A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery

by Beverly Connor

  Derrick reached into his pocket and pulled out two rings. He handed one to Lindsay and put one on his own finger.

  "Ah, you brought them," she said, slipping the wedding ring on her finger.

  "Well, I thought if we went dancing, we might need them."

  The Locomotion was a popular place. The parking lot was full, and a stream of people flowed through the double doors. Jane and her boyfriend, Keith, and Sally and Thomas pulled in behind Lindsay and Derrick.

  "Wow," said Jane when she saw them. "You two are gorgeous"

  "I'll say," chorused Sally and Thomas.

  Derrick paid the cover charge for Lindsay and himself, and they fell in with the crowd flowing into the club. They stopped in the entryway to let their eyes get accustomed to the darkness.

  The dance floor was large and extended out onto a deck for those who wanted to dance outside. There was no band tonight, but the sound room behind the bandstand had a disk jockey.

  Marsha and Frank had already arrived and reserved a large table. Frank wore jeans and a dress shirt. He looked dashing. Marsha's pale blonde hair was fashioned in a silk-smooth French twist. She wore it snug strapless dress that looked like it was painted with pastel brush strokes. It glittered when she moved.

  "Don't you two look great," she said when she saw Lindsay and Derrick. "I love that shawl."

  "Thank you. It's nice to dust off and get dressed up for a change"

  "You can say that again," agreed Sally. "I'm so tired of being covered in dirt and mud."

  Frank and Lindsay's eyes met for a moment, and she smiled. "I'm anxious to see you dance," he said. "Jane has talked about it all week"

  "Then we will have to dazzle you," said Derrick, putting an arm around Lindsay's shoulder.

  "I'm glad Derrick is so confident. He's leading."

  Unaccountably, Lindsay felt uncomfortable. I've got to get away from the site more, she thought.

  "Hello." They looked up to see the sheriff. On his arm was a petite woman with short, dark hair streaked with gray. She had large, friendly brown eyes and a bright smile. "This is Dee Marlar." He introduced her to everyone around the table. Lindsay was surprised that he knew everyone's name.

  "I'm glad you came," she told the sheriff.

  "It's to you I owe this night on the town," said Dee, smiling broadly. "Thank you so much. When Greg suggested we go dancing, I was about to search for pods in the basement"

  It sounded strange to hear the sheriff addressed by his first name, but it was comforting. This was a night to forget all things frightening.

  "I understand you're a teacher?" Lindsay said.

  "I teach first grade, and please don't let that end the conversation. Telling people you teach first grade is like telling them you're a nun. I never get to hear any good jokes or have any adult conversation."

  "You won't be getting any adult conversation here," Frank said, grinning.

  "Greg tells me you and your friend are dancers, as well as archaeologists." Dee and the sheriff sat across from Lindsay.

  "We dance a little," Lindsay answered, smiling.

  "A little? Don't you believe it," said Jane. "They're great"

  "Derrick, it's going to be embarrassing if we fall down after all these raised expectations," Lindsay said.

  "I guess I'll have to be really careful not to drop you

  "Mind if I join you?" Ned pulled out a chair and sat next to Lindsay. He was alone.

  "Not at all," said Lindsay. "I didn't know you danced."

  "I don't really, but I watch real good " He smiled. It seemed to Lindsay that he was making an effort to be congenial with everyone.

  The dance floor was half full, and Lindsay and Derrick turned their attention to the dancers. After a few numbers, Derrick rose, whispered to Lindsay, and walked over to make a request. When he returned, he took her to the dance floor.

  "When a Man Loves a Woman" began to play, and everyone immediately started dancing.

  Lindsay and Derrick waited several beats while they looked at each other, smiling and waiting for space to open around them. They began with Lindsay's back to Derrick. He slid his hands down the length of her arms, then grasped her hands and slid them up her sides and placed them around his neck while they moved slowly to the music. Next, Derrick put his arms around her waist and spun her around as Lindsay bent backward in his arms. As he brought her up, Lindsay put one leg up next to his waist and he swung her around. Many of the dancers stopped and watched. Derrick picked her up and held her above him; she slid down the front of him, and he swung her around again. It was slow, beautiful, and sensuous. At the end of the song, they walked back to their seats amid a round of applause.

  "You two are good!" Marsha gushed.

  "Didn't I tell you?" Jane said.

  "I've never seen anyone dance better," Dee said, still clapping. "It was beautiful."

  "I'll have to say," said Frank, "you two certainly delivered."

  "You haven't seen anything yet," Derrick replied. "That was just a warm-up"

  "Where did you learn to dance?"

  "I took classical ballet when I was a kid," he answered. "And a little ballroom dancing when I was a teenager."

  "Same for me," agreed Lindsay. "Ballet, tap, and modern dance growing up. I didn't do much ballroom. Derrick taught me most of those steps."

  "How did you get to dancing together?"

  "Derrick's danced competitively for a long time. We were in graduate school when his dancing partner quit. I asked him if I could try. It turned out we dance well together."

  "You sure do that," the sheriff agreed.

  The disc jockey played "Stand by Me," and Lindsay and Derrick got up and danced. After that they danced to a string of Elvis songs, then "Hit the Road, Jack." Lindsay and Derrick danced independently, acting out the parts of the lyrics of the song. It was popular, though they didn't do many of their more sensational moves.

  "Getting tired?" Derrick asked as they walked back to their seats.

  "No. This is invigorating. I really needed to do this, but I think the women would like to dance with you," she said.

  "I thought I would ask a little later."

  They sat down. Frank had ordered them drinks.

  "Thanks" Derrick took a long drink. "It's getting hot out there."

  "Hey, did you two get married on the way over here?" asked Sally, pointing to their rings. Frank noticed Lindsay's ring for the first time and looked quizzically at her.

  "We wear them when we dance in clubs," offered Derrick. "There's always a few guys who make inappropriate assumptions when they see us dance. The rings stop a lot of hassles."

  "How sweet," said Dee.

  "It's easier than having to beat someone up," responded Derrick, grinning at her.

  "Do you ever dance the Lambada?" Jane asked.

  "No," Derrick answered. "The Lambada is a very inelegant dance." Lindsay noticed the sheriff nod his head as if he agreed.

  Marsha and Frank got up to dance. So did Jane and Keith. Derrick asked Dee to dance. She wanted to but was hesitant. "I don't dance that well."

  "Derrick will lead," Lindsay coaxed. "Just follow him. It will be easier than you think."

  Derrick gave her a few dips and spins, and she looked thrilled.

  "I take it you don't like to dance," Lindsay said to the sheriff.

  "Not much. I've got two left feet. Dee likes it. She's having a great time."

  A few guys came up to Lindsay and asked her to dance. She declined, and they left.

  "Do you only dance with Derrick?" the sheriff asked.

  "I only dance with people I know."

  A young man came up and held out a large hand to Lindsay and asked her to dance. When she refused, he complained, "Come on. I saw you dance. You can dance with me"

  "No," said Lindsay.

  "That's not friendly. I don't dance as good as that fellow, but I got some of the moves."

  "She said no, Patrick," the sheriff said, leaning forward from the shad
ows. "How is your grandmother?"

  "Oh, Sheriff. Hi. I didn't see you. Grandmother is fine." He bent his knees in a slight bow and backed away.

  "Who is he?" asked Lindsay.

  "Patrick Tyler. Isabel Tyler's grandson. They live up at Tylerwynd. I imagine you've heard of it. He's harmless, just socially clumsy."

  Derrick brought Dee back, out of breath. "I don't see how you dance so many dances," she said. "What a workout!"

  When Derrick asked Marsha to dance, Frank asked Lindsay. He was a good dancer, though he did nothing fancy. It was a slow dance, and he pulled her close.

  "You're full of surprises, Lindsay," he whispered in her ear.

  "I thought everyone knew about our dancing."

  "I knew you danced, but, well, I guess I didn't know you were so good."

  "Thanks."

  Frank pulled her a little closer. "I never realized dancing was so intimate."

  "It can be."

  "It's almost like sex"

  "Derrick wrote a paper about that once. I think it was published in The Journal of Ritual Anthropology"

  "I guess I'd better read it."

  "It's a good article." She smiled up at him.

  Frank looked as if he wanted to ask her something. Lindsay saw indecision in his hazel eyes and wondered what it meant. She wondered why she couldn't talk as freely with Frank as with Derrick. He was starting to speak when Ned tapped him on the shoulder.

  "May I cut in?"

  Frank hesitated a moment. "Sure" He left the dance floor, and Ned put an arm hesitantly around Lindsay's waist and took her hand.

  "I don't do this very well," he said.

  "Sometimes it is nice just to move with the music. The kind of dancing Derrick and I do is very tiring."

  "I can see. You two are very good." They danced for a few moments, mainly swaying to the music. "I wanted to apologize for what I said about your helping the sheriff. I shouldn't have gotten so bent out of shape"

  "That's all right. We are there to dig the site."

  "I know, but you were right. They need our help. It's just that..."

  "What?" asked Lindsay when he stopped.

  "Nothing. We shouldn't talk about business tonight." They danced in silence for the remainder of the music. When it ended, they walked back to the table.

  It was three in the morning when they left. Lindsay and Derrick's last dance was to "Jailhouse Rock." It was spectacular. The manager invited them back and, after acknowledging the applause, they left with the others.

  "You okay to drive?" she asked Derrick as they walked to the car. "Not too tired?"

  "Sure. I'm fine"

  Lindsay saw Frank put Marsha in the passenger side of the car and go around to the driver's side. It was clear to Lindsay that Marsha was falling in love with him. Lindsay wondered if Frank realized it. After a moment of watching them drive off, she got in the car and buckled her belt. Derrick slid behind the steering wheel but didn't start the car.

  "There's Ned," Derrick said.

  Lindsay looked out the window at Ned walking alone to his car and felt a stab of pity. "I wonder why he didn't bring anyone?" she asked.

  Derrick shrugged. "He's always in such bad temper. Who would go with him?"

  "I feel sorry for him."

  "Me, too. But all he needs to do is control his temper."

  Derrick started the car and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "This was fun. Let's do it again," he said.

  Lindsay nodded and smiled. "Yes. I had forgotten how well we dance together."

  "I hadn't," he said.

  They were quiet for several minutes as Derrick drove down the highway toward Merry Claymoore. There were a few cars on the road. Lindsay wondered where people were going so late at night. A gentle rain began to fall, making the road a shiny black in front of them. Derrick turned on the wipers.

  "You okay?" he asked

  "Sure, why?"

  "You seem a little low about Frank and Marsha"

  "No, I'm not really. I was just realizing that I wasn't looking forward to going back to the site. And I used to love this dig. I still do, mostly." She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm just tired, I suppose"

  "Move to the middle and put your head on my shoulder."

  Lindsay unbuckled her belt and scooted over. Buckling the center one around her, she put her head on Derrick's shoulder. She stayed there as he drove back to the site.

  Lindsay awakened abruptly, terrified. Then she remembered the nightmare. Someone was strangling little girls with a tape measure. An idea struck her with absolute clarity. She shoved off the sheet and jumped out of bed. It was only a few feet to Derrick's tent. She didn't even stop to put on any shoes, and the grass between their tents was wet and cold on her bare feet. She stepped into his tent. Although the moonlight filtered through his screened window, she could only make out his dark form on the bed. Like hers, his bed was a twin-sized mattress lying on a thick plywood board held off the ground by bricks. She kneeled down and gently shook him.

  "Derrick." He moaned in his sleep. She shook him harder. "Derrick"

  He opened his eyes halfway. "What?" he mumbled. "Is that you, Lindsay?"

  "Yes. Wake up, I need to talk to you."

  Derrick pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. "Is this business or pleasure?"

  "Business" She sat down on his bed.

  "Give me a second to wake up"

  "I had a nightmare."

  "You okay? If you want to stay here, I won't bother you ... unless you ask."

  "I'm fine. It just made me realize who the murderer might be"

  Lindsay watched Derrick's face become alert, and she smiled. The sight of him pushed away some of the frightening feelings left over from the nightmare. He was in his shorts, and she could feel the warmth from his mostly bare body. It would be comforting to slide over to him and snuggle up to that warmth, but Lindsay knew she would lose herself there. Instead, she told him about her dream.

  "Mrs. Greenwood's boyfriend, Bobby Whitaker, was a slob, from what the sheriff said. I couldn't imagine someone like him neatly folding the clothes and burying them exactly four feet from the grave. I think my brain was putting the evidence together in my sleep, and I woke up remembering the neatly marked measurements on the floor of Mickey Lawson's studio and his reputation for compulsive detail and neatness."

  "Let me see" Derrick rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "You think the killer is Mickey Lawson because he has the same personality characteristics we've given to the murderer. Is that what you're saying?"

  "Not just that... those photographs of the children. He is in an occupation that brings him in contact with children on a regular basis. I'd like to find out who made Amy Hastings' portraits and who took the school pictures of Marylou Ridley. We know he took the picture of Peggy Pruitt."

  "Okay, I can accept your reasoning, but it is very circumstantial, even if he was the photographer of all the girls."

  "It's a place to start. Right now the sheriff has only Bobby Whitaker, and I don't think he's the one."

  "Are you going to the sheriff with this?"

  "Not now. The Tylers are a pretty prominent family. I think I'll do a little investigating on my own first. Anyway, I just needed to talk to someone."

  "Come talk to me anytime." He reached out and grabbed her arm. "And Lindsay, let me know before you do any investigating on your own. It is a murderer you're looking for, remember?"

  "I will.

  She half expected Derrick to pull her to him or say something seductive, but he merely released her. It seemed colder on the way back to her tent. She crawled back into her bed and went to sleep wondering not about the murders, but what it would feel like to be warmed by Derrick.

  On Monday Lindsay called Guy Hastings and told him that to complete her report she needed to know where his daughter's portraits were made. He asked his wife, who said the last one was a special at a department store in Cullins. Before that, it w
as at school, but she hadn't had a school picture taken in a year. Hastings gave her the approximate date and the name of the store. She called the store and talked to three people before she found someone who would look up the photographer for her. When the curt voice said Mickey Lawson, a chill went up Lindsay's spine.

  Next she called the school Marylou Ridley had attended. Lindsay doubted that Marylou's mother had a professional portrait made of her child. She told the school secretary essentially the same story she told the Hastings. "I just need to know the photographer," she said. "Since I used her picture in the identification, I've to get official information on it from the photographer."

  The woman had worked at the school for years and was quite friendly. "That'd be 12 years ago, you say? We used Adam Bancroft until about four years ago, then we changed to Mickey Lawson. I guess the photographer was Adam Bancroft. If it wasn't, he might know who it was. We just don't keep that detail of information."

  Lindsay thanked her for being so helpful. She called Mickey Lawson's studio and made an appointment to have her portrait taken.

  "It occurred to me while I was in your studio," she said as he was setting up the shot, "that a portrait would make a good Christmas gift for my parents. They are always after me to give them one. I was going to get Derrick to do it. He's the site photographer. But I thought I'd go ahead and have a professional one made"

  "I'm glad you decided to have it done here. Photographs make good presents. I do some of my best business before Christmas."

  "I wouldn't think there are enough people in Merry Claymoore to keep you in business making portraits."

  "If it were only portraits and only in Merry Claymoore, it wouldn't. But I do clubs, civic functions, schools, department stores. I cover a pretty wide area."

  "Did you go to school to learn photography`?"

  "No. I got interested in photography in high school, then got a job working with a photographer when I graduated. In about three or four years, I struck out on my own and have been doing pretty good ever since."

  He snapped several poses of Lindsay, carefully recording the measurements after each shot.

  "I imagine you were pretty lucky to get a job with a photographer right out of high school."

  "Yeah, I was. Adam taught me a lot, but we sure had different styles of photography"