River Bones (Sara Mason Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Deal

  “Say 'Attire: Tastefully casual'.” Esmerelda flashed a ridiculous grin. “Then, as hostess, you dress up.”

  “I hope the eleventh is not too short a notice for everyone,” she said.

  “It's a month away. Should be okay.” Esmerelda began folding the fine-milled stationery.

  Sara excused herself. She was about to break into tears. She envisioned Huxley sharing this with her. They were a great team and had raced through the intricate organizational set-up. Rewards such as this should have been theirs together.

  Once she got a grip on her emotions, she came back into the room. She and Huxley deeply loved and respected Esmerelda. Esmerelda had not mentioned Huxley, so it was likely he had not contacted her. As much as Sara could put together from previous conversations, he only called her when he came to town or to report activities of his Asia trips. Huxley wouldn't be the type to cry on anyone's shoulder. Their interval together had been too short and ended in such a harsh manner. Time would wash away the memory, maybe. Sara gritted her teeth and helped stuff the envelopes to get them ready for mailing.

  “You'll finish the addresses the acceptable way, won't you?” Esmerelda asked.

  “Write them longhand? Yep, tonight.”

  That would be done at Pierce's house. Johanna had yet to get back to her with information about Beni Noa, whom Sara learned had been crashing between one friend's house and another. Till she heard, or at least till after the sting that would prove she was right in naming the suspect, Sara would not so much as drive down off the levee at Talbot House alone.

  Chapter 58

  Sara backed in toward Esmerelda's garage and opened her tailgate. Esmerelda saw her and crossed the driveway from the patient building with Mimie on her heels. “I can take the dogs over the weekend,” Sara said.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Esmerelda said. “Tomorrow's Thanksgiving Eve and there's so much to do. Some of the patient's families will be eating dinner here.”

  “The dogs won't be here much longer,” Sara said. “What if the Sheriff calls and wants them while I have them? Should I bring them back so you can say goodbye?”

  “No, you take them. I'll just give them big hugs each time you pick them up,” Esmerelda said. “Give them as much love as I can before they're gone.” She looked around. “Where is Demetrio?”

  Tripp, as usual, appeared out of nowhere and startled them both. Even Esmerelda seemed mildly irritated at him always showing up like that. “Can I help with them cages?” Taking over, he loaded the pet carriers.

  “Thank you, Tripp,” Sara said.

  Demetrio came jogging with Choco and Latte on leashes. “You take dogs today?”

  Choco and Latte didn't seem to know whom to lick first, but they didn't go to Tripp.

  Esmerelda was in a playful mood and squatted down in the gravel and teased the dogs and loved them and let them lick her cheeks, though protecting her mascara. Now nearly full-sized the dogs didn't need to jump to reach her face. “I'll miss you two cuties when you're gone, but you'll have a great life.” There was no end to Esmerelda's love for animals, friends, or patients.

  Demetrio produced a camera from his pocket. “I take pictures in the field. You like picture with dogs?”

  Esmerelda was thrilled. “Why didn't I think to do that?” She remained kneeling down and posed with Choco and Latte and pulled Mimie in close. “C'mon, Sara,” she said. “Tripp?”

  Tripp gave a wave of refusal and moved out of range.

  After the photo session, which included a couple of shots of smiling Demetrio between Choco and Latte, Demetrio waved and ran off.

  “How's your house coming along?” Tripp asked. The question seemed strange of Tripp to ask. Why the sudden interest in her house?

  Sara snapped her fingers and pointed toward the cages and the dogs obediently jumped in. “My house is finished,” she said nicely. She turned to Esmerelda. “I received some of my furniture, but they dumped it into the first floor rooms. I'll have to wrangle the mattress and stuff to get it upstairs.”

  “Get some help,” Esmerelda said. “How about some of your construction workers?”

  “That might work,” Sara said. “But who would work on Thanksgiving Eve? I need it done right away. How about Fredrik? When we saw his rooms, I noticed he has a great flair for decorating.”

  “Fredrik lift furniture?” Esmerelda asked, nearly laughing. “The only things he lifts are patients.”

  “I can lift,” Tripp said as he stepped closer and wrung his hands. “I'll work anytime.”

  “Why not Tripp?” Esmerelda asked quickly. She patted his shoulder. “He's as strong as an ox.”

  Though she hesitated, Sara said, “You know, Tripp? I hired a landscaper to draw plans for the rear acreage. I've got some great computer drawings. Would you like to look at those at the same time and give me your opinion about flowers and hedges?”

  “Oh, I don't know nothing about computers,” he said. “But I could tell you about flowers.”

  “You could tell me which type plants would look best in certain areas. Could you do that?”

  Tripp looked up, as if searching for an answer in the sky. After a moment, he said “I s'pose that's a great plan. Yeah, fits together right nice.”

  “Great,” Sara said. “I've got a full evening tomorrow, so we'll only have about an hour to get things done. Can you come around six?” She waited while Tripp thought it over. “I'll have something for you to drink and a bite—”

  Tripp again looked up at the sky as if waiting for answers to be revealed. Then he smiled suddenly. “Six o'clock on Thanksgiving Eve, huh? I can be there,” he said, nodding. “Six o'clock.”

  “Great,” Sara said.

  “Yeah, we can take care of things.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  Chapter 59

  On the way home with the dogs, Sara's cell phone rang.

  “Jade's here!” Daphine said. “Just showed up at the door.”

  “That's wonderful.”

  “She's taking me to Lake Tahoe for the four-day weekend. We're packing right now. She's so changed. We're playing catch up—taking lots of pictures—”

  “Daph,” Sara said. “Daph, catch your breath. Enjoy your wonderful Thanksgiving. I'll meet Jade when you return.”

  Sara attributed Jade's timing to serendipity. She didn't want Daphine anywhere near Talbot House until after the ordeal with the Sheriff's Department. In fact, Sara confided in no one, not even Buck and Linette, about the dangerous liaison underway. She wasn't worried about Pierce. He had no way of getting around and stayed busy writing his manuscript.

  #

  The next day, Sara delivered Choco and Latte to the dog handlers amid tears and emotion. It could well be the last time she saw them. She was thankful that Lt. Quill hadn't shown up.

  After freshening her face in the restroom, she went straight to one last briefing. She meant to go through with the sting. Sara became involved from the day she purchased Talbot House. It was the pathetic reality of murder that fueled her intention to aid in the capture of the elusive madman. When life was in turmoil, Huxley's pensive blue-topaz eyes were beams of light and purpose. If not for the fear of becoming a victim herself, she would not have lost him. He might have been the greatest love of her life. It was enough to put her over the edge. She seethed inside, determined to do her part to set things right. She knew what she needed to do and they wouldn't need to find those size sixteen rubber waders to nail the guy.

  #

  Sara had not lived in Talbot House since the completion of the refurbishing. The heating system had not been activated. Intermittent light rain fell and inside the house was as chilly as outdoors. She changed into a light leather jacket and slacks. The jacket and sweater underneath well hid the wire and microphone attached to the center front of her bra. The state-of-the-art equipment was guaranteed to pick up transmissions through walls, so her leather jacket shouldn't block voices either. She wondered if some of the deputies had a
lready placed themselves inside the house since she had given them many sets of keys. She wondered where they might position themselves out of sight since all the rooms remained bare.

  It may have been over-kill, but since the leather jacket sported pockets, she decided to carry her thin cell phone in one, a mini-recorder in the other. Everything was digital and silent and she gave thanks for her beloved electronics.

  Sara held the red and green leashes. They belonged to two loyal animals that were more human than some people; two animals she would never forget. She went to the back porch to hang the leashes on their pegs behind the inner door. They could hang there and be a part of the house forever, and that would be all right.

  It was after five o'clock and starting to turn dark. No cars passed on the levee. The stillness seemed foreboding. Sara had to get through her business with Tripp. The sting operation would take place right there at Talbot House.

  Leave the alarm system off, she was told. Officers will surround you, though you won't see them.

  Just as she hung the leashes and turned around to re-enter the house, a man walked into the kitchen from her dining room! At that moment, Sara didn't recognize him without his cap.

  Chapter 60

  “Tripp,” she said as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You're early.” The automatic door lock clicked. She turned and reset the lock to open. “How did you get in?”

  “Your doors were unlocked. I called out and nobody come.” The look in his eyes was sinister. His eyeballs seemed to bulge out of their sockets.

  Tripp lied. She unlocked the new deadbolts when she arrived home, but the new locks locked themselves when the doors were closed. Playing it safe till six o'clock, she hadn't yet set the locks open for the deputies. Tripp must have picked a lock! Considering she had disarmed the alarm system when she came inside, had he come in during the few minutes she took to change her clothes? “And you just decided to walk in?” she asked, trying to sound jovial.

  A light rain began again and speckled the windows. The wind whipped up and whistled intermittently under the eaves.

  “Mrs. T let me come in sometimes when I worked here.”

  “Esmerelda doesn't live here anymore,” Sara said, trying not to sound angry but needing to get her point across.

  Tripp's foul body odor filled the kitchen. Whatever he had been doing raised a sweat. Fresh perspiration marked the underarms of his shirt. He wore no cap and swiped his face with a sleeve, but his skin still glowed with sweat. He had something strange hanging around his neck. “So where did you park?” she asked, giving her time to figure out what he wore. The mechanism was Army green and old, hanging on leather straps, though it looked like the whole apparatus could be mounted over the top of his head.

  “Down the levee some. In an orchard a ways from here.”

  “You could have driven onto my property, Tripp.”

  “I can see good with these,” he said, patting the apparatus as if it were a pet. “They're my second sight.”

  “So why are you wearing night vision goggles?”

  “So I can see what I'm doing in the dark. I can see people coming and hide so they can't find me.” He smiled wickedly, but giggled, like a mischievous child at play.

  Of all the luck, it was another New Moon night. She was thankful it wasn't yet totally dark. “Do you have eye problems, Tripp? Can't see well in the dark?”

  “I been trompin' around your field,” he said. He raised a foot to show that he was in his socks. “Left my muddy boots and coat outside. One of your dogs is dead out there. Did you know that?”

  “One of my….” Sara's senses jumped to high alert. She really had to call upon her acting skills now. “Oh, no, I didn't know.”

  “I found your shovel in the basement and I thought I'd dig a hole to bury it behind the garage. But I thought I better check with you first on where you want that dog put down.”

  Sara stood face to face with a man who had to be one of the most damnable creatures alive. This was what the officers needed to hear. This was what she agreed to do but she couldn't ask Tripp to stop talking. In case authorities weren't yet listening, she would have to drag it out, sympathize with Tripp and keep him from going over the edge.

  She shivered purposely and put her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and turned a little away from Tripp. But not so far that she couldn't keep an eye on him. She felt around the phone until she found the button for 911 and pushed it and pressed the heel of her hand hard over the hearing end so Tripp wouldn't hear any voices coming through. “Tripp Unwyn,” she said, feigning sadness. “I had heard you are always helpful. Did you find my other dog? Could it be dead out in the field too?” She spoke only to cover the sound of the operator answering the phone. They needed to know that Tripp was in the house and that plans for the sting had to be drastically altered. The 911 Dispatcher would notify the deputies already involved.

  Surely now officers would be creeping up to the house if they heard voices coming from inside. Hopefully, they began to monitor the wire she wore as soon as she arrived home.

  Being alone with Tripp could end up being one of the most dangerous moments of her life. She had mentally played the scene over and over but nothing prepared her for the fright she now felt, or how to disguise it.

  Tripp's eyes pleaded. He held the look and posture of a boy who knew he would be scolded if he didn't act right. But it was Tripp, the man, who had agreed to help with the furniture and landscape so he could be alone with her.

  Moving furniture may not have been the wisest ploy, but it was the only one Sara had. Numerous boxes stood stacked in the kitchen, waiting to be unpacked. A new oak breakfast table and chairs sat in the middle of the room.

  He smiled suddenly, his demeanor flip-flopping. “Nope, didn't see your other dog.” He swung his body onto a chair. His head was shaved right down to the skin and he had chaffed it in spots with the razor.

  Police reports of all the burial sites had said that no human hairs other than those of the victims were found.

  Tripp's eyes widened even more as he came up out of the chair suddenly. “Maybe we should go out there and look for it.”

  No way would Sara go out into the field under cover of darkness, especially if the officers had not arrived. “Well,” she said calmly. “Since you've got night vision, why don't we get our work done before we get too tired? If the other dog hasn't shown up by the time we're finished, we'll go look.”

  Again, his demeanor somersaulted as he nodded like a boy eager to please his mom. Then Sara remembered that she had never heard anything about his mother. Sensing at that moment that she would be appealing to the boy in him, she asked, “Both your mom and dad are gone, Tripp?”

  “Yep,” he said, not looking up. “She disappeared when I was fourteen, I think it was.” He looked up finally, but toward the window. “Just up and gone some place.”

  “They didn't get along? Your mom and dad?”

  “They did sometimes,” Tripp said. “When they called me Tripper, I knew everything was all right.”

  “And when they called you 'Tripp'?”

  “Then my momma would be bangin' my dad over the head with the soup ladle.” Tripp looked her in the eyes and his begged. “I felt so sorry for my dad. He was sickly and all and workin' so hard and momma said they shoulda' had more than they did.” Tripp's head drooped and he withdrew some place inside himself, staring at the tabletop with his lower lip slightly protruding like a little boy scolded at the dinner table.

  Isidoro's computerized landscape renderings lay spread on the tabletop. “Let's start with these,” she said, trying to sound cheerful and hoping to make him feel needed. “I'll make us something to drink.”

  “I don't want none of that juice.”

  Since she had not moved back to Talbot House, no juice was stored in the fridge. The thought of serving juice out of a pitcher gave her the creeps. After being drugged, she had only made a fresh glassful each time she wa
nted some and dumped out what she didn't finish.

  A thought came to her in a frightening rush and sent chills over her body. How did Tripp know about her juice? She held to the edge of the counter for support as the realization of Tripp's innocent admission opened the door to the twisted depths of his psyche. She had to get hold of her thoughts. She put a hand to her chest and was reminded that she wore the wire.

  Sara prepared the filter and coffee grounds and then clicked on the coffee maker. Tripp watched her like a predator, not the least bit interested in the landscape drawings. “Look, Tripp,” she said, pointing along the edges of the property. “What kind of border should I plant around the periphery?”

  Tripp smiled and rubbed his chin. “Right perty and fragrant if you plant a flowering hedge. Would cover up foul smells coming up outa the ground.”

  “Foul smells?” she asked, thinking how cadaver dogs detect the odors of decaying flesh. “What would cause foul smells?”

  He had to think a moment. Finally he said, “Well, fertilizers and all that, you know. A lotta dead fish in them fertilizers.” He watched her reactions to everything he said. “Would take a lot of digging, but I could do it. I dug a lot for Mrs. T.”

  “You dug for ET?” Sara asked, humoring him. “Always dug deep?”

  “Yeah,” he said as he ran a finger around the property border on the blueprints. “Back here by the canal, that ground's softened by the water nearby. Even those cows couldn't hard-pack it.”

  “You ever dig back there, Tripper? Dig up any rocks?”

  The boy in him seemed proud. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I got me….” Tripp, the man, shrugged, perhaps realizing he almost said something he shouldn't. “I moved all those rocks for Mrs. T. Piled 'em in the backfield. Some real handiwork I did back there.” He rubbed his fingertips over the area in the drawing. His expression took on a reminiscent glow.