Digital ISBNs
EPUB 978-0-2286-0946-9
Kindle 978-0-2286-0947-6
WEB/PDF 978-0-2286-0948-3
Print ISBNs
Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0949-0
B&N Print 978-0-2286-0950-6
LSI Print 978-0-2286-0951-3
2nd Ed Copyright 2019 Elizabeth Dearl
Original copyright 2005 Elizabeth Dearl
Cover Art by Dirk Wolf
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is for Joe, who never stops believing
My thanks to Sergeant Joe Hollingsworth for providing forensic detail, and to Keron and Jesse for allowing me to use your names.
A SLIVER OF dawn peeked through the gap in my bedroom curtains. As it fell across my closed eyelids, attempting to coax me from contented slumber, I buried my face in the pillow and snuggled deeper into the covers. After spending the majority of my twenty-eight years in Houston’s near-tropical climate, I still wasn’t accustomed to the chill of a West Texas autumn and struggled with the adjustment to weather that actually changed with the seasons. Though I looked forward to witnessing Perdue’s first snowfall, I was less enthused at the notion of learning to drive in the slick white stuff.
The man beside me stirred, pulled me to him. I nuzzled his neck sleepily, reveling in his warmth.
Warmth. Man. Man in my bed. Dawn.
I sat bolt upright. “Oh, shit, Cal, we fell asleep! Get up. Hurry, it’s morning!”
He grinned, reaching for me. “Bribe me.”
I pushed him away and scrambled out of the bed, grabbing my robe. “Stop joking, damn it.”
“Who’s joking? C’mere.” He held out inviting arms and I nearly weakened. But only nearly.
“Get up,” I insisted. “Half the town is awake and having breakfast by now. Do you want to get caught?”
He sat up and rubbed his face. “Taylor, I wish you wouldn’t phrase it like that. Neither of us is sneaking around on a spouse, we’re both of legal age, and we’re even of opposite sexes.”
“None of which would prevent this from becoming a town scandal if it got out,” I reminded him as I snatched up my brush and began tugging tangles from my hair. “The sheriff’s election is less than a month away. Do you really think the puritans of Perdue, Texas will vote for someone openly indulging in sex without benefit of wedlock?”
He shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders rippling seductively. I turned away before the sight could tempt me, but I couldn’t escape his voice.
“I guess we could get married, just to make them happy,” he said.
I clenched my teeth. “We don’t have time for jokes. You know very well that every tongue in town will be wagging by noon if you’re seen leaving my house at this time of day.”
“So it seems to me the problem will be solved if I don’t leave.”
“Cal Arnette, if you’re not out of that bed in ten seconds.…”
“You’ll come in and get me?” he suggested hopefully.
I stalked out of the room and into the kitchen, where I expended a little frustration on the old, tin coffeepot. It made satisfying clanging noises against the sink as I slammed it down to fill it with water. I longed to replace it with a Mr. Coffee drip machine, but it still seemed somehow disrespectful to get rid of the late sheriff’s personal belongings. The thought irritated me. This was, after all, my house now.
And I had been the one to solve the murder of Sheriff Miles Crawford—had, in fact, been the only one convinced that his death had been something other than an accidental snakebite. His killer was dead, Crawford’s death revenged. There was no reason for his ghost to linger—unless you counted the fact that he had been my biological father. I had not learned that myself until after his death. Perhaps he was trying to get to know me.
“If that’s the case,” I said aloud, striking a wooden match to light a burner on the ancient gas stove, “you might as well find out I happen to enjoy modern conveniences.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I turned, burning my fingers on the match. Cal watched me from the doorway, his eyebrows cocked quizzically. He was still in his underwear, the white cotton boxers contrasting nicely with bronze skin. Cal’s mother was of Mexican descent, his father French, and the combination of their genes had produced a lovely hunk of man.
He padded over to me, dark hair loose about his shoulders, not yet tied back into the ponytail he wore when in uniform.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” I demanded, foiling his efforts to kiss my neck.
“Uh-uh. You have to answer my question before I answer yours. Who were you talking to?”
“Myself. Now answer mine.” I pushed him firmly away and popped bread into the toaster.
“You’d shove a man out on the street before he’s had his morning coffee? Cruel, Taylor.” He examined the tin pot, which was only now beginning to make perking sounds. “Why don’t you break down and buy yourself a Mr. Coffee? Didn’t you just get a healthy advance on that new novel?”
“Quit changing the subject. You have to get out of here.”
“Too late,” he said smugly, digging through my refrigerator for a jar of jelly. “Dorothy’s front drapes were twitchin’ up a storm when I fetched the newspaper off the porch.”
I dropped the egg I had been about to break into a skillet. “You went out on my porch dressed like that? Undressed like that?”
Cal tsked and bent to clean up the mess with a wad of paper towel. “Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.” I could hear the hidden laughter in his voice.
“The whole litter’s out of the bag if Dorothy Stenson spotted you. Oh, hell.” I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and watched him butter a slice of toast. “I thought you wanted to be sheriff.”
“I do. Don’t you have any strawberry preserves? I hate grape jelly.”
“No.” Infuriating man. “Cal, what are we going to do? Maybe if I talk to Dorothy, she’ll keep it to herself, do you think? Oh, gad, that’s a stupid notion. Cal, what on earth are you doing? Cal?” He had scooped me up into his arms and was heading out of the kitchen.
“Long as we’re caught anyway,” he drawled into my ear, “might as well make the most of it.”
His lips stopped any protest I might have made. And I have to admit that by the time we reached the bedroom I had long since stopped trying to protest.
WHEN I AWOKE for the second time that day, my bedside alarm clock read nine-thirty. Cal was gone, as were his clothes. I staggered back into the kitchen and found all traces of our interrupted breakfast cleared away, the burner under the coffee set to low. I poured myself a tepid cup and took it into the backyard.
The morning had warmed a bit, so I was comfortable in my robe and fuzzy slippers. Someone in the neighborhood was burning leaves, and the aroma took me back to early childhood, before all the environmental rules and regulations made leaf-burning a crime on the same par as assault and battery. No one would dare to burn leaves in Houston these days, but one of the charms of a small town like Perdue was that people tended to follow their own rules. Personally, I’d take burning leaves over muggings and drive-by shootings any old day.
I left the door propped open so the house could benefit from the sweet-smelling breeze and perched on the top step, lighting a cigarette, my first of the day. I was trying to cut down but refused to give up the one that went with my morning coffee.
A tiny, cold nose nudged my hand and I pulled Hazel into my lap, covering her shivering body with a flap of my robe. “Well, good morning, princess.”
I doubted ferrets really hibernated during the winter, but I had seen little of her since the first cold snap. She had scouted out all the warmest nooks and crannies in the house and spent most of her time lately curled up into a snoring ball of fur.
“Want some breakfast? C’mon.”
I was out of cat food. Again. “You eat like a Saint Bernard,” I grumbled as I scrambled an egg and scraped it into her bowl. She gobbled it, then licked her long whiskers and looked at me hopefully.
“Oh, no, you don’t. One egg is plenty. I’m not hankering to own a forty-pound ferret, thank you.” I stopped. Hankering? Had I actually said “hankering?” Cal’s West Texas speech patterns were clearly contagious.
I spent a couple of hours editing the chapter I had finished the night before, then took a bone warming shower and climbed into a sweat suit. A trip to the grocery store was in order, for people food as well as ferret food.
Unless I was willing to make the fifty-mile trip to Lubbock, Posey’s was my only choice. Located on Perdue’s main drag, Posey’s Grocery combined country store whimsy with its owner’s sharp business savvy and stocked everything from pickles in a wooden barrel to Lean Cuisine in the freezer case.
A little bell rang as I opened the door and the elderly man behind the counter paused to dribble tobacco juice into a Styrofoam cup before greeting me with a stained smile.
“Why, Miss Madison. Good to see you!”
“Hi, Arnold.” I glanced around, but the two of us were alone in the big room. “What are you doing here? Where’s Bo?” My heart gave an uneasy flutter. I had never known Bonita Posey to miss a day at her beloved store. And she was, after all, an old woman.
Arnold chuckled, dispelling my gloomy thoughts. “Just took herself a day off is all. Asked me to look after things.” He preened, as well he might. I felt sure it was an honor to be compared with guarding the royal jewels.
Taking a wicker basket, I prowled the store for needed items as he continued talking. Arnold would never be accused of telling half a story.
“What’s this?” I interrupted him, discovering a pile of unlabeled zip-locked bags in the freezer section. They contained chunks of some kind of meat, perhaps fish or chicken.
“Just some rattlesnake meat,” he replied. “Hester Miggs always freezes a bunch to sell in the off-season, in case folks get to cravin’ it.”
“Uck.” I dropped the bag in a hurry. I’d tasted snake meat during my first visit to Perdue’s annual Rattlesnake Festival, but not by choice—no one had bothered to tell me what it was until after I’d put it into my mouth. “When will Bo be back?”
“Dunno. She didn’t say. Funny thing. I’ve minded the place for her before, if she wanted to go somewhere. Vegas, usually. She goes a few times every year…always loses. Not that she has to worry about money.” He spat into his cup. “But this is the first time I recall that she up and decided on the spur of the moment to take a day off. Called me at five a.m. ”
“Really,” I murmured, only half-listening as I read the directions on a frozen pizza. I missed pizza most of all, hot and fresh and delivered to my door. Domino’s would most likely not be tempted by the prospect of opening a franchise in Perdue, Texas. Pity.
“I think it’s the day,” he confided, lowering his voice as if the other non-existent customers might overhear.
“Hmmm?” I looked at him. “What day?”
“You know, the...anniversary, I guess you’d call it, though that seems an awful happy word for somethin’ so bad.”
He had lost me. “Anniversary of what?”
“Guess she just couldn’t take it anymore,” he went on. “Said she was gonna clean out that house and then have it torn down. Shoulda done it years ago, if you ask me.”
I shook my head, but the words refused to fall into logical order. “Arnold, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What house?”
The bell above the door jingled and a woman shivered her way in. “Cold enough to freeze the tail off a hog,” she said. “How-do, Arnold. Where’s Bo?”
Arnold started his spiel from square one, but oddly enough made no reference to “the day.” The woman bought a can of baking powder and departed.
I put my loaded basket on the counter and met his eyes. “What day is it, Arnold?”
“Why, Tuesday, I reckon. Isn’t it?” Obviously, he was regretting his earlier ramblings. Before I could persist, he dropped his gaze, began ringing up my purchases on the antique cash register and threw in a subject that made my ears prick up. “Say, though, if you need any furniture for that little house of yours, you might want to run out to Bo’s and take a look. She said she’d sell what she could and donate the rest to charity.”
My confusion cleared a little. “She’s having a yard sale. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I had spent most of my life economizing. Use it up, wear it out, make it do—the credo during the Great Depression was still a useful one to live by if you existed on the verge of bankruptcy. Garage sales, yard sales and rummage sales had furnished my Houston apartment, as well as providing most of my college wardrobe. Thanks to three published mystery novels, I was hopefully past the skimping stage of my life, but the magic words yard sale still made my blood rush a little faster.
I paid for the groceries and hustled the bags into the passenger seat of my old Volkswagen, so excited that I had started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot before I realized I had never been to Bo’s house and had no idea where it was. I glanced into the rear view mirror and winked at myself. A problem easily solved.
The sheriff’s office was only a couple of blocks away. Cal was fiddling with the thermostat when I opened the door, and I could immediately understand why. As cold as it was outside, the front office felt like a meat locker. I said as much.
Cal scowled. “Thanks for stating the obvious, Taylor. That really helps.”
“Don’t snarl at the woman who’s come to take you away from all this.”
He gave the thermostat one last whack, then crossed the room to take me into his arms. “Tahiti? Bermuda? Say the word, lady, and I’ll type up my resignation.”
“Would you settle for lunch?”
“Sure. Your place?”
I loved that leer but tried to keep my goal in mind. “Not today. Is it okay if we take your car?”
He looked puzzled. “A car? Aren’t we going to Lucy’s?” Lucy’s Café, Perdue’s only restaurant, was directly across the street from the courthouse.
“Nope. I had something else in mind.” Shamelessly, I gave him my best attempt at a come-hither look.
It worked. Before I knew it, we were seated in his patrol car, the heater blasting away.
“Seems a little chilly for necking in the back seat, but I’m game if you are.”
“Mmmm.” I returned his kiss before pushing him gently away. “Maybe later. Right now, I need a ride out to Bonita Posey’s house.”
Cal was still shaking his head fifteen minutes later as he turned off the highway onto a gravel road. “Lunch, she said. More, her eyes said. I’m a sucker, that’s what I am.”
“Quit griping,” I said. “I fed you lunch from my own bag of groceries.”
“A peanut butter sandwich,” he mumbled. “I hate peanut butter.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” I peered out the window, but all I could see in any direction was empty land. “I had no idea she lived so far out in the boonies. Thanks again, Cal. I never would’ve found this place on my own.”
“I could’ve just drawn you a map.” I had neglected to bring drinks, and he was still tonguing peanut butter off the roof of his mouth.
“But your car has more trunk space than mine,” I pointed out. “Of course, if I end up buying a chair or a table or something big, I’ll need to borrow a pickup, I guess.”
Cal rolled his eyes.
We rounded a curve and a two-story farmhouse, tucked into a grove of large pecan trees, appeared on the horizon. “What a pretty house! Surely that’s not what she’s planning to tear down.”
“What?”
I repeated Arnold’s explanation of Bo’s activities as we pulled to a stop, red dust flying up from the dirt driveway.
“I doubt Bo’s planning to bulldoze her home,” Cal said. “Arnold must’ve misunderstood.”
“I guess so.” We followed paving stones to the front door and I knocked. No one answered.
“Don’t think she’s here,” Cal said after a few minutes.
“She has to be.” I shaded my eyes and peered through a front window, but heavy draperies blocked my view. “Come on.”
Cal followed me around to the back of the house. I rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt, catching my breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Impressive, isn’t it?”
A carefully tended garden stretched into the distance. Bare, recently turned earth in some patches, thriving green in others, it seemed to go on forever. I’m not a botanist, but I recognized some of the leaves: winter cabbage, carrots, sweet potatoes. The vegetables shared space with fall-blooming flowers — lilies and bronze chrysanthemums big enough to choke and elephant. )and lilies and bronze chrysanthemums big enough to choke an elephant. And roses, roses everywhere in a blaze of color against the gray sky. No frost had yet materialized to kill them back. I knew how much work roses took in their own right. Surely an eighty-two-year-old woman didn’t tend this by herself.
Before I could ask Cal, a movement in the distance caught my eye. “There she is!”
Cal squinted. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that little house. That must be what Arnold was talking about. Don’t know why she’d want to get rid of it, though. Looks like a nice place to me. She ought to rent it out.” The small, white house crouched at the opposite end of the gigantic garden, and Bo stood at the entrance, vigorously shaking out a dusty cloth.
I set off in her direction, ignoring Cal’s suggestion we take the car. By the time I reached the smaller house, though, I was wishing I had listened to him. The distance proved greater than it had seemed, and I was frozen solid when I knocked at the half-open door.
Bo appeared immediately. She stared. “Taylor? What in hell are you doing here?”
Not the friendliest greeting I’d ever heard, but I was too cold to care. I pushed past her, but the temperature inside the little house was no warmer. I noticed then that Bo was wearing a down-filled jacket and thick gloves.
“I probably should’ve called first,” I apologized. “But when Arnold told me that you were planning a yard sale, I couldn’t resist getting the first peek.” I was already scanning the stacks of boxes and piles of furniture, my sale radar set on locate. “Wow, is that coat tree real brass?”
She sighed, leaning against a wooden crate. “I might’ve known the old fart would go blabbing my business all over town. Shoulda just told him I was off to Vegas.”
Her tone finally penetrated my distracted fog and I tore my gaze away from a curio cabinet—real cherry, I’d be willing to bet—to peer at her more closely. She looked older, somehow, her usually rosy cheeks pale, her wrinkles more pronounced.
“I really am sorry, Bo,” I said, sincerely this time. “If I’m intruding, I’ll wait and come back when you have the actual sale. I can help, if you want,” I added, offering an olive branch.
She took it. “Pay me no mind, Taylor. I shouldn’t have snapped your head off like that. You’re welcome to stay and look around, really. It’s just the day, I guess. I’ve been in a rotten mood since my feet hit the floor this morning.”
There it was again. “The day.” I was still trying to figure out a way to question her without sounding like a busybody when Cal came tramping in.
“Enjoy your stroll?” he asked dryly. “Howdy, Bo.”
She nodded shortly. “Cal. Arnold strikes again, I see.”
Cal raised an eyebrow at me and I shook my head. “Cal just gave me a ride, Bo. I don’t think anyone else is coming.”
“Glad to hear it.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Not such a bad thing after all. Cal can help me lug some of the heavier stuff outside while you look around.”
It wasn’t a request. Cal grinned and grabbed a large box. Like everyone else in Perdue, he jumped when Bo barked. Besides being one of the two county commissioners, she collected secrets the way some women collect recipes, and delighted in the fact she held most of the town residents “by the short hairs,” as she put it.
While Cal toted and Bo supervised, I wended my way through what had to be several decades’ worth of accumulated treasures, trash and junk. There was no apparent order. It reminded me of a childhood friend’s attic. Tina and I had spent many a rainy Saturday exploring the possessions of three generations, peeling away layers little by little, the books and clothes and furniture getting older and older the further we dug. Tina, not surprisingly, went on to become an archeologist.
I lusted after a six-foot tall bookcase with glass doors, sneezed my way through a waist-high stack of yellowed magazines, mostly the Saturday Evening Post and National Geographic, and ran my fingers along the intricate carving of twining vines that decorated the lid of a trunk big enough to serve as a child’s coffin.
At the very rear of the big room, I found—it.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered reverently, kneeling before it.
Solid mahogany, and a swipe with my thumb was all it took to reveal the gleaming beauty that lay hidden but undimmed beneath a thick layer of dust. Stacks of cardboard boxes hid the desktop, but the drawers were mine to explore. Tarnished brass rings dangled enticingly, and I glanced over my shoulder with a twinge of guilt before pulling the first one. I needed to see if the drawers still opened smoothly, but I didn’t want Bo to think I was snooping. Not to worry. I could hear her chatting with Cal, but the mounds of junk hid them from my sight. And me from theirs.
The first drawer contained nothing but a cobweb, and I closed it hurriedly in case the web’s architect was still in residence. The second drawer, deeper than the first (perfect for holding paper supplies and manuscript pages) was empty as well. Only the long middle drawer that stretched across the kneehole was anything but bare, and all it held was an old Bible.
I stood up, my excitement fading in the face of harsh reality. It didn’t take the expertise of an antique dealer to know the desk was worth a fortune. And though I was more financially comfortable than I had ever been in my life, it was way out of my price range. But oh, to have such a desk! I could already picture my computer sitting regally atop the polished wood, my second bedroom cleared of unpacked boxes left over from my move to Perdue and set up as a real office. The desk would center nicely below the large window, affording me a view of my beloved backyard, the sun shining through the leaves of the maple tree…
Stop it, I told myself firmly. You want a desk? Buy one at K-Mart. Particle board will hold a computer just as well as mahogany, won’t it?
I gave the desk one last, loving stroke and squeezed my way back to the front of the house, not bothering to examine anything else along the way. My depression was enhanced by the chill of the room, the cold numbing my mood along with my bones.
I was amazed to see how much Cal had accomplished in such a short time, until a glance at my watch informed me that we had been here for well over two hours. Another twinge of guilt. All that work on one, measly peanut butter sandwich. But he looked cheerful enough as he emerged from behind a dilapidated chest of drawers, pointing out the peeling veneer to Bo, who nodded agreement.
“Right, then, I’ll have it chopped up for firewood. Well, hello, gal,” she said, spotting me. “Any luck? Say, if that face gets any longer, you’ll be sweeping the floor with your chin. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “You’ve got some terrific stuff here, Bo. You’re going to pull in big bucks at the sale.”
She snorted. “Money’s the least of my worries. Just time to get rid of all this. Past time. So what caught your fancy? Something Cal can help you carry?”
“Cal couldn’t begin to lift it,” I said. “Doesn’t matter, though, because I couldn’t afford it anyway. Cal, I guess you’d better be getting back to work, hadn’t you? Sorry I stayed so long.”
Bo raised a hand. “Hold your hosses, gal. What is it you think you can’t afford? Maybe I can cut you a deal.”
I swallowed painfully, unwilling to even talk about it. The sooner it was out of my mind, the better. But she kept after me until I finally told her.
Her face darkened. “That big desk? Way in the back?”
I nodded. “Mahogany. I’d advise you to contact a dealer about it, Bo. Don’t stick something like that in a yard sale.”
“You can have it,” she said, her words clipped. “Gratis. Cal, take a look and see how much help we’ll need to get it out of here.”
My head was spinning, a combination of disbelief, consternation and utter joy. Consternation took the forefront. “Bo, you don’t know what you’re saying. It’s worth hundreds of dollars, maybe even thousands. I couldn’t let you—”
“You could and you will. I don’t want it…don’t ever care to see it again, to tell the truth. Hope you’re plannin’ to put it out of sight somewhere, or I just might not even come visit you anymore.” Her voice was harsh. “I hate the damned thing.”
“But why?”
She squinted at me and seemed to snap back into focus, grinning like the old Bo. “Makes no difference why, does it? You got yourself a desk. For pity’s sake, child, you’re trembling. And no wonder. Them sweat suits are right comfy, but a coat on top would help. Don’t tell me you’ve lived here since May and still haven’t bought yourself a decent coat.”
“Didn’t need one up ’til now,” I retorted. I looked around the room and noticed, for the first time, that a fireplace was lodged in the western wall. Cal’s labors had cleared away the junk that had hidden it before. “Well, for heaven’s sake, Bo. Weren’t you just saying you were planning to break up that old chest for firewood? I’ll make a deal with you.” I gestured at the fireplace. “If you’ll burn it now and get this house warmed up, I’ll stay here all afternoon and help you work. You can pick me up later, right, Cal?”
“Sure. I’ll even take an ax to the chest, Bo, and get the fire started for you before I—”
“No!” Bo planted her back against the chest as if willing to protect it with her life.
Cal looked as startled as I felt. “Sorry, Bo, did I misunderstand? I won’t bust it up if you don’t want me to.”
Her tense shoulders slumped and she let out a bark of laughter. “Didn’t mean to snarl at you. All I meant was, it wouldn’t be a good idea to use that fireplace. Hasn’t been cleaned in over thirty years and there’s no tellin’ what kind of critters mighta built nests in there. But Taylor did remind me to be a better hostess than I’ve been. Tell ya what, I’ll run up to the house and make us a thermos of hot chocolate. It’ll warm you up for the drive back to town, at least.”
“Think she’s trying to get rid of us?” I asked Cal as she slammed the door behind her.
“I’d just as soon she was,” he replied, flexing his back. “Didn’t wake up this morning with this kind of activity in mind.”
I felt myself blush, remembering the activity he had had in mind. “Want to see my desk?”
“Sure.”
We maneuvered back through the piles and stood before it. Cal let out a low whistle.
“It’ll take the whole Perdue football team to get this outta here. And somebody’s pickup. A big pickup.”
“But isn’t it beautiful?” I asked dreamily.
“I refuse to agree with that until I make sure I’m not the one who’s going to be wrestling with it. I think I’ve done enough lifting for one day. Hell, for a week.”
“Well, I haven’t. Cal, really, I’d like to stay and help for a while. A woman in her eighties can’t be moving this heavy stuff around. You really wouldn’t mind coming back for me this evening?”
He smiled. “Bribe me.”
I did, but not for as long as I would have liked. We were interrupted when I gave a mighty sneeze, and not from the dust this time. “Crap, I think I’m catching a cold. Cal, we’ve got to get some heat in here. My fingers won’t even bend anymore.”
“Okay, let’s see what I can do.”
We traipsed back to the fireplace. Cal got down on his knees and craned his neck to peer up the chimney. “I’d say she’s right. There’s definitely something blocking the sunlight.”
“Can’t you get it out? Would this help?” I handed him a broom.
“We’ll give it a try.” He poked the broom handle up the opening and jiggled it. Something clattered to the hearth but was swallowed up by the mound of dusty ashes before I could see what it was.
“I’d better clean this out,” I said, and found a flat sheet of cardboard which I used to begin scooping away ashes, depositing them in a trash bag. While I was working, Cal decided he needed his flashlight and went out to the patrol car to fetch it.
Men, I thought, exasperated. A man will mess around for hours and never get the damn fire started, and I’m freezing my butt off. I picked up the broom and went to work on the chimney, muttering to myself. “Why on earth he thinks he has to see something…poke…in order to be able to get it loose…prod…is something I’ll never…grunt…understand.” The obstruction gave way, tumbling out onto the metal grating that my scooping had uncovered. I looked up to see Cal, accompanied by Bo, standing in the doorway.
Cal dropped his flashlight, Bo her thermos bottle.
“Holy shit,” said Cal.
Bo said nothing. As if in slow motion, she slithered down to join her broken thermos on the dirty floor.
From amid the jumble of bones, a skull gazed up at us, its jaw agape as if in surprise.
IF THE SKULL’S expression was indeed one of surprise, then the two of us had something in common. Make that the three of us. Cal hadn’t moved from the doorway, not even to check on Bo.
“Holy shit,” he repeated.
“Uh-huh,” I agreed weakly. The thing’s empty eye sockets stared back at me, and a gold incisor twinkled through the soot coating its teeth.
Bo groaned. The sound broke our horrified trance, and we both rushed to kneel beside her.
Cal lifted her wrist, checked her pulse. “Taylor, use the squad car’s radio and call for an ambulance.”
Bo clutched at my sleeve as I tried to rise. “Don’t,” she croaked. “I’m okay. Just help me sit up.”
We complied, bearing her not insignificant weight between us. She glanced at the collection of bones littering the fireplace, shuddered, and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t believe it,” she said, so softly we had to lean closer to hear her. “It’s just like him, though. After all these years, still causing me grief.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you know who it is?”
She glared at him. “Well, of course I do. It’s my husband, Ralph. My late husband. Of course I was never sure until now that he was really dead.”
Cal and I looked at each other.
“She’s in shock,” he murmured. “Doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
Bo jerked her arm from his grasp and, using me as a brace, pushed herself to her feet.
“I know exactly what I’m saying, youngster, and I’ll thank you not to talk over my head as if I’m deaf or dotty.” She trembled, but remained standing, one hand still clutching my shoulder for balance.
“I’m sorry,” Cal soothed. “Didn’t mean to imply any such thing. But if you won’t let me call for an ambulance, I’m at least going to insist you let us get you back to the house. It’s too friggin’ cold out here for any of us.”
She gave in. “Bourbon,” she said. “That’s what we all need. Nothin’ like a swig of good whiskey to warm a body up.”
But once we got her inside the big farmhouse, Cal had me brew a pot of tea instead, and forced her to drink two cups of it.
“Gaaa,” she said, choking down the second dose. “Never did like sweet tea.”
“The sugar offsets shock,” Cal reminded her. “And it seems to have worked. Your color is coming back.”
“Good.” She got up from the kitchen table and rummaged in a cabinet. “Now I’ll take an antidote for the cure.” She poured us each a shot of whiskey, then drained her own and was pouring another before I had taken the first sip of mine.
I didn’t care much for the taste of bourbon, but the effect was worth the initial bitterness. A shaft of heat followed the liquor down my throat, spreading to warm my fingers and toes and relaxing the tense muscles in my neck.
Cal pushed his glass aside, still full. “I need to ask you some questions,” he told Bo.
“I ’spect you do at that.” She leaned back in her chair and propped sneakered feet on the worn tabletop. “Thing is, I don’t know what to tell you. I have no idea what he’s doing there.”
“Are you sure it’s your husband?” I blurted.
“It’s him all right. Didn’t you see the gold tooth? Ralph’s pride and joy that damned tooth, not that he’d ever admit to anything as sinful as pride.”
Cal drummed his fingers on the table. “You said something about not being sure he was dead until now. What did you mean by that? I thought you’d been widowed for years.”
“I have. Sort of. Oh, Lord, it’s a long story. You’ve lived here most of your life, Cal, so it’s hard to believe you haven’t heard most of it before.”
“Can’t say I have.”
Bo gave a short laugh. “Guess everyone’s moved on to other gossip by now. It has been thirty-five years after all.” She sobered. “Still feels like yesterday to me.”
“What happened?” I asked gently.
She dug a filterless Camel from her shirt pocket and lit it, then offered one to me. I declined, opting for one of my own ultra-lights. Our smoke mingled above the table as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.
“Thirty-five years ago today,” she said, “Ralph Posey ran off.” Her eyes popped open. “Well, that’s what I thought at the time anyway. That’s what everybody thought. He took a bunch of cash from the church safe and left in the dead of night. No one ever heard from him again.”
“He stole money from a church?” I’m not what you’d call a religious person, but the thought shocked me.
“His own church to boot.” She grimaced. “He was a preacher. The theft didn’t set too well with his congregation, but at least most of them were better off than he left me. I had to wait seven years before I could have him declared legally dead.” She shook her head. “Never thought of looking up the chimney. Sure would’ve saved myself a tough seven years.”
“It must’ve been very hard on you,” I murmured, patting her hand.
She gazed at me for a moment, and then grinned broadly. “You’re a sweet gal, but I think you’re offering sympathy for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was gone, wish he’d left sooner. I hated that bastard.”
I gasped.
Cal’s eyebrows shot up like startled geese.
“The hard part was that our bank account was in his name. Status quo for the 1950s, Taylor. Count your lucky stars you’re living in a liberated age. I couldn’t get my hands on a single penny for those seven long years it took to get myself officially widowed. And me with a seventeen-year-old daughter who wanted to go to college.”
“What did you do? How did you live?”
“By the skin of my teeth. My Pop had given me some oil stock when I turned twenty-one, and I still had it tucked away. Ralph didn’t know about it, though I can’t imagine why I never told him during those early days of our marriage. I was so besotted with the son-of-a-bitch, I’m surprised I didn’t lay the stupid stock certificate at his feet. Sure gave him everything else I owned, and then some.” She mashed out her cigarette, lit another.
“That stock was worth about five thousand dollars. Doesn’t sound like much, does it? But it didn’t cost as much to live back then either. This house was paid for, which was a blessing, so all I had to come up with was tax money. My daughter, Faith, had a scholarship to Texas Tech, but I sent her some cash to pay for books and extras.
“The rest of the money I used to buy old Sammy Haskell’s grocery store. Worked out for both of us. He was old and tired, wanted to retire and spend the rest of his days with a fishin’ pole. I needed a way to make some money to see Faith and me through the lean years. Wasn’t easy, let me tell you. Sammy had let the store go to hell in a hand basket. I had to kill the rats before I could even restock.” She sighed. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it was to know that nearly fifty thousand dollars was just sitting in the bank and I couldn’t get my hands on it.”
Cal whistled. “Fifty grand was a lot of money back then.”
“A fortune,” she agreed. “Pop had given me a generous dowry. Ralph used what he needed to build the church, then tucked the rest into a bank account and left it there. We lived like paupers. Poor as church mice, you’ve heard that expression? Well, we lived like the fleas on those mice. Good thing he considered gardening the Lord’s own work or we might have starved to death.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
She curled her lip. “Avoiding the sin of avarice, my dear.”
Cal shook himself and got to his feet. “I’ve got to call Doc.”
I looked at him. “Doc Neil? Why?”
“He’s the county coroner, Taylor, and we’ve got a dead body out there. I’ve let procedure slide for too long as it is.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’d better get in touch with the Lubbock County Sheriff’s Office while I’m at it. Our crime scene kit consists of a few paper bags and a pair of tweezers.”
“Crime scene?” I glanced at Bo, but she was staring off into the middle distance.
Cal sighed. “Yeah, Taylor, a crime scene. We can pretty much rule out suicide, in my humble opinion, unless you think Ralph Posey stuffed himself up the chimney and stayed there until he suffocated.” He laid his hand atop Bo’s and she flinched. “Got any ideas about who could’ve killed him, Bo? Any enemies that you know of?”
She broke into a hearty laugh. “Enemies? He had ’em, plenty of ’em. And I’ll tell you something right now, Cal Arnette. I was number one on the list.”
“I’ve already gathered that,” he said, and left the kitchen.
I glanced heavenward. “That wasn’t the brightest thing you’ve ever said, Bo.”
“Somebody else would’ve told him if I hadn’t. It was no secret that I detested Ralph Posey.”
“I don’t get it. If you hated him as much as you say, why didn’t you just divorce him?”
She shook her head. “Spoken like a woman of modern times. There was no such thing back then as ‘just a divorce.’ Divorce was a dirty word.” Her shoulders slumped. “Taylor, if you don’t mind, I’m about talked out. Think I’ll go stretch out on the bed for a while.”
I felt terrible for not having suggested it myself. It was easy to forget how old Bo was. She had the energy and spunk of a much younger person. “Good idea, Bo. I’ll go check on Cal.” I stood up, hesitated, hardly knowing what to say. This was a long way from the normal condolence call. “If you need anything.…”
“I’ll let you know,” she said wearily and looked away, summarily dismissing me.
I found Cal back at the little house, crouched by the fireplace. He gestured for me to join him. “Careful, we’ve already messed this up enough. Did you notice that before?” He directed his flashlight beam into the opening, and I caught a glint of dull metal.
I leaned a little closer, careful not to disturb the bones, and saw a small shovel propped against the rear bricks of the chimney. “No, I didn’t. Where did it come from?”
He stood up, dusting off his hands. “I’m guessing it was up in the chimney along with the body. Don’t know if it fell out when the skeleton did and we just didn’t notice it until now, or if it fell out later while we were up at Bo’s house.”