“Maybe a couple of hours. Too much going on to get a good night’s sleep.”
Hubbard went straight to Pat and took her hand. “Now, Ms. Harris, Grant said you thought you might have found a gold piece under your garage. That might sound strange, but you turn up some really odd things sometimes when you’re digging footings for a foundation. Over the years I’ve come to understand that there’s a lot of things underground that you wouldn’t expect.”
Pat was still having trouble putting together a coherent sentence. “Yes, but that thing . . . . I mean what else could that shiny thing be but something made out of gold; maybe a bracelet, and if that’s the case . . . well, what would a gold bracelet be doing under my garage floor?”
“We thought maybe it was some of the outlaw’s gold from the ’30s that people keep saying is buried around here,” Mom said.
Grant looked at me. “But you thought it was more than that, didn’t you?”
“I hope not. I hope I’m wrong.”
Hubbard opened his truck and pulled out a black tool kit. “You wouldn’t believe how many pieces of jewelry are stuck down in the mud and rocks on this old earth. Sometimes a ring slips off the owner’s finger while he or she is swimming. Sometimes a bracelet or watch breaks during a hike or a picnic in the woods and falls into the grass and nobody ever finds it. Why, I remember one case where a wife got mad at her cheating husband while they were walking a nature trail and she took off her two-carat wedding ring and threw it at him.” He shrugged. “They never found it. It probably got washed farther away from the original site and someday somebody will be digging and find it and wonder how in the world it got there.”
Hubbard stepped into the garage and we all trooped in after him. He stood silently studying the garage floor. He frowned. “The thing that bothers me most is not the fact that a piece of gold may have been buried under your garage, Ms. Harris, but the pattern of cracks in the cement.”
“Why is that?” I asked. “The pressure from an earthquake is naturally irregular so wouldn’t that lead to more cracks in one area than another?”
He motioned to the southeast corner. “Yes, but not in such a cluster. The pattern of these cracks indicates that the cement was poured a lot thicker in this part of the garage than the rest of the floor. If there was a depression in this corner—which is the only reason I can think of for the floor to be thicker—a savvy contractor would have filled it and leveled the whole thing before bringing in the cement truck.”
Hubbard sauntered slowly toward the big crack in the corner of the garage, his eyes searching the floor as he walked. We three women trailed along behind him. Grant went back to his truck and flipped open his cell phone.
Hubbard knelt beside the cracks. “Let’s just take a look-see here,” he said.
He unsnapped the tool kit and removed a hammer, a big screwdriver, a tiny camera, and a light on a long, flexible handle.
Mom asked, “But if something was in the ground for a long time, wouldn’t it change colors? Why are you all thinking it’s gold just because it’s yellow?”
Hubbard shook his head. “Real gold never changes colors, never tarnishes. Silver and other metals do, but gold doesn’t. If it’s been in highly acidic soil for years it may get corroded and rough, but gold will never tarnish.”
Nobody else said a word. We waited breathlessly for his official pronouncement.
He used the hammer and screwdriver to chip away at the sides of the biggest crack to make room to insert the tiny light. It took him less than two minutes to deliver his verdict. “It looks to be a gold bracelet and a rather unique one at that. There may be some tiny stones in the top, maybe sapphires or rubies.”
I grabbed a shelf next to me. My head swam. A bracelet? I didn’t want it to be a bracelet.
Pat was still fumbling with words. “You mean . . . was it just there in the ground when the floor was poured, or did it somehow come up—sort of work its way to the top? I mean to the top of the ground underneath the floor and then . . . oh no, that couldn’t have happened. Was it . . . ?” She was babbling again. Mom patted her hand and Pat’s questions dwindled away.
I bent down beside Paul Hubbard. “Did you find anything else besides a gold bracelet in there? What do you think?” I asked.
Three pairs of eyes were riveted on him. I imagined Mom and Pat were holding their breath as I was. He replaced his tools in the case and closed it with a click that sounded like a gunshot.
Hubbard got to his feet and gave me a hand up. “I think, Ms. Campbell, that it’s time for the sheriff to call in the forensic team and the jackhammer man.”
Chapter 28
I slept very little that night and judging from the light that stayed on in my mother’s room, neither did she. At last morning came, one of those blue-sky, crisp-as-a-freshly-ironed shirt days when all of nature seemed to be smiling down on us mere mortals. However, this morning, nature surely would not have been smiling if she was aware of the grim task taking place at Pat Harris’s home. By 10 o’clock, Mom and I stood huddled with Pat inside her garage watching a team of experts from Oklahoma City do their morbid but thoroughly professional job.
“A body buried in concrete is a forensic nightmare.” The tall, fortyish man who had introduced himself as Chuck Carroll from the state medical examiner’s office, shook his head. “By the time you get it out, you’ve destroyed some of the evidence required for identification.”
His partner, Sid Hewgley, stepped forward and peered into the crack. “Yes, but there’s usually dental records.”
Hewgley turned to Grant. “Sheriff, assuming this woman was buried here when the new floor was poured, what possibilities do we have for her identity? I know about Andrea Worth, of course, but I understand there was a missing persons report filed about the same time on a woman who was traveling through the state with a male friend and also simply disappeared and has never been found.”
Grant stood with folded arms, one shoulder leaning against the frame of the garage. “That’s right; and there was another report, a woman from Texas, who was supposedly running from an abusive husband and heading toward her sister’s house in Oklahoma. She never did get here and nobody ever found her.”
These were two that had escaped my notice. But then, I had forgotten a lot of things since Jake’s death. Maybe I had known about them at one time but they had slipped my mind.
Pat had been standing wide-eyed, to the side of our little group. She took a deep breath and asked, “But how can you be sure it’s a woman? Men sometimes wear bracelets nowadays.”
Hewgley turned toward her. “We can be reasonably sure, Ms. Harris, because of the size of the wrist bone we can see down in the crack.” Then he spoke to his partner. “Okay, Chuck, let’s get our equipment unloaded and get started.”
Carroll frowned and spoke to Grant. “So Ms. Harris got Gary Worth to pour the new floor after the old one cracked, then Worth got another small company to pour the concrete? Surely the body was buried when the floor was poured. But, according to Worth, the company he hired has now gone out of business and the owner can’t be located?”
Grant nodded. “I talked to Worth yesterday.”
“And Ms. Harris was not here when they started on the garage floor and footings.” He turned to Pat. “The whole floor was already finished when you got back home?”
Pat nodded.
Chuck Carroll continued, “So if we could find the guy who poured the cement we’d likely have the killer.”
“Not necessarily.” Grant traced a curving line across the garage floor with the toe of his boot. “Although I’m not an expert, it looks to me like this part where the biggest cracks are might have been taken up after the rest of it was poured, and then a new batch put down in that spot.”
He dropped to one knee and examined the area more closely. “And if that’s the case, it might explain why this corner of the floor looks a little darker and rougher. It was a slightly different mix.”
Carroll s
hrugged. “I suppose that’s possible. If the murderer knew about the floor replacement, and knew that Ms. Harris was out of pocket, he waited until the first concrete guys left, then brought the body in and reworked this corner.”
Sid Hewgley had been examining the cracks and attempting to draw a computerized outline of the body. “The bone structure looks like this is definitely a woman. The body is lying slightly on its side but she was probably about 5 feet 4 inches tall.”
Mom blinked. “You mean you can tell all that with that little gadget—what do you call it?”
“A spectrograph,” Hewgley explained. “It’s sort of like an X-ray. But what we can see with it probably won’t help us identify her. That will have to wait until we get her out.”
He used a big piece of chalk to make an oval on the floor over the approximate location of the victim.
Mom was hot on the trail of this one. “So since this person has been here since the floor was poured, how are you going to be able to tell who she was? How will you be able to identify her?”
“Maybe I know of a way,” I said. I had learned quite a bit about forensics through my crime reporting, and my mother was right. Identifying a body after a couple of years, particularly if further damage was done when the cement floor was broken up, would not be an easy task, and we would have to wait for DNA results.
The first person I thought of was Andrea Worth, but at the same time, I was sincerely hoping it was not. Was Sophie’s two-year wait for answers about to come to an end?
Taking Mom’s arm, I led her out of the garage. A flock of wild geese flew over, heading south. They would probably stop to rest at the river before flying on to warmer climes. A few tenacious maple leaves, hanging onto the tree until the last moment, let go and fluttered down around us. A blue jay scolded us from his perch in an oak tree. On the surface, nature went about its peaceful business. But a few feet away, human emotions surged.
Mom sighed. “It’s a beautiful day. Far too pretty for that painful thing going on inside the garage.”
“Yes, you’re right. Mom, didn’t Sophie tell you that Andrea was fond of bracelets and had some made by a custom designer there in Amarillo?”
She looked thoughtful. “Yes, I believe she did.”
“Then maybe Sophie would remember if Andrea had a bracelet like this one we’ve found.”
Tears clouded my mother’s dark eyes. “Oh, Darcy, I do hope that isn’t Andrea under all that cement. Poor, poor Sophie.”
“She will have to know, one way or the other. I don’t want to call her until I’m sure, and even then, I don’t want to inform her of what we’ve found with just a phone call. She’s going to need someone with her.”
Mom nodded agreement and we went back inside the garage.
I walked over to Carroll. “So getting her out is going to take several hours of painstaking work, and maybe several days more of lab tests by the medical examiner.”
Carroll nodded. “Not much else to do.”
“I have an idea,” I told them. “If it works, it’ll provide much faster on-the-site results. Her final identification may not be confirmed until the medical examiner does his job, but I can think of a way that will give us a foot up in the right direction.”
All action stopped. Grant stepped to my side. He well knew that my background gave me a little insight the others might not have. “What are you thinking about, Darcy?”
“The bracelet,” I explained. “Sophie Williams told Mom that her daughter had several pieces of jewelry custom made by a designer in Amarillo. From what your probe has discovered, this bracelet appears to be unique. If we can get a good look at it, and if it isn’t Andrea’s bracelet, why then . . . .” I prayed to the good Lord that it wasn’t Andrea’s, but if not, the fact remained that some other poor soul rested under Pat’s floor. “Why then, we’ll know it’s somebody else under there. And if it appears to be one of those pieces made by that jeweler, then we’d be pretty close to having a positive identification.”
My mother whispered, “May the Lord have mercy on her, whoever she is.”
“And mercy on her family,” Pat added.
“Mom, do you think you’d remember the name of the jeweler that Sophie mentioned if you heard it again?”
She thought for a few seconds. “Yes, I think I would if I heard it again. It was a different name: Alonzo’s, Aladdin’s, something that started with an A like Amarillo.”
“First, we’d need to get a picture of that bracelet, Grant, then I can call the jeweler in Amarillo. If he recognizes it as one of his own creations that he made for Andrea, it would be close to proof positive, wouldn’t it? Maybe not forensic proof, but surely something pretty strong.”
Chuck Carroll pulled a pad out of his pocket and started sketching. Then he handed it to me. “This is roughly how it appears. I can’t see the underside, of course, but I think the top part is some sort of oval faceplate with edging around the oval and five small stones—maybe rubies, set in some kind of diagonal pattern. I’ll poke around down in there and get the best photo possible under the circumstances.”
I studied the sketch. “This ought to be enough for me to use when I talk to the jeweler. It’s unusual enough that he will probably recognize it from my description, if it really is Andrea’s.”
Hopefully, the wonder of technology via my Internet search button on my cell phone would give us an answer. I started scrolling down the list of jewelers in Amarillo.
“That’s it,” Mom interrupted. “Adolpho. I remember now.”
I punched in the listed number. A brusque, guttural voice answered. I gave him my name. “I have recently seen a beautiful bracelet, a gold bracelet that I greatly admire,” I told him. I did not think it was necessary to tell him where I had seen it. “A friend told me that it came from your shop; in fact, that you had custom made it for a woman by the name of Andrea Worth. Or, you might know her by her maiden name, Williams. I’m hoping you could make one for me just like it. If I describe it to you, do you think you would remember it?”
“But of course. I keep records on all my custom-made jewelry. What did the bracelet look like?”
“It is maybe half an inch wide, yellow gold, and the faceplate is edged with rubies in a diagonal pattern.”
“Hmm. It does sound lovely. But then, all my pieces are. And you say her last name was Williams or Worth? Let me check my files.”
Adolpho presumably walked to his computer and started pressing keys. Two minutes later, he was back with me.
“I found the item you described. I also took a picture of it after it was finished. And I remember the lady who bought it now. Her first name is Andrea but her last name is Mott. She had drawn the pattern herself and knew exactly what she wanted on it. She said it was to be a gift from her husband, Tom Mott.”
With a sinking feeling, I thanked Adolpho and closed my phone. The forensic team would make the final confirmation but this information was all I needed. We had indeed found Andrea Worth. Now if we could just find her murderer.
Mom and Pat, Sid Hewgley, Chuck Carroll, and Grant were all silently staring at me.
“Sounds like the bracelet is Andrea’s.”
Pat moaned. “Oh, no.”
Mom just shook her head.
Carroll spoke quietly, “We’ll have to do the forensic work anyway.”
“What should I do about Sophie, Grant?” I asked.
“I can’t officially notify Andrea’s mother until we are finished with the lab work. This doesn’t mean that you have to wait on that before you talk to her, Darcy.”
“Mom? What should I do?”
My mother reached into her pocket for a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “The police will notify the Amarillo police and someone will go to Sophie’s home or her shop. But, if it were me, I’d want to know right away. I think Sophie will want to be here in Levi.”
“But just a phone call, Mom. How sad that would be! And how heartless. She needs to be told gently by some
one who can put their arms around her. She needs family.”
An idea came to me. I still had Charlene’s phone number in my cell phone. Charlene had seemed different, a little more likable that last night in Amarillo. I thought that her rough exterior might be covering some actual softer feelings. I would give her a call and ask her to go to her aunt in person and tell her the sad news. I would also ask her if she would drive to Levi with Sophie. I didn’t think it would be safe for Sophie to drive that long distance alone.
I checked my cell phone and punched in Charlene’s number.
A few minutes later, I broke the connection and slipped the phone back into my purse. Charlene had sounded genuinely sad. She had not hesitated to say she would go to Sophie right away and yes, she would certainly come to Levi with her.
One more phone call was necessary but that would wait until I got home. In my old address book was the number for Max Sutton at the Dallas Morning News. I would bet that Max was still there in his office, stubby pencil behind his ear, making sure that all was ready for the next edition. I needed some information and Max was a source of unending facts and figures.
Chapter 29
Shuffling best describes the way Mom came into the kitchen the next morning. One look at her haggard face told me her night had been as long and painful as mine.
“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.
She shook her head and answered, “Not much.”
Opening the cabinet door, she reached for a mug. “I’m glad you have coffee ready, Darcy. For the first time in my life, I think I’d put a dollop of whiskey in my cup this morning if we had any in the house.”
For my mother, the teetotaler, this was quite a statement. I put my arm around her. “We’ll just have to hang in there for a while longer. We have found Andrea and we know that she didn’t run away, but we don’t know who killed her. Maybe you’d like to take a little trip when this is all over?”
She shook her head. “It’ll never be over for poor Sophie and it isn’t over yet for any of us.”
The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set Page 31