Echoes among the Stones

by Jaime Jo Wright

  “Whatever are you talking about?” She tried to act ignorant—flippant even. What right did Ollie Schneider have to tell her to do anything? None at all. He was a floundering war hero that the world didn’t know what to do with anymore.

  “Do what you want.” He shrugged, his hands sliding into the pockets of his overalls. “If you want to take another gander, have at it.”

  Imogene pressed her lips together in an impertinent I won smile, then turned back to the attic stairs. One. Two. Three.

  There were no footsteps behind her.

  She turned again.

  Ollie stood at the bottom of the attic stairs, looking up at her.

  “You’re not coming?” Hang! She didn’t want to do this alone now that he was here. His presence brought reality crashing into her dreamlike trance.

  Hazel wouldn’t be alive in the attic.

  She wouldn’t be there at all.

  Just a sordid, vile scene that Imogene had already witnessed. Already had the scream ripped from her throat at the sight.

  Imogene couldn’t help the desperation that must have fluttered across her face, because she heard it in her voice. “Please don’t make me do this alone.”

  Maybe it was her unguarded moment of vulnerability.

  Maybe it was duty.

  Imogene didn’t know the reason why. All she knew was the fleeting comfort of Oliver Schneider’s farm boots echoing on the wooden steps as he climbed the stairs to walk with her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Aggie

  She thought—she’d assumed—that Mumsie was exaggerating again. But no. There in the middle of the backyard lay the body, its skeletal remains soiled from earth, as though it had just been exhumed and hauled to her grandmother’s yard for reburial. Sans coffin. Or mourners. Or any legal paper work.

  “What the—! Mumsie!” Aggie reached for her purse in a frantic gesture but ended up slapping her hip with a purposeless whack, recalling in an instant that she’d left her purse inside. She needed her phone. 911. Authorities.

  Mumsie perched in the doorway of her kitchen that overlooked the backyard, her wrinkled hand gripping the doorframe with enough pressure to keep her nearly century-old frame standing upright.

  Aggie shot the elderly woman another freaked look, but Mumsie appeared quite calm.

  “Where did that—? It’s a decomposed—it’s a skeleton!” Aggie’s exclamation released in a shocked hiss.

  Mumsie nodded, and a curl bobbed over her white eyebrow. “Yes, I quite agree. Female by the looks of her pelvis. Wider hips, you know? For birthing and—”

  “Where did it come from?” Aggie all but shouted, trying to keep herself from shoving Mumsie out of the doorway so she could retrieve her phone.

  Mumsie’s emerald eyes snapped. “How am I to know? I came to the backyard to weed my flower beds, not play archaeologist. Yet there she is, splayed in all her glorious wonder. Although I do believe her bones are lacking calcium at this point. Did you notice the right tibia is—”

  Aggie didn’t notice. She didn’t know one bone from another, let alone a wayward skeleton tossed into the yard like an outlandish horror movie.

  “We need to call 911. Why didn’t you call the police?” Aggie moved to brush past Mumsie.

  “Call the police? And tell them what? Elijah’s in my backyard piecing together dry bones?” The dry wit her grandmother possessed was ill-timed as usual. “As a matter of fact, Elijah left that doing to the good Lord, so I figured I’d do the same. And what do you know?” She smiled with a blushed-cheek contentment. “My granddaughter showed up.”

  Aggie shot Mumsie a look over her shoulder. “This isn’t the time for Old Testament references, Mumsie.”

  “Well, that’s obvious.” Mumsie turned in the doorway, her legs shaky. “As I don’t see the bones regaining any life at the moment.”

  “I’m calling the cops.” Aggie’s lip thinned at her grandmother’s sass.

  “Why?” Mumsie pressed.

  “To tell them there’s a body in your yard! Perhaps we start with that.”

  Mumsie clicked her tongue and followed Aggie through the kitchen. Her shoes shuffled on the floor, and she reached for her walker that she’d planted by the sink. “I’ve no explanation for why it’s there. That’s what they’ll want to know, the police with their incessant and pointless questioning, before they whisk the body to some cold mortuary and rebury it as a Jane Doe, along with any evidence, in a Bankers Box marked COLD CASE.”

  “You watch too much TV,” Aggie muttered. She reached for the phone mounted on the wall. A mustard-yellow phone with a rotary dial. “Please tell me this thing works.”

  “Of course it does. Better than all the newfangled ones you all have nowadays. I’ve had that phone for thirty-five years.”

  Of course she had. Mumsie saved everything.

  Mumsie had followed her to the front door, eyed her as she rolled her suitcase up the sidewalk from her car, bags slung over her shoulders, and inspected Aggie’s stilettos still stained with mud from the cemetery.

  “Pumps are more sensible,” was all she said.

  Aggie silently agreed but had no intention of giving her grandmother that satisfaction. By the time the police arrived, Aggie had kicked off her stilettos and exchanged them for a pair of canvas slip-ons she’d tugged from her shoe bag.

  Within moments of their arrival, Aggie led the police to the backyard, and she couldn’t help but keep a side-eye on Mumsie, who had grown quiet. Her retorts and quips silenced under the intimidation of men in law uniforms, perhaps? Or maybe something else. Aggie didn’t know, yet she couldn’t ignore the pang of concern as she watched the blush slowly seep from Mumsie’s powdery-soft cheeks to a paler version that reinforced to Aggie how aged her grandmother truly was. Fragile. Life was casting a faux vibrance over the woman so that when one looked closer, they saw that life had instead brought the inevitable weariness a person faced when preparing to bid this world farewell.

  One of the cops who’d introduced himself as Officer Benton squatted next to the bones. He shot a look at his partner. “Not exactly in one piece,” he observed.

  Aggie came up behind them, crossing her arms over her chest, but catching Mumsie’s slow lowering of her body onto an iron porch chair from the corner of her eye. She returned her attention to the task at hand.

  “I noticed it’s in disarray,” she nodded. The upper half of the skeleton was intact, while the lower half wasn’t, the pieces seeming to have been deliberately laid out in as correct a formation as possible.

  Officer Benton stood. His partner snapped some photographs of the scene. Turning to Aggie, Officer Benton frowned, his peppery-gray eyebrows pulling together. “When did you say you found this here?”

  Helpless, Aggie turned to Mumsie a few yards away. The old woman’s fingertips covered her lips, and she stared past them, her expression lost. Aggie turned back to the officer.

  “Mumsie mentioned she found it this morning.”

  “It’s PVC.” The male voice invaded Aggie’s concentration. She jerked her head toward the sound, as did the policeman who stood in front of her.

  “Say what?” Officer Benton turned as a tall man of average build approached them, meandering through the back gate and casting a casual glance Mumsie’s way.

  His hands were in the pockets of loose trousers, cuffed at his ankles like some English lord from the thirties. His white button-up shirt was tucked in, and suspenders stretched over his shoulders. Ginger hair, thick and wavy, caught her attention. Round, gold wire-framed glasses set on a face that was scholarly but handsome.

  Chiseled. That was the word that came to mind. A well-carved face with narrowed blue eyes that hinted they knew more than everyone else did, they were okay with that, and they thought it a bit funny.

  Aggie wasn’t laughing.

  “PVC. Not of very good quality, clearly,” he repeated, a hint of a British accent tinging his words. “The skeleton—it isn’t real.”

  O
fficer Benton turned a questioning glance back down to what appeared to be a worn, decayed, and muddied corpse.

  “Collin O’Shaughnessy.” The interloper moved toward the detective with a hand of greeting outstretched. They shook over the remains, and Collin nodded at the skeleton. “I’m sorry, chaps, but it’s probably from a medical facility or something. A prank maybe?”

  Aggie looked between Collin and the police. “A prank? In my grandmother’s backyard? What kind of sick joke—?” She extended her hand to the skeleton.

  “A prank, Agnes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Your urgency is very overwhelming.” Mumsie’s voice wobbled from behind them as she perched on her iron garden bench. She patted the curls at the side of her head. Aggie noticed some coloring returning to the old woman’s face.

  “Collin O’Shaughnessy, ma’am.” The unexplained trespasser reintroduced himself by extending his hand to Mumsie, who took it with a gracious smile and a brief twinkle in her eye. Apparently, even a ninety-two-year-old woman could tell a handsome man when she saw one. Aggie squeezed her eyes shut, willing her emotions not to surge with the impulsive force of her Scottish-English father. The one legacy he’d left to her. No thanks needed there.

  Aggie opened her eyes to find Officer Benton, his partner, and Mr. Collin O’Shaughnessy all staring at her while Mumsie picked at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve.

  “And no one has gone missing?” Aggie blinked as her gaze collided with Collin’s. It was a silly question, really. If someone had, the odds their skeleton would drop from the sky into Mumsie’s backyard was about as realistic as expecting Elvis to stride through the yard gate.

  “Well, to be sure, if this were the deceased corpse of a missing person,” Collin broke into Aggie’s thoughts, “there likely would be more decomposition. But if you look closely, you’ll see bits of attachments at the bones. See there? The drilled holes? At one point, this entire fake soul was held together by wire of some sort. Note the torso. The silver wiring holding the arm to the socket?”

  There was a twinkle in his eyes behind his glasses as he met Aggie’s incredulous look.

  Officer Benton squatted again and then gave a short laugh. “Well, I’ll be. I must be half blind.” He shot O’Shaughnessy an appreciative glance over his shoulder. “You’re right! Don’t get much for dead bodies around Mill Creek. Even had me goin’ for a bit!”

  Aggie whirled back to Collin, who leaned over the skeleton and peered down into its cavernous, fake eye sockets.

  “Well, she’s been through a bit, I’d say.” Collin chuckled and toed the ground with a polished brown loafer. “Poor model. Must have been discarded from a medical facility.”

  “In my grandmother’s backyard?” It seemed to Aggie that it was all she could ask. Repeatedly, until she sounded like a dim-witted female stereotype.

  Office Benton stood. His knees cracked. He shrugged. “Well, we’ll take some photos for evidence. Look into a few things. But seeing as it isn’t really a—body—I’d wager some neighborhood kids were having a bit of fun. Pre-Halloween and all.”

  “It’s the middle of September!” Aggie blinked in bewilderment. Truly? Now children were responsible?

  “A swell prank,” Mumsie inserted, having conquered the loose thread and readjusted her sweater. She rested her hands on her knees, her pants a bit short and riding above delicate ankles and feet placed neatly in a pair of two-inch, thickly heeled shoes.

  “That it is!” Collin snapped his finger and thumb, pointing at Mumsie, who gifted him with a brilliant smile, deepening the wrinkles in her cheeks.

  Aggie squelched a gag. She wasn’t prone to being overly squeamish, but having only minutes before thought she’d come upon a pile of old bones, she also wasn’t in a playful mood. She gave her fingers an agitated rake through her straight hair, allowing the long black strands to fall over her shoulders.

  “It’s all well and good you all seem to be so comfortable writing this off as . . . PVC. I, however, do not find the humor in it. I expect a thorough and written complaint to be taken down, an investigation made to find out why it was left in this backyard, and—”

  “Oh, let’s put the kibosh on the whole thing.” Mumsie struggled to her feet, and Collin O’Shaughnessy and his yet-unexplained presence or purpose jumped forward to give her his hand. She took it, standing, and shot Aggie that familiar emerald stare, indicating she was finished with the conversation. “Now that we know it’s nothing, there’s no reason to gaggle around my backyard and play crime-scene investigation. Off with all of you now and leave an old woman in peace.”

  Mumsie spun—as much as a ninety-two-year-old woman could spin—on her heel and teetered to the back door. Officer Benton gave his partner a quick nod, and the man hurried to take Mumsie’s arm and lead her into the house.

  “Really, miss, I don’t believe you have too much to be concerned about here.” Officer Benton lowered his voice, but there was confidence in it.

  Aggie searched his face. He would follow the procedures, gather the information, she could tell, but it didn’t appear he had any qualms taking the word of the man standing next to her.

  “But who is he?” Aggie was anxious to put credibility to the entire situation. She didn’t mean his name either. That was clear. As was the fact he was a mishmash of British, American, Canadian, or something. His slang wasn’t even consistent with one locale and most definitely not Midwestern United States.

  “The archaeologist,” Collin O’Shaughnessy answered with a smile. If it was meant to be charming, it was. If it was intended to disarm her, it didn’t. “I was doing a ride-along with the officer’s partner here. Research and the like. My apologies if I inserted myself where I don’t belong. It’s just, with my knowledge, I felt a tad responsible to clear the air of suspicion before everyone made it into a beastly afternoon when it needn’t be.”

  Now he sounded decidedly British. Aggie held up her hands. She wasn’t a fan of dragging information out of people. In fact, being in real estate sales, she was quite adept at placing a few good open-ended questions and having her clients pouring forth information. But either the circumstances or Collin’s ridiculously sapphire-blue eyes had her all turned around.

  “Look,” she began, shifting her focus between the two men. The more than capable police officer and the, the—“An archaeologist?” Aggie couldn’t help how her voice rose into a squeak at the end of her question. She vaguely remembered Mr. Richardson’s words at the cemetery. That she’d be working with an archaeologist.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Collin’s right cheek dimpled as his left eyebrow rose above the wire frame of his glasses. “And a writer. I’m also a connoisseur of entomology.”

  “Bugs?” Aggie’s rhetorical question was mumbled in disbelief.

  “Insects, actually. Well, not all insects, I suppose. More specifically, the kinds of creatures that waste away the remains of the deceased. It lends itself to quite a—”

  Aggie interrupted him by turned abruptly to Officer Benton. “So, there is nothing more here that you need me for?”

  Officer Benton cleared his throat and shot Collin an uncomfortable glance. “Uh—no. No, we’ll be wrapping up here in just a few minutes.”

  “And what do I do with—with that?” Aggie looked to the ground where the skeleton’s frame mocked her.

  Officer Benton gave a short nod. “No worries, miss. We’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Good.” Aggie didn’t mean to sound rude. She was actually a very nice person, she reminded herself, but today had tested the last of her patience. Finding that a flooded-out cemetery was the fate of her career aspirations and that Mumsie’s hip wasn’t broken? It wasn’t that Aggie wished it was broken, but for Pete’s sake, today was spinning violently out of control.

  “Thank you.” Aggie gave the officer a lame nod. She tried to attach a smile but could tell it came out thin. Fake. Confused.

  She gave Collin O’Shaughnessy a sideways glance as s
he turned to walk back to the house. His expression had lost its humor, and instead he seemed to study her, his eyes squinting behind his glasses.

  “What?” Aggie half whispered, a bit defensively.

  “Nothing,” he responded, yet he tilted his head left as if still trying to read something in her face. “Do have a good evening, Miss Dunkirk.”

  “I will.” She swallowed. “Thank you.” A polite nod and Aggie hurried toward the old Victorian house with its musty interior that smelled of baby powder and mothballs.

  It wasn’t until she got inside that she realized she’d never introduced herself to Collin O’Shaughnessy and yet he knew her last name. There was no reason why that should bother her so, but it did all the same. She pushed back a kitchen curtain to peek out the window into the yard. Officer Benton was jotting something down in his notepad, but Collin was staring right at her. He hadn’t moved.

  Aggie let the curtain fall back into place.

  She’d no desire to mingle with a scholarly Oxford-ish type who played around with bugs that ate away dead flesh. And yet it seemed to be her immediate fate. She gave the old kitchen a cursory once-over with her eyes. As did living here with Mumsie. A woman whose tongue could cut sharp grooves into Aggie’s confidence and whose eccentricities had a way of always—always—chasing people away.

  Aggie had never intended to come back here.

  This had never been her home.

  CHAPTER 5

  Imogene

  It was a cavern of hollow memories that ricocheted off dark walls, repeating themselves over and over and over until Imogene wished to clap her hands over her ears and scream the remembrances into silence. She sensed Oliver beside her, but he said nothing. What was there to say, after all, with the vision before them, splayed out in all its murderous glory? The aftermath of Hazel’s death, staining the rug by her bed. The droplets of blood marring the wallpaper, making a mockery of the beauty of the pink roses and green vines that wrapped themselves delicately across a pale pink background. Hazel had picked out the wallpaper after their parents gave her permission to make the attic into a bedroom. Her “oasis,” Hazel said. Her “haven.” Now her tomb.