Lone Ranger

by VK Powell

  “What about now, Sheriff? Technology has progressed significantly.” Emma’s voice had an edge, and she breathed deeply to maintain her professionalism. Why hadn’t someone followed up on this since the discovery?

  “I hope you’re not creating trouble where there isn’t any. Folks in this town have enough to gossip about without help from outsiders, no disrespect intended.”

  “I’m not trying to dig up trouble, Sheriff. I’m trying to put it to rest.”

  “Contrary to what you city folks think, not all small-town law enforcement officers are hicks who eat doughnuts, drink coffee, and chase women with their blue lights.”

  “I think you’re a very professional law-enforcement officer who’d like to get to the bottom of an outstanding old case as much as I would. If you know anything about these bones, I’d be very appreciative.” Apparently, her flattery worked because the sheriff sat a bit straighter in his chair and nodded.

  “When this discovery was made in 1985, the coroner said the remains were from a male about the age Theodore Thompson would’ve been when he disappeared. The large bones were mostly intact and showed no signs of trauma, but the smaller bones of the hands, feet, and even the skull were either missing or in so many pieces we couldn’t tell anything for sure.”

  “What about clothes, personal effects?”

  “Nothing, no other evidence, no suspects. We were optimistic it was Thompson but couldn’t prove it. Fannie hounded us for years, but the technology wasn’t there to conclusively identify the remains.”

  “So you actually worked this case?”

  “Not the original, of course, but the recovery of the bones was mine. It was my first big challenge as sheriff. I called in the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigation to help with excavation, and agents worked for days trying to recover the full skeleton.”

  Emma felt a little guilty for doubting the sheriff but still needed more. “And?”

  “This is the embarrassing part. At night when we closed the site, townsfolk snuck in and dug around in the rubble. We didn’t have the manpower for proper security. In the morning they’d walk into the office with bits of bones and hand them over, just trying to help. This kept up for almost a week, and by the time we finished there was a pile of bones twice the size of a human skeleton, and almost everyone in town had contributed to the stack.”

  “So much for the chain of evidence,” Emma muttered.

  “Exactly, and we never have been able to clear a single resident completely. So you see why this little story of yours won’t help even if you find out it was Thompson and even if he was murdered. We’d need an eye witness or a full confession to bring charges.”

  “I understand, but humor me, Sheriff. I need to do this. Where are these bones now?”

  “State crime lab, if they haven’t been destroyed. They don’t keep stuff this long.”

  “Can you call and see if they still have them? Now, please?” Emma was starting to feel hopeful about at least verifying Thompson’s death.

  Sheriff Echols scratched his head. “Even if they still have the bones, they won’t run an analysis without a law-enforcement request, and I see no reason to issue one at this point.”

  Emma started to object, but the definitive expression on Echols’s face convinced her it would be futile. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff.”

  Emma rushed outside, held up her forefinger in Carter’s direction, and ran into the post office next door. She scribbled a quick note, stuffed and addressed the padded envelope, and slid it across the counter to the postmaster. “I need this to go overnight priority, please.” She paid the postage and hurried to the waiting Jeep.

  “Still need to make that grocery run?” Carter asked.

  “If you have time, that would be great. My complimentary supplies are dwindling, and I can’t survive without coffee.”

  “There’s a Food Lion on the way.”

  A few minutes later, they were walking side by side like a married couple as Carter pushed a shopping cart around the grocery store. She’d imagined Carter would be uncomfortable doing such domestic chores, but her shoulders were relaxed and her pace suggested she was in no hurry.

  “Do you do this often?”

  “Not really.” Carter glanced sideways at her and grinned. “But you’ve probably guessed Ann does the cooking and grocery shopping around our house. I’m occasionally coerced into emergency runs for things I can easily identify and not mess up.”

  Emma reached for a bag of whole Colombian coffee beans, remembered she didn’t have a grinder, and grabbed the ground instead. “I find cooking therapeutic but don’t do it often anymore.” Emma regretted her comment when Carter stopped the cart and waited for her to explain. She’d cooked for Sheri initially, but she hadn’t been around much as their relationship deteriorated.

  Carter’s gaze held hers for a beat, and then she smiled and pushed the buggy forward. “You don’t have to talk about it. But just for the record, you can cook for me anytime you need therapy. I’m a good guinea pig. Cast-iron stomach.” She patted her abdomen, and Emma had to laugh.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As they approached the meat counter, the burly butcher waved enthusiastically. “Hey, Carter, Ms. Ferguson, how are you today? Something I can help you with?”

  Emma gave Carter a questioning glance.

  Carter leaned close and whispered, “Small town. Everybody knows your name already.”

  Everybody? She was exposed, a deer in the headlights. No. Wait. She reconsidered her knee-jerk reaction. The warmth in the butcher’s greeting made her feel something different—like she belonged. Being known, she decided, was a good thing. She returned the butcher’s wave and even smiled. “I’m good…”

  “Peter,” Carter whispered, even closer to her ear this time, her breath sending chills down Emma’s spine. She wanted to close her eyes and savor the feeling, but Peter was waiting expectantly.

  “Peter.” She pointed to the meat display. “Could I get one of those small roasts and a couple of the salmon fillets, please?”

  Peter nodded and reached for her items.

  “You’ve just made his day,” Carter said.

  “How’s that?”

  “You called him by name.”

  “Doesn’t everybody in town know Peter the butcher?”

  “Yes, but not everybody is kind or thoughtful enough to address him by name. His father had a little run-in with the law last year, and the family is still paying the social tab. Some folks in this town think they’re better than others. You’re the new girl, and you acknowledged him. That means a lot.”

  Carter’s observation surprised Emma. She hadn’t expected Carter to be so attuned to the feelings of other people. One more thing she appreciated about her. But the realization that people were petty in small towns as well as in cities was disappointing. Maybe she was being naive, but she wanted to believe that camaraderie, cooperation, and mutual support existed here, in the kind of place she’d always wanted to live.

  When Peter handed the carefully packaged items across the display case, Emma smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  While Emma checked out, four people greeted Carter; two inquired about Ann and two others asked about her children’s group, FACES. Carter and her aunt were obviously an established and respected presence in Stuart.

  As she paid the cashier, Emma wondered if her parents had exchanged greetings with people while walking through a grocery store in any town they’d lived in. Had her mother known the name of her local butcher or the shopkeeper down the street? Did her father know the given names of the soldiers he’d shadowed during battle? The sobering thought made Emma long for a connection she’d never experienced. Her somber mood carried over to the ride back to the park.

  “You’re quiet this afternoon,” Carter said after several minutes in silence.

  That’s certainly the pot calling the kettle black. But their morning trip had been te
nse enough. Emma didn’t want to spoil this time by airing her personal miseries. “Yeah, this story is more complicated than I imagined.”

  “Really? How complicated can history facts be?” Carter asked with a sympathetic grin.

  “Different people have different perspectives. I have to sort out what’s true and what’s just perception.”

  “I like learning about the past,” Carter said. “I believe it keeps us from repeating the same mistakes.”

  “Why don’t you regale me with your knowledge of Stuart past and present?” Emma mostly just wanted to hear Carter’s words roll off her full, luscious lips. She warmed as she remembered Carter’s over-protectiveness last night and her contrition this morning when she apologized. She’d never met a woman who possessed such strength and vulnerability and who guarded both so fiercely. Carter was a paradox, and Emma planned to unravel her with the same vigor she devoted to the stories she pursued.

  “Anything special you want to know?”

  Emma watched Carter’s lips move and imagined them closing over hers, stealing her breath. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She’d never fantasized so freely nor been so willing to consider her hopes, but her timing was horrible.

  “Emma?”

  Her named rolled so casually off Carter’s tongue that she wanted to hear it over and over again as Carter took her in her arms. She shook her head to dislodge the image. “I’d like to know everything. Could you come by the cabin later? Say around eight, if you don’t have plans.”

  “Love to, but I can’t. It’s kids’ night,” Carter replied as she drove up to Emma’s cabin.

  “Kids’ night?”

  “I host the kids in my FACES group every other month. We usually have a cookout, play games, and just talk.” She glanced over at Emma. “If you want, you could join us. You might enjoy it.”

  Emma weighed a night alone in the cabin against spending more time with Carter in any situation. Plus, she loved children—hearing their laughter and experiencing their honesty before all innocence was socialized out of them. “I’d love that. Can I help with anything?”

  “Nope. Just show up at the picnic area beside the office at five thirty. Dress warmly and leave your insecurities at home.”

  “Uh, okay.” What did that mean? As she walked toward the cabin, she wondered if she was making a mistake. How uncomfortable could a cookout with Carter and half a dozen kids be? She looked at her watch. Still time to do a little work.

  Emma made notes about her conversations with the sheriff and Sylvie Martinez before calling her contact with the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigation. She and Rick Hardy had known each other since college, when he’d had a huge crush on her, even after she told him she was a lesbian. They’d kept in touch through the years, and Rick joked they’d marry when he divorced his gorgeous, rich wife and Emma lost her mind.

  “Hello, handsome. Miss me?”

  “Always.” No matter when she called, Rick sounded happy to hear from her. Their friendship was the only unconditional love she’d ever experienced, and she felt their closeness every time they spoke. “Is this business or pleasure?”

  “It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, my friend. How are you and Carolyn?”

  “Excellent as usual, but we miss seeing you. Promise to visit soon. Now, get to the point. I hear some anxiety in your voice. You’re on the trail of a story.”

  He was the only one who could read her just by her tone. “Yes, I have a professional need.” She explained the story and the article she’d found in the archives. “I overnighted a copy of the newspaper clipping along with some of Theodore Thompson’s hair for comparison, if you find the bones. You should get it in the morning mail.”

  “The connection sounds thin, Emma. Even if the bones haven’t been destroyed, I’m not sure I can justify looking into it, especially with no new evidence. Why the interest?”

  “An elderly lady has been missing her brother for thirty-seven years. She won’t live forever, and I’d like to help her.”

  “Could your helpfulness have anything to do with your father?”

  They’d been best friends in college, shared their hopes, dreams, insecurities, and cried together over losses. After all those years and his continued support, she couldn’t lie to him. Even if she tried, he’d know. “Probably. They both disappeared and left family members searching for answers.”

  He was quiet, and she waited for him to think things through in his logical and methodical manner. “I’ll get started on locating the bones. If I find them, and when I get the information you sent, I’ll work up a petition for review. If, and that’s a big if, I get approval, I’ll have to submit a request to the DNA lab for analysis. You know how backed up those folks get. It could be a while before we hear anything.”

  “Come on, Rick. A contractor is salivating to tear the factory down where the bones were found. We have to work quickly.” She pictured his surfer-boy good looks and stroked his ego. “Somewhere in that DNA lab a poor defenseless damsel toils daily, just praying you’ll walk in and ask her for a favor.”

  “Stop with the hand job. Maybe I could have it in a few days—”

  “Please. You know I love you.” She said the magic words.

  “Okay. I’ll try to get it back to you as soon as possible. Be careful. If there is a connection between these bones and your missing person, you could be in danger. People don’t like strangers digging up the past.”

  *

  Carter skidded the Jeep to a halt in front of the park office and then cursed her lack of control. She didn’t need to broadcast her excitement about seeing Emma later, especially around Ann. She steadied her breathing and opened the office door. “You ready to go home?”

  “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Ann motioned toward the front. “You stirred up enough dust out there to create an environmental hazard. What’s the hurry?”

  “I’d just like to get home and change clothes before…” She’d stepped in it now.

  “Before what? Got a hot date?”

  Was it a date? Had her invitation to the cookout been a date cloaked in business attire? And if so, did it matter? And why was she so reluctant to admit it to Ann? “Maybe. I’m not sure. I just asked Emma to come by the cookout with the kids. I thought she’d enjoy it. You know, stranger in town, no friends.”

  Ann eyeballed her as if she were a rare species. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? You’re attracted to each other. Of course it’s a date, no matter what you call it.” Ann grabbed her coat and followed Carter to the Jeep. “Just do me a favor and be careful.”

  Carter pulled out of the park and drove faster than usual toward home. “I thought you liked Emma.”

  “I do.” She placed her hand gently over Carter’s, where it rested on the gearshift. “You know I love you, but your track record with women doesn’t bode well for long-term relationships. You’ve been seeing a married woman off and on for a year, and Emma seems like she’s going through something right now. I’m just asking you to be careful, for both your sakes.”

  Carter rolled her eyes. “FYI, she’s not married.”

  “She has a partner. I don’t condone that sort of thing.”

  “Her partner runs around too, but we’re not serious anyway. I never am.”

  “You could be, if you let yourself care enough…for someone special,” Ann said.

  And that was the part Carter wasn’t worried about. She had built-in safeguards to ensure she didn’t overstep—Ann, her job, the occasional rendezvous with an unavailable woman, and her work with the children in the community. She’d never abandon her responsibilities for a long-term relationship, especially not with an out-of-towner. She wasn’t denying her attraction to Emma, but it would only be sex, just like the others. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Fine. What did you do in town today?”

  “Went grocery shopping.”

  Ann turned sideways slowly and pinned Carte
r with her stare. “I have to practically beg you to pick up a carton of milk from the store. Were you kidnapped, forced at gunpoint, or seduced inside by a gorgeous woman?”

  “Emma needed a few things for the cabin, and we stopped on the way home. No biggie.”

  “No biggie except for the fact that you hate shopping of any kind.”

  Carter absently tugged at her necklace and then quickly dropped her hand. “It wasn’t so bad.” She’d actually liked perusing the aisles that were nearly as foreign to her as they were to Emma, locating the items she needed, and chatting with locals as if they were at a social. Normally the thought of doing anything so domestic with another woman would’ve given her hives, but she’d felt at ease with Emma, even enjoyed their closeness and sharing a new experience. But it had been a necessity and just a little fun. Seriously, no biggie.

  “Do you need any help tonight? I left the hot-dog buns and marshmallows on the counter, and the dogs and fixings are in the fridge.”

  Carter dashed around Ann and into the house. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” She rifled through her closet, chose a pair of faded jeans, and tried on three shirts before settling on a gray-plaid flannel. “Jeez, Carter, you’re going to a cookout in the woods, not a fancy restaurant.” She laughed. Her jeans and flannel would be considered dressy in any Stuart restaurant. She wiped her sweaty hands down the front of her jeans, kissed Ann, and drove back to the park.

  As she collected the supplies from the office and set up the fire, Carter kept glancing toward Emma’s cabin. Why was she so nervous about seeing her again? They’d be with six energetic and highly observant children. Any chance of private time or even a furtive glance without being noticed seemed unlikely.

  If this were a real date, Carter would’ve planned it much better and definitely without an audience. Her seduction would be carefully choreographed from cocktails and appetizers to dinner, dessert, and a slow progression to the bedroom. She’d undress Emma—a spear of arousal shot through her, shattering her carefully imagined plan. A date with Emma Ferguson would never follow anyone else’s agenda. Something about that realization excited Carter more than her seduction scenario.