Old Bones Never Die

by Lesley A. Diehl

  Later, as the sun rose higher in a cloudless cerulean sky, we talked.

  “I know this will be difficult for you, my sweet impatient Eve, but I need time to think over my journey into the swamps and what I learned there. It was not quite what I expected. Can you give me that?”

  Of course, I could. I would give Sammy whatever he needed.

  “You take the time you need to understand that journey. When you do, you’ll help me and the boys understand too. I know you, Sammy Egret. You are like all the Egrets, not given to impulse. I can tell this journey is not complete. Your brain needs time to process what you found. I can wait.”

  “Is Eve Appel developing patience?” Sammy expressed his disbelief with a soft snort.

  “Following your example.” I gave him a playful punch on his arm and changed the subject. “I assume Grandfather knows you’re home?”

  He laughed. “Because of some Miccosukee sixth sense?”

  “How else?”

  “Maybe he heard me start my truck when I beached my canoe to come here to see you.”

  There was that possibility also, but I preferred the sixth sense explanation.

  “How are our boys?” he asked.

  “They missed you.”

  “Did they say that?”

  “No, but I could see it in their eyes. They’ll be glad you’re back.”

  “And are you glad?” He moved his fingers over my face as if he was comparing its physical presence to what was in his memories.

  “Our shower wasn’t evidence of how I feel?”

  He smiled.

  “You were pretty stinky, and you left your clothes on my bedroom floor. Now it smells like a gator hole.”

  “So you’re saying you wouldn’t have expressed your appreciation for my return quite as enthusiastically if I hadn’t jumped in the shower first?’

  “I wouldn’t have come within twenty feet of you.”

  Sammy got out of bed, crossed the room and grabbed his clothing, which remained where he’d dropped it. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose.

  I patted the bed. “We can wash them later. Come here. I want to make certain you understand how happy I am you’re back, regardless of the smell.”

  Sammy grinned, opened the slider to my yard and tossed the clothes out the door. He jumped back in bed and put his arms around me, then stopped and sniffed again.

  “What’s that I smell now?” he asked.

  I had smelled it too. “Grandy promised me pancakes and bacon last night, but I was too tired to eat. I think she’s making good on her promise this morning.”

  “I’m starving,” he said.

  “Me too, but you can’t go out there. You don’t have any clothes to wear. You just tossed them.”

  “Hey, you’re the wardrobe mistress. There must be something in your closet for me.”

  Grandy yelled from the kitchen. “Come on, you two. The food’s getting cold.” Now how did she know Sammy was here and that we were awake? Was I the only one who didn’t have the sight?

  I grabbed my nightgown and threw the matching robe over it.

  Sammy came to the breakfast table in my red silk kimono. He looked really fine in it.

  We chose to be married by a justice of the peace at the county courthouse and then to celebrate at Grandfather’s house, where tribal members brought their good wishes for our happiness and traditional food for the feast. Grandfather had purchased a pig from a local farmer and had begun cooking it in a metal box buried in the ground, coals surrounding it, a process he had learned from some of his Cuban friends. He started the roasting early in the morning, and by the time we arrived at his house, the pig was done and being removed from the container. I loved the crackly skin and ate too much.

  All my family and friends attended, contributing to the feast: Nappi’s lasagna, Grandy’s rice pudding, Madeleine’s garlic bread, and other dishes too numerous to mention and too tasty not to overindulge in. Frida appeared only for a short time, looking exhausted but happy for Sammy and me. Drawing me to one side, she confessed she was still elbow-deep in the Cypress case and probably would be for some time because the charges were so complicated. The evidence to bring the guilty to court had to be laid out clearly, the deaths of Egret and Russo untangled from the murder thirty years earlier.

  “Mrs. Cypress hasn’t changed her story?” I asked.

  “No, and now her husband has signed a confession of his own. The man loves her and wants to protect her, but no one can make him see that his story won’t help anyone.” Frida gazed off across the yard and into the canal beyond. “This case makes me wonder if I should even be a cop.”

  “You’re a good cop. You know that. You just need some rest.”

  “That I do.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Well, I didn’t come here to bring you down, only to wish both of you well. I’ve got to get back to the station, but first I wanted to give you this.” She handed me an envelope. “It’s not really a wedding gift, more of a shower gift for you. I know we already gave you a shower. I wanted to add this.”

  “If there’s a sexy negligee in here, it’s mighty small.” I tapped the card against my leg.

  “Open it and see if you like it. I can always return it. Actually, it’s from both of us.”

  Both of whom? Before I could ask, Sammy came up to Frida, gave her a hug, and steered her toward the food. Our three boys grabbed my hand and insisted I come down to the canal and join them in sailing the small wooden boats Grandfather had made for them. I tucked the envelope in my pocket.

  “Did you eat?” I asked them.

  They nodded, and we launched the crafts along the canal, running after them into the shallow water before they could sail away.

  Jeremy leaned against my leg as we watched the tiny boats catch the breeze and take off.

  “Better catch yours now before it’s lost,” I told him.

  “I want it to go out there, out into the swamps. Someday it might come back to me. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  I looked down into my youngest son’s face and thought how like his great grandfather he was. I hugged him to me, and he wrapped his arms around my legs.

  “Can I call you Mommy?”

  Sammy and I decided our honeymoon would be a long weekend at the shack in the swamp, the place we had shared so many wonderful times. It seemed only fitting that our marriage should begin where we first suspected there was something between us. We knew the wedding festivities would run late into the night, but we were eager to be off to our hideaway, so we sneaked away after dark to the canoe and pushed it into the still waters. We glided by an object bobbing in the water, and I realized it was one of the wooden boats belonging to the boys. I pointed it out to Sammy. He had reached over the side of the canoe and was about to pick it up when I stopped him.

  “Let it go. Jeremy wants it to travel the swamps in hopes it will someday return home to him.”

  Sammy nodded and we continued on our way, leaving the little craft bobbing on the water’s surface. A breeze came up and caught it, pushing it down a smaller side channel. It was lost to our sight.

  Sammy’s paddle cut into the smooth surface of the canal, and we glided toward the landing area where we knew the resident mama gator would be watching. You don’t make friends with gators, but this one had become accustomed to our presence and must know we were no threat. When she had a nest of babies, that might change, but tonight, when we beached the canoe, we saw no sign of her.

  We picked our way up the path to the shack and zipped our two sleeping bags together. Before we climbed in, I reached down to remove the boots I had worn to the ceremony and party. They were a gift from Sammy, a designer brand I’d never worn before, never come across in any of my shopping trips, never knew I’d find so lovely. I caressed the soft rawhide leather of the knee-high boots. There was no three-inch heel on them, only a sole like a moccasin’s. I found them particularly comfortable and loved Sammy for having them made especially for me. They were my Sammy
designer boots.

  “I know you won’t switch from your signature footwear. I understand stilettos are you, Eve, but you might like these as an alternative.”

  I did. I loved them.

  “I have a present for you, too.” I reached into my pocket, extracted a soft rawhide drawstring bag, and handed it to him.

  He pulled the top open and tilted the contents into his hand. The moon shone off the bird etching on the face of the gold watch.

  His eyes glistened as he looked at me in wonder. “Where did you find this? I thought it had been destroyed in Connie Russo’s fire.”

  “Somehow I couldn’t believe it could be destroyed that way, not after over thirty years resting in the dirt of the lake basin. You know what Grandfather says about the swamp returning what it takes. Perhaps the lake was the same. And I also figured Connie Russo wouldn’t keep it. I hoped he’d pawned it before he was killed. It took some hunting through pawn shops up and down the coast, but I found it. I knew I would. I took it to a jeweler to be cleaned and repaired, but it works.”

  “You are one patient woman,” said Sammy.

  “No, I’m not. I’m just stubborn. I don’t like to give up.”

  As we settled in our sleeping bags and I shifted to face Sammy, something poked me in the side.

  “What the …?” Then I remembered the envelope from Frida.

  “Turn on the lantern, would you?” I explained to Sammy about Frida giving me the gift earlier tonight.

  “What is it?” Sammy shined the light on the card as I withdrew it from the envelope.

  “Unfinished business,” I said. “It’s from Crusty McNabb and Frida.”

  I showed him the card, which read:

  “Flirting with Sammy Egret leads to marriage, but flirting with bad guys can be lethal.”

  “It’s a gift card for the shooting range.” I wasn’t certain whether to be amused or angry.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  I turned to him and kissed his cheek. “You are such a good man. You could have told me what you thought I should do with it, but instead you’re going to let me make up my own mind.”

  “I’m not only good, but I know you. Telling Eve Appel what to do is like wrestling a fifteen-foot gator. I’m not that dumb.”

  “I’m not certain what I’m going to do with it yet.”

  “Uhm,” was all Sammy said, then he rolled over and pulled me to him. “Later.” He extinguished the lantern.

  “Later,” I said, meeting his embrace.

  Several days after we returned from our honeymoon, I tried to find Frida at police headquarters, but the duty officer there said she’d taken vacation time to get some rest. I knew better than to disturb her. She needed time away from the case. Instead I decided to stop by Crusty McNabb’s office. It was early enough in the morning that I had thirty minutes before I opened the shop.

  Crusty looked up from his messy desk as I entered his office. The only difference between the desktop this morning and when I had last visited was an increase in the number of coffee, fast-food bags, cups, and stacks of papers added to the already overflowing piles.

  He grinned and offered me coffee. “I was wondering when you’d stop by. You signed a contract, you know.”

  I glanced over at the coffeemaker sitting on a TV table under the window. The sludge in there looked like the bluish-black color of the dirt in a sugarcane field. “Frida showed the paper to me. It’s a good thing the authorities didn’t want to see proof I was your apprentice. The contract was from the rental center for a new compact fridge.”

  “And I expect you to honor it. I had the old one carted off to the dump yesterday.” He propped his foot up on the desk and one of the stacks of paper slipped to one side, teetered for a moment, then fell onto the floor. I started to pick up the papers.

  “Leave it.”

  “Some more contracts from the rental place? Maybe for a desk chair.” I pointed to the one he was tilted back in. “That one looks as if it might fall apart any minute.”

  “Have a seat.” He signaled to an equally rickety chair in front of the desk, then unwrapped a large cigar, cut off the tip, and lit it. Smoke wafted around his head and across to me. I coughed, but decided to ignore the smell. For now.

  I slid into the chair and laid the wedding/shower gift in front of him. “Explain this.”

  “You’ve been in here several times circling around the idea of becoming a PI. Detective Martinez and I just thought you’d like to see how you felt about handling a weapon. It’s usually part of the job, you know.”

  “Is it a necessary requirement?” I’d seen too many times what firing a gun could do, and I wasn’t eager to put myself in a position where I might have to do it.

  “Nope, but lookie here. I think people should make decisions based upon information, not their own prejudices or whatever. You can’t decide whether or not you’ll carry if you haven’t tried shooting a gun, and I’m betting you haven’t fired one.” He blew some more smoke across the desk. I waved it away.

  “It’s not as if I tackle the bad guys unarmed.”

  Crusty looked curious. “You carry a knife or something?”

  “Nope. Don’t you remember? We had this discussion before. These are lethal.” I lifted one of my stiletto, three-inch Manolo Blahnik slave-strap sandals to show him, then plopped it down on his desk to join his boots there.

  He waved them away as if they were as insubstantial as his cigar smoke. “Do the gun range and see if you think your sandals can hold up to a .45 or a .38. And remove your shoe from my desk.”

  “You’ve got yours up there.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my desk.”

  “Okay.” I shifted my foot back to the floor. “But here’s the deal. I sign a contract with you to become your apprentice—and I mean a real contract—I do the gun range, and then I decide how I feel about a gun.”

  He smiled and held out his hand.

  I ignored it. “One more thing, however.”

  “Name it.”

  “No smoking in the office. It’s not good for you, I hate it, and I’m certain your clients have complained.”

  “Damn, you’re a hard woman.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  We stood and shook hands.

  Eve Appel, I asked myself, what are you getting into? Was I really ready to be a pistol-packin’ fashionista?

  Epilogue

  In Miami, after the two gang bangers were brought up on charges and before they were led away by the bailiffs, they signaled to their gang members in the courtroom. The gang needed to find the young man they had coerced and threatened into firing the shot that killed Alex Montgomery and make certain that boy could not testify against them when they came to trial. But in the days afterwards, no sign of the young man or his sister and mother could be found at their apartment or with any of the family’s relatives and friends. They had vanished from the city. It was rumored that a mob boss along with his street-smart lawyer had hidden the family out of town and would return the young man only when he was needed to appear in court. In the meantime, most of the gang members disappeared from their usual haunts. They grew suspicious of one another, and the number of members decreased, taken out by rival gangs or arrested by the police for various crimes in the area. Again, rumors were circulating that the mob boss had used his sources to discover and feed vital information about the gang to the authorities, information that finally took them off the streets and put them in jail or moved them into hiding. One less gang preyed upon the city’s residents.

  Although Sammy Egret’s journey into the swamp to look for his father was over, he wasn’t certain his search would ever be. On a summer night not long after he and Eve were married, he paddled his family, wife, and three boys into the swamp. It was cool for July and the weeks of rain had left the fields green and the swamp lush. On this night, however, the sky was clear. The family decided it was a good night to spend in the shack Sammy and Eve had claimed as th
eirs. The boys were excited at the prospect of staying overnight there. Eve was also, perhaps because she felt this trip would reveal something important about the swamp, something Sammy had not yet shared with her.

  Sammy cautioned the children not to stray from the path once they landed the canoe, warning them that the mama gator who resided there was tolerant of their passage to the shack but perhaps unwilling to allow wandering around her territory. He built a fire in the area where the shack’s roof had collapsed and the sparks and flames could reach into the night. The family huddled around it, the boys chattering happily about being able to help their great grandfather with the airboat business and their father at David Wilson’s game ranch. Sammy and Eve talked about selling her house and building a new one on Grandfather’s property.

  The fire died down, and the boys’ eyes began to close. Sammy scooted over to be closer to his wife, and Eve rested her head on his shoulder. Quiet descended on the little shack in the clearing of palm trees.

  A branch cracked, and everyone was on alert, worrying that the gator had decided they had intruded into her place too long. Eve pulled the boys to her, but Sammy stood up and walked beyond the dying embers to the edge of the trees. He stood there for a moment. Beyond him, moving through the trees, Eve could see a figure of a man. She watched Sammy hesitate, then move forward. She rose and pulled the boys close, concerned that the intruder meant to do them harm. When the two men stood together, they grabbed each other’s forearms and embraced.

  “Sammy, who is it?” Eve asked.

  Sammy turned back to his family, his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “This is my father.”

  * * *

  Lesley A. Diehl retired from her life as a professor of psychology and reclaimed her country roots by moving to a small cottage in the Butternut River Valley in Upstate New York. In the winter, she migrates to old Florida—cowboys, scrub palmetto, and open fields of grazing cattle, a place where spurs still jingle in the post office, and gators make golf a contact sport. Back north, the shy ghost inhabiting the cottage serves as her literary muse. When not writing, she gardens, cooks and renovates the 1874 cottage with the help of her husband, two cats and, of course, Fred the ghost, who gives artistic direction to their work.