Beneath the Bones

by Tim Waggoner

  He sensed someone approaching from behind, and he steeled himself for what was to come. He doubted it was Dale again, not so soon. That meant it most likely was another deputy, maybe even Sheriff Talon herself. Dale had doubtless told the sheriff what he’d learned from Tyrone, and the sheriff would want him to make an official statement. Tyrone didn’t want to be bothered. He didn’t mind doing his civic duty, but he didn’t want to waste time that could be put to better use observing. He supposed there was no avoiding it, though, and if he’d really wanted to, he wouldn’t have sat here in plain sight. Better to get it over and done with so he could return to his sacred work of bearing witness.

  Tyrone didn’t take his gaze off the scene across the street as the newcomer took a seat on the bench next to him.

  “Good afternoon, Tyrone.”

  The voice startled him so much that he almost sprang off the bench. With an effort, he kept his seat and turned to face Marshall Cross.

  Tyrone tried to respond, but his voice refused to work. He swallowed and tried again. “The same to you.”

  “It’s shaping up to be a lovely day, don’t you think?” Marshall looked up at the sky. “The forecast said there was a chance of rain, but I think it’s going to hold off until tonight.” Marshall turned to Tyrone and showed his teeth in what could only nominally be called a smile. “What do you think?”

  “Hard to say.”

  Marshall nodded as if Tyrone had just uttered a profound piece of wisdom. “True, true.”

  They sat quietly for the next several minutes, watching as the deputy across the street continued questioning Mr. Sombrero.

  “I’ve never eaten there myself,” Marshall said after a time. “I don’t imagine the food’s any good.”

  “Not really. But you didn’t come here to discuss the culinary merits of fast food. What do you want?”

  “No need to be so defensive, Tyrone. I only want from you what everyone else does: information.”

  “You want to know about what I saw happen at the Caffeine Café last night.”

  “Not unless there’s anything you neglected to tell Dale this morning.”

  For an instant, Tyrone feared Dale had passed along what he’d learned to Marshall Cross. That Dale had told Sheriff Talon didn’t bother him. He knew how close the two of them were. But for Dale to tell Marshall … then he realized there was no way Dale would’ve told Marshall anything. The reporter had no more love for the Crosses than Tyrone did.

  And then it hit him. “Ronnie Doyle. We saw you do something to him in the Café’s parking lot.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you were observing closely — and I’m certain you were — you saw that I didn’t lay a hand on him.” Marshall leaned closer, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to glitter for an instant. “But if I had done something to Ronnie to make him more cooperative, I’d wager it would’ve been something you’d rather not experience firsthand.”

  Tyrone averted his gaze so he wouldn’t have to look into Marshall’s piercing eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything else that might shed light on what happened last night. You see many things that others don’t, Tyrone. But I know you only give out the information you wish to. Perhaps you held something back from Dale.” Marshall nodded toward the scene taking place across the street. “For instance, do you have any idea what’s happening over there?”

  Tyrone focused his attention on the deputy and Mr. Sombrero, grateful to have something other than Marshall Cross’s eyes to look at. “Dale only asked about the Café. He didn’t ask about the Burrito Bungalow.”

  “Ah! So you do know something!”

  Tyrone certainly did. He also knew that Marshall Cross wasn’t going to be happy when he heard what it was. But he also knew that if he didn’t tell Marshall what he wanted to know, the man would attempt to force him, just like he had Ronnie. And Tyrone knew what happened to folks the Crosses tried to persuade in their special way. That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. He needed his mind to remain sharp and clear if he was carry on his duties as the county’s witness.

  “I’m only guessing,” Tyrone began, “but I’d say that Camaro belongs to the boy who was murdered last night.”

  “His name is Ray Porter,” Marshall supplied. “And that was my guess too. I don’t suppose you happened to observe anything here last night?”

  Tyrone wanted to lie, but it wasn’t his way. If someone asked him a straight question, he always answered it honestly — even if that someone was a Cross.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. After I saw what happened at the Caffeine Café, I started walking in this direction. The Bungalow is one of the few places open late in town, and I thought if anything else interesting was going to happen last night, there was a good chance it would be here.”

  A predatory gleam came into Marshall’s eyes. “Sounds as if you guessed right. Tell me what you saw.”

  “I didn’t think much of it until today when I saw the boy’s Camaro was back. The deputy was already in the parking lot when I arrived.” He knew he was stalling, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Back in the lot?” Marshall asked. “You saw it here last night?”

  Tyrone nodded. “The boy stopped in at 11:08 p.m. He met a young woman, she got into his car, and they drove off together. I didn’t hear anything they said to one another, but from their body language, I had the impression that they already knew each other.”

  “Interesting. Can you describe the girl for me?”

  “I can do better than that. I can tell you her name.”

  Tyrone paused, and after a moment, Marshall said, “Well?”

  Tyrone sighed. He knew he couldn’t put this off any longer. “Lenora Cross.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marshall stopped back at the county building later in the afternoon. Neither Joanne nor Terry was in, and thankfully the media had come and gone. Ronnie was still there, though, and he was all Marshall needed. Ronnie let him into the coroner’s office, and Marshall spent several undisturbed moments alone with the body of Ray Porter. When he was finished, he gently slid the boy’s table back into the freezer and departed. He didn’t thank Ronnie on his way out. One didn’t thank tools. One merely used them as needed.

  It was close to five by the time Marshall drove his Hummer up the long winding driveway that led to Sanctity. Huge oak trees line the driveway on both sides, their long shadows merging to create a dark passage between the outside world and the ancestral Cross home. The ironic effect was not lost on Marshall.

  He didn’t feel like letting one of the servants park his vehicle. He was doing his best to control his anger, but he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. More to the point, he didn’t want to see anyone. Not until he’d spoken with Lenora. So he drove past the main house, circled around to the back, and pulled into a garage the size of a small aircraft hangar. As he parked his Hummer, he noted the number of cars — all high-class, all expensive — already parked there. Though only Althea Cross’s immediate family resided at Sanctity, the mansion was technically home to all within the family, and Crosses came and went as they pleased. Many lived elsewhere in the county, working as doctors, lawyers, real estate agents, and such. If they felt like working at all, that is. Every Cross had access to more money than could be spent in a single lifetime, provided they remained in Althea’s good graces. But Sanctity was Mecca for Crosses that lived farther away, and Marshall noted license plates from Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Kentucky. Undoubtedly a number of the other vehicles in the garage were airport rentals, used by family members that lived too far away to drive.

  Normally, the prospect of seeing so many visiting relatives upon coming home would’ve filled Marshall with a mixture of anticipation and pride. But now he was just irritated. As the current head of the household — below Althea herself, of course — it was his job to greet the guests, spend a few moments making small talk, and in the process reassuring them that their current
status in the family was not only intact, but dangling the possibility before them that their fortunes stood a halfway decent chance of rising, should they play their cards right. Althea herself wouldn’t come down from her room — she rarely did — though she would receive a handful of visitors, if Marshall approved of them. Important if not especially pleasant duties for the man whose license plates read CROSS2. But he had more important fish to fry tonight.

  He walked across the immaculately kept grounds between the garage and the main house, past the flower garden, the gazebo, topiaries shaped like mythical creatures, and a marble fountain in the middle of a mosaic tiled courtyard. Even as he struggled to maintain control of his anger, he noted with satisfaction that everything looked perfect, just as it should.

  He reached into the main pocket of his suit jacket and touched the grainy surface of the small stone carving within. The figure’s crude features were roughly human, and the object was warmer than could be accounted for by simply absorbing Marshall’s body heat. He knew he should take the icon to the Reliquary right away, but he feared he was too furious with Lenora to achieve the proper state of mind. He supposed the task could wait a bit, though the sooner he attended to it, the better.

  He entered the main house through the kitchen entrance, startling the coterie of chefs preparing the evening meal. They turned to face him as he moved past, like troops presenting themselves for their commander’s review. Marshall ignored them and continued on. He sniffed the air and was glad to discover that tonight’s main course was going to be lamb, one of his favorites. That was something to look forward to at least.

  He left the kitchen and continued down a long corridor. He checked the library and the gallery, nodding perfunctory greetings to the relatives that were there, sipping mixed drinks and nibbling hors d’oeuvres from trays carried by unobtrusive servants. He finally found Lenora in the solarium, sitting on a marble bench and drinking a mojito with a handsome blonde-haired, tanned young man in a polo shirt and designer jeans who was doing his best to impress her with how charming and witty he was. They were the only two people in the room.

  The solarium was one of the most beautiful rooms in Sanctity. It had a tiled floor, glass ceiling, and marble benches, along with an indoor garden comprised of palm trees, hibiscus, and orchids. Tiny songbirds perched on leaves or flitted about the room, and their singing combined with the soft trickle of water from the Solarium’s centerpiece, an artificial waterfall on the far side of the room, to create a soothing soundscape.

  Marshall felt no real resentment toward the lad for chatting up his daughter. Lenora was beautiful, even by Cross standards, and she looked especially fetching tonight in a black mini dress and high heels. For a moment he stood in the doorway and just looked at her. She might not have been the mirror image of her mother — her forehead was too high, her blue eyes too large — but she still resembled Charlotte so much that sometimes it took his breath away.

  Though he made no movement or sound to draw her attention, Lenora tore her gaze from the pretty boy’s face and looked at Marshall. Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She obviously wasn’t thrilled to see her father, which worked out well, as he wasn’t particularly happy at the moment either.

  Marshall entered the Solarium, walking at a measured pace. He kept his gaze fastened on Lenora, all but ignoring the boy. The boy, however, was too much of a go-getter to let a little thing like an elder’s indifference stop him from trying to make a favorable impression, and thereby gain a bit of added status in the family.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Sebastian Cross, from Atlanta.” His southern accent was noticeable, but not overdone. Carefully honed to be charming and not off-putting, Marshall guessed. The boy stuck out his hand for Marshall to shake, but Marshall didn’t bother to look at it, let alone reach out to clasp it.

  “I’m sorry to be so rude, Sebastian, but I have a very important matter to discuss with my daughter. Dinner will be served shortly. Why don’t you start making your way toward the dining room?”

  The boy flicked his gaze to Lenora for a hint how to respond. She looked at Marshall, trying to assess her father’s mood. Finally she jerked her chin in the direction of the door and the boy, through clearly disappointed, got the message. He smiled, trying to at least appear gracious about being dismissed.

  “I understand completely, sir. It was an honor to meet you, and I hope we have a chance to speak at more length some other time.” He gave Lenora a last look before heading toward the Solarium’s door. Though the boy’s mojito was still half-full, Marshall wagered it would be empty before Sebastian had gotten very far down the hall, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the boy went off in search of a refill.

  When Sebastian was gone, Lenora said, “That was classy of you, Father. You should write a book on etiquette.”

  She raised her glass to her lips, but before she could take a sip, Marshall’s hand shot out fast as a striking snake and grabbed hold of her wrist. Her gaze hardened and the hatred in her eyes hit him like physical blow.

  “Did you grab Mother like this?”

  Marshall was ashamed at his loss of control, but he didn’t release his hold on Lenora. “I know where you were last night.”

  Lenora’s eyes widened and her anger gave way to fear. Still, she tried to put up a brave front. “I went into town last night. So what?”

  “You met a boy named Ray Porter at the Burrito Bungalow around eleven o’clock. You got in his Camaro and rode off with him.”

  “Once again, so what?” She’d regained some of her self-assurance, enough to pull free of Marshall’s grip. He let her go without a struggle and didn’t try to stop her from taking a sip of her mojito this time. The pause gave him a chance to regain some of his own self-control.

  Lenora went on. “We just went for a ride. It wasn’t like we were running off to elope or anything. He seemed nice at first, but he turned out to be a jerk in the end.” A measure of her former hatred returned to her gaze. “Just like all men.”

  Marshall ignored her gibe. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

  She shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. We went for a drive. I convinced him to take me to the Deveraux Farm. We parked, he put the moves of me, and he got pissed when I wouldn’t spread my legs for him. I got pissed then, and I drove his Camaro back to town, leaving him to walk home. I parked the Camaro back at the Bungalow so he could find it, and I got back into my car — I took the Beemer last night — and then I came home. I ate a pint of Cherry Garcia, and then I went to bed. Happy?”

  Marshall detected no deception in Lenora’s tone, but he knew that didn’t mean much. Crosses learned to lie as soon as they learned to speak. He reached out with his mind, intending to give her a gentle push, little more than a mental nudge, really, to urge her to tell the truth.

  Her eyes widened and she took a half-step back. Surprise swiftly gave way to anger, and he felt her push back, far more strongly than he thought her capable of. He withstood her counterassault, though it took more effort than he expected.

  “I didn’t realize you’d grown so strong. I’m impressed. I am, however, disappointed that you could be goaded into revealing the measure of your power so easily. You lose an important advantage against an opponent if you lay all your cards face-up on the table during the first hand.”

  “Spare me your Las Vegas version of Sun Tzu. What the hell were you thinking of, trying that on me? I’m your daughter!”

  Marshall gave her a grim smile. “Which is the only reason I allow you to speak to me with such disrespect — up to a point.”

  “Funny. I thought the reason you cut me so much slack is because you feel guilty for driving Mother away.”

  The words were delivered coolly, but they struck Marshall with far more impact than Lenora’s push-back had. He understood how Lenora felt and wished he could tell her the truth, but he kept his expression impassive. He’d spent a lifetime concealing his emotions from potential enemies — which to a Cross meant ev
eryone. He couldn’t change now, not even for his child.

  “I apologize for trying to push you, but it’s vital I know the truth about what you did and where you went. Ray Porter was killed last night.”

  Marshall observed Lenora’s reaction closely, alert for the slightest hint of guilt. Whether or not she was capable of murder was a question that didn’t even occur to him. She was a Cross and his daughter. The question was whether she’d had anything to do with this murder. But he saw only shock and disbelief on her face. Either Lenora was better at masking her true feelings than he’d thought, or she’d truly been unaware of Ray Porter’s death.

  He quickly told her the details of the boy’s murder. When he was finished, she said, “Why haven’t I heard about it before now? I mean, I know why you didn’t tell me. You didn’t know I was with Ray last night. But I haven’t heard anything on the news and nobody here is talking about it.”

  “I’ve done my best to stall the reporters. You can imagine how they’re going to sensationalize the story, especially with the connection to the Coulter killings. But they’ve gotten wind of it now, and you can bet it’ll be all over the evening broadcasts.”

  Lenora’s eyes narrowed. “It’s driving you crazy that you can’t manage this, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how strong you are, you can’t make everyone do what you want, and that just pisses you off to no end … especially in this case, huh?”

  Marshall felt something then that he hadn’t experience in a very long time. Fear.

  “What are you implying?” That’s what he said. What he thought was: How much does she know?

  She shrugged. “Nothing. The bigger the problem the harder it is to control. The harder something is to control, the more it makes you angry. That’s all.”

  Marshall very much doubted that was all, but he decided to let it go. For now.

  “Did you push the Porter boy?”

  “Why? Do you think it had something to do with his getting killed?”

  “Did you?” he repeated.