Trail of Secrets

by Sandra Robbins

  “It’s my job to protect the islanders from harm,” Sheriff Grant continued. “I need to know you can be discreet and professional.”

  “Always,” she answered quickly, but her voice held a shiver. It had to be the cold and not fear. Never fear. With God as her guide, never shall she fear.

  The sheriff’s unnerving, steely eyes relaxed a little, but not his jaw. “Good to hear, but tell me, Doc, did you think to bring a coat? It gets real chilly out here with the wind and all. The climate is a bit rougher than what you’re used to on the mainland.”

  “Of course I brought a coat. It’s in my bag on the boat. But I’m perfectly comfortable as I am.” She ignored the cold, salty spray misting around her, knowing it would seep into her wool suit real fast. Now, there was a smell to avoid. Death she could handle, but wet sheep, not so much.

  “Your shaking shoulders tell me differently, but have it your way.” He shrugged as he tossed a glance over his shoulder at two gawking teenaged boys huddled together. “These boys are Robbie and Mack Reed.” Neither would pass for fifteen. Their faces were pale and sullen with eyes as turbulent as the waves behind them.

  Their timorous behavior told her these young ones were her body finders.

  Sheriff Grant confirmed her assessment. “They came out to this side of the island earlier this morning to explore and came across the skeleton.”

  Lydia scanned the backdrop of rocky ledges. She wondered how much farther the island expanded beyond them. Stone surrounded her, from the rocky ledges to the numerous flat rocks dotting the ocean behind her. They couldn’t have been more strategically placed if they had been pawns on a chess board with the island of Stepping Stones as their queen. A lighthouse stood far out in the distance on the farthest rock, warning ships not to come any closer to the dangerous protruding stones. A natural tactic that seemingly kept the outside world at bay, and the town untouchable.

  Until now.

  “Do people come here often?” she asked.

  The sheriff hesitated before he answered, “We don’t get too many visitors in Stepping Stones. Or did you mean this side of the island?”

  “Both.”

  He shrugged. “Most stay on the side where the higher ground is. These waters get pretty rough. Storms come through and submerge these rocks real fast.” He angled a disappointed look at the boys. Their chins dropped lower to their chests; apparently, they had already heard the lecture. “The boys know they made a dangerous choice today, but I think under the circumstances they’ve been punished enough.”

  Their punishment, her reward. Just thinking about digging her hands into the dirt had Lydia’s adrenaline spiking again. She took a breath and piped up. “Okay, boys, show me what you found.”

  Mouths gaped. The boys’ visible gulps said they weren’t too excited about their find—or finding it again anytime soon. The one named Robbie retreated behind his brother, shaking his head. He looked to Mack, who had another year or so on him, to take the lead.

  A little empathy, she reminded herself. It’s not every day kids see a dead body. Never mind a decomposed one. This was why she didn’t do well in social situations. People didn’t “get” her excitement, and she tended to forget her brain worked differently than most. “It’s okay,” she assured the boys, “just point the way. I’ll take it from here.”

  The one named Mack flipped his red hair off to his left. His hands stuffed into his zipped-up gray sweatshirt. “I found...it...over there when I pulled our rowboat up onshore. At first, I thought they were sticks. Then I saw the sk—skull.” He visibly shivered. A woman came up beside him to drape her arm around his shoulders and pull him close. Her carrot-red hair matched that of the boys. She looked too young to be their mother, but definitely related. Lydia was about to ask when the woman plastered pleading hazel eyes on the sheriff.

  “Wes, can I please take them home now? They’ve told you everything they know. It’s bad enough they had to be the ones to find...the body.”

  Lydia watched the woman’s eyes fill with a level of intimacy as they locked on the sheriff’s. The two of them must be an item, she speculated, but the sheriff’s blank and emotionless stare implied Lydia failed on that assessment. Not a good start, Dr. Muir.

  Sheriff Grant turned to her. “Do you need to ask them anything, Doc?”

  “If I do, I’m sure I can find them easy enough,” Lydia answered.

  “True, but I want this matter wrapped up today.”

  Lydia studied him and wondered about the rush. The bones weren’t going anywhere. “I’ll take your requested expedience into consideration, but I won’t make any promises.”

  He shot her a disapproving look but signaled the dark-haired deputy. “Matthews, would you mind bringing Pat and the boys home? I’ll take Dr. Muir back in my patrol boat.”

  “I’ll put her bag in your boat,” the deputy replied, and unhooked a set of keys from his belt.

  “Thanks. I don’t know how long I’m going to be.” He lowered his voice below the pounding of the waves and squawking seagulls, but not so low that Lydia couldn’t hear what he said. “It looks like it might be a while.”

  “That will all depend on what I dig up,” Lydia announced as she took a step in the direction Mack had insinuated with his head toss.

  “What you dig up?” Sheriff Grant balked as she walked past him. “Hold on a minute. You’re not turning this place into a dig site.”

  She kept on walking. A few moments later a boat’s engine rumbled to life, leaving her with the sheriff on this side of the island. Each of her footsteps was carefully placed on the squishy mounds of sand. Either it had just poured or when the tide came in, the water surely covered this side of the island. Which would explain the unearthing of the body over time. But how much time? A hundred years? Or one?

  Thoughts of the skeleton had her picking up her step. How long had it been here? What was the cause of death? What was its ancestry? Why was it buried on this side alone, and what were the secrets it took to its shallow grave? All things forensic science could answer—all things she could answer. Lydia hurried forward, eager to locate the remains, and eager to find what they would tell her.

  After another ten yards, the lay of the land dropped considerably beneath her shoes. The backs of her calves tightened in an effort to keep her from sliding down on her rump. That would be the icing on the sheriff’s cake. She could have no mishaps with this case. She didn’t doubt he would be the first to call Dr. Webber to get her out of here. He seemed as territorial as a bulldog. She wondered what he had to guard...or perhaps hide.

  The ground sloped more. Lydia turned to crab-walk down a steep mound of sand. With her feet solidly planted, she took the next sidestep. Then her gaze caught on the protruding rib cage sticking out of the sand, and all thoughts of the bulldog vanished.

  She took her next step without looking down and felt her feet slip beneath her. Her arms shot out to catch her balance, but her tool kit unevenly distributed her weight and she slipped more, dropping her case and picking up speed as she descended. In a crouch, she locked her legs to stop the slide, but there was no way out of it. She was going down. In mere seconds, she would find herself cuddled up with the skeletal remains of an adult female.

  * * *

  “Do you always get so up close and personal with your work, Doc?” Wes gripped the upper arm of the bone hunter. He caught her midair, pulling her back like a rag doll. A very tall and thin rag doll.

  “All the time,” she boasted. Her shaking fingers tugged at the bottom of her suit coat. For a doctor, she wasn’t very bright to come out to the cold north with no gloves. She probably only had the latex variety in her black case.

  Wes noticed her tool kit a few feet down the embankment. She’d dropped it in her fall. He sidestepped down to retrieve it, not sure why he did. He shouldn’t be helping her in any way.
Not until he knew if she intended to sensationalize the find or not. He dared not tell her about the pirates. If word got out, he’d have every treasure hunter in the Northeast invading his island by morning.

  His best choice would be to stick close and hurry her up. Wes handed the kit over and watched her grip the hard case at her front as she’d done before. A buffer between them, perhaps? A means of protection? “I’m not going to hurt you,” he chided.

  “I didn’t think you were.” Her coffee-colored eyes widened to saucer size through her lenses.

  “Then what’s with—” Wes shook it off. “Forget it. Let’s just get this over with so we can get out of the cold. The sun’s setting.”

  “Sun?” She looked to the skies without a squint.

  He did a double take. Was this woman being snarky with him? “Yeah, sun.” He tapped his watch. “Five-thirty. Daylight is disappearing while we stand here over this dead guy.”

  “Girl.” She looked straight at him.

  “What?”

  “It’s a dead girl. Woman actually.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Her posterior ramus of the mandible is straighter than that of a male’s.”

  “I see.” He didn’t have a clue.

  “A male’s is much more curved.”

  “Right.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Is that all?”

  “Well, a woman’s pelvis is wider, as well.”

  “Of course, but can you give me an estimate of age?”

  The doctor turned away to give the skeleton her full attention. Wes watched how Lydia Muir became absorbed in her task to the point where he thought she forgot he still stood behind her. Minutes went by while she dropped her case at her feet and opened it to withdraw a pair of blue latex gloves. She approached the bones and crouched down. Her hand reached out, tracing some markings on the ribs. Abruptly, she stood and circled around to the other side with continued skilled concentration.

  “Well?” Wesley reminded her of his presence.

  “Well...” She bit her lower lip. “Judging by the slight pitting and sharpness of her ribs at her sternal area, I would estimate her age between twenty-five and thirty years when she died.”

  “I meant the age of the bones. Are they ancient or are they fresh?”

  “I can’t answer that without a full examination.”

  “And what does that entail?”

  “It means sectioning this site off to search for any clothing, jewelry or artifacts that might give me a ballpark date of burial.”

  “Too long. I need something to go by now.”

  She scooped a handful of sand away from the pelvis area. A few more scoops and she pulled up something rusty. “How about a zipper? Not your typical ancient woman’s attire.”

  The doctor grabbed a plastic bag from her case, but before she dropped it in the bag, she placed it back where she found it and snapped a picture of it with her camera. Then she stood and handed him the bag with the zipper in it to study.

  “I’m going to need more proof than a zipper to tell me that we’re not dealing with an old corpse. Zippers have been around for at least a century.”

  Dr. Muir met him at eye level. She really was quite tall if she came close to his six-five height. Even if they were nearly equal in height, they weren’t in width. With her hands on her slim waist, elbows jutting out at her side in sharp points, she looked as though the whipping wind could take her for a ride.

  “Sheriff, I won’t be able to determine her age until I get the remains back to my lab and analyze their nitrogen level. The higher the level, the younger the age. Anything younger than twenty years will require an investigation, whether you like it or not.”

  “You seem pretty smart, Doc. Surely you have something in that kit of yours that can push this along. Give you one of those ballparks you mentioned.”

  Dr. Muir pinched her trembling and purpling lips, reminding him that she wasn’t as smart as he gave her credit for. The fool woman didn’t even know how to dress adequately for the climate, and now the cold was settling into her own bones.

  Wesley ripped off his coat. “Put this on before you freeze.”

  She questioned him with raised eyebrows, but her lips relaxed at his offer. She took his heavy uniform coat without a fight and quickly stuffed her arms into the sleeves and zipped up.

  She went back to her tool kit. “I suppose it’s getting dark enough that I could use my ultraviolet flashlight to give you a guess, but this is off the record. I won’t put it in writing.” She turned back with a small black flashlight. “Fresh bones glow a blue color under UV light. Time causes the fluorescence to diminish from the outside in, giving a relative age at each stage of glowing. Bones older than a hundred years won’t glow at all.” She clicked the light on and beamed it on the skull.

  Neither of them said anything as vivid blue fluoresced, illuminating the facial features straight through. Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose at the truth staring back at him. He didn’t need the doctor to state anything off the record. And denying the facts wouldn’t change them. These weren’t pirate bones, and treasure hunters were the least of his worries. These bones were fresh ones buried in a shallow grave.

  The doctor looked up from her crouched position. “Less than ten years, and these markings on the rib cage—” she pointed at the tiny lines “—are lacerations made by a knifelike instrument. It would appear a crime has occurred on your island, Sheriff Grant. And my assessment says it’s murder.”

  Copyright © 2014 by Katherine Lee

  ISBN-13: 9781460332115

  TRAIL OF SECRETS

  Copyright © 2014 by Sandra Robbins

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