She wasn’t about to admit it throbbed like a toothache. “It could be worse.”
“I think you should let me take over for a little while at least.”
“Tell you what,” she said as Chris climbed out of the pit. “Let me work another hour, and then you can give me a break.”
He reluctantly agreed, and she eased down into the pit again. After studying the indentations, Emma shifted her work area closer to the wall. If what she’d found were leg bones, what followed was the foot. Perhaps the grave robber had overlooked some of the smaller bones or even a phalange from a toe.
Time slipped away as she focused on scraping away the dirt, one layer at a time. Emma ignored pain coming from her back and down her leg until it was impossible. Just one more scrape and she would hand it over to Sam for a while.
Her breath caught when the trowel uncovered a speck of something light. Using the brush, she carefully swept away dirt. “Hand me one of those dental picks,” she said.
“What’ve you found?” Sam asked, handing her the tool.
“Not sure. Give me a second.” Gently, she used the pick to remove the dirt around a perfectly preserved bone. The middle phalange of a toe bone if the memory from her A&P class served her correctly. Their thief had overlooked it in his haste. How many small bones had he left behind? Leaving it undisturbed, she climbed out of the pit with Sam’s help and waited for Chris to photograph her find.
“Nate picked up sandwiches,” Sam said. “You want to stop for lunch while Chris finishes?”
She didn’t want to, but just as she started to shake her head, her stomach growled. “Sure.”
A few minutes later, Chris grabbed a sandwich and reported in to Nate, leaving Sam and Emma alone. They ate in silence until their sandwiches were almost gone, then she said, “I wonder what he did with the other bones?”
“I’m thinking the river,” Sam replied.
“Makes sense.” It made her sick to think that whoever had been buried here had been gathered up like garbage and dumped into the river. If that was what happened, they would never find the rest of the bones. Neither of them spoke the question that lay heavy on Emma’s mind. She did not want to speculate who the body belonged to, but she was pretty sure Sam would think it was Ryan.
As if reading her mind, he asked, “Would you be willing to compare your DNA to the DNA they find in the bone?” When she hesitated, he added, “It would be one way to rule Ryan out.”
“It is not my brother!” As soon as the words were past her lips, Emma pressed her hand to her mouth. She must really be tired to snap at him like that. None of this was his fault. She dropped her shoulders and sighed. “Of course I will, if nothing more than to prove it isn’t Ryan. But we have to finish excavating the site first. Maybe we’ll find something that will identify the remains.” And point them away from Ryan.
“Would a billfold still be intact if the body had been buried in the past twenty years?”
At least he didn’t say ten years. “Possibly. But don’t you think our thief would have seen a billfold and taken it with him?”
“Yeah,” he said reluctantly.
Emma finished the rest of her sandwich in silence as a nagging thought kept intruding. What if it were Ryan’s bones? She’d never let herself dwell on the possibility he was dead, always finding a reason why he hadn’t contacted them. The main one being he was afraid of being framed for Mary Jo’s murder. Was she ready to deal with that possibility? But she and her twin had been so close. She’d been told they’d even had their own language as babies . . . wouldn’t she have known if her brother was dead?
Regardless of whether it was Ryan or not, the person’s family deserved closure. And justice. She slipped two Tylenol from her pocket and downed them before Sam noticed. If he thought she was in pain, he’d insist on taking over, and Emma wanted to finish the job she’d started. She wadded up the sandwich wrapping. “Ready?”
“Sure. But let me dig a while.”
“Not yet.” When he started to object, she added, “Please.”
“Your hand is bound to be hurting.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Why is this so important for you to do?”
She didn’t know, just that it was. “After someone tried to run me off Thursday night, I have a personal stake in this.” Then she shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because I’m stubborn.”
He laughed with her. “I’ll go with the second.”
Emma grabbed the brush and a dental pick. Once back in the pit, she scraped layer after layer of dirt, looking for more small bones. Forty minutes into her promised hour, none had materialized.
If the person had been buried with their shoes on, could the shoes still be intact? If they were leather, possibly. Had the thief dropped the phalange when he moved the body? If so, the bone would have been on top of the ground, not buried. She looked at the bone again. Was it possible their thief pressed it into the dirt when he was trying to cover up the other indentations? So many questions and so few answers.
A shadow crossed where she worked, and Emma sat back on her heels and looked up. Nate had joined them.
“How’s it coming?”
“Okay. I’m thinking about moving my search toward the other end of the pit, where the skull should be.”
“Makes sense,” Nate said.
Sam picked up a trowel. “I keep trying to convince her to let me help.”
“You’ll get your clothes dirty.”
“I can change.”
Nate scratched his chin. “Looks to me like there’s room for both of you if you’re working at different ends. It would cut our time in half, so let’s try it.”
She’d been able to block Sam from her mind with him standing on the ground above her. If he was in the pit, it would be impossible to be unaware of his presence, but it didn’t look like she had much choice.
Emma quickly moved her tools to the other end of the grave while Sam went to change. When he returned, he dropped down into the hole. His musky aftershave brought the memory of how electricity had arced between them last night. She hadn’t admitted it to herself then, but she was disappointed he hadn’t kissed her.
She shook the thoughts off and concentrated on the dirt she scraped away. Emma had thought she’d removed all the loose dirt earlier, but she’d been wrong. The dirt she was scraping now wasn’t compact and dense, at least not like the other end. She went a little deeper with her trowel, then repeated the action. Maybe she should move over a little and go to work closer to the top of the wall. Her heart stilled when she hit solid ground, and she quickly exchanged the trowel for a brush.
Even though the person had gone to a lot of trouble to pack the dirt here, it didn’t have the solid feel from years of not being disturbed, and after she’d swept it a few times, a sunken impression appeared. “I think I have something,” she said and sat back on her heels again. A strand of hair fell across her eyes, and she blew it back.
Sam peered over her shoulder. “I think you’ve found where the skull was.”
Emma’s stomach bottomed out, and she almost lost the sandwich she’d eaten. Finding where the skull had lain hit her ten times harder than finding the toe bone. Blinking away tears that burned her eyes, she went to work again, looking for anything that would help identify their victim.
24
The church was tastefully decorated. Candles flickered on either side of the altar where he counted the seconds for “Ave Maria” to segue into Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” He couldn’t wait to get his first glimpse of Emma in the beautiful princess-style dress he’d picked out. Mother sat on the second row, and he glanced over, giving her a wink. For once he’d made the gentle soul proud.
His mother was thinking how lucky he was that Emma said yes. Emmy, as he’d taken to calling her, would make the perfect daughter-in-law. Slowly his mother’s head turned toward the back of the church. Emmy must be at the door.
Why was his mother frowning? And why
was the prelude going on too long? He exchanged worried glances with his mother as she faded from his sight. No! Don’t leave.
Frantically he searched past rows and rows of guests to the back of the church. The wedding march should have started by now. Where was Emma? She should be walking down the aisle. A deathly silence filled the church, and he closed his eyes.
She wasn’t coming.
And it was all Sam Ryker’s fault.
When he opened his eyes again, there were no guests, no church, and he sat in his car.
Ryker was just like Dad. Always ruining everything he touched. Look at Emma’s hand. If it weren’t for Ryker, she wouldn’t have hurt it.
He had to protect Emma from Sam. He pretended to be all nice and concerned on the outside, but when they were alone, Sam Ryker was just nasty. A womanizer. Emotionally abusive. Just like his dad. He’d heard Ryker make fun of Emma, put her down. Oh sure, he’d pretended he was joking.
Ryker wanted Emma. He could see it in his eyes. But the ranger would break her heart.
And he wasn’t going to let that happen. She belonged to him.
Or she wouldn’t belong to anyone.
25
Finding the impression the skull made in the ground had knocked Emma’s feet out from under her. She stared down at where she’d been cleaning. Seeing it drove home in a way the toe bone hadn’t that a person had been murdered and buried here.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
He’d climbed out of the pit, and she looked up. “Yeah,” she said. Emma turned back to the bucket of dirt she’d accumulated and lifted it up to him. “It’s just that . . .” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “All of a sudden, what we’re doing here is too real.”
He knelt and held out his hand. “Why don’t you take a break?” he asked gently.
No, she needed to get this job done so that whoever was buried here could have justice.
Almost as if he’d read her mind, he said, “A short break won’t stop the progress. And it’ll give you the energy to finish.” When she still hesitated, Sam said, “I know how you feel—pretty sure it’s the same thing I feel whenever I investigate the murder of a John Doe. You want to discover the victim’s identity so you can give the family closure.”
Maybe a break would be a good idea. Then she could go back to work refreshed. “Have you investigated many John Doe cases?” she asked once he’d lifted her out of the pit.
“Enough.”
She dusted her knees off and looked back at the hole that was the length and width of a grave. “How do you keep doing it? I never want to do this again.”
“I won’t say you get used to it, because you never do,” he said. “But you learn to distance yourself, kind of like a medical examiner.”
Medical examiner. Emma couldn’t do that job either. “Where did Nate go?”
“To his SUV. He lost reception and wanted to touch base with the office on his radio.”
She looked over the two mounds of dirt. The smaller pile they’d taken out today wouldn’t have to be sifted, but the one dug with the backhoe had to be processed once they excavated the pit. She would be sifting it weeks from now.
“Whoever removed the skeleton didn’t have much time last night,” Sam said, uncapping a bottle of water before handing it to her. “He’s bound to have left something behind other than a small bone and a shoe print.”
She tilted the bottle up and took a welcomed sip. “Any news about the kind of shoe it was?”
“A Nike.”
That only eliminated about half the population of Adams County. “How long do you think the intruder was here?”
“Trey and Clayton were put out of commission sometime between ten and eleven,” he said. “I arrived a little after midnight and the intruder was gone, but I got the feeling he hadn’t been gone long.”
“That’s two hours at most.” Once again she looked at the fresh dirt piled beside the pit. “Of course, he wouldn’t have been trying to preserve the site, and he used the backhoe to dig down another foot.”
“He might have even scooped the remains up with the backhoe.”
Her fingers itched to get back to work, but first she checked her watch. Four o’clock. It would take two hours to drive to her mom’s, leaving an hour before she needed to change. Emma set the timer on her watch for sixty minutes and gingerly climbed down into the pit again. She didn’t understand why she hurt all over. It’d only been her hand that had been injured. Of course, she’d hit the bottom of the pit pretty hard, jarring her. Couldn’t let Sam know how badly her hand hurt. If he knew, he’d want her to stop, fearful that she would further injure her hand. But she couldn’t stop. Something drove her to discover who had been buried in the grave.
Sam jumped down into the pit with her. Time passed quickly as they scraped layer after layer away and dumped the dirt in buckets. A chill settled over the area as the sun hung low in the sky. She scraped over the ground again and met resistance. “I think I have something here.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Something hard, though.” She looked around for a dental pick, but she must have taken it out of the pit. “Do you have a pick?”
“Hold on a sec.”
Once she had the tool, she used it to scrape at the object and caught her breath when a red stone appeared. “It looks like a ruby.” Excitement buzzed in her chest.
Sam leaned over her shoulder as she brushed away more dirt and then used the dental pick to remove dirt from around the object. It wasn’t long before a whole stone appeared, obviously the top of a ring. This time they both caught their breath as a university name came into view.
No.
Her hand shook. It wasn’t a ruby but a garnet with Mississippi State University engraved around it and the year 1878—the year the university was founded. The ring was identical to a smaller one in her jewelry box that she’d received in the spring of her junior year, just like Ryan had. He’d worn his ring the night of their birthday dinner. Her heart pounded in her chest. It couldn’t be his.
“Chris needs to photograph this,” Sam said.
She straightened and looked for the photographer. He was by the backhoe with Nate, who had returned. Sam yelled for him to come over.
“Can I help you get out?” Sam asked as the photographer ambled toward them.
Emma couldn’t move. The ring couldn’t be Ryan’s. She wouldn’t let it be.
Sam hopped out of the pit and knelt down to give her a hand up.
“Emma?”
She pulled her gaze away from the ring, looking up into his sad brown eyes. He thought it was her brother’s. Tears she refused to shed burned her eyelids. A heavy weight pressed on her chest.
“Take my hand,” he said softly.
Her mind numb, she let him help her out and waited for Chris to take his photographs. She was simply tired. That was the reason she couldn’t form a coherent thought. Emma hugged her arms to her waist, her mind totally blank. She should be preparing herself for the possibility that the ring belonged to her brother, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the thought. Sam put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side.
“It’s not Ryan’s,” she said angrily.
He didn’t answer, just squeezed her shoulders. Which was an answer in itself. Once Chris had his photos, Sam hopped back into the pit before Emma could and lifted the ring from the ground, knocking out the dirt caught in the middle. “It’s densely packed,” he said.
“That means it’s probably been there since the body was buried,” she said.
Once he held it in his hands, she could see the graduating year on the sides. 2012. The year she graduated. Sam used his phone flashlight to examine the inside. Color drained from his face, and he wouldn’t look at her.
“It’s Ryan’s, isn’t it?” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sam didn’t look at her. “The initials are RTW.”
Upon seeing that ring, she’d known in her bone
s who it belonged to. Just like she should have known that something had happened to her brother. She couldn’t hurt any worse if someone had slammed their fist in her stomach.
26
Sam had wanted the initials to be anyone’s but Ryan’s. Or for the year to be other than 2012. If Ryan Thomas Winters had not disappeared, he would have been in the class graduating from Mississippi State University that year along with Emma. Sam climbed out of the grave and handed the ring to her, pointing out the engraving.
“It’s possible it’s not his,” he said, “but—”
She swayed and dropped the ring as her knees buckled. Sam caught her before she hit the ground. Swinging her up in his arms, he carried her up the walk to the back of the Mount Locust Inn. She came to before he reached the back porch and pulled away from him.
“I’m okay now. You can set me down.”
“You’re not going anywhere, and be still. I don’t want to drop you.”
Sam felt her stiffen in his arms, but he kept walking. He couldn’t believe how light she was, but her tough manner always made him forget how tiny she was. And if she struggled again, he feared he would lose her. “Just relax. We’re almost there.”
Emma huffed a breath, but then she relaxed. He didn’t realize she was crying until he felt her shoulders shaking.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured. That seemed to make it worse as she buried her face in his chest.
When they reached the inn, he set her on the porch steps.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s been a hard day,” Sam said gently and handed her a clean handkerchief from his back pocket. This produced more tears from Emma. He didn’t know what to do. Everything he said or did made it worse. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder and looked helplessly at Nate, who had brought up the rear.
“Th-thanks,” Emma said and pressed the handkerchief against her eyes. When her tears subsided, she blew her nose and leaned against the post.
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