The only thing missing were the candles and voodoo doll.
Creepy. Chilling. Damn straight.
Haunting.
Aaron and Kyle had left them alone and ventured further into the cave, while Owen stayed in the room. Why? Because he couldn’t wait to hear Sadie’s assessment of the bones. But more than that, there was no way in hell he was leaving her alone after a young man had been gunned down outside. The young man who reported finding the very bones she was excavating. It didn’t sit well with him, or Lieutenant Colson.
At least forty-five minutes had passed, when finally—
“The fracture above the orbital bone happened post mortem and is not the cause of death.”
“What?” He stepped closer to her as Griffin and Kimi looked up from the bones they were analyzing. “So you’re saying this guy wasn’t murdered?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m simply saying that this bone fracture did not cause the death, or contribute to it as the sheriff had suggested earlier.”
“How can you tell?” Owen asked.
She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. “There are three categories of trauma in skeletal remains. Anti, peri, and post-mortem. Anti—before death, peri—close to, and post—after.” She hesitated, as if trying to figure out how to dumb down the definition for him. “One of the main ways to determine which is which is to look at the amount of healing around the bone. If there are signs of healing in the bone, the trauma happened before death. I’ll have to confirm this with my microscope of course, but,” she pointed with a thin, silver tool. “Can you see here how this fracture looks jagged, or crumbly-like?” She looked over her shoulder, as he squatted down and leaned closer. “That indicates that this particular injury was done post-mortem because bones tends to be more dry and brittle after death, especially as time goes on.”
“So maybe the skull was hit with something after death?”
She shrugged. “Lots of possibilities when a skeleton is months old and has been exposed to the elements.”
“Could the head have been hit just after the time of death? Possibly already dead, but was continued to be beaten?”
“Why are you so sure this person was killed?” Kimi narrowed her eyes from the corner.
Owen kept his gaze on the skeleton, not wanting to reveal the real reason he assumed this was a homicide… or his connection to it.
“The way the bones are arranged for one. Someone obviously did this.”
“Could just be some kids having fun.” Griffin shrugged. “Or… Atohi got a little busy with his hatchet again.”
Sadie shot him a glance. “It’s not our job to determine that.” She looked at Owen. “Our job is to provide you with the facts. So, as I was saying, the fracture to the skull appears to be post-mortem because of the way the bone separated… compared to…” she shimmied down the Anarchy symbol and pointed to a long, thin bone. “This fracture on the rib bone.”
Owen’s heart skipped a beat.
“See how this fracture is smooth? And there’s another on there.”
Griffin and Kimi shuffled over. The cave was dead silent except for the drip, drip, drip echoing off the walls.
“These marks happened right around the time of death.”
“A knife?”
“Possibly.”
“What else can you tell just by looking?”
“I’ll have to conduct a thorough analysis once we get them excavated before giving you anything else,” she deflected.
“What about TOD?” He pushed.
“Not right now.”
“What about the sex? Can you tell us that?”
She shifted her weight, considering what she should tell him, then crab walked to the skull. “I’ll have to take measurements and analyze the pelvis, but men tend to have a squarer jaw line and thicker brow ridges than women, which is what I see here. My initial guess is a man.”
A man. A spike of adrenaline shot through his body.
Sadie looked over her shoulder. “Okay, Griff, can you record the weather stats, and let’s get pictures taken before we begin packing up.” She turned to Owen. “I’m assuming you’ve done your own pictures and searched the area for any evidence?”
He nodded and took a step back, his mind reeling as he watched Dr. Sadie Hart begin to pack up pieces of something he knew was about to change his life.
*
Dusk settled on the mountain peaks, bright colors of orange and red fading into an indigo night sky where the stars were just beginning to twinkle. The woods, one big shadow in the dim glow of twilight before night fell.
Windows down, Owen inhaled the crisp fall air in an attempt to calm his racing thoughts. The information provided was too little—too nothing, really—to begin making accusations. Accusations that would turn the town upside down. Accusations that he’d go to the ends of the earth to prove, or disprove, for that matter. He was already spinning conspiracy theories, recalling years of gossip and hearsay, pulling back emotions that he’d tucked away for so long.
He was already counting down the hours until he could see Dr. Sadie Hart again… not only because he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since she’d stepped out of that dusty SUV, but because she held the answers to a black mark in his family’s legacy.
He flicked on his turn signal and turned at the large, wooden sign that read Ozark Outfitters.
The road had been freshly graveled, the pits recently filled, and the trees and underbrush cut back from the road. It looked good—better—and made a difference, and would definitely make a difference on his bank account at the end of the month. But that was okay. It wasn’t like he had much else to spend his money on, like a wife and kids.
He passed a truck packed with kayaks and high school kids, the music almost as loud as the laughter rolling out the windows. He wondered if the news of Brian Russell had leaked to the media yet. A Berry Springs senior murdered. The town would go ape shit, everyone looking at BSPD for answers.
Owen hung a left and began the descent down to the river. Another car, this one carrying a family with two beaming preschoolers in the backseat and an exhausted mom and dad up front.
Busy day.
Owen waved, then turned into the gravel parking lot, rolling to a stop next to a rack of canoes. He nodded at a trio of couples hovering next to the bathrooms before pushing through the front door of the large rock and log cabin that was the home to the Grayson family business. The business his father had started when Owen was in high school. The business Owen had helped run and operate, spending every single morning and night, until he left for the military.
The business his dad had tossed in the wind the moment his alcoholism took over.
Ozark Outfitters was exactly three country-road miles from his father’s house and was nestled on a hill a few yards up from Queens river. His dad had purchased the cabin the year he retired from the Navy, and from that day, Owen had worked tirelessly alongside his father to renovate the building and turn it into the go-to tourist location for all things camping, fishing, canoeing, and kayaking. The business took off, growing year-over-year and became the number one destination for outdoor adventures in the area. The cabin had an equipment rental shop, clothing and supplies shop, and an organic farm-to-table restaurant—his idea. The newest addition was an upscale art shop featuring local artists from all over the state, also his idea. His father’s little side-business had turned into an operation that brought in six-figures a year, with most of that coming in during tourist season.
The business was booming and had even been featured in several national magazines and popular blogs. But the company’s success was no match for the whiskey, apparently. When his dad started drinking morning to night, their business partner, an earth-loving hippie and self-proclaimed naturalist named Amos Abner had taken the wheel and turned it into what it was today.
And now, it was up to Owen to step in as owner… whether he liked it or not.
Owen made his way across the shop, making note of merchandise that needed to be restocked. He slid behind the counter, glancing up at the dear Lord, muttered from one of the women, a bit wobbly on her wedge flip flops. The friend winked, and licked her cherry-red lips. Cherry-red from makeup, or stained from the wine coolers they’d obviously been drinking all day, he wasn’t sure.
He grinned. Amos laughed.
“Evening, ladies. Did you enjoy your day on the river?” He fought the drop of his gaze, a magnetic pull to the woman’s left breast where a nipple was dangerously close to popping out. Not that she was aware of the potential nip-slip. Hell, he doubted if she’d notice if her entire top fell to the floor. As he contemplated whether he’d like to see that or not, she said—
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Paula, and this here’s Rainy.”
“Owen Grayson. Nice to meet y’all.”
“Did you say Grayson?” Paula’s eyes popped as if she’d been injected with epinephrine. “As in, Grayson?”
Amos cut him a glance.
“That’s right.” He said, an unwarranted defensiveness creeping up.
“You’re Les Grayson’s son, aren’t you?”
He nodded, ground his teeth.
Paula shot a glance to her friend, who’s eyes had steeled like an iron rod.
“Well,” she snorted. “We hung out with him at Frank’s a few times.” The nipple yanked her bag from the counter and grabbed her friend’s arm who was shooting daggers into him. “Let’s just say I hope you’ve got better manners than him.” With that, they turned and stumbled out the front door.
Owen blew out a breath, braced himself on the counter and looked at Amos.
“Oh, don’t let it bother you.” Amos started across the shop.
“Don’t fucking tell me dad started getting aggressive with women?”
Amos clicked the Closed sign, taking a second to word a response that wasn’t going to make Owen’s fist fly through the glass counter.
“It was pretty bad toward the end, Owen, I’m not going to lie to you. It started getting bad after your mom left him, but got real bad recently. Guy didn’t even set foot in this building for two months. And then when Ray happened… that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. But, to answer your question exactly, no, I don’t think he roughed up women, just got pretty sauced up and a little loose with the tongue I think.” He walked to the counter. “Frank came here once and talked to me about it. Said he had to kick Les out of the bar a few times. He’d cause such a scene, Frank started worrying about getting in trouble for over serving… something you know he usually doesn’t give a shit about. Ironically, that was the day before he got his third DWI that got him into this whole mess.”
Owen shook his head. He’d only been back in Berry Springs two months and with each passing day it seemed he heard something else that embarrassed him about his dad.
Amos grabbed the broom and started sweeping. “You talked to him lately?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled as he logged into the computer to check the day’s sales. “Once. Quickly. Just enough for him to rattle off a list of things to send him.”
A moment of silence ticked by.
“How much longer is he in?”
“Not long. The sixty days are about up. And he’ll be on probation when he gets back.” God, he couldn’t believe the words were even coming out of his mouth. He couldn’t believe his dad was in rehab, and it was even harder to believe that the man would get anything out of it.
As if reading his thoughts, Amos said, “Court-ordered rehab is a good thing, Owen. I honestly think that will have more of an impact on Les than if he went on his own accord… because honestly, son, I don’t think he’d ever go on his own accord. Man’s too stubborn.”
One of the few characteristics he’d gotten from Les Grayson.
“How was the conversation when you guys spoke… if you don’t mind me asking.”
“There was no conversation. Just a list of shit I needed to send him.”
Another heavy moment slid by.
“Owen, try not to be so hard on him. You’re all he’s got.” He leaned on the broom. “The guy was in special forces for almost thirty years and was discharged when age started slowing him down. He was pulled from a life full of excitement and danger, and pushed into a life of nothing—the mundane day-to-day of small town living.”
“Sounds fucking familiar, Amos.”
“Yeah, I get it… because of your dad’s poor decisions, you left a life you loved, and are back in Berry Springs to pick up the pieces. I get it. But do you know the difference between your situation and your dad’s?”
Owen looked up.
“You can go back. You can get your life back after sorting out this mess.”
Owen stilled as the words lingered in the air. Amos was right, but Owen couldn’t help but wonder where that left him when the inevitable happened and he had to leave the military for good. What would he have to come home to?
“It’s good you’re part time BSPD. That was a good decision. Helps fill that void until you figure shit out. Wish your dad would’ve done that.”
“No, dad used whiskey to fill that void.”
“That he did,” Amos said with a small chuckle. “That he did.”
Owen’s dad’s whiskey drinking abilities were nothing less than legendary in Berry Springs. Until it wasn’t.
“Anyway, you need help getting anything he needs?”
“No, I’ve been going through that pig sty he calls a house room by room since I’ve been back. Cleaning, organizing. I only just recently started sleeping in his bed.”
“Hope you washed the sheets.” Amos winked.
“Bleached.”
Amos laughed. “Okay, well just let me know. That house is a wreck, isn’t it. I’d do what I could when I’d stop by to check on him…”
“Thanks, Amos, seriously.”
“Stop. I love your dad, and I love working here.” He spread his arms, “Anything to do with beautiful Mother Nature, I’m happy as a bluebird on a spring morning.”
Owen shifted his attention back to the computer. “Alright, to business. It looked busy today?”
“Oh hell yeah, the fall colors are almost at their peak. Everyone’s coming out before the rain hits tomorrow—it’ll blow the leaves off the trees.”
Owen glanced outside as the last vehicle backed out of the parking lot. Ozark Outfitters was open before the sun came up, to accommodate early morning hunters and fishers, to dusk and sometimes longer during tourist season which stretched from around April to October in the mountains.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the business since I got back and I’ve got a few ideas I wanted to run by you…”
Amos’s eyes twinkled. “Your ideas have proved to be very beneficial so far.”
“How do you feel about events?”
“Like, an event venue?”
“Yeah. Just in the few months I’ve been here we’ve gotten several requests. Art shows, company parties, things like that. Could be a decent source of additional revenue.”
Amos’s smile reached his eyes. “I like that idea. Have considered it myself a few times over the years… but, you know, your dad…”
“I know.” Owen’s phone dinged. He glanced at the clock. “Shit. Hey, I’ve gotta go meet the boys.”
Amos’s face dropped as he stepped closer. “I heard about the bones.”
“Yeah?” He wasn’t surprised. Nothing was a secret in Berry Springs.
“Yeah.” Amos stared at him saying everything by saying nothing at all.
“I’ll let you know,” Owen finally said.
“Please do. Ray’s death never sat well with me.”
Owen pulled his keys from his pocket. “Me either.”
Chapter 10
Owen rolled
to a stop between two jacked-up duallys with American flags hanging from the beds. He scrubbed his hands over his face before grabbing his cell, wallet, and sliding his keys into his pocket.
A beer was exactly what he needed.
He made his way across the gravel parking lot glancing up at the stars twinkling in a clear, indigo sky. The cool, fall breeze carried a hint of BBQ, freshly burned leaves, and the whine of classic country music.
Owen pushed through the thick, wooden door of Frank’s Bar, a local favorite and regular cop hangout. A former officer had turned the log cabin into a southern honky tonk bar where the beer was always ice-cold and the cowgirls piping hot. Cowboy hats and hot-rolled blonde hair circled around wooden tables scattered with pitchers of beer and the best BBQ in the state. Pool tables lined the back, just in front of a small stage primed for karaoke. The left side of the building housed a rock bar with a mirrored back.
It was his favorite bar, hands down.
“Grayson, over here.”
Owen followed the shout of his old buddy, Detective Dean Walker, to a table in the back where Quinn, Aaron Knapp, Dean, and a tank of a man sat around two pitchers of beer and a basket of chicken strips. Dean was the sole reason Owen had accepted a part-time patrol gig at the station. Hell, Dean had practically begged him.
Owen sank into the one remaining seat.
“Owen, you know Wesley, right?”
The tank swallowed his sip of beer and turned. “Yeah, man, been awhile.”
He recognized him instantly. A few years older than Owen, Wesley had enlisted in the military after graduation, just like he did. Rumor had it he’d built a successful gun manufacturing business and was recently engaged to a woman who analyzed bugs for a living.
“Good to see you, man.” They shook hands.
“A welcome back is in order from what I hear,” Wesley tipped up his glass.
The Cave Page 10
