Lovely In Her Bones

by Sharyn McCrumb

  It was a short walk from the motel to the sheriff’s office. Everything in Laurel Cove was a short walk, Milo told himself without amusement. He had spent the time wondering whether it would be necessary to hire a lawyer to get the skulls back, and if he ought to check with Bill about it. Lawyers would take more time than he had, he decided, wondering if Pilot Barnes would respond better to bullying or pleading. He was trying to decide which one he could best manage when he pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office. The fact that Pilot Barnes seemed to be expecting him put him off stride before he could do either.

  “Reckon they called you, too,” the deputy remarked.

  “Who?” said Milo.

  “Your folks at the church. I’m going out there now. You want to follow me?”

  Milo froze. “What happened?”

  “You don’t know? Well, what did you come in here for?”

  “Never mind,” said Milo, not believing he’d said it. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been a death up there. Might be natural causes though.”

  Milo said carefully, “Was it a woman?”

  “Young man. Name of Victor Bassington. You want to go out there? I’m leaving as soon as the coroner gets here.”

  Milo was ashamed of the feeling of relief he had felt upon hearing Victor’s name. “Of course I’ll come. Let me get the car.”

  The Sarvice Valley Road was beautiful on a summer day, but Pilot Barnes was in no mood to appreciate postcard scenes. Those damned tourists had become a personal crime wave in the space of two weeks. The fact that Dr. Putnam was enjoying it all did not improve his disposition in the slightest.

  “What do you reckon it’ll be this time, Pilot?” The coroner cackled. “Scalping?”

  Pilot refused to be drawn. “Heart attack most likely,” he growled.

  “You’re no fun,” Dr. Putnam pouted. “Heard from Duncan yet?”

  “Yeah. He’s on his way back. But they’re stopping at his sister’s in Winston-Salem first. He says that if the FBI is working on the case, there’s no point in ruining his vacation over it.”

  “Watch the curve here,” murmured the doctor, sensing that Pilot Barnes’ frustration had localized in his right foot. “Slow down. Have you called that FBI fellow yet about this new development?”

  “Nope. Don’t know that it is one. That’s for you to find out.”

  “That young fellow behind us seems pretty upset about it.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t think it’s the Cullowhees. And he was a lot more upset until he found out who it was.”

  “How’s his alibi?”

  Pilot Barnes gave him a pained look. “Dr. Putnam,” he sighed. “Couldn’t you at least pronounce the fellow dead before you go hunting up suspects?”

  Milo caught up with them as they reached the steps of the church. “Why are you going in there?” he asked.

  “To find out where the body is,” said the deputy. “And to talk to the girl who found him.”

  “Can I come with you?” asked Milo.

  Pilot shrugged. “Long as you don’t get in the way.”

  Everyone looked up as they entered the church. Elizabeth, who had been writing something, put the paper away. “I’m the one who found the body,” she told the deputy. “It’s on the path between here and the site. Would you like me to show you?”

  “Where is Jake?” Milo interrrupted, forgetting his promise to be unobtrusive.

  “He’s out there,” said Elizabeth. “He and Comfrey Stecoah were going to stay with the body. Oh, and your deputy is with them,” she added to Pilot.

  Pilot stared. He knew that McKenna was off today. Suddenly he realized which deputy she meant. “What’s Dum-Coltsfoot doing here?” he demanded.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Something about a craft fair. Anyway, he’s up there too. Would you like me to take you?”

  Pilot shook his head. “Sounds like there’s enough of a crowd already,” he grunted, turning to leave.

  Milo started to go with him.

  “Is it true that we’re calling off the dig?” asked one of the day crew.

  Milo stiffened. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked more calmly than he felt.

  “Jake,” murmured Elizabeth apologetically.

  Milo glared at her. “I’ll talk to him later. And to you.” He walked out, slamming the door.

  Elizabeth managed to say, “This isn’t my day,” before she burst into tears.

  In the presence of a body, Dr. Putnam lost all his facetiousness and became a skilled professional. He knelt beside Victor’s body, measuring and probing, oblivious to the conversations going on around him.

  “Am I going to get paid for this?” Dummyweed hissed at Pilot Barnes. “This is the second time I’ve had to babysit a corpse, and I’m not even on the payroll!”

  “I thought you were supposed to look out for us!” Jake growled at Comfrey Stecoah.

  “And I thought I told you to stay together!” said Milo. “What’s this about you calling off the dig, anyway?”

  Comfrey Stecoah scowled. “Scared you off, have they?”

  “You stay out of this!” snapped Milo.

  Dr. Putnam looked up. “Could y’all please quit!” he asked mildly.

  They looked down at the corpse, remembering the presence of death. “Sorry,” muttered Milo. “Can you tell anything yet?”

  “Insofar as I can hear myself think, yes,” drawled the coroner. “I’ll have to get the state lab to back me up on this, but I’m sure enough to make a guess.”

  “Is it natural causes?” asked the deputy anxiously.

  “Well, he didn’t die of old age, Pilot. How do I know if it was natural or not? I’ll tell you what killed him, and it will be up to you to figure out if somebody else arranged it.”

  “Fine. What killed him?”

  “He suffocated. Note the cyanosis of the face, and the protruding tongue. See that little rash? Petechial hemorrhages.”

  “You mean somebody strangled him?”

  “No, there’s no evidence of that. Look at the swelling around the throat. You can see better from inside.”

  Pilot Barnes backed away. “I’ll take your word.”

  “His throat is swollen up on the inside to the point that the trachea is completely blocked.”

  “What would do that?”

  Dr. Putnam considered it. “A bee sting,” he said thoughtfully. “If you happened to inhale one.”

  “There’s your murderer,” said Comfrey Stecoah triumphantly. “You going to arrest the bee?”

  “I expect I’ll find his body somewhere in their during the autopsy,” said Dr. Putnam seriously. “One thing, though. Didn’t you tell me that he was going for water when he was last seen?”

  “That’s right,” said Jake. “Why?”

  “There’s traces of something in his mouth. Not water. I’m second-guessing the lab, but it smells to me like cider.”

  Milo turned to Jake. “Have we got any cider at the church? Did the day crew bring any in today?”

  “No.”

  Dr. Putnam sighed. “All right, Pilot. Do your measuring and your picture taking. If it turns out to be cider in his mouth, and they didn’t have cider with them, then I think somebody has committed a highly original murder.”

  “Not what I’d call a sure thing,” said Comfrey. “I’d say it had more of a chance of failing than it did of succeeding.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jake. “Victor was allergic to bees.”

  “Who knew it?” asked Pilot Barnes.

  Milo gave him a grim smile. “Who didn’t?”

  While Dr. Putnam finished his preliminary examination, Milo followed Pilot Barnes around the death scene, occasionally holding the camera or tape measure, and talking to the deputy in a low voice that Jake was unable to hear. After a few minutes, Jake saw him smile, pump Pilot’s hand-disregarding the scowl he received in return-and walk back toward the church. Jake hurried to catch up with him.

  He had
intended to spend the walk back discussing the fate of the dig with Milo, but Comfrey Stecoah insisted on escorting them, making such a talk impossible. It was just as well, Jake told himself. Milo didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, despite his display of exuberance with the deputy. Even Victor’s death did not account for depression of that magnitude. Jake concluded that the research was going badly.

  “What are the chances of them solving this case?” Milo asked Comfrey after several hundred yards of silence.

  Comfrey shrugged. “A little better than in New York. Same cop equipment, fewer suspects.”

  “Do you think somebody murdered Victor?” asked Jake.

  “Maybe somebody crazy,” said Milo. “They must have picked him because he was one of us and he happened to be the one they caught alone.”

  “Nothing personal, huh?” asked Jake, trying not to think of how close it had come to being Elizabeth out there alone.

  “They’re trying to keep you from helping us,” Comfrey explained. “It’s scare tactics. I wonder where Bevel Harkness was this morning.”

  “Well, if it was him, it will be safe to work out here tomorrow,” Milo answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because the inquest on Alex is tomorrow. He has to testify.”

  “Is that what you were grinning at?” asked Jake.

  “Back there with the deputy? No. I got him to agree to give us the skulls back tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of people in the woods about to emerge at the churchyard, and she didn’t want to be caught crying, especially if one of those people turned out to be Milo. It was, she decided upon closer inspection. Should she avoid him or stay and find out what the matter was? I don’t need this grief, she thought. Relationships are supposed to be pleasant. Ever since I got interested in Milo my life has turned into the waiting room of a dentist’s office. She watched the three men draw nearer. Comfrey Stecoah said a few words to them and ambled off down the hillside toward the houses. Jake, seeing her on the porch, looked embarrassed. She nodded politely. With a murmured greeting, Jake brushed past her and disappeared inside the church. Milo stood looking down at her, tight-lipped. Elizabeth stared back unblinking.

  “How are you?” asked Milo as if each word cost him.

  “Fine,” said Elizabeth, “considering that I discovered a body this afternoon.”

  “Well. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Thank you,” she answered primly.

  Milo took a deep breath. Having got the preliminaries out of the way, he could say what was really on his mind. No one could say he hadn’t been polite about it. “You screwed up the stats!” he burst out.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The skull measurements. I checked them today and they’re all wrong.”

  “How could you check them when you don’t have the skulls?”

  “I compared them to the rest of the chart. They’re way out of range. That must be what Alex wanted to tell me.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised, Milo. I kept asking you to check my work. I am a beginner, you know.”

  The perfect truth of what she said irritated him further. “Why couldn’t you have been more careful?” he demanded. “You knew how important this was!”

  Elizabeth glared at him. “If it was so important, perhaps you should have done a better job of supervising.”

  “Maybe I overestimated your intelligence!” Milo shot back.

  Elizabeth looked away, her eyes stinging. I’ll be damned if I let him see me cry, she thought. He is just upset about Alex’s death. I ought to be more patient with him. Tapping the last dregs of Southern politeness, she managed a tight smile. “Would you like to show me the procedure again?”

  Milo’s frown relaxed. “We’re getting the skulls back tomorrow, and since Mary Clare and Victor are not with us, I need to be doing other things. So I would appreciate it if you would do the measurements again!”

  Under the circumstances, that speech would have to pass for an apology, Elizabeth decided. “Fine,” she said, the arctic light still glinting in her eyes. “I’ll do it again.”

  Milo, apparently finding the words “Thank you” unpronounceable, nodded and turned away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DUMMYWEED squirmed uncomfortably in the patrol car, wishing he were a prisoner instead of a deputy. Prisoners got to make a phone call, had lawyers to get them out on bail. But since he was a shanghaied deputy with two murders to contend with, he didn’t see a hope in hell of escaping the long arm of the law. He might not make it to the craft fair, and then Patricia would forget how much tax to charge, and things would be in complete chaos by the time he got back. He glared out the window, noticing for the first time that they were not on the road back to Laurel Cove.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to pay a call on Bevel Harkness,” said Pilot, his eyes on the road.

  “Good. Once he takes over, you can give me a lift back to town.” Over his protests, Dr. Putnam had been given the keys to Coltsfoot’s car, and instructed to take the body back to town. Daniel hoped that this fact could be kept from Patricia; trading cars was such a hassle. He realized that Pilot had not responded to his request for a ride to town. “Or I could hitchhike,” he added hopefully.

  “’Fraid not,” said Pilot. “Unless Harkness has an outstanding alibi which does not depend on members of his family, you are in it for the duration, son.”

  Coltsfoot sighed. He was afraid of that. “Is this Harkness guy a suspect, then?”

  “Let’s just say I’m taking no chances.”

  Coltsfoot played his last card. “I don’t have any police training, you know.”

  “Uh-huh,” nodded Pilot Barnes. “Well, you know those cop shows on the television? “Adam-12” and “Hawaii Five-0,” that kind of thing?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, you forget everything you ever saw on them, and don’t do nothing without I tell you to. You’ll get along fine.”

  Coltsfoot slumped farther down in his seat, sighing. He wondered if they shot deputies for trying to escape.

  Bevel Harkness lived in an old-style log house, gray logs wedged together with concrete, dating from the turn of the century. Its setting, with spreading oaks and wild mountain laurel, would have been impressive but for Harkness’ unfortunate tendency to use the yard as a museum for old farm equipment.

  Dummyweed, who drew the line at picturesque clutter, made a face. “Boy, what a slob!”

  “Well,” said Pilot mildly, “I don’t know that it’s all his fault. Seems like when the catalogue people started shipping civilization up here to the hills, they forgot to provide us with a modern garbage service. ’Course, some folks manage better than others.”

  Another thought struck the new deputy. “You’re not going to arrest this guy, are you?”

  “I’m aiming to question him. But if he confesses, I’ll oblige. Let’s go.”

  Pilot got out of the patrol car slowly, looking around. He didn’t see anyone in the garden or near the house, so he headed for the front porch, ambling along as if he had no particular urgency in getting there. He waited until he saw an upstairs curtain stir before mounting the steps, motioning Dummyweed to follow. Two light taps on the door brought an unsmiling woman to answer it.

  Pilot mopped his forehead, smiling politely. “You’re going to have to water that garden tonight,” he remarked.

  “Unless the clouds move in,” the woman replied.

  “Is Bevel around? I figured long as I was out this way, I’d stop in and see him.” He sounded very casual. Pilot knew, and the woman knew, that the visit was official, but they kept to the ritual designed to see that no one panicked and no one got hurt.

  “He’s out in the pasture,” the woman replied, her face still expressionless. “One of our cows dropped her calf today, and he went a-hunting it.”

  “Well, I reckon we’ll walk on out there,” said Pilot. �
��Might come across it while we’re out looking for him. How long has he been at it?”

  The woman hesitated. “An hour. Before that he was on patrol.”

  “Where ’bout?” asked Pilot, a shade too interested.

  “Ask him,” she shrugged, closing the door.

  “What was that all about?” asked Dummyweed, when they were out of earshot.

  “Well, he hasn’t been home all day, which is what I needed to know. Now that I’ve got that, I can question him. You let me do the talking, though. One wrong word could cause more trouble than we’re equipped to handle.”

  Dummyweed turned pale. “You think he’d shoot us?” he hissed.

  “Coltsfoot, if he’s killed two people, I don’t reckon he’d faint at the thought of killing four.”

  After this unwelcome pronouncement, Dummyweed lapsed into silence, spending the rest of the walk scouring the hills for smoke signals, machine gun nests-he knew not what. They found Bevel Harkness past the pond and up the side of the hill, searching through bushes for the missing cow. He scowled at them warily, sensing the magnitude of trouble that would bring them out there.

  “What is it?” he growled.

  “You mind telling me what you did today?” asked Pilot, carefully polite.

  “Did my rounds. Why?”

  “Anybody see you?”

  “Now and then. It was too hot out there for most folks. You want to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Directly,” nodded Pilot. “Would you have any objection to coming down to the office and having your fingerprints taken?”

  Harkness’ eyes narrowed. “I believe I would.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Pilot apologetically. “Because you give me no choice but to suspend you for the course of this investigation. Two murders in Sarvice Valley related to this strip-mining business is more than I can overlook. Unless, of course, you’d agree to a polygraph, or-”

  “Get off my land,” said Harkness in the softest of voices.

  “On our way!” Dummyweed blurted out. “Have a nice day!”