A Cop and a Coop

by Hillary Avis

  I set down my sandwich on the plate. “So what do you think about the boots I found? Am I going to dig up the rest of a dead guy or what?”

  Ruth laughed. “They’re just boots, not bones.”

  “Well...” I winced, and her mouth dropped open again.

  “You did find bones?!”

  “Inside the boots. Just a few...and I’m not one hundred percent sure they’re human.” Only ninety-nine percent sure, I didn’t say.

  “You need to stop digging right now.” Ruth was serious, all business as she ate the olive off her potato salad. “If the county finds out you disturbed a potential archaeological site and slaps you with a fine and a cease work order, it’s going to cost you a lot of time and money.”

  “I don’t have much of either of those,” I said, thinking of the newborn chicks that were already in transit, packed peeping in a box as they traveled a few hundred miles via USPS from the hatchery to Honeytree. All my divorce settlement money was in the property, and the coop needed to be done in six weeks, when the chicks were half-grown and didn’t need the heat lamp anymore. “What do you think I should do?”

  “My advice? And this is as your friend, not as your realtor—if there are more bones in the ground, leave them for someone else to find. You don’t want the hassle. Bury those boots. Move the coop somewhere else. It’ll save you a lot of grief.”

  I sighed. Ruth was right—I couldn’t afford to keep digging. But I couldn’t afford not to, either. Without the chicken coop, I couldn’t earn a living. “Another thing to worry about.”

  “The only thing you need to worry about is keeping whatever’s buried there a secret from yourself. Once you know about it, you have a legal obligation to disclose when you sell the property, and historical graveyards aren’t good for property value. Hypothetical graveyards? Those can’t hurt you. Stop digging.” Ruth glared at me. “That’s an order.”

  Irritation prickled my spine. Turns out, I hate being ordered around even more than I hate surprises. And I wanted my chicken coop there. The only other place for it, the only other part of the property that wasn’t rows of gnarled apple trees, was in the back corner of the lot, up against the railroad tracks. Freight trains thundering by five feet away from the nesting boxes would be very bad for egg production. I needed the barn between the coop and the tracks for insulation.

  “Maybe it’s not a graveyard.”

  “It’s is.” She stopped mid-bite and pointed her fork at me. “It’s not definitely a graveyard—you don’t want it to be definite—but it’s definitely a graveyard.”

  Chapter 4

  “What if I just move any bones I find to a new grave?” I mused aloud. “You know—respectfully? I’m only digging a narrow trench, so I’m probably not going to run into more than one dead guy.”

  “Leona! I can’t believe you’re even considering it. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal!” But before Ruth could scold me any further, the waitress brought the check.

  “Thanks for lunch, no thanks for the advice,” I said as Ruth rummaged in her huge purple tapestry purse for her wallet.

  She stuck out her tongue at me. “Then it’s your turn to buy next time.”

  After she paid the bill and walked me back to my truck, Ruth hooked me into a warm hug, enveloping me in the cucumber-melon scent of her wild hair. It was nice. Really nice. I didn’t know why I was getting choked up about it until I remembered that I hadn’t had a real hug since the last time I saw my daughter and her husband in Chicago, months ago. “Thanks, Ruth. For everything. I mean it,” I said into the side of her head.

  “Oh hush. I didn’t do anything.” She pulled back. “Now that I think about it, maybe you should talk to Rusty. He worked that farm like it was his own for so long. I’m sure he’d know for sure if there was an old family plot in that part of the yard. Stop off at my place on the way home and ask him.”

  “He still lives with you?”

  “It’s temporary. Like, been three years kind of temporary.” She sighed. “He could run his own farm if he just set his mind to it, like you’re doing. He just can’t get it together since Grandpa died.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t exactly have it together. Some days, my broken heart felt like a cannonball chained to my leg, dragging me down. It’s not that I missed my husband. I didn’t even like Peterson by the end of our marriage. But my heart was broken because I’d wasted thirty years building something that could just vanish in an instant. I’d built a castle in the air and now it was gone, poof.

  Well, now I was going to build a motherclucking henhouse. Something real. And nobody would be able to take that from me.

  “See you around, Ruth.”

  She gave a quick nod and disappeared through the door of the Do or Dye. In the truck, I made the turn back onto the highway and headed out of town. As soon as the in-town speed zone ended, I hit the gas. The turn to Ruth’s place flashed by in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t slow down. I didn’t need Rusty’s permission to dig in my own darn yard.

  I settled into my seat and took the Curves like a Grand Prix driver, pushing the old Suburban to its limits, and when the Flats appeared around the last bend, I crammed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The truck leaped forward and the engine roared so loud that I almost missed the sound of the police siren behind me.

  A glance in the rearview told me I wasn’t imagining things. A sheriff’s car was riding my tail. Great.

  I stomped the brake and pulled over not a hundred yards from the end of my driveway. I glared at my mailbox, so close but so far, as I cranked down the window.

  “Le-o-na Landers.” The officer leaned in the window and whipped off his mirrored sunglasses. “I heard you were back in town.”

  I groaned internally. He was literally the last person I wanted to see in my current state— my high school boyfriend, Eli Ramirez. The last time he saw me, I was a petite blonde, headed for USC on a cheerleading scholarship. Now, I was twice the woman I used to be—literally—and I had all the lumps, bumps, and wrinkles you’d expect on a woman heading toward sixty. Not to mention the thin film of dried sweat and farm dust that surely made it look like I’d visited a DIY spray-tan booth.

  He, on the other hand, was twice the man he used to be, but in a good way. The boy had been to the gym a few times since graduation, and I swear to God, the few more lines in his face just threw his chiseled features into greater relief, like a comic book superhero. His biceps bulged as he shifted to get a better look at me, and I desperately tried to keep my eyes trained on the steering wheel.

  “Just write me the ticket, Eli.”

  He bit his lip, chuckling. “No ‘hi’? No ‘how’s it going’? You’re supposed to butter me up, buttercup.”

  I bristled at the familiar nickname. “I’m not a wildflower, Deputy. I’m just in a hurry. Write the darn ticket.”

  “Captain.” He tapped the nametag on his shirt. Sure enough, it read Capt. Ramirez. He’d been promoted a few times since the last I’d heard, it seemed. “You were going pretty fast back there.”

  He said it like it was an afterthought, and I didn’t appreciate the condescension. “Obviously. That’s why you stopped me, isn’t it, Captain?”

  He stood up suddenly, cracking his head on the top of the window frame. He rubbed the back of his skull ruefully. “Confession time. I was waiting for you. I happened to see you head into town earlier, so I figured you’d be back this way later. I just got lucky that you still have a lead foot. Remember that Z28 you drove back in the day? We really burned some rubber in that thing.”

  Heat rose in my face as I remembered the miles we’d put on the back seat, too. And judging by the sappy grin on his face, he was thinking the same thing. My embarrassment vanished, replaced with anger. “You pulled me over to reminisce about swapping spit?!”

  He dropped his hand to his side. “Aw, come on, Leona. Don’t be like that. I thought—”

  “What? That I’d bend over backward to entertain your pervy littl
e detour down Memory Lane to avoid paying a fine? Fat chance. Write me the ticket.” I handed him my license and then trained my eyes on the mailbox, gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turned white.

  “Naw.” He tried to hand my ID back to me, but I refused to take it. “Sheesh. I wanted to talk to you because I thought maybe you could use some help around your place. It’s a lot of farm for one little girl. So I was going to ask if I could lend a hand. The siren and everything—that was just for a little fun.” He winked at me, and I thought my eyeballs were going to explode with rage. A lot of farm for one little girl?!

  I clenched my jaw and spoke through my teeth to avoid punching him in the face through the open window. “It’s just the right amount of farm, and I’m just the right amount of woman. I was speeding. Now, the ticket, please.”

  His face fell as my words finally penetrated his thick, country-boy skull. Avoiding my face, he gave a curt nod and quickly scribbled a ticket, then handed it and my license to me through the window. “Leona, I mean it. You need—”

  I cranked the window up as fast as I could, cutting him off. I didn’t need help from him or anyone, thanks very much. I just needed to get back to work. It wasn’t until a few minutes later, after I bumped down the gravel driveway and parked next to the cottage, that I looked at the ticket. All the fields were blank.

  Call me when you change your mind was scrawled across the top in blue ballpoint, and then his stupid cell phone number. I groaned, crumpled up the ticket, and tossed it to the floor on the passenger side. What was it with men thinking they knew what I needed—what I wanted? They didn’t. This little girl could manage the farm just fine.

  Whatever problems came my way, I could solve—by myself, I thought as I drummed on the steering wheel. Dig up a pair of boots with feet in them? I could just pretend I didn’t find them and build my coop right on top. But I had dozens more feet of trench to dig; I was likely to hit more bones if I kept digging.

  A better plan—and a more respectful one—was to simply unearth Mr. Bones and rebury him on another part of the property. Nobody knew the guy was there, and nobody needed to know. He could rest in peace over in the back corner of the yard by the train tracks and no one would be the wiser. As far as anyone was concerned, he didn’t exist.

  The more I thought about it, the better the idea seemed. The thought of moving a body, even in skeleton form, was distasteful, but I had to admit it was less distasteful than calling Eli Ramirez to oversee a more official exhumation. It was just a dead guy, right? Guys die all the time. It’s the circle of life, and if I was going to be a farmer, I’d better get used to the idea.

  I went straight from the truck to where the pair of boots lay in the grass and flipped them over, examining them. Right away I saw that whoever this guy was—and it was a guy, judging by the large shoe size—he wasn’t an archaeological find. The boots’ leather was partly rotted, but their rubber soles and nylon laces were intact; they were modern boots, the kind you could buy at Bi-Mart tomorrow if you wanted a pair. In other words—they weren’t antique.

  Ugh. That was a bad thing. A really bad thing.

  While it’s true that I was better off if a family plot on the farm had no historical value, Ruth’s county records search had turned up empty. That meant that it wasn’t a permitted burial. And Mr. Bones wasn’t laid to rest in a proper grave, either. The lack of even a simple pine box attested to that, plus his feet were way too close to the surface. Nobody buries their beloved Grandpa eighteen inches deep. A shallow burial is a hasty burial, and a hasty burial is...well, let’s just say not something I wanted in my front yard.

  See what I mean about those boots being a bad thing? Now I had to make a phone call I really didn’t want to make. I cursed under my breath as I searched the floor of the front seat for the crumpled-up ticket with Eli’s phone number and gritted my teeth while I dialed.

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice so soon,” he said when he picked up, his tone amused. “You didn’t seem too happy to see me. It’s a pleasant surprise.”

  I snorted. “No surprise is pleasant, trust me. This isn’t a personal call. I require a law enforcement presence at my farm. I don’t care if it’s you or someone else. I just figured you were closest.”

  “I’ll be there in just a few,” he said cheerfully. Way too cheerfully, if you asked me.

  Chapter 5

  A few minutes later, I heard the crackle of tires on my gravel driveway. I looked up, expecting to see a sheriff’s vehicle. But instead it was a bright red dualie pickup that I didn’t recognize, a few years old but as shiny as new. Someone had installed spotlights on top and an after-market brush guard on the front bumper, giveaway signs of someone who liked to hunt. As it drew closer I saw who was behind the wheel—Rusty Chapman. I’d know that shock of dark bushy hair anywhere. It was shot with gray now, unlike when we were kids, but it still stood straight up like Frankenstein’s bride.

  He tumbled out of the driver’s seat as soon as he parked the truck next to mine and speed-walked toward me. But for all the urgency in his movements, his out-of-breath words were casual. “Hey, Leona. Looks like you’re all moved in.”

  “Getting there.” My eyes couldn’t help darting toward the boot on the grass, and Rusty’s gaze followed mine. I scooted so he was looking at me instead of the small pile of bones. “What brings you by?”

  “Ruth called me and said you might need my help,” he said, awkwardly sticking his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket and craning his neck to see around me. “You had questions about the place?”

  I shook my head and waved away his concern. “Oh, no. I got it figured out.” As in, I figured out exactly what was buried in my yard, and now I needed the cops to figure out who. What I didn’t need was the whole town showing up when I was trying to stealthily rid my yard of a skeleton. I was pretty sure the rumor mill was already churning out stories about me and why I was back in town. I didn’t need people speculating that the skeleton was my ex-husband or something like that.

  Not that he didn’t deserve to be six feet under.

  “Well, good.” He stood there awkwardly a minute, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he scanned the yard. It didn’t seem like he was planning to leave any time soon.

  “Anything else?”

  He shook his head, and looked down at his boots, rubbing one toe in the dirt. Though his face was tan from working outside all summer, the color still rose in his cheeks. “I just miss the place. I’m glad you got it—someone we trust—instead of a stranger.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty strange, Rusty Chapman.” I grinned at him, and he returned the smile. Just then, the sound of another set of tires on the driveway caught my ear, and both our heads swiveled toward the road. This time, I recognized the car. It was a sheriff’s SUV and I had a good inkling who was inside.

  “Maybe I should go,” Rusty said, shooting me an apologetic look. But Eli pulled his SUV up behind Rusty’s truck, parking him in. Rusty shrugged. “Then again, maybe not.”

  “Did I break any laws this time, Eli?” I called as soon as he exited the car. He adjusted his gun belt as he walked toward us, checking to make sure his shirt was tucked in.

  “Ha ha, very funny,” he said.

  “He literally just wrote me a speeding ticket an hour ago,” I explained to Rusty.

  “No, I didn’t.” Eli grinned wickedly at me, his arms crossed smugly across his chest, and I glared at him.

  “He’s a liar, too,” I said. He had written the ticket, even if it was filled in with his phone number instead of a fine. Frankly, I didn’t know which was worse.

  Rusty put up his hands and started walking backward toward his truck. “I’m not getting involved in a lovers’ quarrel. I’ll wait in my truck until you’re done with—well, whatever this is. Then I can give you a hand around the place, Leona.”

  Eli jogged after him. “I’ll move my rig so you don’t have to wait on us. I’m going to stick around
and help Leona out.”

  I wanted to screech with frustration. I didn’t appreciate surprise visitors, I didn’t have a lover, and I didn’t need every person in the county with a Y-chromosome “helping” me, either. I just needed this dumb pile of bones taken out of my yard.

  Eli swung into the driver’s seat and then deftly maneuvered his SUV out of the way of Rusty’s cherry-red pickup, parking behind my truck instead. I watched as Rusty turned around and eased down the driveway, avoiding the hardened ruts left from last spring’s mud, then pulled out onto the highway and headed back toward Honeytree.

  “What was he after? A date with the new girl?”

  I bristled. “One, I’m not a girl. And two, I’m not new, either.”

  “So, you’re saying you’re an old woman?”

  I whacked him on the shoulder with the back of my hand. He caught my arm and his dimples deepened. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands to yourself. I could charge you with assault on an officer.”

  I narrowed my eyes and jerked my arm away. “Write. Me. The. Ticket.”

  “Lost my number already, huh?” He pulled out his ticket pad, scribbled something on the top sheet, and handed it to me.

  I took the ticket automatically but then, annoyed by the whole exchange, crumpled it up and tossed it to the ground. The wad of paper bounced and rolled, landing right next to the upturned boot. Right next to the bones. Eli’s expression changed as he stared at the grass. His eyes lost their amusement and his whole body tensed like a cougar ready to spring.

  “What did you find there?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

  I matched his tone. “Looks like a pair of work boots.”

  He nodded, crouching close to the grass to get a better look at the bones. “Looks to me like you found the guy who was wearing them, too.”

  Chapter 6

  I swallowed, my earlier blithe bravery crumbling a bit now that Eli had said it out loud—there really was a dead guy in my yard. What had I been thinking when I considered digging up a skeleton by myself? I felt the muscles in my legs start to tremble and I shook them out individually, the way I used to before cheerleading competitions to get rid of the nerves. Despite my best efforts, I felt a little bit woozy.