by Terry Odell
They passed the shake test, but Cole went to his car for his flashlight for a better look.
From inside, Bailey’s whines caught Cole’s attention. He rounded the house, went in through the back door, and clipped on Bailey’s leash.
“Should have a fence tomorrow or the next day, fella. Then you won’t need somebody to go with you.”
Bailey sniffed and marked his way around the house. When they reached the now-absent porch, Bailey ran, yanking Cole along with him, then barked and started digging.
“What did you find?” Cole asked, tugging on the leash.
The dog turned around, a bone in his mouth.
Chapter 37
BY THE TIME MORGAN checked into their hotel in Dublin, it was nearly midnight. A sleepy Austin woke up enough to take in the two queen beds and the remote for the television set. He picked up the device and aimed it at the screen.
“Tomorrow.” Morgan pried the remote from his hand. “Pick a bed, get into your pajamas, and lights out.”
She followed suit, and set her alarm for eight, although she knew she’d wake long before that. The events of the last few days swirled like a tornado in her head, fighting her physical exhaustion.
Once Morgan had called the pastor at the Jackson’s church, she’d been impressed by how far he’d gone to honor a member of his congregation. She should have thought of contacting him sooner.
He’d assured her it was church policy to ensure no member of the congregation was at the mercy of the state after death, whether it was because they couldn’t afford a funeral or were alone. “We have funds for these things, and they cover a cemetery plot and burial expenses.”
Morgan explained she and Austin would be in Dublin, that she’d pay for the burial, and he promised to get the word out to the congregation about a funeral service.
“Is Thursday morning all right?” he asked.
“Fine.”
The pastor went on to speak of Austin’s mother’s positive qualities, her position in the church, how she’d tried to shake her dependence on alcohol. “I tried to get Hannah to join AA, but I failed her there.”
Morgan asked if he knew the whereabouts of Mrs. Jackson’s husband, if he’d shown up since she’d died, if he’d asked about Austin.
After a pause, the pastor said, “I thought you knew. Hannah Jackson wasn’t married to Austin’s father.”
Glad this was a phone call so the man couldn’t see the dumbfounded expression Morgan knew covered her face, she gathered herself. “No, I wasn’t aware of that.”
She’d made plane reservations with a Thursday afternoon return to Pine Hills, giving her all day Wednesday to deal with the details of school, custody, and the myriad loose ends. She gave Austin the choice of going to school or staying with Mrs. Slauson, and he’d opted to stay with his neighbor.
“Teachers are going to fuss over me, and the kids will ask too many questions,” he’d said. “But can I go to Mrs. Reardon’s, too? She gots—she has—cool music books.” He turned oh-so-innocent eyes on her. “This way, I won’t miss so many practice days.”
“Okay, but I’ll drive you there. I’d rather you not be alone. It’ll make me feel better.”
Morgan woke, as expected, well before the alarm went off. She took advantage of Austin being asleep to enjoy a leisurely shower in a bathroom light years ahead of the one on Elm Street. Even after the repairs, it would still be an old bathroom. A full remodel would cost more than the entire budget from the trust.
When she got out of the bathroom, Austin was sitting up in bed, remote in hand, channel surfing. Something she decided was part of the Y chromosome.
“Your turn in the bathroom. Would you like room service for breakfast, or go down to the restaurant?”
He beamed. “Really? We could have room service?”
She grinned and handed him the menu.
While he made his choice, she thought about life on concert tours. She was confident he had the talent to tour the country, if not the world. It was a matter of whether he had the drive, and she thought he did.
Breakfast finished, Morgan dropped Austin off at Mrs. Slauson’s, returned the borrowed luggage, and promised to be back no later than three to take him to Mrs. Reardon’s.
She pulled up the GPS on her phone and navigated to the Children Services office. Morgan had accepted that avoiding the issue wouldn’t earn her points with the powers in charge of granting her custody.
After explaining her situation, with profuse apologies for not having come sooner, she was directed to a back office where she met with a blue-suited, middle-aged woman—J. Accorso, according to the nameplate on her desk. The woman’s welcoming smile and demeanor reminded Morgan of Mrs. More Cheerful from the inn. Already feeling better, Morgan repeated her story.
“It sounds like you might fit into our Kinship Care Program,” Ms. Accorso said. “It’s designed for children whose home lives aren’t stable, or who are being neglected or abused, but I think we might make this work. You said he has no living blood relatives?”
Morgan explained about his father, dreading the woman might say they’d have to locate the man and if they found him, he’d get Austin.
Instead Ms. Accorso nodded, a hint of a smile playing at her mouth. “That adds to you qualifying for Kinship Care,” she said. “A father who’s neglected his son, hasn’t been a part of his life, isn’t what we’re looking for. You appear to have a more stable home to offer.”
One more check in the Morgan deserves custody column.
“Of course, this can’t happen overnight,” Ms. Accorso went on, “but I see no problem giving you temporary kinship custody. There’s an online form you can fill out, a background check, home visits, financial evaluations. From what you’ve told me, I’m sure you’ll pass all of these.”
Home visits? Morgan’s heart sank. No point in lying. Would she have to give up Uncle Bob’s house? The trust? Remain in Dublin until Austin was eighteen?
“I ... I don’t live in Dublin anymore.”
The woman’s eyebrows bunched. Morgan explained the terms of the trust, that Austin would have a much better life in Pine Hills than he’d had in his old neighborhood in Dublin. “There isn’t the same potential to nurture his talent if he stays here. I’ve lined up a music teacher—an excellent one—in Pine Hills.”
Talk about not lying. What if Ms. Accorso asked for the teacher’s name?
The woman tapped her pen on the desk.
“We both want what’s best for Austin, don’t we?” Morgan added. “That’s why your Kinship program exists. For the kids, right?”
Morgan stopped breathing while she waited for the woman’s answer.
Ms. Accorso stood, extended a hand. “I’ll do what I can, Miss Tate. Kinship guardians are allowed—encouraged—to take the children on family vacations, so there’s nothing that says they have to remain in Dublin. I’ll try to work that angle. Be sure to fill out the form right away.”
“I will.” Morgan accepted the handshake and left, not quite sure how to interpret the woman’s words.
She didn’t say no. That had to be good. Or at least not bad.
Morgan had planned to make an appointment to see the judge Cole had recommended, but after learning about the Kinship Care program, she decided that could wait until she heard more from Ms. Accorso. A court battle might not have to be part of the process.
Next stop. Austin’s school, where she signed countless forms and got copies of his school records.
Copies in hand, condolences accepted on Austin’s behalf, as well as best wishes for his future, Morgan headed for her last stop. Hannah Jackson’s church, to meet with the pastor.
“DROP IT, BAILEY.” COLE used his cop voice, and the dog, startled, turned, but didn’t release the bone.
Please let it be a deer, or leftovers from a ham or leg of lamb.
Cole pulled on the leash, switching to a happier, higher pitched tone. The ones he remembered K-9 handlers using at the academy to
reward their dogs.
Bailey’s tail wagged as he came back.
“Atta boy, Bailey. Watcha got? Give it to me.”
Although Bailey didn’t drop the bone, he did release it to Cole’s grasp. The dog tilted his head, as if he was waiting for Cole to throw it for a game of fetch.
“Sorry, guy. Let’s go inside, and I’ll get you a treat.” Cole set the bone back where he thought Bailey had found it and went around to the back door. Inside, he gave Bailey a biscuit, then grabbed his cell phone and called the station.
Cole explained the situation to the duty officer. “You’d better send someone from the ME’s office to my location.” He gave Morgan’s address.
“You have a body?”
“Negative. A bone. Looks human. There might be more. I didn’t disturb anything else.”
“Roger that. Hang tight.”
Cole disconnected, thinking if he had to hang around and wait for a ME, there were a lot worse places to do it.
About an hour later, the Deputy Medical Examiner had proclaimed the bone a human tibia and had declared the porch area a crime scene and off limits.
A cursory examination of the site showed several other bones, presumably part of the same skeleton, so there would be no porch reconstruction tomorrow.
Cole let Tom know what to expect, and that tomorrow’s work would have to be staged via the back and restricted to the inside of the house until the scene was released.
Kovak, who’d responded to the call, strode Cole’s way. “You do have a knack for finding ... interesting ... cases.”
Cole hiked a shoulder. “What can I say? Trying to give you detectives some job security.”
“We’ll have to post an officer,” Kovak said.
“I’m dog sitting here, helping with renovations, so I’m happy to volunteer for the duty.”
“You’re off, though, right?”
“Yes, sir, but I’ll be here,” Cole said. “Doesn’t make sense to pull another officer.”
“Let me clear it with scheduling. They’re the ones who have to justify the budget—and before you say anything, you can’t be a volunteer. You do any police-related work, it has to be on the clock.”
Kovak made the call.
Cole helped him string tape, and once permission came through, settled in for a long night.
With Kovak’s approval, Cole pulled his car up so it was outside the tape, blocking access to the site. He figured he and Bailey could spend the night in the car, and should Cole be asleep, the dog would alert him to any trespassers.
Kovak agreed there was no need to stand watch outside, as in actually standing outside.
“These bones have been here awhile. They’re not going to walk off by themselves, and all the calls went through cell phones, not the Dispatch radio system, so it’s unlikely anyone else is aware we’ve found the bones. We can’t spare a cruiser, so we’ll communicate via cell phone.”
“Yes, Sir. One more thing, Sir.”
Kovak shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes, Officer Patton?”
“Do you think these bones belong to Kirk Webster?”
“The kid with the journals?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? From the journals, he was having a hard time at school. We saw what happened with Randall Ebersold. It must have been worse for Kirk ten years ago. Maybe some of his classmates didn’t stop at a simple beating, or the beating went bad, and knowing the place was vacant, they buried him under the porch.”
Kovak’s lips pursed in and out. “Whoever did it had to brag about it and wrote that message on the wall. It’s a respectable hypothesis. But it works just as well the other way, too. Kirk got fed up with the bashing and retaliated, with the same ending.”
Cole had to agree Kovak had a valid point. “But it’s a legitimate case now, within Pine Hills’ jurisdiction. So you’ll be investigating, won’t you?”
Kovak lifted two fingers to his forehead in mock salute. “Investigate. Good idea, Officer Patton. I’ll get right on it.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Sir. It was more of a question.”
“Pull your foot out of your mouth before it goes in any deeper,” Kovak said, grinning. “If you’re nice, I might even keep you in the loop.”
“Yes, Sir.” Cole’s neck felt as though it could illuminate the entire yard. “What I was trying to say was, now that it’s a Pine Hills investigation, maybe I could do a little research of my own, as long as I’m officially on duty all night. I can log in remotely via my laptop. The department could get twice its money’s worth.”
Kovak’s expression shifted to one a parent might use when indulging an overeager child. “Knock yourself out, kid.”
Cole didn’t care. Gave him something to do. He went inside, fired up his laptop, and logged into the department’s system.
His thoughts returned to his sister. What if she’d had parents like Randall’s or Kirk’s? How lucky she’d been, being born into a family that accepted her for who she was, showed her what mattered, helped her to understand she was a person worthy of being loved.
Chapter 38
THURSDAY MORNING, MORGAN watched Austin fasten his tie. “You do that like a pro.”
He shrugged. “Momma said I had to wear one for church, so I learned when I was a little kid.”
“She’d be very proud of you.” Morgan made a final adjustment to his suit jacket lapels, the suit she’d bought him before they’d left Pine Hills. No twelve-year-old should have to buy a black suit, she’d thought then, and seeing him wear it, so solemn and brave, had her thinking the same thing now.
“You ready?” she asked.
He nodded.
She double-checked her purse for her packet of tissues.
When they approached the church, the pastor greeted them at the door, his grave expression mellowing into a gentle smile for Austin.
“Austin, I’m so glad you could be here.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Hi, Pastor Nick. This is Miss Tate. She’s been helping with my piano and taking care of everything after Momma ... you know.”
Leaving his hand on Austin’s shoulder, the pastor turned to Morgan. “Call me Nick. Thank you so much for being there for Austin. He’s a special member of my flock.”
“He’s special to me, too,” she said.
The pews held a scattering of people, fifteen or twenty, Morgan estimated, as she and Austin followed an usher to the front row. Heads turned, and a few people offered soft, sympathetic greetings to Austin. Morgan sensed the curiosity in their glances as she and Austin made their way to their seats. She hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense that the congregation would be predominantly black. There were a couple of Latinos, one other white, and two Asians seated together near the rear.
As if he sensed her unspoken question, Austin said, “Those people are from Momma’s job.”
Morgan marveled at how much effort Pastor Nick must have expended to put this service together so quickly. The organist, the flowers, the choir. She lifted her gaze, and her breath caught at the flower-draped casket in front of the altar.
Austin must have noticed it, too, because he gripped her hand. “Is Momma in there?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His grip tightened. “Are they going to open it up? Do I hafta look at her?”
“No.” After a discussion with Pastor Nick, Morgan had requested a closed casket.
The music swelled, then faded. Pastor Nick strode to the altar and stood behind the pulpit. “We’re here to honor the life of Hannah Jackson.”
INSIDE THE HOTEL ROOM, Morgan kicked off her shoes and sat on the bed. Austin, his expression blank, tugged at his tie.
“Funerals are rough,” Morgan said, “I think your momma would be glad you came and be proud of the way you were so strong.”
Most of the mourners had come only for the church service, so it was a mere handful of people at the gravesite. Austin had shed a few tears, clutched her hand in a
death grip, but held his head high. She’d suggested he think of a music playlist for his mother’s memory, and he seemed lost in his thoughts as they lowered the casket into the ground.
“Would a hug help?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he whispered.
She got up and embraced him, massaged the back of his neck.
Austin rested his head against her chest, his breathing steady. After a moment, he pulled away.
Morgan changed into more travel-friendly clothes, and Austin did the same, picking up the remote and running back and forth through the channels, stopping on a Power Rangers show.
They’d returned the borrowed suitcases, so she packed everything into her carry-on. As she rearranged her purse, she realized her phone had been off all day. Had the deliveries come through on schedule? What about the fence? The repairs? How was Bailey?
She pressed the power button and waited for the phone to come to life. A new message from Cole.
She opened the thread. Two new ones. Only two? The first, which had come through this morning while they were at the church.
AOK here Bailey fine Austin OK?
He’d actually used a question mark. And capital letters. His doing, or had he accepted the phone’s suggestions? She couldn’t keep from smiling.
The second message was a picture of her half-finished fence, sent an hour ago, accompanied by a thumbs up.
She texted back.
Funeral was good closure for Austin. Maybe good news on custody. Will text from Portland and shoved the phone into the side pocket of her purse.
“Fifteen minutes,” she told Austin. “We have to return the rental car and I don’t want to take any chances on missing the flight, or we’ll be sleeping at the airport tonight.”
Austin punched the remote, and the set went dark. “I’ve seen it before. We can go whenever you say.”
Morgan had wondered what she’d do if Austin wanted to live in Dublin. Apparently, he didn’t feel any ties to this community. Or were the memories of his mother making him want to sever any ties he had? She recalled how she’d felt after her parents had died. She’d been older chronologically. Emotionally, not so much. She’d wanted a new life, although that had been triggered by her failed carpal tunnel surgery, not a true desire to give up what she’d had.
