Unearthed

by J. S. Marlo

  “Please excuse us, but I need to talk to Chris in my office.” Upset by Chris’s intrusion and allegation, she marched out of the kitchen. After the failed dinner in the vineyard, she’d never expected to see him again, let alone with flowers. He silently followed her into her office.

  “These are for you, Rowan, but I can give them to Gail if you’re mad at me.”

  The bouquet hung between them. “Chris—” Her pa would be leaving within the hour, and she wanted to have breakfast with him, not spend her time arguing with Chris. “You’re not my boyfriend, Chris. There’s no connection between us.”

  “It’s all my fault.” He sat on the corner of her desk and gazed at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “You’re one beautiful woman, but instead of taking the time to get to know you, I hit on you like a drunken caveman. I’m sorry, Rowan. I wish I could rewind the evening. Would you give me another chance? Please?”

  In a way, it was sweet of him to take the blame, but he’d run out of chances. “You’re a nice guy, Chris, but—there’s someone else.”

  “A competitor?” The muscles under his shirt relaxed. “Do I know him?”

  “No, you don’t.” The hurt showed no sign of abating, and she had no desire to go into details. “I’ve been trying to forget about him, but I can’t.”

  “I see.” He placed the flowers on her desktop. “It sounds like you need a friend, Rowan. Let me be your friend.”

  The proposition took her by surprise. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Benoit at Captain Rogue concocted a new special, and he invited me to taste it. Would you come with me tonight so I don’t dine alone? No strings attached, and I promise to act like a perfect gentleman.”

  ***

  The otoscope allowed Avery to clearly see the marks on the bones, and some of them puzzled him. Outside the garage, an engine roared to life. He glanced through the window.

  “Sorry, Doc, but I’m not done. You’ll get it back on your next visit,” he muttered under his breath.

  Tires screeched, and the noise slowly faded away. If the doctor practiced medicine like he drove, Avery didn’t want to become one of his patients.

  ***

  Don’t settle for second-best to fill a void, Little Shamrock. You deserve true love and happiness.

  The advice rang in Rowan’s mind long after her pa’s rental car disappeared down the hill.

  In need of some time alone, she chose two socks from her dresser, a speckled blue and a chocolate brown, put her running shoes on, and left Buccaneer. Wearing the same socks as she had in the dream amounted to nothing more than wishful thinking, but with any luck, she might recapture the feeling of being loved—if only for a moment.

  She jogged across the front lawn where the pirate sign swayed under the light breeze. When she connected with the path trailing along the cliff, she increased her speed. Her breathing accelerated, her heart pumped faster, and the tension ebbed away.

  Hours later, she returned home. The garage-side door was ajar. She wiped the sweat dripping down her forehead with her forearm before entering.

  Bent over the table, Avery looked in her direction. “Bill was looking for you.”

  “I went running.” She approached the bone collection displayed on the table. “I needed to think.”

  The corners of his lips twitched, and his eyes lit up. “I heard the doctor made an impression on your old man.”

  Not a favorable one. “Where did you hear this? Gail?”

  “As much as she likes your doctor, she thought the emphasis on his title was overkill.” His gaze trailing over her, he pulled a stool from under the table and invited her to sit beside him.

  “He’s not my doctor.” She wanted to tattoo the words on her forehead. “And Pa isn’t fond of doctors to begin with.”

  “Smart old man. What did he think of your digging?”

  “He’s intrigued.” If he’d stayed longer, he would have crawled under the gazebo with her. “Once he tells Mom, she’s capable of writing something like that into one of her scripts.”

  “She sounds like you.”

  “According to her, I’m more my father’s daughter.” On the corner of the table rested his laptop, with a rabbit skeleton displayed on the screen. “How many bones are you missing to reconstruct the rabbit?”

  “Many.” He drew a sharp intake of air. “You excavated a pet cemetery.”

  “A what?” Unearthing one skull was a far cry from a mass grave. “Explain, please.”

  “Those are ribs.” His right hand swept over curved bones of different sizes. “Rabbits, cats, dogs, they all possess twenty-six ribs. I’ve identified twenty-nine, so unless your rabbit is a mutant, you have more than one dead animal buried in there.”

  The evidence seemed to confirm his conclusion. “Another rabbit?”

  “No.” He scooped up two bones shaped like oars. “Two left scapulas, also called shoulder blades.”

  One was smaller and more elongated than the other. “They’re different. Another species?”

  “Very good, O’Reilly.”

  The compliment woke up the confused butterflies residing in her stomach.

  “This little guy is a rabbit.” He held up the elongated bone. “The other one is a cat. His skull is probably still in the ground.”

  In her letter, Mattie wrote she’d buried her kitten by the stream. Some bones might have remained under the gazebo. The mystery surrounding the dead animals appealed to Rowan’s inquisitive nature. “I’ll search for more bones this afternoon.”

  “Hold on, there’s more.” He reached for a medical instrument that didn’t belong in her garage.

  “That’s a doctor ear thingy.” The fancy name escaped her. “Where did you find it?”

  “Not important.”

  The curt answer aroused her suspicion. Without asking, she seized the instrument from his hand and examined it. On the handle, someone had engraved three initials. “Who’s KSR?”

  “Who?” He leaned closer to her. “Oh—no clue.”

  His breath tickled the sensitive skin at the base of her neck and sent shivers running down her spine. Unsettled by the physical reaction he generated, she skidded sideways. “You said there’s more?”

  “Take the otoscope and look at the tiny lines on the rabbit’s scapula.”

  Picking up the bone with one hand, she examined it with the magnifying glass. Three straight indentations ran across the larger portion of the bone. “No jagged edges.” Frowning at the possibilities, she looked back at him. “The marks look like clean cuts…knife cuts. How’s that possible?”

  He shrugged. “The bones date back a decade or two. I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Swell.” She’d turned into a gravedigger. And with her luck, she’d unleashed a terrible curse.

  ***

  Playing in the dirt proved to be a worthy therapeutic diversion. With each new bone Rowan unearthed, she buried a smidgen of irritation.

  “Skull, are you there?” The two scapulas suggested the existence of a second animal, but when she dug out a third left shoulder blade, her heart sank. How many more dead animals was she trampling with her knees?

  “Miss Rowan? Is everything all right?”

  She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Squatting down on the grass in front of the opening, Bill stared at her.

  “I’m talking to myself.” If Mattie had known about all the remains, Rowan doubted she would have wanted to disturb them by moving the gazebo. “Did Aunt Mattie ever mention burying family pets here?”

  For a moment, Bill’s eyes lost their focus. “Mattie used to bury all her pets near the stream, but there was a time when coyotes crawled under the gazebo with their lunches.”

  The mental picture curbed her appetite. “Who told you this? Mattie?” Maybe the bones dated back even further than Avery surmised.

  “Yes, and if you keep poking around, you’ll jeopardize the foundation. You should get out of there.”
r />   The structure safely rested on big cement blocks. The wood would rot before it crashed. “Opinion noted.” And ignored.

  “I could replace the lattices with full boards and seal the base. It would stop Fred’s mutt or any other animals from digging around.”

  “I’ll think about it.” His persistence tested her patience. “In the meantime, don’t you have flowers to weed?”

  “No, but I have a loose shutter to fix.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry Mattie never got to know you.”

  The enigmatic apology hung in the air as he walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chris parked near Captain Rogue, the same seafood restaurant he’d taken her on their first date. As they neared the entrance, Rowan slipped the accident report she’d been clutching to her chest into her purse.

  On their way into town, Chris had stopped by the police station. Grateful for the opportunity to pick up the report, she’d hurried in and out of the station without mentioning the glass under the gazebo. She hadn’t wanted Chris to have to wait for her, but now she wished he’d abandoned her so she could have gone home.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” Chris opened the door for her. “Something wrong?”

  Wanting to be in a cave or a garage with another man counted as a something wrong, but he wouldn’t understand. “Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm, but it’s been a long day.”

  “I hope you’ll tell me all about it during dinner.”

  The hostess’s greeting saved her from uttering a reply. “This way, please.”

  Unlike their first visit when they had been ushered to a cozy little table on the second floor, the hostess, clad in a tight navy uniform, led them into a large, brightly lit dining room on the main floor.

  Five aquariums built inside the walls displayed diverse marine creatures ranging from fish and crustaceans to mollusks and echinoderms. Above the tanks, paintings and drawings depicting fishing scenes and stormy seas ignited Rowan’s imagination. Loving how the pictures enhanced the ambience of the restaurant, she promised herself a tour the local art galleries for some inspiring reproductions to add to Buccaneer’s atmosphere.

  As Chris sat in front of her, his leg brushed hers under the table. “Sorry.”

  The smile on his face looked anything but apologetic.

  She inched back while silently commiserating with the blue lobster trapped in the aquarium with the starfish and sea urchins. The accidental touch had better not be a prelude of what was to come, or their friendship was doomed to end as quickly as their nonexistent love affair.

  A weathered man with a chef’s hat and an apron tied around his large belly advanced toward their table. “Doctor Malcolm. Thank you for coming.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Benoit. May I introduce Rowan O’Reilly, owner of Buccaneer?”

  “Mademoiselle O’Reilly.” Benoit bowed his head in her direction, and the chef’s hat tipped forward on his forehead. “I hope you’ll give my newest creation a try.”

  The French accent, which she found charming, lingered in each of his words. “I’m sure it will be delicious, Benoit.”

  “Fantastique.” His face irradiated with glee. “I’m looking forward to your critique. I’ll send some appetizers your way while I prepare your food. Please, enjoy. Supper is on the house.”

  When Chris had invited her, she had no idea Benoit would swallow their bills. It didn’t sound like a profitable deal and, as a fellow business owner, she didn’t like to take advantage of his generosity.

  She waited for Benoit to retreat out of earshot before leaning forward. “We’re not going to leave without paying, are we?”

  A knowing smile played on his face as he leaned toward her. Chris was handsome and intelligent, the type of man who would ignite sparks in any girl’s heart—except hers.

  “I’ve known Benoit all my life, Rowan. Trust me when I say it would offend him if I insisted, but don’t worry, I’ll leave a generous tip.”

  “All your life?” If that were the case, she’d rely on his judgment. “Really?”

  “Before becoming one of my patients, Benoit was a patient of my grandpa’s. He died the year I graduated, and I inherited most of his clientele.”

  A waitress brought two glasses of water, a bottle of white wine, and a huge shrimp salad with two empty bowls to their table. “From Benoit.”

  “Thank you.” Chris picked up the wine bottle. “Would you like a glass?”

  “No, not tonight.” She preferred red wine, like the bottle they’d all shared at supper with her pa. Her current companion’s fondness for white wine highlighted another difference between them.

  Her refusal didn’t stop him from pouring himself a glass before returning the bottle to the table. “You look tired. Did a new curse befall Buccaneer?”

  The choice of words stirred an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “The more I dig underneath the gazebo, the more bones I retrieve. It’s weird. Some bones show signs of incisions. The tool used—”

  “You ventured under that deathtrap again?” A disapproving scowl blanketed Chris’s face. “I already treated one of your little guests for—”

  “Stop right there.” Her gaze traveled to the model boats and trawlers decked on the ledges of every window. Sailing away sounded like a wonderful alternative to an argument. “I appreciate the care you gave to the Rupert boy, but I don’t need a doctor.” Or a lecture. Between Bill and Chris, she had no desire to hear anything more about what she should or should not be doing under that gazebo. “Tell me about your grandfather. Did he practice on the island?”

  “Yes.” Piercing blue eyes studied her intently. “Grandpa Rey was a family doctor back in the days when home visits were the norm. For years, he was the only doctor in town.”

  “He sounds like a pioneer. Was Rey his first or last name?”

  “Neither.” Glass of wine in hand, he visibly relaxed in his chair. “He was my mother’s father. His name was Kevin Satchel Reynolds, but everyone called him Rey.”

  “K-S-R.” The same letters she’d seen on Avery’s otoscope.

  “Grandpa Rey’s initials.” His eyebrows knitted together over his nose. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

  This was an instance she regretted her propensity to speak aloud. “I…” She’d seen an old doctor’s pouch on the backseat. “Aren’t those the initials engraved on the leather bag you keep in your car?”

  “You noticed my antiquity?” His expression softened. “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s hard to miss, Chris.” It’d been a wild guess. “Do you use it often?”

  “No. I found it in my attic, and I need to have the instruments cleaned. I intend to display them in my living room as soon as I receive the glass cabinet I ordered.”

  Steamy lava, she hoped Avery hadn’t done what she suspected him of having done. Based on what Chris had just told her, the odds that he’d loaned Avery the otoscope were not in her guest’s favor. Upon her return to Buccaneer, the man in the attic would owe her an explanation, a lengthy explanation.

  The chime of Chris’s cell phone interrupted her musing. “Excuse me.”

  To give him a semblance of privacy, she read the label on the wine bottle. It came from Cormoran, Jimmy’s vineyard.

  A chair screeched on the floor, and Chris stood up. “It’s the hospital. There’s been a diving accident, and I need to go. Please, enjoy the meal and present my apologies to Benoit.”

  ***

  The sun had set. Fog had drifted inland. And drizzle fell from the darkened sky.

  Rowan walked along the sidewalk and shivered. Knowing how quickly Mother Nature cooked up storms on the island, she should have brought a windbreaker and not taken the clear early evening sky for granted.

  “Taxi!” She waved at the yellow vehicle heading in her direction. The driver zoomed by her without slowing down and hit a puddle. She drew back behind a lamppost. Water splashed onto her white capri pants, adding brownish polka dots to the fabric. “Swe
ll.” In a sullen gesture, she kicked an empty soda can littering the sidewalk into the street.

  Cold, wet, and dirty, she checked her purse again. “Bad night to forget my cell.” She should have called a cab from the restaurant, but after the excellent meal Benoit served her, she’d opted for a quiet walk in town, not realizing she’d left her phone at home.

  Pay-phone booths were conspicuously absent from the street, and all the businesses were closed except for the stripper bar lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Her only option was to march back to the restaurant. A high-pitched squeal rose into the night. She jolted, and her heart raced with fear. A pickup truck had hit the brakes and stopped along the sidewalk. Alone in the deserted street, she recoiled against the facade of a lingerie store, ready to scream, fight, or die trying. The window rolled down.

  “Miss Rowan?”

  “Bill?” At the sight of the familiar face, relief flooded her veins. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” His mustache curled down at both extremities. “You resemble a drowned rat. Get in before you catch a cold.” Once she hopped inside, he reached over to the backseat for a blanket folded underneath a duffel bag. “Take this.” He gave her the fleece blanket before cranking up the heat. “Are you okay?”

  The uncharacteristic display of kindness warmed her faster than the blanket. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Wanna talk about what you’re doing in this seedy neighborhood after dark?”

  Not really, but she owed him an explanation for rescuing her. “I was having dinner with Chris when the hospital called him. He cut the evening short.”

  A salt-and-pepper brow shot right up as he glanced at her. “He dumped you with the bill?”

  Wrapped in the blanket, she couldn’t help but smile at his deadpan expression. “Not quite, but close.” The tip she gave the waitress approximated the cost of her meal.