by Jamie Blair
"I don't see him!" I yelled back.
"Ellsworth!" she called, her voice high and strained. I thought she might break out in tears and started feeling bad for her. "I can't believe you brought that little flea bag to my house and now my cat ran off!"
My feelings of empathy quickly vanished. "There is not one flea on him, I'll have you know."
I wasn't used to jogging and cardio was never my strong suit. Before long I was gasping for breath. "Slow down, Liam. Slow down." I stopped and panted, bent over with my hands on my knees.
"I can't believe this!" Irene said, catching up with us. She pushed her hair back from her face. Her mouth trembled and her face was splotchy. "I can't believe it."
I had a feeling she wasn't talking about Ellsworth. "It'll be okay," I said.
"She's not to blame. This isn't right. I can't let this happen."
I didn't know how much proof she needed, but when a bone from a mystery skeleton is found in someone's backyard, it's likely that person had something to do with it. "Ben will get to the bottom of it," I said, trying to console her.
"No, he won't," she said, and sobbed into her hands. "He can't. He doesn't know what really happened."
"What? What do you mean?"
She shook her head, crying and on the verge of breaking into hysterics. I grabbed her by the shoulders. "Irene? Tell me what you're talking about."
"It's my fault," she whispered. Then she broke away from me, her face flooding red. "No, it's your fault! He got it at your house!"
"What are you talking about?" I was losing my patience and tired of being the target of her hostility.
Liam barked and took off, jerking my arm. Ellsworth sprinted past us through the neighbor's yard. In his mouth, he carried something I recognized from my attic. Something I'd mistaken as an icicle. "He has a rib bone!" I shouted.
"No!" Irene screamed. "No more bones, Ellsworth!"
I turned and looked back at her. "What do you mean no more bones? Irene, what did you do?"
18
Ben sat beside Irene on the couch. I'd called him and he rushed right over. "Do you want me to call Dad?" he asked her. "Would it be easier to tell me with him here?"
"Your dad? No, why would that make anything easier?" She stroked Ellsworth's soft gray fur where he sat on the arm of the couch.
"Okay, then whenever you're ready tell me what happened."
She swiveled toward him and put a hand on his cheek. "Maybe you should call Sheriff Reins. I don't want you to have to arrest your own mother."
"Mom, let's just start from the beginning."
She dropped her hand, folded both in her lap, and took a deep breath. "When I brought Ellsworth home from your house, I set up his bed and toys over there by the fireplace where I always keep them. The next thing I know, he's carrying a finger around in his mouth." Irene pressed her hand to her heart. "It about gave me a heart attack."
"I can imagine. What did you do next?" Ben asked, easing her through the story.
"I didn't know what to do. Your father was off somewhere with his buddies. I should've called you. I'm so sorry I didn't call and ask what I should do." She started tearing up again.
"It's okay, Mom. Try to keep calm. What did you end up doing with the finger?"
"I put on that old pair of gloves your father uses to clean the gutters, and I had to chase this rascal around the house. He finally dropped it under my bed."
Picturing Irene wearing old dirty work gloves chasing a cat with a finger in his mouth around her house was almost more than I could bear with a straight face.
"I tripped over the nightstand and down I went. Ellsworth started hissing, being protective of his finger. He attacked and scratched my arm up and I got a nasty rug burn on my knee," she said, and that was the tip of the iceberg for me.
I jumped up from my chair, coughing. "Water," I sputtered, and made a beeline for the kitchen.
"There are bottles of water in the fridge," Irene called.
I opened the fridge and grabbed one, willing myself under control. I'd never wish ill on anyone, but the idea of Mean Irene getting hers from her precious cat was too ironic. She could be a wonderful person, and then she could be the person who called me up in front of a tribunal to be scorned by her friends. Since nothing serious had happened to her, I'd allow myself a tiny bit of pleasure from her getting a bit of payback.
"...I had the bone in my hand," she was saying when I came back into the living room, "and saw that it was more than one, it was a whole finger, knuckles and all!" Her face was white now, and her lips pale. "And it was wearing a ring--a gold signet ring. And it had dried blood on it! It was horrific!" Her hands shook and she squeezed them between her knees. "All I could think about was what Fiona had faced with the accusations. I didn't want that to happen to me. I had to get rid of that finger! You can understand that, can't you? I'm the President of The Historical Daughters of Metamora. I can't have that dark mark on my reputation. A finger! In my home!"
"All right," Ben said. "Tell me what you did with it."
"Isn't it obvious? I got in my car, drove to Fiona and Jim's, pretended I was there for a visit, but I knew they were both at the train depot. Then I went around back and tossed it in that mud pit when the workers weren't watching."
"You planted evidence in their yard?" Ben asked, his voice remarkably even for a man who just found out his mother was a criminal.
"Evidence of what? We already knew that man was dead--dead for a century! Fiona was already a suspect, so nothing I did put her on that list. You can thank your wife for that. I only went along with what everyone already thought."
"Okay. We'll need to get all of this down in writing." He reached in his messenger bag, took out a notebook, and handed it to her. "While you do that, I'm going to make a call so we can get Fiona out of hot water."
"I'm going to head home," I said. Now that the show was over, my job here was done.
Liam lay on the floor below the couch gazing longingly up at Ellsworth. "Come on, pup," I said. "He lives here. You're coming home with me."
"You might as well take him," Irene said. "Stewart won't take care of him when I'm in jail."
"You aren't going to jail."
"You heard Ben. I planted evidence. That has to be some kind of crime."
"You aren't going to jail, Irene."
"If I do, I want you to have Ellsworth though," she said, rubbing the cat's ears. "He does have a particular fondness for that dog."
"We'd love to have him anytime."
I told Ben goodbye, and got Liam out the door and into the car. This mystery got kookier by the hour. With everyone in town shuttling bones to their neighbors like some macabre game of hot potato, how would we ever find out who started it to begin with?
Ben leaned back in his chair groaning and rubbing his stomach. "I can't eat another bite."
I'd made his favorite dinner. At least, his favorite that I could cook—lemon and garlic chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. Mia even cleaned her plate, which was the equivalent of a miracle.
I could tell Ben was worried. He'd turned over all the information about Irene to Sheriff Reins and the Franklin County Sheriff. Essentially, she'd done the same thing Soapy did, which he said Soapy might be arrested for doing. I knew there were a ton of scenarios spinning through Ben's head and he was trying to figure out how to stay in the good graces of his fellow law enforcement officers while doing everything possible to keep his mom out of jail.
"Dad," Mia said, gathering her plate and silverware to take it to the sink, "if grandma and grandpa get that timeshare, can we go to Florida with them this summer?"
"Grandma Angela's wedding is this summer," I said, jumping in before Ben had to explain that Irene might not be around this summer. "We'll have to see. A wedding takes a lot of time and planning."
"Oh yeah," she said. "When are we getting our bridesmaid dresses?"
Thank goodness for weddings. The promise of a fancy dress and big party was
enough to keep a teenage girl's mind busy for a little while at least.
"We'll have to try them on and order them soon. Maybe next weekend we can go."
"Cool. Can Steph come too?"
Those two were attached at the hip. "Yes, she can come with us."
Mia cleared the table. I told her I'd get the dishes in the dishwasher so she could start her homework. She picked up Liam from under her chair where he waited for her during dinner and she sneaked him bites of food and thought we don't notice, and ran upstairs to her bedroom.
"I'm okay," Ben said, before I had the chance to ask. "I know you're worried about me, but I'm really fine."
"What do you think will happen? Will they want to press any kind of charges?"
"Could be something like tampering with evidence. If it turns out to be a murder victim, that's a big punishment."
"Even if it's from so long ago and nobody was looking for him? Not to downplay the situation or the importance of finding out who he is and what happened to him, but..." I shrugged. If the bones had never been placed in the trash can beside the gazebo and the raccoons had never infiltrated our town, would anyone even know there was a skeleton of an unknown man to be identified?
"I know," Ben said, "but this is what we're dealing with. It doesn't change because it implicates a friend or my mom."
I'd given him such a hard time the day before about Soapy and here he was being an upstanding officer in the face of his mother potentially being charged. I reached over and took his hand. "She's lucky to have you. So am I, and Mia, and our stinky dogs, and your furry cat brother."
He laughed. "It's quiet around here without those stinky dogs. When are they coming home?"
"Tomorrow or the next day. Quinn wanted to evaluate where they were after today's session."
He eyed me and raised his brows. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"I know you're dying to ask me."
"I am, but I don't want to be insensitive."
He rolled his eyes like Mia. "The ring was gold and had the initials JLA engraved on the face."
"JLA?"
"Yes, like the name James Lee Anderson, for an example."
"Who's James Lee Anderson?"
"Nobody. It was just an example."
"Oh. Hmm... JLA... JLA..." I drummed my fingers on the table, thinking through all the last names in town, all the founders, all the business owners-- "Adkins! Will Adkins's dad was James Adkins III. Ben, it's one of Will's ancestors."
"How do you know Will's dad's name?"
"Brenda was talking about it. Does it matter? His name was James and he was the third, so there was definitely a James Adkins one hundred years ago."
Ben shoved his chair back and stood. "This could be it. It fits. We might have found our man. I'll call Reins and we'll talk to Will first thing tomorrow. Cam, this case would've never come together so quickly if it wasn't for the work you've done."
"You did plenty of work, too, you know. And there's more to come, like sneaking that journal back into the train depot."
He scrunched up his nose. "Let's recruit Roy for that task."
"Or Johnna. She'd just say she borrowed it and nobody would think twice about it."
"Johnna doesn't return the things she borrows." He made air quotes around the word borrows.
"That's true. Her bringing it back would raise suspicion."
"I'm sure an opportunity to return the journal will come up."
"If not, I'll dump it in the trash can beside the gazebo. It seems to be the thing to do."
"You could always toss it in Fiona's back yard."
I snorted a laugh, not expecting him to joke about his mom's escapade. It was good to know he still had his sense of humor.
19
Will's Schoolhouse Antiques opened next door at ten A.M. Mia and Ben were long gone to work and school, and Johnna and Roy were on their second cup of coffee at my kitchen table as we whiled away another half hour until we could barge in the antique shop.
"I hear that mother-in-law of yours threw her best friend under the tires of an eighteen wheeler," Roy said, sipping his coffee.
"Under the bus, Roy," Johnna said. "The expression is she threw her under the bus."
"Same difference."
"I don't think she thought through the consequences," I said. "For Fiona or for herself."
Roy sat bolt upright. "Is Ben gonna toss her in the hoosegow?"
"No," I said, hoping I didn't start another rumor to get me in front of her tribunal again. "No, no."
"He'd have Reins do it," Johnna said. "Ben's a mama's boy. He'd never cuff her and drag her downtown."
"Bet you'd love to see that though, wouldn't ya?" Roy laughed, pointing at me.
"No! Stop trying to bait me. I'm not saying anything that will get me in trouble with those women again."
"Close your ears, Johnna," he said. "Since you can't close your big trap."
"I did not bring up Cameron's name! I told you, I'm innocent!"
"Innocent, my Aunt Francie."
"Your Aunt Francie was a lovely woman," Johnna said, "so I take that as a compliment."
"She stole the money for a new church roof. She was the black sheep in the Lancaster lot."
Johnna banged her knitting needles and yarn on the table. "She was a kind and generous teacher and used that money to buy school supplies and lunches for poor little kids whose parents couldn't afford it."
"Well, I hope they could afford a bucket to hold over their heads on rainy Sunday mornings at church so they didn't get soaked."
These two were giving me a headache. "I think it's almost ten now," I said. "Maybe we should start heading next door. Will should be there before he opens. We can knock and see if he lets us in."
"He won't let this one in," Roy said jabbing his thumb in Johnna's direction. "Not after last time."
"I wasn't trying to steal anything. He didn't have to call Ben." Johnna tucked her knitting into her bag and pushed herself up out of her chair.
"We'll have to leave you outside," Roy said, traipsing around the table. "This is a high profile operation now. We have the support of the local police. We can't be getting in trouble around town."
"Oh, you're a role model now, are you?" Johnna grabbed him by his jacket lapels and reached inside for his trademark flask. "You don't think being the town drunk makes us look bad?"
"We all have our quirks," I said, trying to defuse the situation, but it was too far gone.
"Give me that!" Roy snatched for his flask and missed.
Johnna turned her back to him and stuffed the flask down the front of her blouse into her brassiere. "Let's see you get it back now, old man!"
"If that's the way you go about getting yourself a man, then you are like my Aunt Francie!" Roy stomped past me down the hall and whipped open the front door. "You two can chat up Will without me. I'll be at Soapy's if you need me." He tugged the door shut behind him with a loud slam.
"Only because the Cornerstone isn't open this early," Johnna muttered.
"Good gravy, you two fight like an old, married couple," I said.
"If you think I'd have anything to do with that man, then you need your head examined!" Johnna threw her tote over her shoulder and made her way toward the door. "I'm no help to you since Will won't let me in his shop, so I'll see myself out."
"Johnna, wait. I was only kidding about fighting like an old, married couple."
She lifted her chin. Her nose twitched. "I have better things to do than spend my day being insulted."
And with that, the second member of the Action Agency stormed out my door.
Will Adkins was jamming rusty, antique lawn ornaments in the grass in front of his shop when I followed Johnna outside. One was a flower made from old glass cups and plates, another was a whirligig of repurposed silverware.
Johnna was half way across my yard pulling Roy's flask out of her top. She popped the top off and took a healthy swig, wiping her lips on the back of her hand.
"Morning, Johnna," Will called, watching her walk by.
"I don't want none of your old junk, anyway," she said.
He looked over at me heading toward him and I shrugged. "It's not you. I said something and she took it the wrong way."
"I saw Roy huffing and puffing past a few minutes ago. Did you make him mad, too?"
"No, Johnna made him mad. It's been a morning."
"I heard about Irene. I thought she was loyal to a fault where the Daughters were concerned."
"I guess self-preservation is an instinct even she couldn't overcome."
He leaned his forearm on the glass flower. "What happens now?"
"Now we need to find out who the bones belong to, and I think I might know."
"Really?" He tilted his head, curious.
"The man's initials are JLA. Does that ring a bell?"
"Should it?"
"Isn't James Adkins a family name?"
He took a step back. "Yes. You think it's one of my relatives?"
"Could it be your grandfather, or great-grandfather?"
"My grandfather is in an urn on my father's mantle, so I'm fairly certain it's not him. His father is buried in the cemetery in Brookville."
"Your great-grandfather, the original James Adkins, is buried in Brookville?"
"Yeah, but even if he wasn't I don't think it's him."
"Why is that?"
"His middle name didn't start with an A, it was Paul. JPA."
My chest deflated and I closed my eyes. "That stinks."
"Well, I'm sorry my great-gramps's bones weren't scattered around the town, Cameron."
My eyes popped open. "No, that's not what I meant! I'm glad it's not him. That would be terrible to find out. I'm sorry if it sounded that way."
He shook his head. "It's fine. I need to get the shop open. Have a good one."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really didn't mean it that way."
He waved and smiled before going inside, but didn't say anything. Hopefully, he wouldn't hold it against me.
