The Twelve Dice of Christmas

by Gail Oust

  “You almost done?”

  “Be up in a minute, Polly.” The box could possibly contain the Snows’ long-ago Christmas decorations. Wouldn’t Connie Sue and Monica be pleased if I reported I’d found them? A cache of vintage ornaments would give the Babes’ task of decorating a head start. I stepped closer to the box and ran my finger along the top. My fingertip came away black and gritty. Not ordinary dirt but coal dust, I decided. There must have been a coal chute nearby at one time. And the box I’d just discovered had likely been used to store coal. Like at my grandparents’ house, many older homes depended on coal for heat during the winter months.

  I stuck my phone in my jacket pocket, leaving the flashlight app on just in case, and used both hands to pry open the lid. But rather than lumps of coal, the bin contained a mound of dead branches—pine and eucalyptus, guessing from the lingering scent—and a chemical smell that I associated with mothballs. I felt a jolt of excitement. Our scouting expedition had, indeed, turned into a treasure hunt. Obviously, someone had gone to lengths to preserve an item of value. Reaching inside the coal bin, I carefully shoved the branches aside. A dark cloth hid the treasure from view. I picked up an edge, which felt stiff and waxy, more like canvas than cloth, eased back a corner, and . . .

  . . . stifled a scream.

  My eyes widened in horror. I spun around and scrambled up the cellar steps.

  Polly stopped her restless pacing to stare at me. “Kate, honey, what’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I pressed my hand to my chest. My heart galloped inside my rib cage like it was running the Preakness. “Not a ghost,” I gasped, “a skeleton.”

  “Sure you did,” she said, her voice ripe with disbelief. “Every old house has a skeleton or two in its closet. It’s a well-know fact.”

  “It wasn’t in a closet.” I struggled to catch my breath. “It was in a coal bin.”

  “You’ve been watching too much TV.” Polly clucked her tongue. “Just think about it, hon. How likely is it there’s an honest-to-goodness skeleton in a root cellar belonging to a sweet old lady? What are the odds?”

  I drew a shaky breath. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Don’t I always make sense?” Polly asked, insulted. “Eula told us Waylon got a kick out of decorating the house at Christmastime. Halloween was probably another of his favorites. Maybe he wanted to give the little trick-or-treaters a good scare. Make them think twice before waxing his windows.”

  “Think we should call the police?” I patted my pocket and realized my phone was missing. It must have fallen out during my mad dash to freedom.

  “Nah, not unless you’re one hundred percent sure the skeleton was real and not one of those fake versions.”

  I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans. “Only one way to find out. I need to take a second look—and retrieve my cell phone.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll come with you,” Polly offered, much to my surprise. “It’ll be something to talk about with my friends next time we get together for happy hour.”

  “You’re probably right,” I admitted, starting to calm. “I took one quick peek then ran for the hills. Running away was cowardly. I probably just overreacted.”

  “Good, that settles it then.” Polly’s blond curls bobbed up and down. “You lead the way.”

  With legs still a little rubbery, I slowly retraced my steps. Polly trailed after me. It was grim consolation to find that the low-watt bulb still burned, shedding a weak halo.

  I glanced at her over my shoulder. “Careful,” I cautioned. “I wouldn’t want you to trip and break a hip. The orthopedic surgeons have enough business as it is with a retirement community close by. We’re a target-rich environment.”

  “Don’t worry,” Polly chuckled. “It’s my intention to leave this good earth with all my original parts. Now, get your cell phone, then show me what all the fuss is about.”

  Somehow, in the heat of the moment, our roles had been reversed. I’m usually the fearless one, yet here Polly was encouraging me to return to the scene of the crime—so to speak.

  At the bottom of the steps, I paused to draw a steadying breath. “The coal bin is over there, against the wall,” I said, pointing.

  The overhead light flickered once, but to my immense relief came back on a second later.

  My cell phone was on the floor next to the coal bin where I’d dropped it, the flashlight app still on. Picking it up, I noticed the battery on my phone was in the red zone. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  “Me, too.” Polly sidled closer and gripped my arm. “Let’s blow this pop stand before I develop a root cellar allergy.”

  “The . . . fake skeleton . . . is in here.” I raised the lid of the coffin-like box, and the beam from my flashlight played over a gray-white skull. The rictus of a grin on its face caused the fine hairs at the nape of my neck to stand on end.

  Polly’s fingers dug into my biceps. “If that’s a Halloween decoration, I’d demand my money back.”

  I nodded slowly. Halloween skeletons didn’t usually come with premade holes in their skulls the size of a fist.

  Knowing I could no longer avoid the inevitable, I dialed 911.

  “I’m calling from Eula Snow’s. I found a body . . .” My phone powered off, the battery dead.

  Chapter 4

  Polly and I sat side by side on the back steps of the mudroom as we waited for the cavalry to arrive. No sense keeping vigil over a pile of bones. He . . . she . . . it . . . was long past needing human comfort or companionship.

  “Think we should tell the others?” Polly ventured.

  I shook my head. “No, they’ll learn the bad news soon enough.”

  A chill breeze rustled through the bare branches in the woods beyond, causing the tall loblolly pines to sway back and forth. Pewter-gray clouds congregated to dim the last rays of winter sunlight. The final vestiges of energy and optimism drained from the day, leaving a sense of doom and gloom in their wake. Finding a skeleton in a dank-smelling root cellar had a doom-and-gloom kind of effect on my state of mind. It had also given me an acute case of the creepy-crawlies. Not only had I been watching too much television, I’d been reading too many books. Time to cut back on Dean Koontz and Stephen King.

  Polly studied fingernails shellacked fire-engine red. “Who do you think those bones belong to?”

  “Don’t have a clue,” I said.

  “Do you suppose Eula might know? After all, it’s her root cellar.”

  In the distance I heard the wail of sirens. The sound grew louder and louder as the emergency vehicles sped closer. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of red and blue flashing lights. Next came the squeal of tires and the slamming of car doors, followed by purposeful footsteps.

  I rose to my feet prepared to meet my fate.

  Sheriff Sumter Wiggins, all six feet two inches of hard muscle and bad attitude, led the charge. The sheriff was followed by his sandy-haired deputy, Eric Olsen. Eric, in his off hours, happened to be Tammy Lynn Snow’s main squeeze. Tammy Lynn had harbored a mad crush on her brother’s best friend for years, but it wasn’t until Connie Sue had masterminded a dramatic makeover that Eric had sat up and taken notice. Presto, chango! An ugly duckling had transformed into a swan.

  “What’s all this about a dead body?” Sheriff Wiggins thundered.

  Drawn by all the commotion, Pam, Gloria, Monica, and Connie Sue streamed out the back door. Eula came out last, shrugging into a heavy sweater.

  “Kate, what’s wrong?” Pam asked worriedly. “Are you all right?”

  “What in the world happened?” Connie Sue glanced over her shoulder at the squad cars parked haphazardly at the curb.

  “Mother . . . ?” Gloria eyed Polly with suspicion. “What have you gone and done now?”

  Monica folded her arms over her chest and glared at me. “Out with it, Kate! What are the police doing here?”

  “Kate found a body,” Polly piped up.<
br />
  “You were supposed to find Christmas ornaments, not a body,” Monica reprimanded.

  “Ladies, ladies, if you don’t mind, I’m the one conductin’ this heah investigation.” Sheriff Wiggins’s dark face wore an even sterner expression when he turned to me. “So, Miz McCall, we meet again. Might’ve known you’d be in the thick of things. Care to inform me exactly what you think you found?”

  “I don’t think, I know what I saw, Sheriff.” I drew myself up to my full five feet two inches. “Technically I didn’t find a body, only the framework of one. There’s a skeleton in the root cellar—in the coal bin.”

  Eric Olsen cast a sideways look at the cellar door, which was splintered and gaping open, but wisely let his superior do the questioning.

  “This may seem strange, comin’ from me—considerin’ our history and all—but what in blazes were you doin’ in Ms. Snow’s root cellar?”

  “Like Monica just said,” I said, huffing out a breath. “Searching for Eula’s long-lost Christmas ornaments.”

  Sheriff Sumter Wiggins and I have an odd relationship. You might even go so far as to say we’re estranged. Try as I might to assist him in solving puzzling cases, he constantly rebuffs my efforts. He’s even had the audacity to label my help as “interference.”

  “And we were checking to see what bushes needed a good trimming,” Polly added for good measure. “The hydrangeas definitely should be cut back before the Holiday Home Tour.”

  I scuffed at a long tuft of grass while the Babes huddled next to the overgrown hydrangeas. “If you like, I’ll show you what I found,” I said, hoping he’d refuse my offer.

  “That’s very kind of you, Miz McCall,” he growled in a voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m sure I can locate the remains without your help.”

  He hadn’t gone more than two steps before I called out, “Excuse me, Sheriff, but shouldn’t you be wearing latex gloves so you don’t contaminate the crime scene?”

  “Kate’s right,” Polly said. “And some of them blue booties like they use on the Forensic Files.”

  Our innocent inquiries had the sheriff stopping in his tracks to spin around and glare at us. “Crime scene, eh? What makes you so sure it’s a crime scene?”

  “I’m not an idiot.” I plunged my hands into the pockets of my jeans for want of something to do. “People don’t just crawl into a coal bin then up and die. Besides, the deceased had a big hole in his, or her, head. I’d call that a clue.”

  “Hmph!”

  The sheriff disappeared down the cellar stairs. I shot Eric a sympathetic smile as he followed behind him. The young deputy must have had the patience of Job to cope with the irascible lawman on a daily basis.

  Eula wrung her hands. “A skeleton in my root cellar? I don’t understand any of this. This is all so confusing. I’d better call my sister. Cora will know what to do.”

  “Here, Eula, use my cell phone,” I said, handing her mine.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” She stared at it in bewilderment. “I’m afraid if it’s one of them newfangled smart phones, I don’t know how to work it.”

  “Just tell me her number and I’ll dial it for you.” I clicked the phone icon and waited for the keypad to appear. And then waited some more, but the screen remained dark. “Darn,” I groaned. “Forgot. The battery’s dead.”

  Pam had watched this scene play out and stepped forward. “No problem,” she said. “I’ll make the call for you, Eula. What’s your sister’s number?”

  Eula’s face looked as blank as the screen on my phone. “Um, I don’t remember. I think I wrote it down on a piece of paper somewhere. Let me run inside and see if I can find it.” Turning, she hurried back into the house.

  Pam gave me a much-needed hug. She seemed to sense, as good friends often do, that I was in need of comfort. Discovering the remains of what once had been a human being had been unnerving, to say the least. The skeleton had once been a living, breathing person. A person with hopes and dreams, family and friends, now forever lost. The shock of finding the remains still hadn’t worn off.

  Questions I hadn’t wanted to entertain earlier now tumbled through my head. Questions such as to whom did the skeleton belong? How long had it been in Eula’s coal bin? How did it get there? And, finally, what had caused the hole in its skull?

  I glanced across the yard to where Gloria and Polly stood close together, their shoulders touching. Monica and Connie Sue conferred in hushed voices. Monica, no doubt, wondered how my discovery would impact her plans for the Holiday Home Tour. Connie Sue was probably mentally shifting through our options.

  “Here it is.” Eula returned clutching a small scrap of paper in one hand. “Here’s Cora’s phone number.”

  Pam took the paper from her, dialed the number, and informed Cora that her sister needed her. “Cora said to tell you she’s on the way,” she said, the call concluded.

  Placing a blue-veined hand over her heart, Eula let out a fluttery sigh. “My sister will know how to make sense of all this. I’ll feel better once she gets here. Why, I’ve lived in this house since I was a bride. Do you think that the whole time there was a body in the cellar and I didn’t know about it?”

  “There, there, Eula,” I soothed. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. Let’s wait for the sheriff to do his job.”

  Right on cue, Sheriff Wiggins stepped through the cellar door and into the yard. “Notify SLED,” he barked into his phone. “Tell them to send out a team ASAP.”

  When I was still a newbie at this crime-solving thing, I’d naively thought that SLED was an actual sled. You know, the kind kids coast down hills on in the winter. Sheriff Wiggins, to my great embarrassment, set me straight in front of a crowd during a press conference. SLED, he’d informed me, was an acronym for South Carolina Law Enforcement Division. They were the experts called to provide local authorities with additional manpower and technical support.

  Clicking off his phone, he set his sights on Eula Snow. “You the homeowner, ma’am?”

  The Babes and I formed a protective semicircle around the sweet older lady we’d befriended.

  “Yessir, that would be me.” Eula nervously clenched then unclenched her hands.

  An attractive, well-dressed woman, whom I assumed was Eula’s sister, Cora, emerged from the side yard and charged toward us. “Eula, dear, kindly explain what all these strangers are doing here in your backyard?”

  Sheriff Wiggins raised a brow, a single brow. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Cora Prentiss, Eula’s baby sister. I demand a stop to all of this. I insist you quit badgering my poor sister. Can’t you see she’s upset?”

  “I’m merely doing the job taxpayers hired me for.” Sheriff Wiggins eyed the siblings, his scrutiny so intense he might’ve been measuring them for jumpsuits in jailhouse orange.

  Cora with all her bravado couldn’t withstand his coal-black gaze and began shifting her weight.

  I caught myself staring, too. The sisters were as unalike as night and day. While Eula was tiny and frail, Cora looked tall and athletic. Cora wore her highlighted hair in a sleek wedge. Her only jewelry aside from a wristwatch was a large pair of diamond earrings. I’d made a mental note to ask Connie Sue later if she thought the diamonds were real or cubic zirconium. The most notable difference between the sisters, however, was the age gap. While Eula must be eighty if she was a day, I’d place Cora in her mid-sixties at most.

  Sheriff Wiggins regained control of the situation. “Ma’am,” he said, addressing Eula, “do you have any idea to whom the remains in your cellar might belong?”

  Eula turned even paler. Visibly trembling, she reached over and grasped her sister’s hand. “No, no, I have no idea. My cellar hasn’t been used in years. Why, I haven’t been down there since . . .”

  “Since . . . ?” he probed.

  Cora took it upon herself to answer the sheriff’s question. “What my sister means is that she hasn’t been in the root cellar since her husband ran off
twenty-five years ago.”

  The Babes and I traded surprised looks. I had assumed, and believed the others had also, that Eula was a widow. She’d certainly given us that impression when we’d first arrived.

  “Do you recognize either of these photos?” The sheriff scrolled through a series of photos on his cell phone, selected two, then held them out for Eula’s inspection.

  Eula let out a low, keening cry as her knees buckled. She would have fallen if not for Cora at her side.

  “Ma’am . . . ?” Sheriff Wiggins prodded. “I repeat, do you recognize these items?”

  “Yes, yes!” Eula sobbed brokenly. “They belonged to Waylon. That’s his wedding ring. That’s his watch.”

  Cora half held, half dragged Eula toward the house.

  Sheriff Wiggins, his face impassive, directed his attention at Polly and me. “I expect to see both you ladies in my office first thing tomorrow mornin’ to make your statements.”

  With that, we were dismissed.

  Chapter 5

  I watched helplessly as Sheriff Wiggins followed Eula Snow into her home. From the little I’d seen, Eula had a strong advocate in her sister. The woman was assertive and could hold her own, with a vocabulary that included the phrases “I insist” and “I demand.”

  Pausing on the top step leading to the mudroom, the sheriff turned and aimed his index finger in my direction. “Don’t forget, I want you and your friend in my office first thing tomorrow.”

  Assuming there’d be no argument on our part, Sheriff Wiggins disappeared inside, letting the door slam behind him. Deputy Olsen hadn’t reappeared as yet, so I assumed the sheriff had left him behind to do whatever it was the authorities do upon the discovery of a body. Photos? Measurements? Video? Preserve the crime scene? Probably the whole ball of wax.