by CC Abbott
“Commando?” she said and handed him a condom. “Now that totally is fucking hot. You know how to drive a girl crazy!”
With that, Boone grabbed her leg and lifted it to his hip. Then as she wrapped it around his ass, he lifted the other and carried her to the nearest bunk. Slowly, he bent over, lowering her to the sheets. She let go and lay before him. He took her panties in both hands and as she lifted herself, slipped them over her legs. Then he slid off his pants, as naked as she was. Sweat poured off both their bodies, now as she spread her thighs, wet and hungry for him.
He slid himself inside.
It was after midnight when Julia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Boone opened his eyes to find her fully dressed, car keys in her hand.
“Where are you going?” he said, groggy with sleep and exhaustion.
She patted his cheek. “Home, sweetheart.“
“Need a ride?” He grabbed his pants and put them on. “It’s late.”
“No thanks, Boone. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She put a hand on his cheek, then gave him a pat. “Listen, I don’t want to be harsh or anything, but this isn’t going to be a problem between us, right?”
“Problem?”
“I mean it was fun and all,” she said. “I’m just not looking for anything messy. You’re not hurt or anything, are you?”
“Hurt? Who, me? I’m bullet proof.”
“You are such a liar.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. Hooking her arm around the pole, she slid down to the bottom floor.
“You were amazing, by the way!” she hollered. “See you around!”
With that, she was gone. Boone watched out the window until her taillights disappeared. He shook his head and as he finished dressing, he was already feeling the beginnings of regret.
TUESDAY
At 0630 hours the next morning, Boone found his grandfather inside the Town and Country restaurant, slouched over a table crowded with a ketchup bottle, salt-and-pepper shakers, sugar, and a bottomless decanter of coffee.
Abner looked up at Boone as the waitresses showed him to the booth. "You’re twenty two minutes, seventeen seconds late."
"Make that, um, forty-three seconds." Boone slid into the booth and accepted the waitress's offer of coffee. “Your watch is fast.”
"Jeet?" Abner said.
"Huh?"
"Did you eat yet?" Abner said, forming each word. "I've been snacking while I waited.”
"Snacking?” The waitress snorted. "Honey, we’ve been open a half hour, and you’ve about eat us out house and home."
Abner waved her away. "Shoo, urchin."
"What’d you call me?" she asked, her nose wrinkled up..
Boone winked at her. "Ignore him, please. My grandfather was raised by wild pigs."
"I could tell that by the way he dresses." She snorted again and stuck her pencil behind her ear. "And the way he smells."
Abner's silver hair was so shaggy, it looked like matted fur, and his face was hidden by a salt-and-pepper beard that grew down to his chest. He wore a pair of heavy steel framed glasses. His body was a shorter, more weathered version of Boone's.
"You shouldn’t insult somebody bringing you food, Doc. It's an excellent way to get poisoned."
"The food will kill you either way." Abner removed a matchbox from the pocket of his shirt. He set it on the table in front of Boone with a well-rehearsed flourish.
Boone folded his hands. He leaned close to the box. “How many?”
“Five.”
“Size?”
“Varies. Smallest is a couple millimeters.”
“Human?”
Abner winked. “That up to you to decide.”
Boone slid the box open. There were five bone fragments inside. The smallest was about two millimeters wide. The largest was maybe five millimeters and narrow. Not much to work on. He unfolded his napkin and moved the fragments to the white cloth. Four were white, a color that in bones, suggested bleaching. The fifth was darker, which could mean exposure to fire, a burial, or recent death. In the low light, he couldn’t make an educated guess.
“Got a magnifying glass on you?” he asked Abner.
“Yep.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“Nope. You carry your own tools,” he said.
Abner had been preaching that mantra since Boone was in kindergarten. That’s when this game of theirs began, when Boone was five years old and behind his mother’s back, Abner started taking him to his lab at the university. They started with whole skeletons, then bones, then skulls and hips, until finally Boone could decide if a piece of bone the size of a pea was human or not. If it were the right bone, he might even be able to guess at sex or age.
“Luckily, I do happen to have something for just such an emergency.” Boone took the multitool out of his jean’s pocket. He flipped out a small but powerful magnifying glass. “These four bones are human, probably from the ethmoid and the zygomatic arch. The fourth is definitely the hypoid. Their uniform color suggests bleaching. No, wait.” He touched one of the fragments with the tine of a fork. The tine sank into the bone, which left powdery residue on the metal. “Those four bones have been cremated.”
Abner winked. "The last one?”
Boone turned the fragment on edge so that he could see the structure of the bone. “The striations aren’t consistent with human patterns. See how they form a different striation? They may be mammalian. Wait. Are you trying to sneak a bear claw by me again?”
“Ha!” Abner slapped the table, upsetting the silverware and drawing stares from the other diners. “Right again. Now, what about the sex of the human remains?”
“From that sample?’ Boone shook his head. “No sir, the sample’s not large enough.”
“Female.”
“How can you tell that?”
“By the diamond stone left in the cremains. The operator didn’t do his job good enough.”
Boone put the fragments back into the matchbox. “That’s cheating.”
“Not at all. A forensic anthropologist has got to look at all of the evidence.” He laced his fingers together and stared at Boone over his glasses, eyebrows bushy as caterpillars. "Speaking of evidence, give me the latest particulars of your case."
While Boone told him about the finger, the waitress set an order of liver and onions on the table. Abner speckled the meat with pepper and cut out a square.
"I don't think it's a recent death," Boone said. "Right?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he crammed food in his mouth and got lost in his thoughts, leaving Boone to listen to him chew. “Let me see the finger.”
Boone passed him the plastic box. “I’m not used to looking at specimens like this.”
“You mean the discoloration of the flesh?” Abner said. He was holding the box close to his chest and looking down so that none of the other diners could see inside. “That’s an indication of embalming. There’s some trauma to the joints, as well. You saw that?”
“It’s soot.”
“It’s more than soot.” Abner closed the box and set it on the table. “Who’s leading the investigation on the fire?”
“You think it's arson, too?"
Abner picked a chunk of liver out of his teeth. “That finger came from an embalmed individual, suggesting well-preserved remains, possibly from a metal coffin of some sort. It takes a whopping amount of force to blow open a buried coffin and send the remains flying. Which leaves me with two questions: Who blew up this house and where’s the rest of the remains?”
Boone rubbed his forehead. “There weren’t any other remains.”
“You sure?”
“The house was a derelict. We didn’t expect to find anything.”
Abner finished his meal. He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “There are three reasons firebugs commit arson: Money, pleasure, and to hide evidence. Which reason do you think it was?”
Boone had no clue. He wanted to find out,
though. The itch to jump in his truck and drive out to the site was driving him to distraction. He pulled out the chunk of metal he had found at the house in Dare County. "I got this at another house. A hundred yards away from the building."
Abner picked it up. "Cast iron waste pipe. I'll keep this and have a friend run some tests on it."
"What should I do with the finger?"
"You could turn it over to law enforcement," Abner said, "and face a whole bunch of questions about how you came to possess evidence. Or you could hand it back to the man who gave it you and let him tell his story to the sheriff."
"He tried. The sheriff won’t believe him. Hoyt thinks he’s a no-account drunk. His words, not mine."
"Maybe he won't believe a no-account drunk, but he might believe an old buddy."
“You and Sheriff Hoyt are friends?”
“Not friends exactly. We used to get along pretty well, but now, I think he’s got a different feeling for me.”
“He dislikes you?”
“Dislike’s probably too mild a word,” Abner said. “It’s more like pure hatred.”
Traffic was just starting to clog the highway when Boone reached Stumpy’s house to return the finger. Despite Stumpy's reputation as a hopeless drunk, the place looked well kept. The siding wasn't covered with that green scum you usually find on an Airstream in the county, especially the white ones. The patio was square and clean of defects, the picnic table smoothly sanded and finished with clear lacquer over the pine boards. The air smelled of frying bacon and coffee.
Then Boone noticed a huge dent in the side of the trailer about two-thirds of the way down. It looked like somebody had backed a car into it, and glass littered the ground underneath. Something heavy had hit the siding.
“Can I help you?” Stumpy called through the window.
Boone jumped back. “It’s me, Boone Childress.”
“Hang on.” Stumpy opened the trailer door. He looked at Boone with choleric eyes. He had on a white shirt with a T-shirt underneath, a pair of brown polyester slacks with no belt. His hair was slicked back and parted on the side.
Holding the skillet he had used to cook the bacon, he waited at the door. Boone wondered if he was going to offer breakfast or throw hot grease on him for trespassing.
"I brought back the finger," Boone said and showed him the plastic container.
"Like you promised," he said, and the lines under his eyes softened. "I was about to eat. Bacon sandwiches. They was going to throw the bacon out at the Piggly-Wiggly, so I took it. No use wasting meat."
He held the pan out. Boone’s stomach lurched at the thought of eating spoiled bacon. “No thanks. I’m not hungry. You wouldn't happen to have a drink of water, would you?"
"If you ain't minding well water. Gets sorta tangy."
"We have well water," Boone said and followed Stumpy inside. "My dentist could swear to that. I've had cavities since I was three."
"Don't talk to me about no dentists." He took a seat at a dinette made of yellow Formica. “You’re Mary Harriett’s boy, ain’t you? She’s good people. Thought you was in the service."
“Got out around Christmas time,” Boone said. “I'm finishing up my associate’s degree at Coastal.”
Stumpy filled a slice of bread with four strips of fatty bacon and slathered it with mayonnaise. “An education’s one thing they can’t take away from you. Everything else is fair game.”
"Did you hear any noises before you found a finger out on the patio?"
“Something woke me up, that’s for sure. It wasn’t just me falling the floor again.”
Boone nodded. “Were there any other body parts besides the finger? Or big chunks of metal, maybe?”
“The one finger is all I found.” He took a huge bite of the sandwich. A glop of mayonnaise oozed out and landed on the table. "There’s something's fishy about that house, though. There’s these two old boys been snooping around ever since the fire.”
"Don't say?"
"You making fun of me?"
"No, sir, I'm not."
"Wouldn't be no first, I tell you what. My family’s been laughing 'hind my back the whole time. They think I'm touched, don't got no sense no more, but I tell it like I told them, I heard two booms last night, a little one and a big one."
"You heard two booms? That's the first I've heard of that. Did you show the dent in your trailer to the sheriff?"
"Hellfire, they ain't caring about no dent. The deputy who come around yesterday wrote it down and shook his head the whole time. He was laughing at me. I could tell."
Boone had never met anyone who suffered from paranoid delusions, but Stumpy seemed to be a textbook case. He wasn’t sure he could believe a word the man said. “You said there were two men snooping around?”
Stumpy belched. There was only one strip of crinkled bacon in the bowl, resting on a piece of grease-soaked paper towel. He picked it up and offered it to Boone.
"No thanks," Boone said.
"Suit yourself," he said and gobbled it down. Another belch. He fanned the gas out of his face. “Time for my nap.”
He stood, and Boone took the hint. It was time to go, anyway. He had classes today, then he needed to get ready for his first date with Cedar. "Okay then, Stumpy. Been nice seeing you."
"Hey," he said and opened the door. "Let me pass on some advice. Stay out of the middle of family business, if you know what I mean."
He winked, and Boone nodded, but he had no idea what the man was talking about. Then the door shut.
Stumpy definitely lived up to his billing. Maybe he was delusional, but Boone suspected he might know more than anyone thought. He was like a janitor in a school. Though people treated him like he was invisible, he kept both eyes open and he heard everything. The problem was how to get that information out of him without Sheriff Hoyt finding out he had been poking around a crime scene.
Navy veterans were allowed to wear their uniforms for special occasions like weddings, funerals, and important state dinners. A date with Cedar may not have passed the acid test for importance to the Navy, but it was very crucial to Boone. He wanted to make a great impression, to sweep her off her feet. Nothing swept a girl like a set of Navy full dress whites.
Full dress wasn’t in his future, however, not for a date. Instead, he wore a nice jacket and a pair of dark jeans for the date, which was at a restaurant called The Pointe near Cape Hatteras. It was a bit of drive from Frisco, but the seafood was to die for, and the view from a pier that stretched two hundred feet into the Atlantic.
When the server seated them, the sun was just setting on the far side of the island, and you could see the yellow-orange of the light on the capping white waves. It lit up Cedar’s face and hair, giving her a glow. It brought out her features and made her face even more beautiful. Funny how often she seemed to be framed by the sun.
Boone stood behind her chair and pushed it in as she sat. She wore a strapless little black dress that pinched her narrow waist and left her tanned shoulders naked to the sun. He swallowed hard, thinking how good it would feel to kiss the soft, downy skin on the back of her neck.
“You look fantastic,” he said after he ordered the wine. When the server asked his age, Boone flashed his military ID, and that was the end of the questioning.
“You’re looking pretty good yourself. Nice jacket.”
“This old thing?” he said. “It’s just something I picked up at the thrift shop.”
She took at sip of water. “Nice. I like a guy who knows how to handle his money.”
The server brought the wine and uncorked the bottle. Boone took it from there, pouring them both a glass. “A toast,” he said, passing a glass to her.
“To?”
“The truth, and everything that comes with it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said and tapped his glass before taking a sip. “Wow. That’s strong.”
“Let the wine sit awhile before you drink the rest,” he said. “Scuppernong grapes need
to air out a little, or they can overwhelm your senses.”
“Sort of like you.”
“Like me?” Boone said, pretending to be offended. “How am I overwhelming?”
“Come on, you have to know. Your soldier swagger. This firefighter hero thing. Plus you’re really smart in class.” She took a sip of wine as Boone shook his head slowly. “Seriously, all the cool girls think you’re hot and can't stop talking about you.”
Boone felt his face go flush. “What about you? What do you think about me?”
“Well,” she said and ran a finger around the lip of the wine glass. “I wonder why you'd be interested in a nerd like me.”
Boone choked on the sip he was taking. “Oh please. Now you’re being coy.”
“No, I'm not!” She fired one of the cornbread muffins the server had just set down, and they both watched as it sailed past Boone straight into the waves below.
The server cleared her throat. “Ready to order?”
“Oops,” Cedar said. “I haven’t even looked at the menu.”
“Trust me?” Boone asked.
“You run into burning buildings,” she said, smiling, “and you ask if I trust you?”
He took the menu from her and turned to the server. “Then we’ll start with she crab soup, followed by the spicy strawberry salad and the crab cakes. For desert—you like chocolate, right?”
“Boy howdy,” Cedar said as a blush crept up her neck. She sat with her palms pressed together, turning her head just so.
“For desert we’ll split the chocolate torte.”
The server caught Boone’s eye and winked. “Excellent decision, Chief Petty Officer.”
He knew, though, that she meant his decision to order for both of them. From Cedar’s body language, she liked a take-charge kind of guy.
While they waited for their appetizer, they discussed the research project that Cedar was doing. Then over the salad and entrée, Boone told her of his theories about a serial arsonist at work. Unlike everyone else, she actually listened intently and found a few holes in his argument. She also split the rest of the bottle of wine with him, keeping up glass for glass until the chocolate torte made its appearance.
