Bones to Pick

by Linda Lovely

  I strolled to the front of the bank as if I had all the time in the world. Didn’t even glance in Mollye’s direction. I felt sneaky, cocky, certain I hadn’t been made. I heard Mollye’s loud harrumph as I opened the door.

  I sauntered down the block and admired a window display while I waited for Mollye to join me. Our next act was a duet. She wasn’t far behind. She high-fived me before we walked on to Abby’s Diner. We entered together, chattering away as friends do. We spotted Caldwell in a booth midway down the aisle. He had his back to us so he hadn’t seen us yet, and surprisingly hadn’t picked up on Mollye’s voice. He must have been holding forth on some arcane subject. The fellow seated across from him had a glazed look that said “How soon can I politely get the heck out of here?”

  The booth next to Caldwell’s was empty. We slid in, out of Caldwell’s sight but definitely within audio range. The diner’s rickety bench-style booths were connected. That meant only one shared hunk of fiber board and two thin layers of vinyl stuffing separated me from our target, Banker Caldwell.

  I gave Mollye a thumbs-up, indicating it was time to lift the curtain on our little play. The actual time? Three thirty on the nose.

  “That’s so exciting,” Mollye squealed. “Your Japanese pen pal, the friend at Tisnomi, is definitely coming to the States? When?”

  At the mention of Tisnomi, the booth at my back violently shuddered, a definite indication we had Caldwell’s attention. Either he’d bolted upright or his butt had tightened with cataclysmic force. Yep, he was listening.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I’d hoped she’d be assigned to Sunrise Ridge so she’d be posted right around the corner. But she says Tisnomi’s passing on that property. Instead it’s buying some swanky gated community in Georgia. Don’t tell anyone though. It’s a secret. Tisnomi isn’t announcing the deal until Friday.”

  The waitress arrived to take our order at the same moment Caldwell sprang from his seat. The collision practically knocked her flat. The banker didn’t stop to apologize.

  “I’m late for a meeting,” he muttered as he shoved by. He never glanced in our direction.

  Mollye and I shared victory grins as we ordered coffee. The minute Caldwell was out of sight we asked the waitress for to-go cups and plopped our payment and a generous tip on the table.

  If we wanted to listen in on any phone calls our Tisnomi news might spark, we had to return to our stakeout vehicle. Our listening devices weren’t exactly NSA quality. Our receiver had to be within five hundred feet.

  We’d barely popped our takeout in the Camry’s cup holders when the receiver burped to life with heavy breathing. Caldwell’s squeaking chair provided a background beat. The man hadn’t needed that donut. A knock announced a visitor. “Mr. Caldwell, I wish you’d been here. You should have heard—”

  “Ms. Clod, I have an important phone call. Whatever you want to tell me will have to wait. Please close the door on your way out.”

  I smiled. A bonus. If we were lucky, Ms. Clod would be miffed at being cut off and wouldn’t confide her travails with Mollye Camp and Brie Hooker. Less reason for the banker to suspect we’d set him up.

  Caldwell’s call went through. Sticking with his ingrained habits, the banker left the phone on speaker, letting us hear both sides of the conversation. “Sheriff’s Office,” a woman answered.

  “I need to speak to Sheriff Jones. Immediately. Tell him it’s Victor Caldwell.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s out of the office and unavailable. Is this an emergency?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Do you want to leave a message?

  “No. Just tell him to call me.”

  By four thirty, I wondered if Sheriff Jones would ever return Victor’s call. Maybe he was testifying in court. Then again, he could be busy organizing a SWAT raid on Udderly Kidding Dairy.

  At 4:35 p.m. Victor’s phone finally rang.

  “What’s up?” a male voice demanded when Victor answered.

  Definitely the sheriff, and he was in curt, pissed-off mode. I sucked in a breath.

  “I need to see you, in person,” Caldwell said. “We have trouble with Sunrise Ridge. Big trouble. Those friends of yours up north are going to be very unhappy.”

  “Shut up,” Jones barked. “Not on the telephone. West and I will meet you at Dot’s. Leave the bank at your usual time. That should put you there about five thirty.”

  This was it? Conversation over? Dang. We hadn’t learned a blasted thing. Well, nothing we didn’t already know. Caldwell was in bed with Sheriff Jones and Deputy West, and they were desperate for the Sunrise Ridge sale to go through.

  I turned to Mollye. “Well, pickled pigs’ feet, that was a big zero. Who in blazes is Dot?”

  “Dot isn’t a who, it’s a what.” Mollye started the car. “It’s a failed burger joint out on Highway 11. Went out of business last year. Huge parking lot screened from the road. Teens go there to neck. Ideal spot for Ardon’s very own evil axis to meet in secret. We can get there early. I even know a place we can hide our car. Perfecto.”

  Perfecto? We had no binoculars. At least if they were meeting at five thirty it wouldn’t be dark yet. Would spying on the trio from a distance do us any good? I supposed we could tail one of the cars after they finished plotting, but how would that help?

  I shared my gloom with Mollye.

  She wagged a finger at me. “Ye of little faith. You bugged Caldwell’s briefcase, right? That wanker takes it everywhere. You’d think it was the Presidential football with the nuclear launch code inside. It’s a decent bet we’ll hear every word those creeps say.”

  Mollye peeled away from the curb. I buckled my seatbelt and held on tight.

  I loved Mollye’s optimism. Hoped it was merited. I crossed my fingers her car camouflage skills were as good as her Irish blarney.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “There’s Dot’s.” Mollye pointed at a falling-down building straight ahead. As we skidded into a ninety-degree turn, I gathered Dot’s wasn’t our destination. We bumped off the pavement and fishtailed up a skinny dirt track. If we lived to reach the hilltop, we’d drive past a weathered red barn. Perched on the ridge, the barn looked directly over Dot’s parking lot.

  “Do you know the folks who live here?” I asked.

  “Yes, before they moved to Chicago. Place has been vacant for months. Not many takers for small family farms these days. We’ll stash the Camry behind the barn and park our spy eyes this side of the tree line. They’ll never spot us.”

  I agreed. No one would see us unless they arrived in the next five minutes. It would take that long for the dust we kicked up to settle. At the moment, it hung in low, roiling clouds, an airborne trace of the path we’d traveled.

  Mollye parked behind the barn.

  “Have to hand it to you, Mollye, it’s a great hideaway.”

  “Did you ever doubt me?” She chuckled.

  “Just hope our banker brings his briefcase and everyone speaks loud enough for us to pick up the sound.”

  The wait proved long enough for our telltale dust trail to vanish. Victor Caldwell’s shiny black S-Class Mercedes arrived first. I had no idea what he drove, but ownership wasn’t exactly a wild guess. The vanity license plate read BANKR.

  I expected Caldwell to leap out of his car and pace while he waited for his sidekicks. Didn’t happen. He sat inside, car engine running. Did he suspect he’d need a quick getaway?

  Our spyware receiver came to life. Voices. Was he talking to himself? Oh, crap, it was his radio tuned to an all-news station. The five o’clock report.

  A sheriff’s cruiser pulled in next to the Mercedes. The newscast stopped mid-sentence as Caldwell switched off his radio.

  “Why do you suppose Deputy West drove?” Mollye asked as the obnoxious deputy exited the driver’s side. The sheriff, who’d ridden shotgun, took a couple more minutes
to get out.

  “Come on, be good little cheese doodles,” I ordered sotto voice. “Climb in Caldwell’s car.” Might as well pretend I could give stage directions to the doll-size characters below.

  I wanted to clap when the lawmen slid their backsides into the rear of the large Mercedes. Guess talking through a cop car’s mesh screen would have seemed less cozy. The Mercedes’ leather upholstery was definitely a step up from what I assumed was cracked vinyl.

  I crossed my fingers and toes. Would we be able to hear the conversation?

  “You big asshole,” Jones bellowed. “Can’t believe you called me at the Sheriff’s Office and, like an idiot, you mentioned Sunrise Ridge and my ‘friends’ up North. Don’t you know our calls are recorded?”

  “What the hell difference does it make? We’re screwed. We promised the family backing Burks that this Tisnomi deal would fly, and, when it did, we’d make them whole, pay back every penny they loaned us to stay afloat. Now Tisnomi’s walking away. Not another buyer in sight.”

  “How do you know the Tisnomi deal’s off?” the deputy asked.

  “Overheard a conversation. Some Tisnomi employee blabbed. The company’s passing on Sunrise Ridge, making a deal on some Georgia property instead. The announcement’s Friday. Gives us a little time to make plans.”

  “Yeah, and who’s to say this Tisnomi employee knows his ass from a hole in the ground? You panic too easily, Caldwell.”

  I was pretty sure Jones was doing the talking, though the sheriff’s and deputy’s Southern twangs were cured in the same liquor and tobacco marinade.

  “You’ve always been nervous. Thought you’d piss yourself back when we buried Jed and Kaiser.”

  My breath caught. Had Jones just admitted they’d murdered both men?

  “You were so afraid folks wouldn’t buy the idea that Kaiser flew the coop with everyone’s loot. Told you they would. Worked like a charm.”

  “Well, the chickens in that coop are coming home to roost.” Caldwell’s tone dropped into the deep freeze. “They’ve already dug up Jed. What if someone unearths Kaiser, too?”

  “We took care of that.” A slightly different voice. The tone almost boastful. “Nobody’ll ever find his bones, and there’s no connection to Sunrise Ridge.”

  “I don’t like it.” Caldwell’s voice cut in. “And Nancy. Why her? She was a nobody. You’ve both gone off the deep end.”

  “No choice,” the sheriff took back the conversational lead. “She just wouldn’t stop yammering about Eva faking Jed’s signature on that deed. I wasn’t gonna risk people connecting that piece of land to Jed’s murder.”

  “This is too much.” Caldwell’s voice had climbed an octave and acquired a definite warble. “West, think, man. For god’s sake, Eli was one of your buddies. I’m out, leaving town tonight. If you’re smart, you two will do the same.”

  “You’re not getting a notion to play innocent, are you, Victor? Cozying up to the Feds, maybe? Acting like the deputy and I twisted your arm to launder money?”

  Boom! The sound was so loud my body shook.

  I screamed. It took a second to realize the scream came in stereo. I shut my trap and clamped my hand over Mollye’s mouth.

  “Holy shit, I think Jones just offed Caldwell.” This was as close to a whisper as Mollye’d ever managed—at least when I’d been with her.

  I nodded.

  “You think they heard us scream?”

  I bit my lip. “No. The blast had to deafen everyone in that car.”

  I tapped our faithful spyware receiver. Shook it. Not a sound. Audio blowout? Our private broadcast had ended.

  My hands shook. Maybe I hadn’t seen a murder, but I’d heard one. Not that I could prove it. Our receiver wasn’t a recorder.

  I jumped up. Mollye grabbed my ankle in an attempt to tackle me back to the ground. “What are you doing?” she gasped. “They’ll see you.”

  I pulled free. “Can’t believe I left my phone in my purse.” I sprinted to the Camry, grabbed my iPhone, ran back to the ridge, and dropped to my knees. I snapped picture after picture. Jones and West exiting the Mercedes…Jones opening the Mercedes’ front door, gun in hand…West wiping down door handles…the cruiser driving away.

  When the killers left the scene, Mollye and I collapsed spread-eagled on the grass, breathing like we’d run four-minute miles.

  “What now?” Mollye asked. “Do we call the state police? I’m scared to death. Caldwell was their partner, and Jones blew his brains out. It sure sounds like they’ve offed one boatload of people—Jed, Kaiser, Nancy, Eli, Caldwell. Can you believe it? Half those folks were drinking buddies or their own damn kin.”

  I shook my head. “Not sure West killed any of them. Looks like Jones has the itchy trigger finger, but the deputy is definitely a willing accomplice. They both scare me. We’re way beyond the point where smartass amateur snoops should butt out. It’s time to turn this over to real detectives.”

  I knew who to call. Mom. Had to—even though I dreaded admitting how many secrets I’d been keeping. She’d be furious. She’d also know exactly who to bring in and how to do it.

  My fingers were poised above my phone’s numeric display when my cell began vibrating. Mental telepathy? Mom?

  I looked at the display. Really? Couldn’t be.

  “It’s Eva,” I told Mollye. “Good Lord, I hope nothing horrible has happened at Udderly. She never phones anyone unless there’s a dire emergency.” I answered the call. “Aunt Eva, what—”

  Never had a chance to finish. Eva blasted right over my attempts to get a word in edgewise. Guess she figured anything I had to say couldn’t compete with her news. If I hadn’t just listened to the audio track of a murder, she might have been right.

  Eva spit out words like cherry pits in a high-speed processing plant. Soon as she said her piece, she hung up.

  “Eva…Eva…damn.” Sigh.

  “What bee flew inside Eva’s bonnet?” Mollye asked. “Why’d she call only to hang up before you could say boo?”

  “Wanted to share a news bulletin. Said that DHEC fellow, Brad, phoned. Apparently, it was afternoon when he got to the Nelson place. He showed his authorization to Granny and went around back to look at the pit they’d dug near the creek. Next thing he knew she’d loosed two junkyard dogs on him and started peppering the general vicinity with buckshot. Old Brad made a hasty retreat, then came back with state troopers and a warrant. They found human remains. Old bones, but clearly human.”

  “That’s good news,” Mollye said. “Just a wild guess, but based on what we overheard that skeleton must belong to that Kaiser fella.”

  I nodded. “Eva hung up after she ordered us home. She saw no point fretting over Sunrise Ridge and what Caldwell did or didn’t know now that those mystery bones have been unearthed. She was pretty optimistic their discovery would clear her.”

  “I agree,” Mollye said. “Though I’m still more than a little foggy about how and why anyone besides Jed and Kaiser died.”

  “We won’t find any answers here. Let’s get while the getting’s good. The sun’s going to set soon. I want to get as far away as possible before dark. Thank heavens, Jones and West blew out of here as soon as they wiped down Victor’s car.”

  I phoned Mom. It went straight to voice mail. Figuring she was probably in court or with a client, I left a succinct message. “Mom, it’s urgent. Mollye and I just saw the sheriff murder Victor Caldwell. Obviously we can’t phone the sheriff. Who should we call? What should we do? Call me.”

  “What now?” Mollye asked as I ended the call.

  “Head straight to my folks’ house in Clemson. Mom should be back soon.”

  “I have a backup plan,” Mollye said. “Send an SOS to Andy and Paint. Last night when you went to the bathroom, we fixed your phone up with that tracking app Andy mentioned.”

&nbs
p; “You what?”

  “Don’t get all huffy. Just text SOS to Paint or Andy. They can see where we are.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Eva didn’t want to hear any guff.”

  I glared at Mollye but did as she suggested, texting an SOS to both men before we climbed into the Camry.

  Having roasted in the late afternoon sun, the car interior was hot enough to bake cookies. Mollye started the engine, and I rolled down my window to let in some air. Too late, I remembered the dust clouds we created on the drive up the hill. Wouldn’t be any better on the way down.

  We’d almost reached the pavement when we heard sirens and saw the flashing blue lights. What the heck? Two sheriff’s cruisers. The first car rocketed into Dot’s parking lot and skidded to a stop next to the Mercedes where Victor’s corpse was now entombed. The second cruiser initially followed the first into the lot, but then it did a one-eighty and headed for our skimpy dirt lane. The car fishtailed sideways to block our path. No chance of escape.

  Hairy Pork Rinds, what now?

  “Stop the car.” I recognized the voice all too easily as it boomed over some loud speaker contraption inside the cruiser.

  “Driver, turn off the motor and put your hands above your head. Passenger, you too, get your hands up where we can see them.”

  Chipped beef on a shingle, Jones and West had seen our telltale dust trail. They could see exactly where we’d been.

  We were dead.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Car doors slammed. Sheriff Jones and Deputy West weren’t wasting any time. I gathered Jones didn’t know who occupied our Camry when he barked his hands-up orders. Otherwise he’d have called us something a tetch more colorful than “driver” and “passenger.” Sun reflecting off our car’s tinted windshield plus the brown smog we’d manufactured were the only reasons we’d been granted a brief reprieve. Any minute Jones would figure out which varmints he’d caught in his trap.