"No, I'll rely on your narrative. I'll look at your map later."
"The bones were found by a hunter. Some animal dragged them out and disturbed the burial. So some hones were sticking out of the ground"
"Could you tell when the burial was disturbed?"
"No. The dog bones had been gnawed. You can have a look to see what kind of animal it was, if it's important. Her clothes were buried four feet from the foot of her grave. They had been neatly folded."
"What?"
"Yeah, isn't that a kicker. He folded their clothes. The pants first, the shirt, the socks, and underpants and duct tape, pieces of rope, and the shoes"
"Obsessive personality, or is it compulsive'? I forget the difference."
"Me, too. The last grave, Peggy Pruitt's, was three feet, two inches deep. Her clothes were four feet from the foot of her grave and were also folded neatly. She was also extended, her hands crossing her chest."
"Sounds like some kind of ceremonial behavior."
"That's what I thought, too. The knife was found one foot from the head of Peggy's grave. It was slightly warped. I think he put it down after he cut the rope and stepped on it accidentally, mashing it into the ground. That and the shallowness of Amy's grave make me believe that something made him hurry both times."
"Was the ground hard to dig?"
"Not with a sharp shovel, but how many people other than us sharpen their shovels?"
"He was fairly strong," Lindsay said, almost to herself. "He could have dug a deeper grave for Amy. He must have been in danger of being interrupted."
Derrick nodded in agreement.
"How do people get that way?"
Derrick put an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know. I suppose they are abused themselves. They certainly can't have had a normal childhood."
"How'd we get into this?" asked Lindsay, shaking her head.
Derrick pulled her to him and kissed her hair. "I got into it because you volunteered me."
"Oh, right, I forgot. I'm sorry."
"That's okay. I don't think the sheriff's department was up to a thorough search. He loaned me a couple of deputies. Meticulous digging is definitely not their forte."
They were both quiet for a moment, then Derrick said, "Let's go eat."
"Frank was supposed to come by and take me to a movie and dinner."
"All right. Catch you later then."
"Ask me again later," she said.
"I'll do it." He kissed her cheek and headed off to the river.
About ten minutes passed before Frank came. "Sorry I'm late. The flotation crew thought they had mislabeled some bags. Turned out all right, though."
Lindsay stood up and stretched. "Derrick was filling me in on the crime scene"
"I'm sorry I got you involved in this, Lindsay. I didn't think it would go so deep."
"That's okay. Where do you want to eat?"
"How about Mexican? There is a nice place about ten miles from here. We can eat and still have time to make it to the movie. I thought we'd see Blazing Saddles. Have you seen it?"
Lindsay shook her head. "No. That sounds fine to me.
They walked to his car, and she climbed in the passenger side, then buckled her seat belt.
"Tell me something," said Frank when they were on their way. "What is it about Derrick that makes him appealing to so many women'? This is not just for my information, you understand. A lot of us guys would like to know."
Lindsay smiled. "I assume you mean besides the fact that he is drop-dead gorgeous"
"Yeah, besides that."
"Derrick respects women. He understands them. He is not a whiner if he doesn't get what he wants. I'll bet you have never heard Derrick bragging about any conquests."
"No, he just smiles if anyone asks him anything."
"Nor will you find any posters of naked women in his tent"
"There are none in my quarters either. And I never whined."
"When we uncover a burial in which dirt action has forced open the jaws, he never makes that dumb joke about it being a woman because her mouth is open"
"I never make that dumb joke," Frank protested.
"You didn't ask me about you. You asked me about Derrick," Lindsay responded.
"Is that all'?"
"That's basically it. He is a gentleman, and he is sexy. That's a pretty powerful combination. Not all women like had boys. I think that is probably just an excuse some men use for being bad"
"How do you feel about him'?"
"Derrick is one of my best friends." Lindsay glanced over at Frank, trying to read his expression.
"Is that all'?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well, you and he are hanging around a lot together these days." Frank turned onto the highway and headed toward Cullins.
"We are working the crime scene." Lindsay felt uncomfortable talking about herself and how she felt, preferring to live in the present, at least with her social life. She changed the subject. "What about you and Marsha?"
"Marsha's really a very nice person."
"I know, but that wasn't what I asked.' Lindsay enjoyed turning the tables on his interrogations and smiled when Frank seemed uncomfortable, too.
"She has a great deal of enthusiasm about the site," Frank said and asked no more questions.
Comedy was Lindsay's favorite type of movie. When Frank brought her back to the site and walked her to her tent, she was in a good mood. No thoughts of the crimes in Merry Claymoore entered her head.
"I had a great time, Lindsay." He bent his head to give her a kiss.
"Hey, guys, enjoy the movie?" They turned toward Derrick, who looked as if he had just come from the shower-or a late night swim.
"Yes," said Frank. "We had a great time."
"Good," said Derrick, making no move to leave. "We'll all have to go next time. It'd be a nice break"
Lindsay grinned.
"Don't you have someplace to go?" Frank asked.
"Sure do" Derrick walked into his tent and turned on a lamp. "Don't let me disturb you guys," he said. "Go right on with what you were doing."
"We should have gone to my house," said Frank.
"I have to get up early," said Lindsay. She kissed Frank on the cheek and went into her tent.
"Goodnight everybody," said Frank.
"Goodnight," came several voices from their tents.
Lindsay was beginning to dread seeing the sheriff's car. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and the workday had just ended for them. She was sitting with Frank and Derrick drinking a cold beer when the too-familiar brown-and-tan vehicle with the big star on the doors pulled into the parking area.
"What now?" Frank groaned.
Lindsay said nothing. She just waited. The sheriff got out of his car and came walking up with a large envelope in hand.
"I think we might have the girl," he said, sitting down at the table with them. "I searched the missing person reports for the time frame you gave me and came up with a couple of possibilities. This one"-he tapped the envelope on the table-"is the same age and general description as the others. Her name is Marylou Ridley. She was seven when she disappeared, and she was blonde. I know you thought she was five, but her medical and school records show her to be small for her age." Lindsay reached for the envelope. "These are her x-rays," the sheriff continued. "I dug them out of old Doctor Pritchard's basement."
Lindsay opened the envelope, pulled out the x-rays, and studied them. "It's her. I'll make the measurements to verify it." She rose and started for the lab, but the sheriff stopped her.
"Her mother lives about 20 miles from here on the other side of the county. I'd like to go see her and take you with me. I may need you to describe the pattern of abuse in case she denies it."
"Is this necessary?" asked Frank. "Lindsay has been working a lot of overtime lately."
"No, it's not necessary, but I'd appreciate it."
"I don't mind. I'll go do a few comparisons, then change clothes."
Lindsay and the sheriff stood in the living room of the small white frame house waiting for Mrs. Greenwood nee Ridley to join them. The man she lived with said she was visiting a neighbor, and he would go get her.
Lindsay wore the one suit she had packed, an offwhite linen pant suit with an emerald green silk blouse. The man invited them to sit, but Lindsay decided not to because of her white suit. She looked around the room as she waited. The furniture was dirty and worn. Accumulations of dust under the chairs and in the corner wafted as the man opened the door and went outside. On an old end table amid a clutter of bric-a-brac sat a few photographs, one of little Marylou. Lindsay picked it up. It was a school picture. An unsmiling Marylou with puffy eyes and uncombed hair looked back at Lindsay. She set the picture down on the table as the door opened and a woman entered by herself.
"He said you wanted to see me."
Lindsay turned and stared at a thin, haggard woman in a faded house dress. Her mouse-brown hair was streaked with gray and hung in her face. Her frightened brown eyes darted from Lindsay to the sheriff as she absently wiped her hands on her apron.
"Yes, Mrs. Greenwood. I'm Sheriff Duggan, and this is Dr. Chamberlain. I know this is going to be a shock to you, and I'm real sorry to have to tell you, but maybe after all these years it will ease your mind. We found the bones of your daughter, Marylou. Dr. Chamberlain here identified them."
Mrs. Greenwood's eyes grew wide. She stepped back and put a hand over her heart. "Marylou?" she whispered. "It's been so long. I don't understand."
"We have finally found her remains. Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Greenwood?" asked the sheriff. He stepped over to her and took her elbow, then guided her to a chair.
She sat and twisted her bony fingers in her lap. "You found her?"
"Yes, and we need to ask you a few questions. Someone took Marylou twelve years ago," the sheriff said, "took her out in the woods and killed and buried her. We need to find who did it."
"That was a long time ago. I talked to the law then and told them all I knew."
"Mrs. Greenwood" Lindsay spoke for the first time. The woman looked startled a moment, then stared up at her. "Your daughter was abused"
"What do you mean? I was good to Marylou. She was a little clumsy." Mrs. Greenwood looked down at her hands.
"No, Mrs. Greenwood. Your daughter's injuries were not due to clumsiness. The break in her arm was from being twisted, not from falling out of a tree like it said in her medical records. Her fingers had been broken, and she wasn't taken to the doctor to have them set, so they healed misaligned. She had been shaken so severely it damaged the bones in her neck. She was also undernourished."
"That's not true."
"it is true, Mrs. Greenwood. There is no doubt. Her injuries could only have been from abuse, not from falling down."
"You don't understand." Mrs. Greenwood's mouth twisted as she tried to think of how to make them understand. "Marylou was a headstrong, whiny child. You don't know how it was for me"
"Mrs. Greenwood," said Lindsay, taking a step toward her. "There is no circumstance you could possibly have been in that would justify the treatment Marylou received. There is no behavior Marylou could have exhibited that would justify her being maltreated so severely that it showed deep in her bones."
"You don't know what my life has been like."
"It doesn't matter what your life has been like. You cannot use it as an excuse to abuse your daughter or allow her to be abused. There is no acceptable reason to abuse a child. Your daughter suffered horrendously during her short life. I doubt there was a time she was not in pain."
Mrs. Greenwood stared at Lindsay with liquid cow eyes. "She's got no right to talk to me that way"
"Mrs. Greenwood," broke in the sheriff. "Who were you living with at the time Marylou disappeared'?"
"No right a'tall. You don't come to a body's house with news their child is dead, then talk to them like that. It ain't right."
"Who were you living with when Marylou disappeared? Was it her father?"
"Him? He disappeared before she was born, and good riddance."
"Did you live by yourself, or did you live with someone? That fellow we just met. Did he live with you at the time?" the sheriff persisted.
"No. He come about a year ago. Twelve years is a long time." She looked down at her hands. "I've been grieving for 12 years. How can I remember?"
"You need to try," said the sheriff. "Who helped you look for her, for instance?"
"Oh, yeah, that'd be Bobby, Bobby Whitaker. But he's been gone a long time. He didn't like all the police hanging around back then. Say," she brightened, "you don't think he's the one who hurt my baby? He sure hurt me a lot."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No. His folks live down at Flint Rock."
"Thank you, Mrs. Greenwood. We'll be in touch"
"What about my baby. If you've found her, she needs a Christian burial."
"I'll be in touch as soon as possible, Mrs. Greenwood."
The sheriff and Lindsay left Mrs. Greenwood sitting alone in her small clapboard house, twisting her fingers in her lap.
They were quiet on the drive back. The sheriff concentrated on driving. Lindsay watched the trees going past and pressed the bridge of her nose trying to drive back a headache. Suddenly, she asked the sheriff to pull over. He found a wide space in the road and stopped. Lindsay jumped out of the car, ran to the woods, and threw up. She stood with a hand on a tree, taking deep breaths. The sheriff handed her his handkerchief. It was wet and cold.
"I always carry a cooler in the trunk," he said.
Lindsay put it on the back of her neck for a few seconds, then wiped her face.
"Thank you."
The sheriff opened a cold drink and handed it to her. She took several sips. "I can't believe I talked to that poor woman like that. I was appalling. It's a good thing I didn't have a rubber hose."
"We did a pretty good job with the good cop/bad cop routine," said the sheriff, smiling.
"We should have asked a neighbor to stay with her," Lindsay said.
"She'll be all right. She's the kind of woman who's good at suffering."
"I should have been kinder."
"She probably abused her daughter. It's hard to be nice to someone who hurts her kid. The woman I go out with is a teacher. Teaches kids the same age as Marylou. Dee may have taught Marylou. She sees them come to school with black eyes, bruises, sore arms. Some are thin and hungry, wearing only a sweater in the middle of winter. They always say they ran into a door, or fell down the steps, or forgot their coat. Dee finds them winter coats, enrolls them in the free lunch program, and reports them to the welfare folks. But nothing much ever happens. She gets real frustrated. One of the fathers went so far as to threaten Dee one time, and I had to have a talk with him. He didn't bother Dee anymore, but he still beats his kids. It's hard to work up a lot of sympathy for folks like Mrs. Greenwood."
"She was probably one of those thin little kids with bruises, black eyes, and no winter coat herself," said Lindsay. "I should have behaved more professionally. I owe her an apology." She walked back to the car. They rode in silence.
"I heard you and Derrick are professional dancers," said the sheriff after a while.
"No, we're strictly amateurs. We enter contests now and then. We haven't lately, though. Marsha said there is a place about 40 miles from Merry Claymoore. We're all going dancing there."
"Yeah, that's what she told me. That ought to be a nice break from all this."
"You ought to come and bring your friend."
"I might do that"
/ knew a woman, lore/' in her hones...
-Theodore Roethke
I Roue a Woman
Chapter 5
THE FIRST THING Lindsay had packed when Frank told her he had hired Derrick was a dancing dress and shoes. It had been almost a year since Derrick and she had danced together, and she hoped for an opportunity to start again.
; The dress was not flashy like some of the dresses she used for dancing. It was basic black with a full skirt, tight bodice, and spaghetti straps. The shoes were plain black heels. The shawl she draped over her shoulders had come from Paris. She had purchased it when Derrick and she had competed in a contest there. It was trimmed in black fringe and covered with great red, blue, green. and yellow flowers woven from a shimmering metallic material onto a black background. Lindsay tied her hair into a smooth bun at the nape of her neck. She was putting on dangling silver earrings when she heard Derrick's voice.
"You look stunning."
Lindsay looked up to see him standing in the doorway of her tent.
"You're no slouch yourself." He was dressed in black slacks and a white poet's shirt. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, making him look like a seventeenth-century highwayman.
"Frank and Marsha went in her car. I hope you don't mind."
"No" She was not sure if she did or not, but when she looked at Derrick again, she felt very glad to be going out with him.
It was still daylight outside, but the sun was low on the horizon. Derrick took her in his arms and spun her around into a dip. When he brought her back up, he kissed her, lingering for a little longer than a friendly kiss. He released her after a moment, and they walked to his car.
"I'm glad we're doing this," he said as he drove out to the highway.
"Me, too. Tell me something, Derrick. We've known each other for a long time. We were in school together, we've been dancing partners off and on for, what, six or seven years? Until now, you have never seriously tried to seduce me. Why?"
"That's a good question. Why don't you think about it?"
"You're infuriating sometimes ... and tempting. I'll admit that ..."
"Why don't you give in then?"
"I suppose because you're my friend."
Derrick took her hand and kissed it. "We'd still be friends."
Lindsay laughed. "Is this the way it's going to be all evening? You keeping up the sexual tension?"
"You started this conversation."
"I guess I did, didn't 1?"
A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery Page 8
