Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

  She didn’t know which had shaken her more—the way he’d kissed her or the way she’d kissed him back. She usually had no problem holding her hormones in check. She was rarely so bold with men; her standards were too high. But unexpectedly raging hormones weren’t the worst of it. Caro suspected there was more to her feelings for Wyatt Bodine than physical attraction.

  Before finding those keys and seeing his strange reaction to them, she’d definitely considered Wyatt someone she wanted to know better. She’d hoped that once this case was over, they could explore their attraction—and whatever else was between them. There were two kinds of single adults in the world as far as Caro was concerned: those you romped with and those you settled down with. Caro had thought Wyatt might be one of the latter. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Generally she preferred that the men she dated had nothing to do with law enforcement. Seeing a man whose worst part of the day had been a blown business deal or a grumpy boss was relaxing, even interesting. She could put away the horrors of her job and concentrate on the ordinary.

  Wyatt Bodine is no ordinary person, she thought. But then, neither am I.

  With her customary discipline Caro got down to business. First she finished setting up her equipment at the large work table that had been moved into the room. Next she put on sterile gloves and spread a sterile white sheet on the bed. The transport box, delivered earlier, was on the floor waiting for her. She carefully unpacked the remains, laying them out bone by bone in human order. She’d been unable to really pack them well and they’d been jostled about during the drive.

  Caro began by cleaning more debris from the bones, again packing it in clear plastic bags. Some of the specks she found were black and irregularly shaped. Her chemicals would give her a final verdict, but they looked like old silver-ore tracings to Caro. She took painstaking care with the debris, getting several samples of the silver—and various other materials—from the remains.

  She neatly labeled the bags, then set them aside for slide preparation and study. Caro preferred to do her microscopic work later, preferably after she’d cleaned up. That way, any debris from the messier aspects of forensic work wouldn’t contaminate the slides or the delicate equipment she used to analyze them.

  Caro retrieved her tape measure and prepared to determine the victim’s height. By measuring the long bones in the legs, she’d find it an easy enough task. An accurate mathematical formula had been developed by anatomy professor Mildred Trotter, a doctor who’d worked with the U.S. Army preparing Second World War soldiers for final burial. All Caro needed was the race, sex and one of the long bones from either an arm or a leg. In this case Caro could use a femur and a tibia from the same leg, a double combination that, according to Dr. Trotter, provided for the smallest margin of error. Caro made the measurements and wrote all her findings in a small spiral notebook. She’d do the calculations and transcribe her notes into the laptop later in the afternoon. Double sets of records, like double sets of photographs, ensured the safety of her investigation.

  Caro continued her work, concentrating so intensely that the next time she checked her watch, she saw she’d worked straight through lunch. In fact, it was getting close to dinner. She straightened and rubbed her sore neck, a rueful expression on her face. She’d have less than half an hour to take a shower and change if she wanted some dinner, considering the strict ranch rules for chow times.

  But first, dust those keys, hope for a print and a quick fax signal.

  The keys jingled in her hand as Caro completed the procedure. She didn’t know if she’d find anything. The hot desert sun could bake a fingerprint’s oil in seconds, leaving nothing. But the results surprised her. A print appeared, as perfect as any she’d seen in textbooks, along with some adequate partials. Caro scanned the print with her scanner to load it into her computer, hooked the computer to the phone in her room and activated the fax and miniprinter.

  There. I should get the results fairly soon.

  She quickly stripped, showered and toweled off. As she was dressing, she heard the tiny beep that signaled an incoming fax. Caro grinned when she saw the name of a crime-lab friend on the log line, which explained the speedy reply. Nothing like having friends in high places.

  She stared at the message.

  “Prints identified from both partials and complete. Suspect one Morgan Bodine. Part-time deputy, Cochise County. Address, The Silver Dollar Ranch, Tombstone.”

  Morgan’s keys? These are Morgan’s keys?

  What was going on? Why were Morgan’s keys at the graveyard? And the biggest question of all…

  Why didn’t Wyatt tell me?

  She read over the fax’s beginning words again, then read the rest of it.

  “Suspect’s a registered law-enforcement deputy, Caro. This sounds like one heck of a juicy case.”

  “Now that’s the understatement of the year,” Caro agreed. She carefully folded the piece of paper, slipped it into a skirt pocket and faxed off a quick thank-you to her buddy in Phoenix.

  Now what? she wondered as she finished dressing. She brushed her hair, then made her decision. She dropped the bagged keys into the pocket that held the fax. Time to rattle the family tree downstairs and see what shook loose.

  After locking the window and outer door of her makeshift lab, Caro headed for the stairs. Her natural and professional caution stopped her. On impulse she retraced her steps. She retrieved her clay recreation kit, spiral notebook, computer disk and the skull, and brought them into her bedroom.

  Then she packed everything into her luggage bag—empty save for soiled laundry—locked the case and shoved it back under the bed. She felt very foolish at the action. Hardly an effective hiding place! Suddenly she remembered an old trick she’d learned from a case she’d once worked on. She hurried back for the length of rope Wyatt had used to tie down the skeleton and box for travel. The rope was still next door in the lab.

  Caro pulled out the suitcase again and tied the rope onto the handle. And then, as the convicted criminal had done, Caro fastened the free end of the rope securely and out of sight behind the curtains. She opened the window, checking to make sure there was no one in the yard below. As quietly as possible, she hung the suitcase outside. She arranged some bath towels over it before closing the window and curtains.

  To the casual observer it would look like some wet towels were being dried in the sun, since the rope and suitcase were beneath them. Of course, the outline of the suitcase was somewhat visible, even allowing for the jutting window ledge, but not unless you looked closely. However, until Caro could find a safer place for the evidence in town tomorrow, it would have to do.

  Taking that extra time almost made her late for dinner. Everyone was already sitting down as Caro, clad in a denim skirt, short-sleeved blouse and comfortable sandals, hurried into the large dining room. Wyatt and Morgan both rose to their feet at her entrance. Kimberly, dazzling in an off-the-shoulder dress and evening makeup, did not. Nor did the elderly gentleman in the wheelchair next to her.

  “Excuse me for being late,” Caro said pleasantly. She turned toward the gentleman in the wheelchair. “Good evening. I don’t believe we’ve met. Caro Hartlan.”

  “Hugh Ellis.” The man held out his hand, which was as grotesquely thin as the rest of him. Caro took it, careful not to disturb the oxygen line that curved down from his nostrils. He looked to be in his nineties, she thought. Hugh’s face had an unhealthy pallor and his grip was weak, but his hoarse voice still carried. “I’m Kimberly’s grandfather.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ellis.”

  “Call me Hugh. I may be a dying man, but I’m no highfalutin’ dying man.”

  “Grandfather—Hugh, please don’t say things like that.” Kimberly’s tone was anxious.

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Morgan, still standing, reached out to put a calming hand on Kimberly’s shoulder.

  So, been looking for your keys lately, Morgan? Caro silently asked. Bu
t she maintained a pleasant enough air as Morgan spoke to her.

  “Hugh tends to be rather blunt at Kimberly’s expense. We’re all very worried about him.”

  “Forget my health. Wyatt, go hold the lady’s chair,” Hugh ordered, but Wyatt was already coming around to do so. She was already familiar with his courtesies, and she found she enjoyed them. Too bad the rest of the dinner isn’t going to be as nice, she thought as she sat down. The brothers followed. She noticed that Morgan’s hand remained on Kimberly’s shoulder. But Kimberly’s attention stayed on Hugh—and Wyatt.

  “Beating around the bush isn’t for me,” Hugh revealed. “Too much liquor and too many cigars wrecked my liver and my lungs. I lived the way I wanted, despite them damn doctors. I don’t regret those years, nary a one, so don’t feel sorry, Miz Caro. Or give me sermons.”

  Caro shook open her white linen napkin and spread it on her lap. “I’m a stranger. I’ll leave the sermonizing to your nearest and dearest.”

  Kimberly looked at her sharply; Morgan stared at her in puzzlement. Wyatt’s face registered very little as he watched them all. But Hugh surprised everyone with a wheezing cough that was his attempt at a laugh.

  “Thank you for that, my dear. I get too many lectures as it is. Takes after my late wife in that respect.” Hugh gestured weakly toward Kimberly, who flushed.

  “I only fuss because I love you, Hugh. You’re all I have left.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Caro murmured.

  Hugh turned away from his granddaughter to face Caro. “Save the condolences, ma’am. Kimberly’s parents and brother are alive and well in California. My son gave up cattle ranching to work for some crazy computer company. Now he owns the company, my daughter-in-law is their software genius, and my grandson spends his time designing computer games for his parents. They’ve been after the two of us to join them for the last six years.”

  “Like I’d want to live in L.A. I’d have to borrow Hugh’s oxygen bottle just to breathe.” Kimberly wrinkled her nose for emphasis. “If the air didn’t kill me, the freeway traffic would. Anyway,” she said as she took a platter of fried chicken from Wyatt, “being a city girl isn’t for me. Just as some women definitely don’t belong in the country.” She gave Caro a pointed look as she passed the food her way.

  “Well, the city’s been good to me. I do work I love and make a decent living,” Caro replied, not rising to the bait.

  “I don’t need the city to make a living. I’m rich enough already,” Kimberly announced.

  “How…nice for you,” Caro said politely, hoping Kimberly wasn’t the type to go airing her personal finances in public. She wasn’t, but it seemed Morgan didn’t mind going into details.

  “It’s true, Caro,” he replied. “The Ellis cattle ranch was deeply in debt, so much so that Kimberly’s parents wanted to use the family’s computer money to bail it out. But Kimberly wouldn’t have it. She starting running the ranch when her parents left and Hugh became too ill.”

  “Kim turned things around so successfully she’s been able to hire people to do all the jobs she used to do,” Wyatt added.

  Hugh snorted. Caro had the feeling the old man didn’t approve of female ranchers. But any woman with the brains to pull a money-losing cattle ranch out of the red deserved full credit and every cent she earned.

  “At the ripe old age of twenty-eight—”

  Kimberly slapped Hugh’s arm playfully. “Next time, say twenty-something.”

  “—my granddaughter became a lady of leisure.”

  “And then I decided to work for Wyatt. If I can turn a ranch around, I can certainly manage a small-town sheriff’s office.”

  “She’s been a big help. And she works for the city for free,” Morgan said proudly. “Donates her paycheck to the local Scout troops.”

  Caro lifted her fork to her mouth. “Admirable.” She had to give Kimberly points for being smart and for being so generous with her time and money. But chasing a man who didn’t want her—even going so far as to work for him— didn’t match up with those smarts. Kimberly would be better off chasing Morgan. Morgan obviously adored her, but Kimberly favored Wyatt, while Wyatt favored…

  No one, as far as she could tell. Wyatt had a poker face when it came to his emotions. He wasn’t as easy to read as Kimberly, who was still speaking.

  “Playing the wealthy cattle baroness isn’t for me,” Kimberly was saying. “I enjoy working for the Tombstone Sheriff’s Department. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get my own law-enforcement degree, like Wyatt did.”

  “Just don’t leave us for good. We couldn’t do without you, Kim,” Morgan insisted.

  “Especially with a murder still unsolved.”

  Everyone at the dinner table froze at Hugh’s words. Even Caro with her glib tongue was taken by surprise. However, she was the first to recover and nod her head in agreement.

  “Do I shock you?” Hugh said to her.

  “You did say you were blunt,” Caro replied. “And yes, I am a bit surprised. So far, I’ve been the only one here who’s a hundred percent convinced the skeleton was a murder victim. You’re the first person who’s actually come out and agreed with me.”

  “Grandfather, please.” Kimberly was obviously flustered, which was why, Caro supposed, she’d reverted to calling Hugh “Grandfather” instead of his name. “You’re making a scene.”

  “Hugh, you’re upsetting Kimberly. Can’t we just have a quiet, pleasant dinner?” Morgan begged.

  “I’d like to hear what Mr. Ellis has on his mind,” Wyatt said.

  “So would I,” Caro seconded. “Everyone at this table seems more concerned with how the skeleton popped up— who moved it from where.”

  “You aren’t interested in that?” Morgan demanded.

  Caro’s eyes narrowed at Morgan’s angry stare. “I suggest you let Mr. Ellis speak, Mr. Bodine. You’ll get your turn later.” Believe me, I’ll see to that.

  “Well, missy, I see you believe in bluntness, too,” Hugh wheezed. “I never did like being interrupted.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us what you know, Hugh?” Wyatt suggested.

  Hugh’s expression was crafty. “Rumor is, Wyatt and Caro are keeping this case low profile. Unless high stakes are involved, people don’t do that—or hold back evidence.”

  That’s as good an opening as any. Caro reached into her pocket and withdrew the turquoise-and-silver key chain. “Like this?” The keys jangled in the clear plastic bag as she held it aloft.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for those.”

  “So they are yours.” Caro glanced at Morgan, then swiveled toward Wyatt, her eyes holding both accusation and disappointment. Wyatt returned her gaze evenly.

  “Where did you find them?” Morgan asked. He reached out for the bag, but Caro pulled it away.

  “I found it inside our anonymous skull.”

  “Inside what?” Kimberly blinked.

  “At the crime scene,” Caro explained. “Either you’re involved in this case—and I am going to call it a wrongfuldeath case—or someone wants it to look as though you are,” she told Morgan.

  She turned to Wyatt for assistance, but he sat steadfastly silent. As did the others at the table. “Don’t all speak at once,” she prodded.

  “I have my keys,” Kimberly sniffed.

  “Well, I didn’t put mine there! Wyatt must have borrowed them.” Morgan turned to his brother.

  “I didn’t,” Wyatt said quietly.

  But you knew they were your brother’s, and we’ll talk about that later, Caro’s expression promised him.

  “You must have someone else’s keys,” Kimberly insisted. “One of the ranch hands or…”

  Caro slid one hand into her pocket, pulled out the fax and passed it to Wyatt. “This says I don’t.”

  “Wyatt read the fax, then gave it to Morgan. Kimberly immediately peered over his shoulder. Morgan’s next comment wasn’t complimentary at all.

  “Well, Doctor, aren’t we the sneaky one
?”

  “Don’t we all have something to hide?” Hugh asked cryptically.

  “But why? What motive would Morgan—” Kimberly began.

  “Not me!” Morgan exclaimed.

  “—or anyone,” Kimberly continued, “have to unearth an old skeleton?”

  “Maybe the skeleton got in the way.”

  Now Wyatt seemed confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you? There’s more than just old bones being unearthed here,” Caro answered. She stood up, taking her fork and the white linen napkin in her lap. She crossed to Hugh’s wheelchair, knelt down and carefully scraped some soil from the treads of one rubber wheel onto her napkin.

  “What is this—more party games?” Morgan asked.

  “More like a laundry situation,” Kimberly added. “I keep telling you, Wyatt, to use paper napkins. You’re going to have to bleach that one by the time Caro’s done with it.”

  Wyatt ignored Kimberly and tracked Caro’s every move.

  “What do you have?” he asked.

  “I’ll show you.” She completed her scrapings and carried the napkin carefully to the table. Still standing, she ran her fingers over the dust, then rubbed her fingertips together. Using her spoon, she put a little of the dirt in the palm of her hand and added a few drops of water. If she wasn’t mistaken—and she didn’t think she was…

  “Is there a mine on your ranch, Mr. Ellis?” Caro asked.

  “Now it’s Mr. Ellis again. That sounds ominous,” Hugh said.

  And that sounded like an evasion. Caro’s professional manner kicked in. “Please answer the question, sir.”

  Kimberly replied for him. “There’s no mine on Ellis land.”

  “Sheriff?”

  “There’s a mine on ours. Why do you ask?”

  Everyone leaned forward to hear Caro’s answer.

  “Because it looks like there’s precious metal in this soil.”

  Everyone leaned back again except Wyatt, who poked his finger through the dirt on Caro’s napkin.