Bone Yard (Raine Stockton Dog Mystery)

by Donna Ball

  I tried to hide my dismay. A funeral home canopy over an open grave in my backyard was not going to make a very cheerful view from the window.

  I said, “I know you need to get back, with Mrs. Potts’ visitation tonight. But I have sandwiches inside if you’d like one.”

  “Thank you, Miss Raine, but now that the police photographer is set up I’d best be going. They just need someone official to document everything that’s found.”

  That was distressing news. “That could take days.”

  He didn’t look any happier than I was. “Yes ma’am, it could. Well…” He cast another look toward the clatter and voices that were coming from the kennel area. “You take care now. The boys should be out with the canopy before too long. I guess the sheriff will call if he needs me.”

  I didn’t know whether he was referring to Buck or Uncle Roe. He probably didn’t know either.

  I took Cisco across the lawn to the scene of the excavation, using the opportunity to practice his heeling and keep him out of the mud puddles. Buck and Uncle Roe were standing a little apart from the others, and I could tell by the way Buck held his shoulders and knotted his jaw that he was mad about something. But Buck hardly ever lost his temper. That was one of his most endearing, and infuriating, traits.

  Buck was saying, “I already talked to the state boys about that. They want to wait until—“

  And Uncle Roe interrupted, “Listen, when you’ve been dealing with those folks as long as I have you’ll figure out there’s a right way and a wrong way to go about these things. The right way will get you results, and fast. The wrong way is just going to waste everybody’s time and a lot of taxpayer money. Now, what I say is…”

  Cisco chose that moment to make a break for the end of the leash, and I hauled him up short with a sharp, “Heel!” Cisco obligingly took three prancing backwards steps, tail wagging and face grinning as he anticipated greeting the two men.

  Uncle Roe looked at him with a smile and declared, “And there he is, the dog of the hour! Two big finds today, eh boy?” He scratched Cisco’s ears, which Cisco naturally took as license to wiggle his newly shampooed and blow-dried body between Buck and Uncle Roe, begging for more attention.

  I granted him a brief, “Okay, release.” which was easier than trying to fight the leash, and asked, “So what’s going on?”

  Buck reached down to absently ruffle Cisco’s fur. “It looks like the bag was only buried three or four feet deep. We should have it completely uncovered in another hour or two.”

  “Good,” I said. “Then everyone can go home and I can get my foundation poured.”

  I wasn’t feeling nearly as cavalier as I sounded, of course. A body had been buried in my backyard. That was creepy, to say the least. Deeply disturbing, to be more accurate. But I had been around police officers—particularly these two police officers—too long to expect that hysteria would do anything except slow them down. I didn’t want to slow them down. I wanted this entire nasty business to be over with so that I could start trying to forget it had ever happened.

  I also wanted some answers.

  “Well, not quite that easy,” Uncle Roe admitted, rubbing his chin. “The problem is that with the dogs and maybe the construction equipment, the bag was torn. We can’t be sure everything is intact. So it might take a few days to make sure we’ve found all the bones.”

  I stared at him. “Days?”

  Buck said, “It’s not like it’s dry enough to pour concrete anyway.”

  I turned a glare on him. “That,” I informed him cooly, “is not the point.”

  Uncle Roe gave a shake of his head. “I tell you, Buck, this whole thing puts me in mind of something. I just can’t remember what.”

  I said, “Do you have any idea who—I mean, how--?” There really was no delicate way to phrase that. I shivered in the damp. “At least how old the skeleton is?”

  Buck shook his head. “It’ll take a forensics team to do that. ”

  I let my gaze wander toward the site of excavation, thoughtful.“Well, I don’t see how it possibly could have happened in the past ten years. With all the dogs and activity there since I opened the kennel, I would definitely know if somebody had tried to bury a body there. Not to mention that the location would have been right next to the old training room, and inside the fenced run.” I shook my head firmly. “Couldn’t have happened.”

  I looked at Uncle Roe, dismay crawling through my veins. “Which means it had to have been when Daddy was alive, maybe even before he retired. You don’t think this could have something to do with a case he heard, do you?”

  Uncle Roe gave a thoughtful shake of his head. “I don’t know, Rainbow. I put Deke on researching any cases that might still be open from that time, maybe a missing person we never tracked down. . .”

  Buck looked at him sharply, and I remembered what Aunt Mart had said about Uncle Roe getting on Buck’s nerves. I felt immediately defensive of my Uncle, and slipped my arm through his, tugging Cisco back to my side. “Well, let’s not stand out in the cold. I’ve got roast beef sandwiches and coffee inside if ya’ll want some.”

  To tell the truth I hadn’t intended to invite Buck for lunch—things were still too awkward between us for that—but I could hardly ask my uncle in to eat when Buck was standing right there. I was relieved when Buck had the good manners to say, “Thanks, but I better get back over there.”

  But as far as Uncle Roe was concerned, Buck was still part of the family, and he was completely oblivious to whatever undercurrents there might be between us. “Come on in, son, let’s have a bite to eat. Weren’t you just saying we need to let the state boys do their job?”

  He was already heading for the house, giving Buck no chance to refuse. With a small apologetic shrug toward me, Buck followed.

  Like most well-trained country-born men, Buck and Uncle Roe spent an appropriate amount of time scraping the mud of their boots on the mat by the back door before coming into the kitchen, and by that time I had poured the coffee and put Cisco in a down-stay. Fortunately, I have an old fashioned kitchen with a door that closes, and the other three dogs were on the opposite side of that closed door—lined up with their noses pressed to the crack at the bottom of the doorframe, no doubt. I could practically hear them panting.

  The two men washed their hands at the kitchen sink while I put the sandwich platter and a bowl of chips on the table.

  “Aunt Mart has called three times,” I told Uncle Roe as he took his seat at the table. “She wants you home. And she’s making roast chicken for dinner.”

  “That woman does nothing but worry and nag,” he said, transferring a sandwich from the platter to his plate. “These look delicious, sugar plum.”

  “It’s Aunt Mart’s roast beef. Light mayonnaise.” I took a sandwich and a handful of chips, and added a couple of gherkins from the relish dish to my plate. I remembered too late that chips were probably not the best thing to serve a man who was supposed to be on a heart-healthy diet, and quickly passed the bowl to Buck.

  “So.” I crunched on a chip, trying not to sound too dismal. “I guess this really is a crime scene. I mean, people aren’t generally buried in trash bags unless they were victims of a crime.”

  Buck nodded noncommittally. “We’ll have to wait to see what the state M.E.’s office has to say about the cause of death, but in general… yeah. Safe to bet we’re looking at foul play.”

  “What I can’t figure out is how they got a full grown body into a plastic garbage bag and transported it here without it breaking,” I said. “I mean, I know they do it all the time on t.v., but I can’t even get a week’s worth of trash from here to the dump without it breaking.”

  Uncle Roe said, “It can be done, I guess. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  Buck was chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich. He did look tired. “I guess you wouldn’t expect the skeleton to be intact after all these years—and that’s assuming that, like Raine said, it couldn’t have been bu
ried since the kennel has been there. But it would be interesting to know whether it was put in the bag intact.”

  “I didn’t see any marks on the bones we’ve found so far,” Uncle Roe said. And he glanced at me. “Except the dog’s teeth marks, of course.”

  I was trying not to lose my appetite. It would be pointless to mention to these two that hacked-up corpses decomposing in trash bags did not necessarily make for very enjoyable lunch time conversation. As for the vision of my dog’s teeth marks on a human bone… well, the roast beef was rapidly losing its flavor for me.

  I cast an uneasy glance toward the window. “What’s taking so long?Why can’t they just, you know, dig it up?”

  “Raine, you know procedure”— Buck began.

  And Uncle Roe said at the same time, “It’s not that simple.”

  Both men looked at each other, then fell silent. Their full attention turned back to their sandwiches. Yes, I would say there was a certain amount of tension between them.

  Suddenly the dogs outside the kitchen door started to bark. Cisco broke his down-stay so violently that his head hit the table. I hadn’t even noticed until then that he had scooted his way across the kitchen floor to lie under the table. I twisted in my chair, half rising, as I heard a voice call from the front of the house, “Raine? Raine are you here? Are you okay?”

  “Sonny?”

  I left the table and pushed my way through a bevy of barking, circling dogs who were excitedly trying to herd me—with the exception of Cisco, who was bouncing along like a maniac beside me, his happy grin assuring me that, in the world of dogs, at least, all was well. I reached the front hall to see my friend Sonny, her eyes big and her hand pressed to her throat, sag back against the wall. Her big yellow lab Hero leaned protectively against her legs.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re alive!”

  I responded, completely inappropriately, “Oh, no. Herding lessons.”

  Sonny Brightwell was an environmental attorney who had made her name by defending the Southern coastal wetlands, and who had moved to our little corner of the Smokies only a couple of years ago. She had immediately and without hesitation taken up the fight to protect our wilderness and our way of life, and I admired her for that. But we became friends when she adopted a sweet little Border collie named Mystery that I had literally rescued from an abusive home. Sonny is only ten or fifteen years older than I am, but she suffers from a debilitating form of rheumatoid arthritis that is slowly crippling her. Last month she had adopted Hero, a retired service dog, who was already living up to his name with the dozens of small tasks he performed, making life easier for Sonny every day. He withstood the boisterous greetings of my unruly mob with a dignity that was nothing less than regal, his every thought directed toward the person for whom he was responsible—Sonny.

  Sonny and I had planned to drive over to Scottsville today to talk to a herding instructor about lessons for my two Aussies and Sonny’s Mystery. It had completely slipped my mind.

  Sonny stared at me as though I were speaking Latin. “I had to wait for the coroner’s van to pull out of your driveway before I could get in,” she said, in a deliberately calm, very controlled tone. “There are five police cars in your driveway. It’s not as though you live an uneventful life. I don’t think it was exactly hysterical of me to be concerned, especially when I saw the dog running loose—“

  “Dog?” I was already running for the door. “Which dog?”

  As any dog owner knows, trying to keep up with your dogs when strangers are in and out of the house all day is one of life’s most stressful situations, especially when those people—construction workers, plumbers, inconsiderate police officers—aren’t pet owners themselves. Still, I had never lost dogs twice in one day before, and I was ready to plunge once more into the cold without a coat when I swung open the door and Majesty, looking a little put out, strolled in from the porch.

  I stared at her. Majesty was the most well behaved of all my dogs, and she never left the house without permission. Now she done so twice in one day. “What is going on with you?” I demanded. I took her collar and led her inside, closing the door firmly behind her and testing the latch. “How did you even get out, anyway?”

  Sonny said with barely controlled patience, “Raine….”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I dragged my puzzled attention away from Majesty and spoke sharply to the two Aussies who were wiggling around Sonny’s feet. “No one’s dead. At least no one we know. I’m sorry you were scared. I should have called, but it’s been crazy around here. I completely forgot about our plans.”

  “What do you mean, no one we know?”

  Sonny had argued cases before the Supreme Court and stared down some of the toughest prosecutors in the state, but I had a feeling she was about to lose her cool with me. I shooed the dogs back into the temporary kennel room, and quickly summed up the events of the morning. Hero relaxed, and even sat at Sonny’s feet. But Sonny’s eyes grew bigger with every word I spoke.

  “A dead body?” she repeated. “Buried under your kennel? Do they have any idea who it is—was?”

  “It wasn’t exactly under the kennel,” I explained. “More like under the site of the new kennel… or at least where the new kennel is supposed to be if I can ever get back to building it. And no theories yet about who it might be, or how it got there.”

  “Creepy,” she said.

  “You’re telling me,” I agreed glumly. Then,“Do you want some lunch? I don’t think today is going to be good day to drive over to Scottsville. Maybe this weekend?”

  “Yes, you’ve clearly got your hands full here. No thanks on lunch, but I’ll take a cup of coffee. I guess the police are looking back over their open case files?”

  We started toward the kitchen, but hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps before I was stopped by an awful wailing from the kennel room. Cisco barked and scratched at the kitchen door. The two Aussies began a back-up chorus. Majesty, who never complains, let forth another heart-wrenching howl. Hero’s ears slicked back and he pressed protectively against Sonny’s leg again.

  I said sharply to all dogs in general, “Quiet!” The Aussies obediently hushed, Cisco gave one more hopeful bark, but Majesty just howled again.

  I shook my head apologetically at Sonny. “I’d better check on her. She’s never like this. All the upset in the routine, I guess.”

  Sonny said thoughtfully, “She’s looking for something.”

  “What is she looking for?”

  She frowned a little. “I’m not sure.”

  I should explain that Sonny claims to occasionally have flashes of insight into the thoughts of animals. And I guess, if you were being completely objective, she has probably been right more times than she’s been wrong. But I am still skeptical.

  I hesitated for a polite moment, then said, “Be right back.”

  Majesty was lying on the floor with her head between her paws, so close to the door that she had to scramble to her feet to avoid being smacked by it when I came in. I quickly scratched around in the toy basket, which I kept on top of my father’s roll-top desk so that the Aussies wouldn’t shred the stuffed toys and swallow the squeakers. I found two bones and a quilted felt octopus that was advertised to be indestructible, and distributed the toys among the three dogs.“Okay, can you guys relax for a minute? Can you just do that, please?”

  The two Aussies happily tucked into their bones, but Majesty just looked contemptuously at the octopus I placed between her paws, and walked away.

  I looked at her helplessly for a moment, but, unlike Sonny, I couldn’t read my dogs’ minds, and had never pretended to be able to. As far as I could tell, the only thing wrong with Majesty was boredom, too many strangers in her house, and possibly too few roast beef treats.

  I took another bone from the basket, placed it on the floor for Majesty in case she changed her mind, and closed the door firmly behind me when I left.

  Sonny was settled at the table with a cup of
coffee when I returned to the kitchen, deep in discussion with Buck and Uncle Roe about the “case”, as I was starting to think of it. Hero was curled around her feet, and Cisco rested his chin on her knee while she stroked his feathered ears and he gazed at her adoringly. I sat down and picked up the remainder of my sandwich.

  “There was a case in Washington,” Sonny was saying, “where this guy strangled his victim, and then transported the body in one of those construction-weight plastic bags to the freeway overpass, and tossed him out. A friend of mine prosecuted it. The body was so damaged in the fall that they had a hard time determining cause of death, but the bag didn’t break.”

  Buck said, “This wasn’t a construction bag, though. That’s what’s got me puzzled.”

  “Wait a minute,” Uncle Roe said, reaching absently for the bowl of chips. I surreptitiously slid it out of his way. “Didn’t that case turn out to be connected to a serial killer?”

  “They thought so at first,” Sonny said, “but they couldn’t make the case.”

  “That’s it!” My uncle brought his fist down on the table hard enough to rattle china and send Cisco scooting under the table for safety. “That’s what I was trying to remember!” He turned excitedly to Buck. “You remember that case just over the county line in Bullard about eight, ten years back? They found all those bodies in that mass grave when they were excavating for the new highway?”

  Buck frowned. He would have been a new deputy then, and we would have been still married. “Wait. They were in garbage bags, too, weren’t they?”

  I let my sandwich drop to my plate and sank back against my chair, my appetite completely gone. My horrified gaze moved from my uncle to my ex-husband. “You’re not talking about a serial killer. Not here.”

  Buck said, “I don’t remember ever hearing that case was solved.”

  “I don’t think it was,” Uncle Roe said. “But if we’re right in thinking these bones were buried some time before the kennel was put up, the time line would match.” He was already taking out his telephone and rising from the table. “I’m going to give Sheriff Slater over in Bullard a call.”