Bone-a-fied Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  “I’m saying no such thing.” Doc was more tired than annoyed. “The use of an artifact as a murder weapon indicates this was a spur of the moment murder. Or it could be the complete opposite—that the killer brought such a tool with him because this method of murder, this particular victim, this location means something to him.”

  “You’re sure it’s a him?” Coleman asked.

  “Yes. Dr. Wells weighs about a hundred and forty pounds. She was alive when she was hoisted up on the hook, and she was likely fighting for her life. I don’t believe a female, unless she was exceptionally tall and strong, could have done that.”

  “Two females?” I asked.

  “It’s possible, but not likely.” Doc waited for Coleman’s response.

  “I found footprints by the hoist.”” Coleman said. “Male, probably size twelve. I’m certain our killer is a male. Dr. Hafner wears a size twelve and the patterns on the soles of his boots match the prints left in the dirt here. The circumstantial evidence is pretty damning.”

  A few strands of Sandra’s hair had escaped the sheet and I could see that they were clotted with blood. I didn’t really want to look beneath the sheet, but I asked if I could. Doc held the sheet back and I snapped a few photos to study later. The wound was indeed gruesome. It had not been an easy death for Sandra Wells. She’d once been a beautiful woman. I’d seen her about town with some of the younger students. She seemed to be held in respect by the young people. Now all of that was moot. Death had left her pale and with an anguished expression on her face.

  “Any idea about motive?” I asked.

  “That’s why Hafner is my number one suspect,” Coleman said as he rose to stand. He was a tall timber, solid and in his prime. He was a magnet for my affections, though I had more class than to put on a public display.

  “I heard rumors around town that they were romantically involved,” I said.

  “I’ve heard the same,” Coleman said. “And they were great competitors. Dr. Wells brought her own funding to this dig. She intended to amplify her standing as an archeologist. Dr. Hafner had separate funding and sought to control the method of excavation. It was a war from the get-go that included yelling matches and threats.”

  “Why didn’t Hafner just kick her out of the dig?” He’d been on the scene first. He was already established here when Wells showed up with fancy equipment and her students and team. The story had flown all over Zinnia—and several magazines and television channels dedicated to history had made the competition into something of a reality TV show. I’d watched a few of the specials—because it involved my hometown area--and thought that both professors had engaged in the lively match to build ratings, and gather more donors. Typical reality show formula and nothing like controversy to bring in the money.

  “Frank Hafner’s grant only covered some of the cost. Dr. Wells had the equipment grant, the high tech that Hafner needed to complete the dig without destroying critical aspects of the site.” Coleman pointed to the hoist. “That hole is twenty or so feet deep into the mound. Yet no graves appear to be disturbed. Someone knew exactly where to dig. Were they looking for something or looking to bury something?” He led me over to the bowl filled with Dr. Wells’ blood.

  I snapped a few photos and bent closer to examine the markings on the bowl. They were strange hieroglyphics of a sort, the same thing one might find in a pyramid. Or on the painted chest or face of a warrior. I remembered the slashes and symbols from the dream that had so disturbed me. “Is this from the dig here?”

  “I don’t know,” Coleman said. “Hafner isn’t talking. But he will.”

  We both glanced down to the bottom of the mound where Hafner still corralled all the student workers. One was missing, though. The attractive brunette I’d seen earlier wearing overalls with a bright red kerchief tying back her hair was missing. And I could clearly see two distinct groups of students. They were all from a Michigan university. Some were Hafner’s and some Wells’ students. A handful of them, Wells’ students I presumed, looked confused and mournful. Two were crying.

  Coming toward the mound was a very official looking group of men in suits and women in office attire. “Who is that?” I asked Coleman.

  “Those are sponsors of the dig. I don’t know which ones, but this dig had some serious backing. The National Science Foundation, the Archeology Institute of America, and one very big private grant from the Americus Cleverdon Foundation run by Elton Cade. That guy with the striped tie is Cade. He’s a big philanthropist and scientist.”

  He looked like any other businessman of means. “Why do people invest big money in these digs?” If artifacts were found, they most often went to a museum or public collection. In the narrow, narrow world of archeology there was some smattering of acclaim, but nothing that would bring in the bucks. “I get unraveling the mystery of the past. It’s an exciting bit of detective work. But who has half a million to put toward something like this?”

  “Rich people.” Coleman helped Doc to his feet and signaled the EMTs to come and remove the body. They would take it to the local hospital so Doc could perform the autopsy. “If I had a lot of money, I’d fund cancer research. That’s a mystery, too.”

  “I’d fund vaccinations for children all over the world.” It was good to know that we both had a philanthropic bone, though it wasn’t likely to get much exercise based on our current earning power.

  “History is important too. If we understand our past, we can better chart our future.” Coleman wiped his forehead and gave me a wink. “We can more easily figure out what motivates a person. In crime solving, motivation is ninety percent of the game.”

  “Well aren’t you the philosophic brain today?” I couldn’t resist putting my arm around him, just for a moment.

  “How about a date tonight? I have body parts that aren’t interested in philosophy. I’d like to show them to you.”

  I laughed, drawing more attention than I wanted. “Perfect. We’ll talk later. Those suits are coming up the mound and I need to intercept them and get some answers. If I turn up anything interesting, I’ll let you know. As long as it proves my client innocent.”

  “You do that,” Coleman said.

  Tinkie approached Elton Cade and as I joined them, I searched through my memory for the tidbits I knew about him. He was from the disappearing town of Hilo, Mississippi, an inventor who’d created a popular action game for children. Instead of selling the toy to a major company, he manufactured and sold it himself. It was the beginning of an empire of toys that included stores all across the nation. His products were safe and healthy and were highly touted by moms and environmental groups. He had the bucks to invest in digging up bones or buying islands or anything else he wanted. He’d married a local girl, had a kid, and lived a quiet life in a house not ten minutes from the clapboard home he’d grown up in.

  I was about to introduce myself to Cade when a tall, handsome man with straight black hair worn in a queue came toward us. “This dig must be stopped.” He blocked Cade’s path, cutting me and Tinkie out of his way.

  “What are you talking about?” Cade said. “This will reveal so much about the first settlers of this land. It’s a boon for the local economy—hotels are filled and restaurants have catering jobs. Peter, we all benefit from this.”

  “The first settlers were my people. I’m legal counsel for the Tunica nation. This is sacred ground and all excavation must stop.”

  I recognized Peter Deerstalker. He’d been in town for a few days too and he hadn’t bothered to be discreet about his opposition to the dig. The only thing missing from Deerstalker’s speech was a court order. He didn’t have one and I could tell by the look on Elton Cade’s face he had no intention of stopping the dig. Not for a lawyer—not even for a dead woman.

  “You know I love and respect you, Peter, but when you have a court order, then we’ll talk,” Cade said. “This is an important site. This mound is far off the normal geographic location of the other major mounds and it
’s been hidden here, untampered with, for all these years. Your people stand to benefit with the rest of the area.”

  “That’s you’re assessment. We believe this was a sacred temple site and was removed from the other sites to keep it safe and hidden. And that’s how it should remain.” Deerstalker stood his ground.

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have the say-so in that,” Cade said. He shook his head slowly. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from. But there is so much to be learned, so much that can benefit the Tunica tribe if their history becomes better known. There’s not a downside to this for you or your people.”

  “Except that if this is a temple site with burials, the bones of my ancestors will be disturbed. In my culture, this is a violation, just as it is in the white culture. Imagine if I wanted to dig up a cemetery.”

  It was a valid point. I looked at Tinkie, whose gaze was on Frank Hafner. The professor was watching the interaction of Deerstalker and Cade with great interest.

  “If there was a cemetery that might lead to a better understanding of the white migration to this land, I would say dig it up,” Cade said. “The truth is, we know plenty about the spread of white settlements, the brutal tactics used, the way claim was laid to land that rightly belonged to the Native Americans. The predominant religious belief was Christian. The people who came here were often poor and tempted by the concept of owning their own plot of land. There’s no mystery here. The Native settlers are far more intriguing. They could have settled anywhere. Why here? They weren’t hunters as much as gatherers. Why here? In the most successful tribes, they had a society based on caring for each other. But they could also exhibit great brutality.”

  “We love the idea that there is great mystery in studying the savages.” Deerstalker made his point without raising his voice.

  “Can we have this conversation somewhere else?” Cade asked. “We can continue this back at the house. There’s a dead woman here. The sheriff and Doc Sawyer are ready to carry her down the mound and I’d like to speak with the sheriff.”

  “I’ll see you in Hilo,” Deerstalker said.

  The men nodded and scattered. Tinkie and I looked at each other. “Who knew a dig could be so controversial and fraught with such drama?”

  “Let’s talk to some of the students here. I want to find out the relationship between Hafner and Wells. And looks like Hafner has ducked out, or maybe Coleman has taken him.”

  Tinkie nodded agreement. “I’ve heard the two competing professors were hostile to each other. Wells made a scene in town a few days ago. She was badmouthing Hafner in Millie’s when some of Hafner’s students challenged her. Millie had to call the sheriff’s office. When Budgie and DeWayne showed up, the students took off.”

  “That’s a lead we need to pursue.”

  As Coleman had pointed out earlier, motivation was one key in finding a villain. Hafner was handsome and had a reputation for charming his students. Perhaps one of them had taken his defense to the point of homicide.

  End of excerpt from Game of Bones

  by Carolyn Haines

  Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series #20

  Trouble’s Double Contest Winner

  Blackie

  This was my beloved cat Blackie. He would follow my husband Jimmy the way a dog would. As you can see in the photo, he enjoyed sitting on top of the back door. Blackie loved laying in the sunshine. I enjoyed watching him look out into the backyard where he’d stare at the birds and squirrels.

  * * *

  One quirky thing that Blackie would do was burrow his head and nap inside of a leather shoe, warmed by someone’s feet. He also tried to fit his head in flip flops as well! I miss him so much. He would snuggle up against my side or back when I was sleeping. When he was a little kitten, he preferred to sleep on top of the bathroom sink.

  * * *

  You know what I miss a lot? When I’d be at my desk playing computer games, Blackie would get right in front of the monitor and chase the cursor with his paw.

  * * *

  Another of my precious memories would be our daily morning hide-and-seek game. When I got up, he’d run and hide behind the sofa. Then when I entered the living room, he’d run behind me and tap my leg. I’m thankful for all the memories I have of my dear Blackie.

  Carolyn Huddleston

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