Disturbing the Dead

by Sandra Parshall

  Simon grabbed Tom’s hand and wailed, “But you promised!”

  “Yeah, I know.” Tom stooped so they were face to face. “But I have to do something important at work. Hey, don’t you see enough of me? You ought to be sick and tired of me hanging around so much.”

  “No!” Simon locked his arms around Tom’s neck and clung to him. “I wish you and Billy Bob could come live with us.”

  Tom caught Darla’s sour look. Yeah, she’d love that.

  “Listen, champ,” Tom said, gently pushing the boy away, “after I get this problem at work taken care of, you can bring your sled out to my farm and ride the biggest hill on the place. Okay?”

  Simon nodded, but he was trying hard to hang onto his sulk.

  “Billy Bob can stay and visit for a while.” Tom glanced up at Darla. “If that’s okay. I’ll pick him up before you go to bed.”

  “Yeah!” Simon cried. He spun around and hugged Billy Bob. The dog snorted.

  “Sure,” Darla said with a shrug. “He’s no trouble. Let him stay the night.”

  “Naw, he likes to be at home.” The truth was, Tom hated being alone in the farmhouse where he’d grown up. The bulldog he’d inherited from his father brought a little life and noise to the place. “Don’t run him ragged, okay?” he told his nephew. “Now give me another hug before I go.”

  Simon threw himself into Tom’s arms again with the ferocity he gave to every action. His father, Tom’s older brother Chris, had been that way. All out, nothing held back, wringing the last drop of sensation from every experience. Reckless, in Darla’s view. Tom smoothed down Simon’s hair, letting his hand rest for a second on the back of the boy’s head where he could feel the bony bump at the base of the skull.

  As Tom got to his feet, Darla said, “Grady called and told me about y’all finding that Melungeon woman.”

  In her mouth Melungeon sounded like a dirty word. Tom wished to God she’d try harder to hide her prejudice in front of Simon. If she had her way, the boy would never know he had Melungeon blood, but that wasn’t possible in Mason County, so she would raise him to be ashamed of that part of his history.

  “Right. I need to go over the case file tonight.”

  “You know,” Darla said, nodding with satisfaction, “sometimes people really do end up exactly the way they deserve to.”

  He headed for the door without bothering to answer. In addition to being Melungeon, Pauline McClure had no doubt fallen short of Darla’s strict standards of conduct and accountability. Just as Tom had. He could never be around her without feeling the urge to apologize.

  I’m sorry I was driving that night.

  I’m sorry your daughter died.

  I’m sorry I lived.

  Chapter Six

  Tom sped past rolling hills dusted with snow and fields where horses stood hoof-deep in mud. He crossed into a neighboring county to get on the interstate to Northern Virginia.

  In the Explorer’s passenger seat, Brandon was uncharacteristically quiet, drumming his fingers on his knees and staring out the window. Tom used the silence to work out his approach to Mary Lee McClure Scott. Against Tom’s strong objection, the sheriff had revealed every detail of the previous day’s discoveries to the Mason County lawyer who still represented Mary Lee, and the attorney had passed the information to his client. Tom was left with no surprises to provoke a reaction from her, and she’d had plenty of time to compose herself for this morning’s interview. He’d have to rely on close observation and hope that if she was hiding something he would sense it.

  Eventually Brandon said, “What do you think the chances are Dr. Goddard’ll give Holly a job?”

  So the girl was still on Brandon’s mind. He’d chattered nonstop about her yesterday during the drive back from Mrs. Turner’s house. “Listen, Bran, I can’t tell you what to do, but—for God’s sake, Debbie’s planning your wedding.”

  Glancing at Brandon, Tom saw the young deputy’s cheeks redden. Brandon turned back to the window and let the advice go unanswered. Tom’s misgivings about putting Rachel in touch with Holly hardened into conviction. Bringing the girl to town was a bad idea, for a lot of reasons.

  Gradually the countryside gave way to the urbanized landscape of Fairfax County, across the Potomac from Maryland and Washington, D.C. Office buildings rose higher, acres of townhouse developments appeared, traffic clotted and slowed. But when they left the busy roads and drove through Mary Lee’s McLean neighborhood, Tom felt as if he were back on the rural lanes of Mason County. The illusion vanished with his first glimpse of the enormous houses among the trees. Mason County had a few wealthy residents. It didn’t have entire neighborhoods filled with mansions.

  Rachel had grown up in McLean, maybe in one of these houses. For the first time, Tom wondered if the differences between them might be too great to overcome.

  The Scott property was identified only by brass numbers affixed to the roadside mailbox. Tom followed the long driveway around a curve before the house came into view. Constructed of soft pink brick, designed like an overgrown French manor house complete with a tower, it sprawled in every direction. Enough space, Tom thought, to shelter twenty families.

  Brandon whistled.

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “Nice place.”

  “Not the house. That.” Brandon hooked a thumb toward a sleek red Jaguar in the parking circle.

  Tom was more attracted to the shiny green SUV next to the sports car. By comparison, the old Explorer looked pitiful.

  As they climbed out, the front door of the house opened and a woman dressed in slacks and a sweater emerged with two small children who were bundled up against the cold. With her delicate figure, her long black hair and olive complexion, the woman had the unmistakable look of a Turner.

  She halted on the steps when she caught sight of the deputies, and in a move that looked instinctive, pulled the children to her as if protecting them from a threat.

  “Good morning,” Tom called. When he reached the bottom of the steps and saw her up close, he realized Mary Lee wasn’t as beautiful as her mother had been. Still, he doubted many men could pass her without sneaking a second glance. “I’m Tom Bridger. We talked on the phone. This is Deputy Connelly.”

  Tom smiled at the children, and they rewarded his attention with gap-toothed grins. The boy and girl looked the same age, around four. Twins, probably. The Turner traits showed through strongly in yet another generation—black hair, blue eyes, and attractive, fine-boned faces that bore an unmistakable resemblance to Mary Lee.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, her voice toneless. “Mark and Lisa are just leaving for a friend’s birthday party.”

  “Pizza for lunch!” the boy announced. When Tom laughed, both children giggled.

  The door opened again and a Hispanic woman rushed out, tugging on a coat over jeans and a sweater. Mary Lee pulled a ring of keys from a pocket and dropped them into the other woman’s hand. “Make sure they’re both buckled in properly. And don’t let them eat too much cake.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I take best care.” The woman steered the kids toward the SUV.

  “Please come in,” Mary Lee said to Tom and Brandon.

  They trailed her across an expansive foyer, their boots slapping the black and gold marble floor, and entered the biggest living room Tom had ever seen. A grand piano at one end, French doors leading to a patio at the other end, three formal seating areas in between—how did a family with young kids do any ordinary living in this showplace?

  Mary Lee led them to two yellow sofas that faced each other in front of a carved marble fireplace. Tom and Brandon waited for an invitation to sit, but none came. Turning her wedding ring around and around on her finger, Mary Lee stared into space as if she were not quite present, not fully aware of the two men in the room.

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked.

  She started and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not functioning very well today.
Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll bring in some coffee.”

  “Thank you, but—”

  “I’ll only be a minute,” she said on her way out.

  Tom figured this would be his only chance to snoop, so he’d better take advantage of it while it lasted. He headed across the oriental carpet toward a table covered with photos in silver frames. No pictures of Mary Lee’s parents. Her children appeared in candid snapshots, but the largest photo was a formal portrait of Mary Lee, her son and daughter, and a man Tom assumed was her husband. From his weathered face and gray-streaked dark hair, Tom estimated he was at least twenty years Mary Lee’s senior.

  Brandon came up beside Tom. “She married an older guy, like her mom did.”

  Tom heard Mary Lee’s footsteps in the foyer. “Shh.”

  A second later she appeared, carrying a silver tray. Her gaze flicked from the deputies to the photos they’d been examining, but she said nothing.

  Tom and Brandon sat on one sofa while Mary Lee sat across from them. She insisted they remove their wool uniform jackets, offered to light a fire, dispensed coffee according to their preferences, but she never allowed her eyes to meet theirs.

  Tom sipped and swallowed before he asked, “Is your husband at home?”

  “No. He’s out of town on business. I’d rather wait till he gets back to make arrangements.” Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. Her blue irises were ringed with dark gray.

  “You have plenty of time. I’m afraid your mother’s remains won’t be released for a while yet.”

  “How are you going to investigate something that happened so long ago?” Mary Lee twisted her wedding ring and frowned at some point beyond Tom’s head. “Doesn’t it get more difficult as time goes by?”

  “Difficult, but not impossible.” Tom placed his cup on the tray and pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “You’ve had a long time to think about what might have happened to your mother—”

  “I don’t think about it.” Instantly she seemed to regret her harsh tone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew a shuddering breath. Tom waited. When she spoke again her voice was quiet. “I try not to think about it. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, but I’ve made a new life, I have a husband and children. I can’t dwell on the past.”

  “You want us to catch your mother’s killer, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” She struggled to keep her composure, but tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. With a trembling hand, she batted them away. “Oh, God. This is going to blow up out of control. When the papers and TV find out that my mother’s skeleton— They’ll jump right on it, because of who my husband is. They’ll pry and probe—” Her voice fell to a whisper. “He’s going to hate it.”

  Jesus Christ, was all this emotion generated by a fear of embarrassing her husband? Tom glanced at Brandon, who didn’t try to hide his disgust. “The press can be pretty unpleasant sometimes,” Tom said, hoping he was doing a better job of concealing his own reaction. “But we have to reopen the case, not only for your mother, but also for the other victim.”

  Mary Lee’s gaze met his, darted away. “How do you know there’s even a connection between my mother and the other…person?”

  “We don’t know for sure. But when we find two skeletons close together in a spot that’s inaccessible except by foot, common sense tells us to look for a connection. Was anybody visiting your mother around that time?”

  “I don’t think so. I can’t imagine who it could be.”

  “Where were you at the time your mother disappeared?” Late the night before, Tom had read summations of his father’s talks with Mary Lee, but he wanted to hear the answer in her own words.

  “I’d already left for college in California.”

  “Did you spend the summer at home?”

  “No. I was with a tour in Europe. I went home for a few days before I left again.”

  “You didn’t spend much time with your mother, did you?”

  “It didn’t matter. We were close. We talked on the phone all the time.” Tears sprang up in her eyes again. “I loved her very much.”

  “How did you feel about being sent to boarding school in Connecticut after your father died? You were, what, twelve?”

  Tom expected at least a spark of anger, but she seemed to take his inference in stride. “I didn’t have any simmering resentment toward my mother. She sent me away to protect me.”

  “From what?”

  “From—” She caught herself, seemed to pull back from a perilous subject. After a second she went on, “Life at home wasn’t exactly peaceful after my father died.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m sure you know my father’s will was challenged.” Her voice betrayed a slight edge of impatience.

  Tom wrote Fight over will on his notepad. “After your mother disappeared, the McClures tried to keep you from inheriting, right?”

  “No one inherited anything for seven years, until she was declared dead. I had a trust fund left by my father, so I would have been very well-off even if I hadn’t inherited from my mother.”

  If she was trying to convince him she had no motive to kill her mother, Tom wasn’t impressed. Plenty of people who had money would kill to get more.

  “Do you think any of the McClures hated your mother enough to want her dead?”

  A slight tremor ran through her body. “Please don’t ask me to accuse someone of murder.”

  “But would you say the McClures hated your mother?”

  “Not all of them. Robert was the one who tried to break my father’s will. Ed—my father’s youngest brother—was very good to my mother. He…” She seemed to search for the right words. “…befriended her.”

  “Oh? Was your mother friendly with Ed McClure’s wife, too?”

  Mary Lee’s gaze jumped to his for a second, then fastened on the silver coffee pot between them. She moistened her lips before answering. “All I know is that my mother and Ed McClure were friends. They had things in common.”

  “Such as?”

  “A love of nature. A way of looking at the world. I can’t tell you anything more.”

  Tom scribbled P affair w/ Ed Mc? in his notebook, then moved on. “What kind of work did Troy Shackleford and Rudy O’Dell do for your mother?”

  “Mr. O’Dell did yard work and little chores. Mr. Shackleford did electrical work and plumbing. They weren’t full-time employees.”

  “Did she ever quarrel with either of them?”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your father. I can’t imagine any reason why they’d harm her.”

  Tom wrote in his notebook: Background P/Sh/O’D—how personal? He moved on to another subject. “Will you be coming to Mason County anytime soon?”

  “Why would I?”

  The cool question stopped him for a second. “To see your grandmother. Your other relatives. They’ve all suffered a loss.”

  “I doubt I could be any comfort to them.”

  “Do you keep in touch?”

  She shrugged. “I send Christmas cards. If they ever need anything, all they have to do is let me know.”

  Sometime recently, he’d bet, Mrs. Turner had let Mary Lee know she needed the big new refrigerator and range that looked so out of place in her tiny kitchen. “Why would your grandmother tell me she never sees you or hears from you?”

  Mary Lee showed no surprise at the question. “It’s true she doesn’t see me. I haven’t been back to Mason County since my mother disappeared.”

  “She told me she didn’t even know where you were living.”

  A faint humorless smile touched her lips, disappeared. “My grandmother believes the less she shares with outsiders, the better. She takes being Melungeon very seriously, and she thinks it makes us vulnerable. But of course it means nothing in today’s world.”

  “Maybe not in the world outside the mountains. Believe me, it still mea
ns something in Mason County.”

  This brought a sharp look from her, full of defiant anger and outraged superiority. “Thank you for correcting me,” she said, her voice as cold as the winter day.

  Tom didn’t believe for a minute that Mary Lee was blissfully ignorant of the bias against Melungeons that still existed in Mason County. But, being rich and half McClure and well out of it, she could afford to look down on her poor relations. He couldn’t stop himself from goading her. “Aren’t you interested in your heritage?”

  Her expression was a cross between amusement and a sneer. “What heritage? Melungeons don’t have a language or folklore. Nobody even knows where the original Melungeons came from. All those people who make a big production of being Melungeon, starting web sites and holding meetings—they’re very sad, in my opinion. They should be happy to blend in, instead of trying to set themselves apart.”

  “Is it a bad thing for people—especially young people, like your cousin Holly—to be proud of their history instead of ashamed of it?”

  Her blue eyes sparked with fury. “I know you have Melungeon blood. I shouldn’t have to remind you that Melungeons used to be classified as colored. They couldn’t vote, they couldn’t testify in court, they couldn’t go to school with white children, they couldn’t marry whites and pollute the Caucasian bloodlines. What part of that do you take pride in?”

  Now she was making Tom mad, but he tried to keep his tone mild. “For somebody who’s not interested, you know a lot about Melungeon history.”

  “I’ve made my opinion clear. I don’t want to discuss it anymore.” To Tom’s surprise, her expression shifted, became uncertain, almost wary. “You mentioned Holly. Have you been talking to her?”

  “I met her last night, but I didn’t have much chance to talk to her. I’ll get to that sometime soon.”

  “Why? She was only a child when my mother disappeared. I wish you wouldn’t bother her.”

  Mary Lee sounded a little too insistent, and Tom’s antennae popped up. This was the second member of the family who didn’t want him asking Holly questions. “I’ll do whatever I have to,” he said. “This is a murder investigation.”