Bones to Pick Read online

Eva walked out from behind the milking barn, wiping her hands on the coarse apron she wore over her jeans. “Did Paint find you?”

  “Yes, didn’t you get my text?”

  Aunt Eva chuckled. “Honey, I don’t text. It takes a lot less time to call someone and state your business. Even if I were inclined to text, my hands spend a lot of time in places where, well, use your imagination, if I touched a phone, you wouldn’t want to drop it in your purse.”

  “Yuck, you’re right. I texted to thank you for sending Paint. I was lucky. No reporter showed up and not a single customer mentioned that nasty story in the Ardon Chronicle.”

  “Folks probably headed to the flea market before they read the paper. Still, I didn’t want you ambushed by that loathsome Allie Gerome. Would have been just like her to send a reporter to bait you until she provoked a quote to pull out of context. Just that pusillanimous polecat’s style.”

  I laughed. Always tickled me when Eva applied her “pusillanimous polecat” label. Took me back to childhood visits with my aunts. I’d sit between them holding a big bowl of buttered popcorn as we watched DVDs of old-timey Westerns. Gabby Hayes, who appeared as a sidekick in half the shoot-’em-ups, regularly worked “pusillanimous polecat” into his descriptions of villains. Eva also loved to call me a “young whippersnapper,” another of Gabby’s sayings. If I’d stayed longer with my aunts, I’d have thought whippersnapper was my name.

  A look at Eva’s face erased my amusement. Red blotches colored her cheeks. Her narrowed eyes looked like they could shoot daggers. I hated to tell her about Eli’s threat, but she needed to know. I gave a short, sterile version of the ogre’s visit. Tried to mask the terror I’d felt.

  “Damn him!” Eva yelled. “Hope he does come looking for trouble. South Carolina stand-your-ground laws tend to favor folks who shoot to protect their homes. Paint had it right. I’ll keep my gun handy.”

  I heard a mini-woof. My pup, Cashew, had joined the canine chorus. Soon as I scooped her up, her energetic pink tongue tickled my chin. “Hey, didn’t Aunt Eva feed you?”

  Eva huffed. “I know you’re trying to distract me and end my rant. And yes, I fed that furry little mop. When you’re not around, Cashew’s more than happy to cuddle up to me. And speaking of cuddling, Andy dropped by this morning to check on our mama goats. Now there’s a man I wouldn’t mind canoodling with if I were your age. I invited him to dinner. You can fix one of your veggie wonders.”

  I laughed. “Should be an entertaining evening. I invited Paint to dinner, too.”

  Eva hooted. “Interesting. They’re pals, and I love ’em like sons. But I saw how both of them looked at you. Should be right entertaining.”

  “You have an overactive imagination.” Even as I said it, I kind of hoped Eva was right. Both bad boy Paint and nice guy Andy had started me thinking it was time to lift my self-imposed male embargo. A full year had slipped by since I learned my fiancé was a cheating cad and ended our engagement.

  I cleared my throat. Breathe in, breathe out. Meditate. Erase those lustful visions. Going…going…sort of gone. Meditation isn’t foolproof.

  “I bought some veggies at the flea market,” I said. “So I have a start on a meal plan. But I promised Paint you’d add a carnivore option.”

  “No problem. I have a freezer full of meat—lamb, beef, chicken—everything but goat and pig. I’m a sentimental old fool, can’t eat animals I’ve called by name. Good thing I never name my hens. ’Course I’d never cook Riley Roo, my cock-of-the-walk rooster.

  “You must be starving,” she added. “Let’s go inside, grab some lunch. When I couldn’t sleep last night, I got up and listed all the chores. I know you’d rather be broiling mushrooms or turnin’ radishes into frou-frou flowers—whatever you vegan chefs get up to. So I figured least I could do is give you a say in how you spend your days—and nights.” She grinned. “The vet and the moonshiner could definitely make your nights more interesting.”

  I rolled my eyes. My aunt had zeroed in on my love life as a subject ripe for ribbing. “Did you forget about my slimy ex-fiancé? I’m doing just fine. I don’t need to be half of a couple. I’m not on some man hunt.”

  “Pish, posh,” Eva waved her hand like she was shooing away a pesky fly. “Doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. I’m the last person to push marriage. But you got rid of the jerk a year ago. You’re only young once.”

  She helped me carry in my groceries. I heated up leftover tomato basil soup while my aunt grilled a big fat cheese sandwich. Then, sitting side by side in the kitchen alcove, we went over the lengthy duty roster she’d compiled. I was delighted to see Eva’s part-time employees—Clemson Ag students—were first at bat on some of the yuckier jobs, like cleaning poop out of the milking barn.

  “Aunt Eva, don’t worry about me. I’ve spent enough time here that I have half an idea how much work it takes to run Udderly. I don’t mind most chores. Just not sure how good I’d be at some of them. Chatting with customers this morning made me realize I’m a dimwit about goat breeds and dairy production. But I’m a fast learner.”

  Eva patted my hand. “I know you are, dear.”

  The familiar sound of wheels crunching gravel prompted both of us to glance out the window. Jim and Braden barked a warning chorus. As soon as I spotted an Ardon County Sheriff’s cruiser, I knew why. This company wasn’t welcome. We pushed aside our unfinished lunches and stood as Sheriff Jones and a deputy sidekick exited their vehicle and headed for the cabin. Eva opened the door before the sheriff could knock. I stood right behind her.

  Cashew scampered to my side. Normally she played the vamp, begging any newcomer to pet her. Sensing the tension, she snarled. I picked her up and held her tight so she couldn’t nip one of the officers.

  “Miss Hooker, we have a search warrant,” Sheriff Jones said. “It covers all buildings on your property. Several officers will help with the search. You and the girl may remain on the premises, if you don’t interfere. But you’ll stay where I tell you.”

  Eva laughed. “Those bones you dug up say Jed’s been dead for decades. You think I killed him and kept souvenirs for forty years? I’m not daft. But, hey, search away.”

  TWELVE

  Eva bowed the sheriff and deputy inside—a mocking gesture. I looked out the window and saw two more cruisers pull in. What? This merited a SWAT team?

  Outside the canine chorus had reached full pitch. “I’m going out to calm the dogs. Stop me and one of your deputies is likely to have canine teeth marks on his rump.”

  The sheriff grunted but made no move to stop her.

  “Can I put my dog on the screened porch so she won’t get under foot?” I asked. The deputy who’d come inside with Jones nodded, and I carried a squirming Cashew to the back and shut her in. Her whine said she wasn’t pleased. I scooted to a corner of the porch, pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and hit speed dial for Mom, our in-family legal counsel.

  “Hell’s bells,” Mom swore. “Read that warrant and see exactly what it says, pay attention to the search limits. Tell Eva to cooperate. I’m on my way, but it’ll be half an hour before I can get there.”

  I walked outside to find Eva and share Mom’s instructions. She was kneeling, stroking the head of a large shaggy white dog. The warrant, clutched in her free hand, had been crushed into a ball.

  I asked to see it, smoothed the wrinkled paper, and scanned the legalese. The search listed guns, property deeds, diaries, and any papers related to Eva’s marriage and Jed Watson’s death.

  Guns? Did that mean Jed was shot?

  I sighed. “At least the warrant doesn’t mention computers.”

  “Oh, what a blessing.” Eva’s sarcasm was easy to understand.

  My aunt herded me back inside. Then she yanked her jacket from a peg by the door. “Stay in the cabin. I need to watch those bozos search the milking barn and dairy. Can’t let them contaminate
the milk.”

  The front door slammed behind her as she speed-walked toward the milking barn. Deputies from both cruisers were entering there, apparently an assigned starting point. We referred to the structure as the milking barn, though there were actually two buildings under one roof—the milking barn and a modern dairy processing plant filled with stainless steel vats and gizmos I hadn’t a clue how to operate.

  When I turned from the front window, Sheriff Jones and the unnamed deputy were no longer in the cabin’s main living area. I found them looking through drawers in Lilly’s—now my—bedroom. If I hadn’t felt so angry watching them finger my silk panties, I might have laughed. Their hottest find would be a stash of jalapeno pistachios—a gift from a Texas friend I didn’t plan to share.

  I leaned against the doorjamb. The sheriff sensed my presence and turned. He paused in his maul-the-undies routine and shook his head like a water-logged spaniel. Guess he finally deduced my aunt wasn’t likely to wear patterned tights or bikini briefs.

  “This your room?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He turned toward his deputy helper, who gave me a goofy smile. “Let’s move on,” the chief barked.

  They traipsed across the hall to Eva’s bedroom, and I assumed a lookout post in the doorway. Sheriff Jones’ face broke into a gleeful grin as he sighted Eva’s shotgun leaning against the wall by her desk. “Tag it and take it to the cruiser,” Jones ordered his deputy. “I’ll start on the desk.”

  He pulled out the desk’s middle drawer and dumped it on Eva’s hand-quilted spread. Ink pens and pencils, grimy pennies and nickels, scissors, and tattered business cards spilled onto the bed.

  “What are you doing?” I sputtered. “You’re ruining Eva’s quilt. Any fool can see that’s a junk drawer. No documents.”

  The sheriff pulled a scrap of paper free of the drawer debris and waved it at me. “No, missy, you’re wrong. This is a document.”

  I wanted to scream. The scrap was probably a note to self, something as incriminating as “buy cumin.”

  Inspiration struck. I pulled out my cell phone. “Go right ahead with your search, Sheriff. I’ll just snap photos and maybe a video or two. You won’t mind me posting them on Facebook and YouTube to show how conscientious you are?”

  The sheriff’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He lunged toward me, making a grab for my cell. I jumped clear and snapped another photo. “I read the warrant. Nothing about cell phones. You have no right to take this.”

  “You little…” He stopped, took a step back, and straightened his shoulders. “You’re a cheeky one. Interfere with our legal search and I’ll haul you in for obstruction.” His black eyes glittered, apparently thrilled with the idea of me behind bars.

  I was less thrilled.

  I shrugged, trying for nonchalance even as my heart pumped blood so fast I could hear it whooshing through my veins.

  “I’m just taking pictures. That’s not interfering. Go ahead with your legal search.”

  I mentally urged Mom to step on it. She’d speak softly, almost sweetly. But she’d know exactly what to say to make the sheriff’s nether regions pucker. Pucker-producing wordplay must be a mandatory course in law school. Mom sure had mastered it—a definite plus for a size-two petite.

  Deputy Goofy grinned at me as he returned from his shotgun confiscation run. “Howdy, again, ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  This fellow reminded me of an eager puppy. Big feet. Soulful eyes. Just missing the lolling tongue and wagging tail. He looked harmless and definitely lacked the sheriff’s animosity.

  “Hey, Sheriff, I fetched those big bags you wanted,” he said.

  “Well, bring ’em here, Danny,” Jones snarled.

  I snapped more photos in an attempt to document everything they carted off. At least they didn’t dump anything else on Eva’s quilt.

  The officers weren’t wearing gloves. Apparently fingerprints weren’t a consideration. The sheriff grabbed one of Eva’s photo albums and shoved it in a bag.

  “Hey,” I objected. “Those are pictures, not documents.”

  The sheriff’s lips lifted back in a parody of a smile. “I know who you are. Your mother can file her objection later. I’m betting there’s writing on the back of those photos.”

  Sheriff Jones and Danny moved on to the kitchen. I followed. “Take a look at the top of those cupboards,” Jones ordered. “Maybe she hid a diary up there.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll try not to dirty your counters,” Danny said as he shucked his muddy boots before clambering up. A thoughtful gesture though I doubted his dingy socks were much less germ proof than his size thirteen clodhoppers. The deputy still couldn’t see over the decorative rail atop the cabinets, so he waved his hand across the space, sending more than a few dust bunnies into freefall.

  I heard the front door open and looked down the hall. Mom. She had an arm around my aunt’s waist. When they walked past Eva’s bedroom, my aunt gasped. “Damn them. My grandmother made that quilt.”

  I hurried to greet them and gave each a fast hug. I proudly waved my cell phone. “I took pictures. Documented everything they took from your room.” The pained look on my aunt’s face doused my prideful glee. “Eva, I’m really sorry. They took a lot of papers, even snatched your photo albums.”

  My aunt’s lips twisted and her jaw jutted forward. A clear sign she was spoiling for a fight. I wouldn’t have been shocked to see sparks leap from her forehead.

  Mom clamped a hand on Eva’s forearm and squeezed. “Take a deep breath. Don’t say a word. I have this under control. As your lawyer, I have the right to see everything they’ve taken once it’s catalogued. I’ll force them to return anything not covered by the warrant.”

  Eva glared at the men rattling pots and pans in her kitchen cupboards. “Nobody would be here if Jed and Sheriff Jones weren’t kin,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous.”

  The cabin’s front door opened, ushering in a cold gust of wind. I shivered.

  A grinning deputy held a rifle above his head like a triumphant rebel. “Hey, Sheriff, looky what we found in the horse barn. I poked around the loft and spotted this old blaster taped to the backside of a beam. Hidden real good.”

  “Good job, West.” Sheriff Jones smiled broadly enough to show his back molars.

  “Now why d’ya suppose somebody’d hide a gun there?” Jones asked as he stopped beside my aunt. “Want to answer that question, ma’am?”

  Aunt Eva’s chest heaved. “That’s Jed’s rifle. I can see his initials on the stock. Jed took it when he left. His killer must’ve hid it up there.” Her hands curled into tight white fists. I feared she’d either sock the sheriff in the jaw or spit on him. Mom stepped between the combatants.

  “If you’re finished, please leave,” Mom said. “Now. I’m Iris Hooker, Eva Hooker’s lawyer, and I expect to see everything you’ve taken from this farm catalogued by tomorrow.”

  Sheriff Jones worked his jaw as he glared at Mom. The ultimate smirk said he welcomed her challenge.

  He tipped his hat. “Ladies, I plan to see a lot more of you. Have a good day, now. I know I will.”

  The cruisers fishtailed in the gravel and headed down the drive.

  “I’m going to go visit the Ardon County Solicitor,” Mom said. “Make sure he sees to it that Sheriff Jones doesn’t dillydally in compiling a list of what he took.”

  She hugged Eva and me, then hurried outside to her Honda. As soon as she left, Eva walked over to the cedar plank table that held the remnants of our lunch. The cheese in her sandwich had congealed into a gelatinous mass. Bloated crackers clogged the bottom of my soup bowl. Didn’t matter. We’d both lost our appetites.

  Eva picked up her plate and headed to the kitchen sink. I followed. We scraped our leftovers into a slop bucket for Tammy, our spoiled potbellied pig.

 
“Want me to call Paint and Andy?” I asked. “Cancel dinner tonight?”

  “Not on your life,” Eva barked. “There was a time I let a bully make my life miserable. Never again. I won’t cower. Won’t hide. Won’t change my life. I’m not afraid of Sheriff Jones or Eli Watson.” She straightened. “You’ve had enough drama for one day. Take the afternoon off. I’d just as soon be alone. Traipse up the hill to where I scattered Lilly’s ashes. Have a chat with Sis. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine by dinner.”

  “Any special requests for supper?”

  “I’ll thaw steaks for us meat eaters. You figure out the rest.”

  I smiled. “Will do. I’ll be home by five. Plenty of time to whip up my dinner contributions.”

  I didn’t mention my afternoon outing included a visit to a murder suspect, one I presumed would be armed with commercial-grade scissors and a stainless steel nail file. Too bad you had to take off your shoes to have a pedicure. I don’t run as fast barefoot.

  THIRTEEN

  Hands On was plunked smack dab in the middle of a down-and-out strip mall. Potholes dotted the parking lot. Discount Freddie’s occupied the building at one end, while Harry’s Hot Dogs held down the opposite corner. The small shops on either side of Hands On were vacant.

  Yet someone had paid more than a few pennies to draw attention to the Hands On storefront. A six-foot carved hand guarded the entrance. The carving’s painted nails showcased a variety of neon shades and add-on bling—initials, interlocking hearts, even a smoking gun on a thumbnail. Why wasn’t I surprised?

  I took a deep breath, silently apologized to my virgin toes, and walked inside.

  “Hiya.” I recognized the voice. Same woman who’d quizzed me over the phone. Her dirty blonde, bleached hair looked like someone’d dumped a basket of hay on her head. The rat’s nest was desert dry and ended in a cascade of split ends. Gooey, blood-red lips punctuated a puffy face. Not exactly a winning recommendation for beauty treatments.

  “You Bea?” she asked.