner yesterday, and we went looking at the boathouse, too.”

  “Saw nothing, right?” Tag asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I wish we did, though. Something.”

  “Look, Rebecca and I used to date. Gage knows that. It’s always awkward when I see her around again. But we trust each other. It’s been hard since they lost their parents. Velma took both of them in, and Andre cares about them more than anyone. He wouldn’t hurt either of them. I’m sure of it.” Tag handed the photograph back to Gage. We all sat around for a moment before Tag went on. “The reason Andre said those things at the funeral about Rebecca is because she’s pregnant.”

  “Oh.” I saw quickly. “Who?”

  “No idea, but it’s not me,” Tag insisted. “I just care about her, and I think because we dated for a while, Andre thinks it might have been me. We didn’t have the nicest breakup.” I had thought Andre insinuated that Tag had something to do with Teddy.

  Tag picked up his body cam holster. “Where did you find this again?”

  “Hale Cemetery. On the Pine tree,” Gage told him. “Any idea why it was there?”

  Tag shook his head. “No idea. Such an odd place to find it. Can you unplug it please? I need to take it to the station.”

  “If anyone asks, I was making sure it was still working.”

  “I know you work on the cameras, it’s all good.” Tag nodded at him when Gage handed him the Go Pro. “Paislee, I came by to tell you that your father called to see if you were at the station. I had a hunch you were here with Gage working on the founder stuff. He said something about how it was too late to eat oysters and now your mother wasn’t happy about not having her oyster bloody Marys. You come from a weird family, Grimes.”

  I didn’t know how I was supposed to wake up today and be happy that it was my birthday.

  When I stepped downstairs for a cup of tea to help me calm down, I had forgotten to prepare myself for the pile of oysters. The number the number of dirty dishes on the counters showed that a cake was being made. I hoped it tasted better than the amount of missing flour, sugar, and—I think that’s icing?—is spread all over the island in the kitchen.

  I turned my attention to my mother, who was fighting with Nat over the oven.

  I whined, “Tell her to stop this. I just want it to be quiet today.”

  My father took a sip of coffee. “I can’t, it’s part of her DNA.”

  “Can’t we just pretend it isn’t my birthday?”

  My father huffed into his coffee. “It’s definitely your birthday. I just spent over a hundred dollars on shellfish.”

  “Your cake is literally almost done. Don’t you dare look.” My mother looked like a football player on the defensive line, guarding the stove area.

  “Behold. From chaos, order. From ugliness, beauty. From basic ingredients and an oven, humankind has created cake!” Nat lifted a cake that looked like pancakes from the stovetop that Mom and he must have been icing. So that’s why they were dancing around each other.

  I thought about saying something, but my parents dimmed the lights and began singing the opening bars of “Happy Birthday.” There were eighteen candles glowing above my favorite type of cake (actually pancakes, but with vanilla baked into them and then cinnamon-roll icing doused all over it as “syrup”), the one I’d had for every birthday I could remember.

  We didn’t sing in our family. It had never been our thing. We don’t blow out our candles though. Something about it being witchcraft and in our family history.

  I didn’t make a wish. I wanted to wish that when I opened that college letter, it would say I’m accepted, but I still didn’t know if it could happen or not.

  “Yay!” my mother shouted as she took my photo with her cellphone. “I can’t believe you’re eighteen. I have one baby left—don’t you dare grow up quickly, Mitzy.”

  My sister dipped her fingers into the icing on top of the cake. “I’ll grow as slow as this syrup.”

  “It’s icing,” Nat corrected her.

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him.

  My mother sat down next to my chair and handed me an envelope. “Happy birthday, Paislee.” Her voice was lower and more serious than the normal. “Here’s your gift, and I hope you like this more than life itself.” It was clear she was handing me the paperwork for my plot.

  I took the envelope and shot Nat a look from the corner of my eye.

  “What ever could it be?” I said innocently.

  My mother’s face droops instantly. “Okay, who told her about the car?”

  “The car?” I squealed. “No way!”

  She laughed. “Just kidding! It’s a headstone and burial plot!”

  And there went my eagerness. Still, now I knew that if I bit the bullet anytime soon, I’d have a place to go that was already planned and paid for.

  “It’s next to Sarah.” My mother smiled softly at me.

  I looked up at her. “Really?” Nat had thought it was back near the oak tree. This was so much more meaningful. “Thank you.”

  “Who wants some pan-cake?” My father looked around the room for appreciation of his dad joke. Not going to lie, when I heard Nat shout “Ha!” at the top of his lungs, I nearly lost it laughing. “Well, I thought it was clever,” Dad muttered.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Elgort.

  Happy Birthday, Grimes

  Across the table my dad stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth while Mitzy shoved a few huge pieces of panca
ke into her own, looking like a chipmunk. She beamed at me, a full smile to show how proud she was at how much she can cram into her jowls.

  “You look like Todd.” When I told her that she resembled our basset hound, she only beamed a bigger smile before spitting some of it back onto her plate so she could eat cleanly.

  “Mitzy, please don’t regurgitate your food.” My father didn’t even lower the newspaper at the sound of the now-wet pancake bites landing onto my sister’s plate with a smack. “We’re not owls.”

  I looked back at my phone and responded to Elgort.

  Thank you.

  I waited a few moments, watching Mitzy try to fit even more pancakes into her cheeks. At least if she choked, I knew how to extract it from her throat. Or she could just cough it up like an owl. Either way would work.

  My phone vibrated.

  I left you something with Sarah.

  Elgort was probably the only person in the entire world who would know what that meant, other than Gage now.

  “I’m going to walk out and get the mail really quickly. Don’t eat all the pancakes.” I pointed at Mitzy, who was trying to fit her fork behind her astronaut helmet. When had she even put that on?

  “Wear your jacket; I don’t want to be the one to break the news to your mother than you got sick on your birthday,” Dad said.

  I nodded before grabbing my coat and heading out to the cemetery.

  As I approached Sarah, I noticed I was the first one there. I crouched down in front of her and tried to feel her presence.

  “Sarah, let this be an okay conversation. It’s been a rough week. Happy birthday, by the way. You don’t look a day over two hundred and sixty-five.”

  I waited a few moments, looking around the cemetery and through the tree line towards Elgort’s house. He wasn’t here. That was kind of odd.

  Slowly, I moved my feet up and down, as my legs were getting cold. While doing so, I heard something shift below my feet. Oh, dear God, please not again with the grass falling through.

  Wincing, I braved a glance down. I didn’t see any ground breakage. The item that had made the noise was a small, striped box.

  On top of the box was a small note card.

  I bought this before Friday night, I promise. Please believe me that I didn’t do anything. Happy Birthday, Paislee. I’m sorry the locket is jammed closed, but I thought it fit you well since its antique and you like those types of things

  - EOM

  Crap, it was a birthday gift.

  I opened the box. Nestled on a red velvet cushion was a tiny gold locket on a gold chain.

  My first thought was, I hate gold.

  My second was, This was expensive.

  And then, He said it’s an antique.

  “Wow.”

  I pulled out my phone, about to text Elgort, but as I did Gage’s name flashed across my screen. He was calling. I wanted to say thank you to Elgort, but I could do that later. I swiped to answer the call.

  “You know, on a normal day, I would rag on the fact that you’re standing in the cemetery alone on your birthday, but today, I’ll let it rest.”

  I shifted around on my feet, trying to spot him. “Where are you?” I didn’t see anyone.

  “Boo.”

  I turned around and almost stumbled. Gage was leaning against the oak tree a few feet away. How had I not noticed him there? He was holding his drone, his backpack and a shovel. Huh, I wonder if he’s going to try to dig up something.

  “Was just doing another pass-through with the drone.” He waved the machine at me before pulling his backpack around from his back and strapping the shovel onto the front. “I think I got all the limbs and rocks that were knocked around from the storm and that’ll help us with GPR readings.” He walked met me at Sarah’s gravestone. “Good day, Sarah,” he said, smiling at me. Then he saw the box in my hand. “What’s that?”

  “Birthday present from Elgort. He left it here for me to find.” I closed the box and put it on top of Sarah’s headstone.

  We both stood in silence for a moment until he rummaged around in his backpack. “I have your birthday present,” he blurted. “And, um, some flowers.” He pointed to a Fro-Sno cup that was placed at the base of the oak tree. It was full of purple flowers. Half of them were not doing so hot, but it was the thought that counted. Was it weird that I liked his flowers their gas-station slushie cup?

  “Did these come from the cemetery over there?” I pointed at the corner over by the oak tree. “I love those. But stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo me! I like them when they stay alive.”

  “Oh, come on, Grimes. I thought you liked dead things. My mistake.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “I didn’t. Really.”

  I turned, and he was standing in the middle of the row, so absolutely, unremarkably the same Gage I had gotten to know. But my heart clenched, skipping a beat, because he was also different, his eyes waiting, my breath catching, ghosts around us.

  “Here,” he said, digging in his backpack and pulling out a brown bag tied at the top with a purple ribbon.

  I stepped forward, taking it from him. “Can I open it?” He nodded. It was heavier than I’d expected. I untied it carefully, sliding my hand in, fishing out the first of two shapes at the bottom.

  A mug.

  “Oh my gosh.” I stared at it. It was large enough to hold soup and had the words “Como te llama” written on the side in a festive font that resembled what I might see during a Day of the Dead festival. Next to the words was a llama—a bright orange llama. “This is really something.”

  “It definitely is something. Mom helped me make it.”

  “You made it?” I lifted my eyebrows. “Wait, did you draw this?”

  “I sketched it. Remember, all the artwork at the Drive-In, I made that. It was fun, and then mom baked it in the oven, so it set. You just have to hand wash it. It’s not dishwasher safe. I learned that the hard way one time.”

  “I love it. Seriously.”

  “I made it for you primarily to have at the cottage, though,” Gage said, hesitating. “You didn’t seem to love any of mine. So, now you have a mug for when you come over. I know that’s kind of assuming you’ll come over again, but it was more about you having a mug, and it’s a funny mug…”

  I looked at the gift, smiling. I was remembering the night I’d had dinner with his family, minus his father, and we ate tacos, and it was great. “I know you’re making fun of me, but I love it.”

  “There’s one more inside that bag. It’s really the real present.”

  I stuck my hand back into the back and pulled out the last item. It was a brown, leather journal.

  I gasped. It was perfect.

  On the front was a patch that read, “Grimes Funeral Home,” and it looked to be over a hundred years old.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Turns out my family are hoarders with mementos. This was a patch that was given to my great-great-grandfather when he worked with your great-great-great-grandfather. He was a casket carrier.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Interesting how everyone is entangled in this town, huh?”

  My hands were jittery as I ran them over the patch. “Walk me to the mailbox?” I picked up all my packages, and he walked alongside me.

  The mailbox creaked its deathly croak as I opened it. Hardly anything in it, but as I fished through the mail, I saw the mayor’s emblem.

  Gage saw it, too. “Did he finally send you the recommendation letter?”

  I barely responded to Gage other than a hardly audible squeak and ripped open the side to pull out an official-looking letter. A birthday letter signed by the mayor with a handwritten note at the bottom.

  Paislee, I believe in you, and you have such a bright future! Happy Birthday!

  I sigh, folding the letter back together, and looked up at Gage, ready to roll my eyes.

&nb
sp; “I think you just got Rick-rolled by our mayor, Grimes.”

  My bedroom looked like a tornado had passed through with no warning. A mix of John Green novels, gravestone studies texts, books about radar, and now I was watching videos of drones on YouTube on my desktop computer, ignoring the mess that surrounded me. If I didn’t stop now, I was going to continue to watch videos and three hours later I’d be watching a tutorial on how to ride a giraffe, so I might as well pause.

  But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from a beautiful shot from a drone hovering over the Brooklyn Bridge. I should turn on my laptop to work on some additional research. All of my maps are on my laptop for portable use. I pushed the power button and heard the chime awakening it from a deep sleep.

  Well, what do I do now?

  I grimaced, looking over at the massacre of reading material. I should, but do I want to?

  My gaze slid to the folders on my desktop that were labeled with everything from Gravestones, Facial Structures to Best Ones, Mitzy’s Birthday and Pine Grove Residents.

  I’d been scanning my gravestone data collected over the years in multiple spreadsheets on my laptop, listing each headstone’s information from every cemetery in Pine Grove. This data includes: first name, last name, birth date, death date, and any other prevalent information listed on the headstone itself (if they were in the military, if they were a relative to anyone, etc.). I was reading through the names in Old World Cemetery when I got a text from Raimy.

  Do you want to go get a coffee at Grover’s Market?

  Coffee was a Raimy-type activity. She loved going to Grover’s smelling the coffee beans being crushed to death and to eat the small, overpriced organic brownies they make. Not me. Raimy knew it, too. Why would I go pay someone to make coffee for me when I can make it here at the house?

  She sent a follow-up text when I didn’t respond: