by Jamie Blair
Of course he did. "Well, I guess it's settled then. We'll make sure he's happy and taken care of."
Somehow.
Like he'd been listening, Ellsworth wound around my legs, purring and looking up at me with his big eyes almost the same size as his giant bat ears. I had no idea how that combination was cute, but the cat was adorable.
I reached down and scratched his head. "We'll be just fine next week, won't we?"
Irene reached behind her and pulled a binder from the countertop. "Here are his instructions," she said, opening the front cover to reveal a table of contents.
"He's a cat," I said. "Don't you just feed them, scoop their litter box, and maybe brush them every now and then?"
She stared at me, wide-eyed. "No!"
"Okay, then. Hit me with the binder, I'm ready."
I slouched down in my chair and rested my chin in my hands. It shouldn't've surprised me that Irene had a high maintenance cat.
"First, he drinks distilled, room temperature water. Nothing from the tap. I'll send his food along marked so you know which he eats in the morning and which in the evening. There's wet and dry. You'll need to measure the amount so he doesn't get too much of one or the other. The portions are listed here. Are you paying attention?"
Honestly, I'd been thinking about the body in the trash, and shrunken heads. Who did those heads in Steve's collection once belong to? If they were even real that is. "Of course I'm paying attention. Food. You'll mark it."
She tsk'ed and gave me the same exact expression Ben used when he's equal parts annoyed, frustrated, and irritated with me. And here I thought he'd come by it all on his own when it was passed down through the family. Poor Stewart, but at least I had someone to commiserate with about the look.
"I'll inform Mia of the specifics," she said. "She won't disappoint me."
Her passive aggressive jab didn't affect me like she'd hoped. "Okay, sounds like a plan, Irene. I'm going to get moving."
"Where do you have to be in such a rush?"
"Didn't you hear? I found another body. A skeleton, actually. It was in the trash can beside the gazebo."
"Is that what Johnna was chattering about? I thought she was going on about something she'd watched on television."
"No, it's real. So you don't know anything about it?"
"What would I know? Do you think I put it there? That I keep a collection of human bones in my basement for such occasions as your trip to the park?"
"Just asking around," I said. I'd learned to adopt the mantra of Be The Duck where Irene was concerned and let her comments roll off me like water off a duck's back. "Welp! Let me know if you do hear anything. I'll see you later."
I headed out of the kitchen just as Mia hopped up off the couch. "Steph's here! Bye! Bye, Grandma!"
"Goodbye, dear!" Irene trilled from the kitchen.
"Have fun," I told her, following her out the door.
I got in my car--a new one to me, but eight-years-old with mega miles on it--and headed toward home following Steph. She wound around the allotment a different way then I'd come in, and I noticed there were dump trucks and a backhoe on a trailer practically blocking the street in front of Jim and Fiona's house. Their side yard was a muddy mess from all the heavy machinery and trucks driving over it. I could only imagine what their backyard looked like all dug up. Putting in an in-ground pool was a big project. Not only expensive, but there were gas and electric lines to deal with and a fence to have installed around it. I didn't realize Jim and Fiona liked to swim that much.
Still behind Steph, I drove left of center to get around the vehicles in the road, and honked when they turned right on route fifty-two and I turned left. Mia had a calorie avoidance issue, so I knew she wouldn't have as good of a time at the movie as I would've had with popcorn and peanut M&M's. How can anyone sit through a movie without snacks?
That was one of life's biggest mysteries.
5
When I got home, I checked my text messages. Logan and Anna had sent one to our group chat saying they talked with everyone at the Soda Pop Shop and then went next-door to Read and Re-Read and asked Brenda Lefferts if she had any information, and they came up empty handed.
I'd stop in to see Brenda tomorrow. She had a mystery novel put aside for me.
I texted back saying that I didn't have any luck either, and going by what Irene said, Johnna made the situation sound like a reality TV show at their meeting. Maybe Roy would dig up some dirt at the Cornerstone tonight. Our best bet at this point was to wait for the coroner and the forensic anthropologist to gather more information about the bones.
And to think of ways to wheedle that information out of Ben.
I let Liam outside and wandered around my backyard with him looking at the flowers poking through the dark soil. There were still some dead leaves gathered in corners and tucked in behind the birdbath, but the green buds on the bushes and trees and the clean, fresh scent on the air was enough to make me forget about the skeleton, but not quite.
I paced around the end of the garage thinking of reasons why someone would have a human skeleton and then dispose of it in such a public way. I suppose it wouldn't have been public if I hadn't have found it. Whoever dumped it didn't want it tied back to them, which meant there were nefarious circumstances linked to that body other than the way it was tossed in the trash.
The person could've been murdered, that was the obvious possibility, but likely not by anyone living today unless they were at least a century old and some change. So why would someone living today want to hide a murder from the past? All I could think of was that their reputation was at stake. People would think badly of them and their family if they knew.
I stopped in my tracks. The most family-proud group of women I'd ever met were The Daughters of Historical Metamora. They introduced themselves with their founding father's names for Pete's sake.
Good gravy! One of them was in the process of digging up her back yard! Did Fiona and Jim stumble on the body while putting in their pool? How could they keep that a secret? It made sense, though. Reputation was everything to Fiona, and she'd already taken a hit when her cousin was murdered and it was revealed that he ran an illegal dog racing syndicate from his farm.
I took out my phone and sent another text to our group letting them know I had something we needed to look into.
Tomorrow when I was picking up my book from Brenda, I'd do a little more research on Fiona's family and their background. With any luck, it'll set us in the right direction to find out what happened to the man who ended up on the wrong end of a raccoon's curiosity.
Speaking of raccoons, I needed to find out where they were getting into my attic and block it off. Those little buggers could do damage to wiring, not to mention the mess they leave behind.
I opened the door into the side of the garage. There was a really big ladder in there somewhere that I could use to reach the vent over the attic window. I was sure that's where they were getting in, and wanted to check it out.
The ladder hung horizontally from hooks on the wall just above my head. I knew it would be heavy, but if I braced myself, I could push it up off the hooks and hopefully lower it to the floor without incident.
I faced the ladder on the wall, widened my stance and put my palms on the bottom side of it. Liam ran between my feet, threatening to trip me. "Knock it off, Fuzzball!" I shouted. Then I pushed up with all my strength. It lifted from the hooks and balanced on my hands. It wobbled precariously. I didn't know how to get it down, how to get a grip on it. I didn't think this through. The ladder tipped and began to fall backward off my hands. Liam yipped and backed away, not willing to put any bets on me. I tried to steady it, but my arms weren't strong enough and they jerked back with the weight of the ladder. I lost my footing and went backward with it, kicking my feet like I was running in the air, hoping to gain some leverage. I hit the floor, and the ladder made a loud crash right behind me.
There are things a woman of a certain ag
e shouldn't do. There's a time when a woman should realize she doesn't work out and can't lift heavy, awkward objects without busting her heinie. At least when that woman eats her weight in cookies most weeks. To say I was a little out of shape is to say the moon is only a little far from home. I was beyond out of shape.
Liam eased over to me and stopped beside my face, looking down at me. I think to see if I was still alive. Then he pounced, rolling around under my chin making doggie play time growls and demanding I rub his tummy.
"This wasn't some elaborate game," I told him, but I scratched him anyway. What else was I going to do while I lay there catching my breath? At least I wasn't laying there alone.
Then I heard the scratching from the opposite corner of the garage. Liam shot off of me and stood erect and alert, a low rumble in his throat. The scratching sounded again and he let out a stream of shrill barks, running toward the sound.
"No, Liam!" I yelled, trying to get up, but there were aches, and would be bruises. "Liam! It's a raccoon. Liam, come!"
Liam didn't listen. Liam should've gone to dog training with his brothers. "Treat!" I shouted. "Liam, treat! Go for a walk?" The W-word always worked.
He stopped and looked back at me, intrigued.
"Treat? Walk?" I repeated.
He gave one more glance at the corner, and hightailed it back over to me. I scooped him up, and hobbled out of the garage.
I wasn't sure where I wanted to end up when I was nothing but bones, but I was glad I made it out of the garage and today wasn't the day I needed to decide.
6
I was struggling to stay awake until Andy and Alexis Hartline arrived. I'd made tacos for dinner and ate too much. Now I was battling a food coma.
Ben paced the family room, reciting what he knew about the case, which was nothing more than what he'd known this morning at the Soapy Savant.
"Don't be nervous," I told him. "You'll do great."
"I've never been on TV," he said. "This is the first time I've given an update on the news about a case. My insides are Jello."
The doorbell rang.
"They're early," Ben said, his face white as a sheet.
"I'll get it," I said, trying not to smile at what I knew was a waste of nervous energy. He was more than prepared and he would do a great job on the news. My husband was an excellent police officer who was usually so confident and took anything that popped up during a case in stride. It seemed a TV crew was the only thing that could shake him.
My back twinged from my feat of strength in the garage that afternoon, so I wasn't moving at full speed. I really hoped I wasn't hobbling around in the morning. I hadn't had an achy knee for a month or so and now I'd gone and taken a fall flat on my back. I'd told Ben what happened and after he read me the riot act, he promised to seal off the attic vent tomorrow.
I opened the door to the coroner and a woman I didn't know. "Hello," I said. "Come in. Ben's in the family room."
"Thanks, Cam," Walter Keene, the coroner, said stepping inside. He was as old as my dad, but nowhere ready for retirement. He'd be running the morgue until he was on one of the tables himself. "This is Pamela Hodgeson," he said, "a forensic anthropologist from the University of Cincinnati."
Pamela was about my age, maybe a little younger since I tend to think of myself as mid-thirties still. She was tall and thin and had strawberry blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. The strap of a messenger bag hung across her chest.
"Nice to meet you," I said, holding out my hand to shake hers. "I'm Officer Hayman's wife, Cameron."
"Likewise," she said. She smelled faintly of cinnamon, which I found surprising. I guess I would've thought anyone who worked with bones would smell dusty or like an old crypt.
"Come on back." I led them to the family room.
Ben stopped pacing. "Hi, Walter. Do you have news?"
Walter introduced Pamela, and she and Ben shook hands.
"I'll make coffee," I said.
"Please," Ben said, "sit down."
While I puttered in the kitchen with coffee and cookies, I listened to their discussion.
Walter explained that Pamela had some information that would help identify who the bones belonged to in life.
"I've reconstructed the skeletal structure, and measured and examined for identifying features and cause of death," she began. "There are several bones missing including six ribs, the middle phalange on the right hand, the index on the left, and two vertebrae. What I've determined is that the deceased was a white male of Western European origin, he was approximately thirty years of age at the time of his death, and I estimate his death occurred one hundred years ago. He'd suffered several broken bones during his lifetime, the one in his fibula healed poorly, and would've resulted in a limp."
"Is there a cause of death?" Ben asked.
"Yes," she said, "he died of a skull fracture."
"Homicide?"
"The fracture pattern indicates blunt force trauma with a thin, rod-like object."
"Something like a tire iron," Walter added.
"So we're looking for a guy hit in the head with a tire iron one hundred years ago," Ben surmised. "Give me something hard next time, Walter."
The three of them chuckled.
I had no clue how Pamela got all of that information from a deconstructed skeleton missing some bones, but I was in awe. I'd never had hero worship before, but was experiencing something very close. The woman could basically talk to bones. She looked and deciphered and they told her a story. I'd never wanted to be able to do something so badly in my life.
"Could you tell where the bones came from?" Ben asked. "Had they been in the ground, or were there signs of outdoors, bugs, or wildlife?"
"There was some dust, but there was no dirt or signs of insects that are typically found during the stages of decay. The bones were kept dry and in a climate controlled environment. There were some signs of being stored in humidity, but not to a large extent."
"They were kept inside, then?"
"I wouldn't say it was incorrect to believe they could have been housed in a barn or shed, or somewhere similar," she said.
The doorbell rang again. "That's them," Ben said, bolting up from his chair.
"Who?" Walter asked. "I was hesitant to show up on your doorstep this late, and here you're expecting company. Are you having a party?"
"No," Ben said, striding toward the hallway. "The news wants an update, so I'm talking live on the air."
"Oh, big shot!" Walter teased.
Ben opened the door and Andy came in ushering a gorgeous Alexis Hartline in four inch heels, a skin tight dress, and a waft of expensive perfume. Despite the height and tightness of her apparel, she exuded grace and class, whereas, I would've looked like an out-of-date hooker in her outfit.
Andy made introductions, and Alexis took an immediate interest in Walter and Pamela. "This is more than I expected," she said. "Let's get the three of them wired with mics," she said. "Three professionals who can speak to this atrocity are better than one, right?"
Ben's expression was equally relieved and disappointed. His amount of the limelight had just been reduced by two thirds.
Alexis poked through the downstairs rooms--living room, family room, dining room, and kitchen. "I don't think the urgency of the situation comes through inside. It's too cozy. Let's do it outside."
"Told ya," Andy said, grinning at her.
I raised my eyebrows at him in warning. That better not be flirting I saw.
He rolled his eyes at me and knelt to his black box of audio and visual equipment. "Who wants to be mic'd first?"
"Ladies first," Ben said, gesturing for Pamela to take the lead.
"You go next," Walter said to him.
Ben smirked. "No, age before beauty. I insist."
"Respect your elders, boy," Walter said, giving Ben a pop on the arm.
After the three of them had their microphones in place, Andy led them outside. I followed behind, and stood on the porch watching Li
am rummage through the flower bed.
Alexis stood the three of them in front of Ben's driver's side door of his truck. The words Metamora One stood out behind and between them. "I'll ask questions and direct one of you to answer," she said. "Any questions before we go live in one minute?"
Andy had his camera trained on them, and earphones on, listening to the audio. Bigger stations had a person to do each, but ours could only afford Andy to do both.
Soon, Andy was counting them down. "In five, four, three..."
Before he got to motioning for action, a cop car from Brookville turned into our driveway.
"Everybody wants in on the action," Ben said, cocking his head to see who was in the car.
"It doesn't look like Sheriff Reins," I said.
"It's not. He hired a new deputy."
Ben headed toward the patrol car, then stopped dead in his tracks. "You have to be kidding me."
"What is it?" I asked, hurrying off the porch.
"Mia."
"What?" Then I saw her sitting in the backseat of the car.
The deputy got out of the car and greeted Ben. "Mia Hayman's your daughter, Ben?" he asked.
"Depends," Ben said. "What did she do?"
"Shoplifting."
Ben shook his head and put his hands on his hips. "What did she take?"
"Makeup. It wasn't worth much and the owner of the store isn't pressing charges."
"I'll have to thank him for that."
The deputy opened the back door and let Mia out. Ben shook his hand and he got back in his car and left. Mia hung her head and her shoulders shook as she cried.
"Get in the house," Ben said. "I'm in the middle of work. We'll talk later."
"Dad, I'm sorry."
"Get inside," he repeated.
Mia shuffled toward me, scooping up Liam as he ran up to her. Since I already had the inside scoop on the bones, I followed her inside.
"Hang on," I said, as she started upstairs. "The movie was a while ago. Have you had dinner?"
She shook her head. "I was in the manager's office at that store for hours."
