Old Bones Never Die

by Lesley A. Diehl

The officers began to execute the warrant, shovels biting into the black dirt of the lake basin, uncovering what I feared they would: dog bones. They removed the body of the animal and looked at me and Frida.

  “Did deeper,” said Frida.

  They did. The dirt came out of the hole with ease, and I began to hope I had been right about my hunch. One of the shovels made a sound as if hitting an object more solid than loose soil.

  “Got something here,” the man said.

  Frida and I approached the hole and peered in. A long gray bone emerged from the dirt. It looked like a man’s femur.

  Danny Cypress shook his head and walked off toward the trees. I followed him.

  “Don’t you think it’s time for the truth to come out? Your father killed your brother, didn’t he? What did he do to make a father do that to his own son?”

  Danny said nothing.

  “And what did he do to you to make you willing to kill Walter Egret to help cover up the murder?”

  Danny spun around to face me. There was a murderous black look on his face as he reached out. I turned to run back to the newly uncovered grave, but Danny grabbed my arm and pulled me to him, moving his hand up to my neck and squeezing.

  “Danny, you’re hurting me.” I choked the words out of my mouth. Frida saw Danny’s stranglehold on me. She pulled her gun from her holster and ran toward us.

  “Let her go, Danny.” Frida leveled her gun at him.

  I could smell the fear in the sweat that dampened his shirt front. He extracted a gun from his jacket pocket and pressed the barrel against my head. I tried to stomp on his instep with my heel, but he avoided my move and only tightened his hold on my neck.

  Dead. I was dead.

  Chapter 22

  “I tried to defend you, Eve. I thought you were worth saving.”

  As the world began to turn black around me, my brain registered what I thought would be my final attempt to get the truth from Danny.

  “Save me? How?” I managed to squeak out.

  “I sent Connie Russo to warn you away from this case, to keep you out of it, to keep you away from tracking down these bones. It was our family secret and meant to stay that way.” There was a note of pride in his voice, as if his actions had been those of a knight coming to the rescue of his damsel.

  His grip on me loosened for a moment, allowing me to speak. “Then, of course, you had to tie up loose ends. You killed Connie.”

  “He was a slug, a piece of garbage. After I took out the backhoe operator, he stole that watch off his body. He was told not to take anything. Anything!”

  By now Danny was yelling. Saliva flew from his mouth onto my face.

  “I think you intended to lay the blame on Connie for Walter’s hit-and-run, and then get rid of him, but you used him one last time when you sent him after me.”

  “Father told me that wasn’t smart.”

  “Was it your father’s idea to kill him or yours?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, only pressed the gun tighter against my head.

  “Don’t do it, Danny,” Frida warned, coming closer, her weapon aimed at him.

  Then I felt his arm loosen, and I realized the wetness I felt on my face was no longer his spit, but his tears.

  He shoved me away and inserted the barrel of the gun into his own mouth.

  “Drop the gun, Danny. It’s not worth it.” Frida continued to advance on him.

  I looked at Danny and then back at the house.

  “Danny, your mother is here. You don’t want to cause her any more pain, do you? Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

  Danny’s eyes shifted from Frida to the sight of his mother being wheeled by his sister across the field to the cemetery. Mother and daughter were close enough to hear Danny and me as well as Frida.

  “Don’t kill my boy,” said Mrs. Cypress. “Please don’t.”

  Danny’s gaze locked with his mother’s. He lowered his arm, and Frida swept in to take his gun away. She signaled her men, who cuffed him and walked him toward the police cars in front of the house.

  Mr. Cypress had been only a few steps behind his wife and daughter. He placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. She turned her face up to his, and he bent down to place a kiss on her lips. He looked across the small cemetery, toward the mound of dirt that once held his son’s bones. “I killed him. I did it.” His voice broke with strangled emotion, and he looked at Frida, who nodded and placed the cuffs on his wrists. I watched Frida and Cypress follow his son to the police cars and caught a few words as she read him his rights.

  That night, after Grandy, Max, and I finished a later supper, Frida came to my door looking as bone tired as if she had been dragged by an alligator through the swamp. She showed no sign of exhilaration or relief that the case was closed. Her eyes were dull with resignation and her jaw was tight with strain.

  I handed her a snifter of brandy and she sank into my couch with a groan.

  “Tell us what happened.” I took the seat next to her while Grandy and Max sat across the room.

  We had to sit forward in our chairs to hear her, as her voice was uncharacteristically low and flat. “Mr. Cypress, the Senior, asked for a lawyer once we booked him.”

  “And you got the confession from him on tape?” I asked.

  “No. On the advice of his lawyer, he refuses to answer our questions. I’m sure the bones will be identified as his son’s and we’ll be able to place them at the original burial site near the lake, but there’s still a lot of forensic work to be done. Cause of death, for example.”

  “What about Danny? He said he killed Russo.”

  Frida took a gulp of brandy and shook her head. “He lawyered up too, and he’s following the man’s advice to remain silent. I’m sure he took the car from the company lot, picked up Russo and ran down Walter Egret. Russo took the watch without letting Danny Cypress know. We’ll get him for either Russo’s murder or Egret’s. Somehow. The whole thing is a mess though.” Frida finished her brandy and set the glass on the coffee table.

  “Do you think Danny was involved in his older brother’s death somehow?” I asked.

  Frida shook her head. “He had to have been, what, only five or so when the brother was killed. If he was an eyewitness, that must have traumatized him. And I don’t think it was his idea to kill Walter. I think Danny was doing his father’s bidding. The father must have been the watcher at the construction site, fearing what would happen if the bones were unearthed. He saw Walter get close to the body and couldn’t take the chance that he’d seen or taken something incriminating.” Frida yawned, sank back into the sofa cushions, and closed her eyes.

  I decided not to ask her any more questions about the case tonight. “Your mom taking care of your kids tonight?”

  She nodded, her chin dropped to her chest, and I could hear her breaths even out. She was sound asleep.

  Fetching a blanket from my bedroom closet, I tucked it around her. I knew she wouldn’t sleep there for long before heading home to her kids, but for now she needed the rest. We all headed for our beds, but I was certain I wouldn’t get much sleep.

  I’d just rolled over for at least the fifth time when my phone rang. I glanced at my bedside clock, which read one a.m. Who could be calling at this hour? My heart began to race as I picked up the phone. Could it be Sammy?

  It was Amanda Cypress. “My mother wants to talk with you and your detective friend.”

  “When?” I was curious what could be so important she would call at this hour.

  “Now. Can you get ahold of the detective? I don’t want to call the station. Can you talk the detective into keeping this visit just among us for now?”

  I thought I could talk Frida into it.

  When I entered the living room to wake Frida, she was already up and moving around the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

  “I heard the phone ring. A call at this hour of the morning can’t be anything good, so I thought you might need a jolt of caffeine.
”

  “You’ll need it too.” I explained our errand.

  Only a light in the central hallway and one to the left of the door shone when we pulled into the drive. Amanda met us at the door and showed us into her father’s study, where Mrs. Cypress sat waiting for us in her chair. Although the look of overwhelming sadness still shadowed her face, I could see something else in her expression, a look of determination and of even greater pain than before. It was as if she had made a decision she knew would make things worse for her family.

  I was surprised at her voice when she spoke. She had said little when Shelley and I brought the dress selections to the house, and I hadn’t taken notice of her speech earlier when she begged Frida not to shoot her son. I guess I expected her voice to match the sorrow on her face, that I would have to strain to hear it. I expected her accent to be heavy, since she came from Guatemala. Instead she spoke clear, unaccented English that carried easily across the room to where Frida and I had taken seats.

  “I’ve kept this story to myself for too long, and I need you to hear it.”

  Amanda interrupted. “I told Mother she shouldn’t be speaking to you, but she insisted. She thinks the secrets in this family are devouring our souls.” Amanda sighed. “She may be right.”

  Mrs. Cypress didn’t address her words to us. Instead her gaze wandered to the window, and she spoke while looking out across the field, as if talking to the grave where we had uncovered her son’s bones. “I came from Guatemala many years ago, sent here by my family using human traffickers. My family were poor farmers, most of their land stolen by the government. I paid my way to this country with my body, something Danny Cypress was aware of because he met me in a brothel in El Paso. What I had done to save myself was of no importance to him. We were in love, so he bought my freedom and brought me back here to his home. Life seemed good. First we had a son. No other children followed, and we thought we should feel blessed with just one, but we felt overjoyed when Danny Junior was born some years later. It was almost a miracle. But as our first son moved into his teen years, he took up with a crowd of no-good boys—racing cars, smoking dope, drinking, stealing. His father bailed him out of trouble many times and finally told him he would not rescue him anymore. We knew he had stolen merchandise from a pawn shop in town. I think he took many items, but one of them was a beautiful pocket watch with a water bird engraved on the front cover. I saw him with it and asked him where he got it. He told me to mind my own business and stormed out of the room.

  “Then I did a foolish thing. I had to know what else he had taken, so I went into his room and started to go through his drawers. He caught me and flew into a rage. He grabbed me and pushed me down onto the bed, tore off my clothes and assaulted me. In the doorway, I saw young Danny watching. I was horrified and ashamed of what my son was doing to me and even more ashamed that my youngest son was watching. Suddenly Danny ran from the doorway, and for a moment, I was relieved he was no longer a witness to his brother’s depravity and my shame, but then I worried he had gone to get his father. I did not want my husband to see what his son was doing. I knew his anger would have been overwhelming and that he could not control himself. My oldest boy continued his assault of me, calling me names.

  “ ‘Whore. You’re nothing but a whore. Isn’t this what whores do?’ he yelled.

  “And then he was silent. His blood spilled over my body. I looked up to find my husband standing over us.

  “ ‘I’ll take care of this,’ he said.

  “He pulled the boy’s body off mine, carried him off and told me later he had buried him out at the lake. I have visited him every day since then, for more than thirty years. When his bones were moved here, I continued to visit the grave. My husband lied to me and told me he moved the bones to the cemetery. He didn’t tell me he buried them with the dog’s body, but maybe that’s a fitting resting place for a son so filled with anger and hatred for his mother.” Her gaze fell to her hands, clenched tightly in her lap.

  Frida got up from her chair and crossed the room to place her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder. “I understand. That’s the reason your husband wouldn’t talk about how he came to kill his son. He was too ashamed of what the boy did to you. He wanted to protect you, didn’t he?”

  Mrs. Cypress’ head jerked up, and she met Frida’s gaze. “You do not understand. He didn’t shoot our son. I did.”

  Amanda and her mother sat in the back of Frida’s cruiser. Neither Frida nor I doubted Mrs. Cypress’ version of the shooting. It all made some kind of tragic sense. I knew Frida’s question now would be what Mr. Cypress would say about the shooting. I suspected he would want to cover for his wife by signing a confession.

  At the house, Frida had pointed out to Mrs. Cypress that her actions were in self-defense. She nodded in agreement. “I know.”

  “So I don’t understand why you wouldn’t report what happened,” Frida said, her voice sympathetic. The words were barely out of her mouth when the expression on Frida’s face revealed she suddenly realized the truth, but I voiced it for her.

  “Because her son’s act was so shameful. No parent wants to admit that a mother had to defend herself from a child’s assault, especially a sexual assault,” I said.

  Mrs. Cypress added, “There’s more. I was married in Guatemala, and there was no divorce. Danny Cypress and I never married. We couldn’t. I’m here illegally.”

  The story of the assault and the reasons for covering it up continued to race through my mind as Frida drove us to police headquarters. No one spoke. Frida escorted Mrs. Cypress into an interrogation room and asked Amanda and me to remain outside.

  “What will happen to my mother?” asked Amanda.

  “I don’t know.” I steered her toward a chair in the hallway. “I’m certain Frida will be kind, and she will sort this out.”

  But would she? Could she? Mr. Cypress had told us he was responsible, then refused to say more, but knowing how protective he was of his wife, he would not want her story to stand. I was certain his wife was repeating what she had said at the house and would be signing a formal admission of responsibility after Frida questioned her. I slipped my arm around Amanda’s shoulders.

  “I guess the real question is what will happen to my family.”

  “Do you think you should call your brothers at their homes? I know they don’t live with you and your parents. Shouldn’t they know what’s happened?”

  Amanda replied in a barely audible whisper, “I guess so.”

  I handed my cell to her. She took it from my hand, and I walked away to give her privacy, something I was certain no one in the family would have from now on.

  She returned in a few minutes, wiping tears from her cheeks. I didn’t want to ask her this question, and I wasn’t certain whether Frida would be angry if I did, but I felt I should prepare her for what might come.

  “Did Danny see your mother shoot his brother?”

  “I think so.”

  What a traumatic end to an already horrible event for a small child to witness. It didn’t make me like Danny Cypress Junior any better, but it gave me some insight into the troubled life he had led.

  Amanda resumed her seat in the chair next to mine. “And before you need to ask, we all knew most of the story. Well, we knew my mother had killed our oldest brother. We didn’t know why she did it, but we were told not to reveal what she did or she would be sent back to Guatemala. It was something we never discussed until a few weeks ago, when the bones came back to rest at the ranch.”

  What a troubling mess this all was, emotionally and legally. Frida wouldn’t be able to sort this out on her own. I assumed the district attorney’s office would wrestle with the case for some time until they determined what charges to press and against whom.

  There was a commotion at the end of the hall, and Amanda’s two older brothers, looks of rage on their faces, barged through the door and down the hallway. The two men clasped their sister in their arms.

  Just then
Frida left the interview room. When they spotted her, the brothers turned their anger on her.

  “What the hell is happening?” the oldest brother yelled.

  The other brother pushed his way past Amanda and me and confronted Frida, who didn’t retreat a foot.

  “You can’t go in there now. You’ll have a chance later to see your mother, but for now, you need to back off.” Frida directed her next comments to all of them. “And once this is sorted out, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from the authorities. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say for now.”

  I left Amanda in the arms of her brothers and exited police headquarters. Grandy and Max sat in their car in the parking lot. I was so happy to see them that I burst into tears and scared my Grandy half to death.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see family as I am now. You don’t know how wonderfully uncomplicated you look to me.”

  “I’ll make pancakes and bacon.” Grandy tucked me into the backseat of the car. Comfort in the form of family and food. What could be better?

  Chapter 23

  Once we were home I was too tired to eat, so I fell into bed and slept without dreams until I awoke to the smell of swamp water and vegetation. Early morning light penetrated the sliding glass door and moved across to my dresser, where I caught sight of something familiar. My amulet lay on top of the bureau, and my heart gave a flutter of anticipation.

  Was I imagining this?

  I could hear the shower running in my bathroom. On my way across the room, I stumbled over a pile of clothing in front of the bathroom door. I kicked the clothes out of my way and opened the door. Steam rose from behind the shower curtain, then the shower stopped and a lean brown hand moved the curtain aside. Sammy stood there, droplets of water streaming down his body. He gave me a slow smile and reached out. I slipped my nightgown over my head and stepped in. He turned the water back on and pulled me into him.

  “My Sammy,” was all he allowed me to say before he pressed his full lips against mine. If the heat of the water didn’t melt me, then Sammy’s love would.