Bones in the Begonias

by Dale Mayer

  “I’m not telling you nothing. You’ll just go off on another wild goose chase and bring the media back down on top of us. Like I need that.”

  The voice faded away, as if he walked toward his house.

  “Well, can you tell me how long ago she was murdered?” Doreen called out.

  “At least thirty years. One of the most famous cold cases around here.”

  “Where did she live?”

  “Not too far from here, in the poorer section of the Mission. We were all interviewed by the cops because of that. Damn nuisance, the whole thing was.”

  “Nobody ever found out who killed her?”

  “I didn’t say that, did I? You want to know something, then you figure it out.” And the voice fell silent.

  But Doreen grinned. Solving a cold case was way better than working on her fence and digging into her overgrown garden. Something about a murder mystery caught her attention and held it. She couldn’t wait to get inside and find out more.

  Chapter 5

  Carrying her find, Doreen nudged Mugs and Goliath and Thaddeus back inside. She couldn’t wait to get to her computer and search for Betty Miles. Doreen was all about the fun of figuring out this mystery.

  Inside she carefully placed the fancy box on the kitchen table. It was both clean and dirty. She laughed. “How can something be both, Doreen?”

  But it was. The creek had kept it mostly clean. But, over time, the creases of the carvings had filled with sediment that filled the river. She wasn’t sure if that was dirt all through it or something else. She grabbed her cell phone and took several photos of the box. She was learning. Once Mack knew about this, he’d be over here in a heartbeat, and she’d never see the box again.

  Moving around it until she had photographs of all sides, she transferred all the images to her laptop. With that done, she got up and put on the electric teakettle. Only to remember she’d left her tea cup outside. She dashed outside to retrieve it as the water boiled.

  As she walked back inside Mugs raced in at her heels thinking the run was good fun. The kettle wasn’t ready yet though. While she waited, she looked online for the cold case that her neighbor had talked about. She frowned, thinking about her neighbor’s voice. And the trouble was, that voice coming from behind the fence was androgynous. Doreen couldn’t tell who she’d been talking to earlier today. It had been querulous and cranky, as if nothing was ever good enough for … it. And she hated to use that term when it referred to a person, but she really didn’t have a clue if the neighbor speaking to her today had been male or female. And that was a mystery in itself.

  She grinned. Another one. Perfect.

  When she ran her query through the search engine, all kinds of links came up. She read each one to find out that a Betty Miles had disappeared close to thirty years ago, like her neighbor had said. She’d been a troubled teen, running away from home several times. When she had disappeared the last time, everybody had thought she’d just run away again.

  But, when she never came back, Betty’s mother got worried. She filed a missing person’s report, but apparently nobody had ever heard from or had ever seen Betty Miles again.

  There was no evidence to indicate foul play, so the police hadn’t been too bothered about it until, about one year later, an arm with a hand attached had shown up in a creek, also close to this part of the Mission area. Doreen leaned closer to the screen, studying the article in front of her. “Just an arm? That’s bizarre.”

  She quickly read through the article, looking for more information, but it was typical journalism that took one salient fact and blew it into complete online articles that really had nothing new to add. And most of these articles were scanned in, rehashed years later.

  Only the single arm and hand were ever found. They’d been xrayed after the ring was identified as having been given to her by her best friend. As it happened Betty Miles’s middle finger on that hand had been broken and healed crooked.

  “Does that count as a body?” Doreen mused aloud.

  With no further evidence, the case ran cold. At the time there was a lot of sensationalism surrounding a series of murders in California where the victims had all been dismembered as well. Various parts had been tossed into garbage bags and then thrown all up and down the highways.

  Doreen sat back and considered that. “Why grab a victim here in Canada only to spread the remains in California? Plus the local police didn’t find Betty’s arm in a garbage bag but tossed, or buried, in a nearby creek. So somebody cut up Betty and threw her body parts wherever he thought they wouldn’t be found. And obviously one of his choices hadn’t been well chosen.”

  As the teakettle whistled, she realized she had automatically assumed the killer was male.

  She almost tripped over Mugs, who stared at her balefully. She glanced at him and said, “Sorry, Mugs. I know it’s not your fault you’re male. But really, most murders are committed by men.”

  She continued to talk to the dog as she dropped a teabag into her cup and filled it with hot water. If Doreen hadn’t busted the teapot earlier this week, she would be making a complete pot of tea. She had to chuckle. Right now she was working her way through breaking Nan’s chipped mugs. Why Nan had decided to keep a cupboard full of the darn things, Doreen didn’t know. But having broken three already, she would have to find her own source of chipped mugs in a few weeks. Or maybe she could afford to buy a new one without a chip for a change.

  With a fresh cup of tea, now with milk in it, she sat down at the table to continue her reading. “Fascinating stuff.” And some of it she needed to keep track of.

  She got up, found a notepad and a pen, and sat back down at the table. She titled the notepad with the teenager’s name and then wrote down Found arm and hand, detached after death—xrays confirmed identity. And then Doreen added the fancy box found in the creek, just for her own notes.

  She winced. Mack would have a heyday when he found out she had removed the ivory box from the creek, and she hadn’t taken any photographs of where it lay in the creek itself. She sighed. “I really suck at this job.” At the word job, she winced again. She glanced at Mugs, still staring at her. “Hey, I’ve got enough money to buy your dog food with Nan’s pocket change, so it’s all good. I’ll find work at some point. Don’t you worry.”

  Mugs gave her a soulful look, interested in something a little more than her words to reassure him.

  She got up, walked to the cupboard missing its door, and peered in his food bowl. It was empty. With Mugs at her heels, his tail wagging, snuffling the ground around his bowl, she filled it up again. She spent a moment cuddling the big guy. Mugs was good for a lot of things, and giving comfort was one of them. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. He’d been her mainstay, her calm center when her world had flipped so badly through her separation and now the pending divorce.

  As she straightened up, her back screamed at her from the heavy garden work she had done earlier. She winced, grabbing the counter, finding Goliath there, staring down at her. She shook her head. “Oh, no you don’t. You got food already today.”

  Meow.

  “No, no, no. Mugs’s bowl was empty. You ate his food, didn’t you?” She turned and walked toward the table only to have Goliath run along the countertop, jump down, and wrap himself around her legs, almost tripping her. She groaned, reached down, scooped him up, and cried out, “You’re heavy. You’ve gained weight since I’ve gotten here.”

  His big guttural engine kicked in, and he rubbed his head against her chin.

  She chuckled. “I’m not that much of a sucker.”

  But he rubbed his head against her chin again and again. Then she heard his tummy growl. Horrified, she walked over to his bowls to find his dry food was gone too. She shook her head. “What is wrong with me? Normally I would never have forgotten to feed you guys.” She frowned and looked from one bowl to the next. “Did you two just eat out of each other’s bowls or something?”

  It didn’t m
atter because, according to Goliath, he was going to starve if she didn’t feed him right now. She put him down, scooped up some dry kibble, and poured it into his bowl. Immediately he dropped his head in and feasted.

  She stepped back. “Doreen, you’ve got to be losing it. You’ve never missed a day feeding these animals yet.”

  More than a little troubled, she returned to her seat at the table. Thaddeus wandered from one bowl to the other bowl. But he couldn’t get his head into either. Both the dog and the cat were busy plowing through the food she’d given them.

  She watched Thaddeus for a moment. “Thaddeus, did I feed you?”

  Immediately his head turned, and he stared at her with a beady gaze. “Thaddeus. Thaddeus.”

  “I know you’re Thaddeus. That doesn’t tell me if you’re hungry or not.”

  “Thaddeus hungry. Thaddeus hungry. Thaddeus hungry.”

  She groaned. “Of course you are. More to the point, you’re only saying that you are so you don’t lose out. I highly doubt any of you are starving.”

  She got up and walked over to the big hall closet where she kept the bird food. Thaddeus watched her, striding along behind her, his tail dragging on the floor. She didn’t understand why he did that. She would look it up later, but it seemed that she never got on top of all of her questions to research when it came to the animals. She always got sidetracked by something else. It was a little disconcerting. She pulled out a handful of bird seed and returned to the kitchen table. She plunked down his food on top, watching as he dug in. “There. All animals fed. Do any of you care about me? I don’t think I’ve eaten in hours.”

  On cue her stomach growled.

  “Life never used to be this difficult.”

  She was torn between getting food for herself and doing more research. Finally she gave up, walked the few steps to the fridge, and opened it. But, if she didn’t want sandwiches, it would be eggs for her. And that wasn’t something she cooked very well yet. That was why the eggs were still there—like a taunting specter in front of her. She slammed the fridge door shut again. So it would be cheese and crackers again, which she gathered together on a plate. She found some cucumber and cut that up on the side. She stared at the simple meal and sighed.

  “Remember when we had steak and lobster with red wine?”

  None of the animals gave a darn about answering her. Such was her life now too.

  Resuming her research again, her phone rang. She glanced down at the small screen. It was Mack. He seemed to have a sixth sense when she was looking into stuff she shouldn’t be. Shaking off the misplaced guilt, she answered his call with an overly cheerful voice. “Hey, Mack. What’s up?”

  “What are you up to?”

  She could hear the worry in his voice. Silence. “Nothing,” she hurriedly reassured him. How could he know?

  “Now I know you’re up to something,” he declared. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Chapter 6

  She groaned and slammed down her phone. How could he possibly know? He didn’t have to rush over, but he would because he was suspicious and wary of her. However, it was a good excuse to have Mack make some coffee while he was here. He was the best at making coffee she’d ever met. She could make a decent cup, but still, he had a special touch. It was frustrating because it was the same damn coffeemaker and the same damn coffee that she used. But when he did it, … magic happened.

  Like everything else that happened in the kitchen, other people seemed to have a special touch. Or maybe she was missing it. Either way her self-confidence was nonexistent when it came to food preparation of any kind. She continued to surf on the internet and sipped her tea until Mack arrived.

  As soon as she heard him pull into the driveway, she slammed down the lid of her laptop. She got up and walked to the front door, opened it, and studied the crowd outside. A few vehicles and only one TV station van were here now. Maybe the crowd had finally gotten bored and had left to find other more amusing pursuits.

  Mack waved at her as he closed the door to his vehicle. He walked up her driveway, his stride determined and forceful. She liked that about him. He never hesitated. He always seemed to know what he was doing and why. Whereas, for her, life was just one big question mark.

  He stepped onto the front porch. “Looks like the crowds are finally dispersing.”

  “Good,” she snapped. “They can go bug someone else for a while.”

  He just grinned, motioned her inside, then stepped in behind her, shutting the door. “Did you put on coffee?”

  “No, I didn’t. You can put it on yourself.”

  He laughed, not fooled in the least. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

  She flushed and looked at him with a sideways glance. “That’s not fair. I make coffee every morning.”

  “Yeah, chances are, you aren’t putting in enough grounds,” he said.

  She stood beside him and watched as he measured the water, poured it into the back of the maker, and then brought out her small grinder to grind the beans and afterward to put them into the coffee filter.

  She shrugged. “I do exactly the same thing.”

  “Maybe. And maybe I’m just gifted.”

  Because it was too close to her earlier thought, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing. “Any results from the lab on that bone we found in your mother’s garden?”

  Mack snorted. “It’s too soon for any results, Doreen.”

  She walked over to the table and sat back down again, opening the lid on her laptop. But then she realized he would ask questions about what she was looking up. So she pushed the lid closed again. He slowly turned, glanced at her, at the laptop, back at her guilty face, and gave her a long serious look. “What are you up to?”

  She gave him an innocent look that didn’t fool him in the least. She shrugged and sat back, picking up her cup to drink the remains of her tea. “Why do I have to be up to anything?”

  “You look guilty as hell,” he snapped.

  She pinched her lips closed and glared at him. It didn’t matter how good-looking he was, he was still irritating.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against the counter, looking like a GQ model worthy of the front cover, even without trying.

  She didn’t know how he did that. Her former husband had to work at it. He had these fancy lotions and creams and hair sprays and conditioners to style his hair—more than Doreen used even back then—and his suits were always dry cleaned. Mack probably ran his fingers through his hair once he was awake and called it good enough. He wore jeans, shirt, and a blazer, and he looked just fine—rugged and handsome and fit. It was a natural look, and he wore it well.

  But he waited and waited, his gaze going to the animals, now collecting around him. “They didn’t come and say hi or bark when I came in.”

  “They were eating.” She said it as if that was enough of an explanation.

  He shot her a look. “So?” He bent down and scratched Mugs on the back of the head. “This guy is a hell of a watchdog. Why wasn’t he barking?”

  “Because he recognized your vehicle, your footsteps, and your voice,” she said grudgingly. “They all do now.”

  He nodded, as if that made sense. “I sure hope they continue to be guard dogs—or guard animals, I should say—when I’m not around.” The coffee finished brewing, and he poured two cups, bringing them to the table.

  “He has been barking and causing chaos with all the reporters outside. I just hope they leave me alone soon.” She lifted her cup and blew on her coffee, but it was too hot to drink.

  “Looks like you’re getting there,” he said with a smirk. “Only one news vehicle now.”

  She nodded.

  As he straightened in his chair, he caught sight of the tea towel she had quickly tossed over the small box. He frowned and, without asking, lifted the towel.

  “Hey,” she said. “Mind your own business.”

  He shot her a look. “With you, wh
atever you do ends up being my business.” He nodded down at the box. “Whose is that?”

  She didn’t answer. She just stared at him, her eyes wide.

  “Interesting,” he said. “The minute you react like that, I know something major is going on.” He picked it up and studied it. “It’s pretty.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Whose is it?” he repeated.

  She shrugged, testing her coffee. Perfect. “I found it, so it’s mine.”

  And then he flipped it and saw the name underneath. His eyebrows shot up, and his jaw dropped. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, he turned and stared at her. His shoulders sagged. He sat at the table and took a swallow of his coffee as he continued to eye her.

  “What?” She flushed but didn’t say anything more.

  “Doreen, talk to me,” he ordered on a low growl.

  Something about a man with authority in his voice made her give up all her secrets. “I found it in the creek.”

  “Where?”

  “Just past my place,” she explained. “Actually the animals found it. I went over to take a look at what they were all staring at, and I found it in the water.”

  “The animals found it?” He turned to look at Mugs, Goliath, and Thaddeus. “Which ones?”

  “I think Thaddeus first saw it from his perch on the neighbor’s fence. Then Mugs finally woke up and barked at it until Goliath joined in. That’s when I got really curious, saw something white, and dug around in the creek.”

  He studied her for a long moment and then gave a hearty sigh. “You better show me.”

  “Why? It’s just a nice little box.” But she hurried to drink more of her coffee before leaving the house.

  “And, if I open your laptop, I won’t find the name Betty Miles in your search bar or research up on the screen related to her, will I?”

  She flushed, dropping her gaze to the notepad in front of her.