Bones to Pick Read online

  My aunt checked on the charcoal grill out back and reported the coals were perfect. “I’ll start the steaks. No point dillydallying. I’m starved. What’s your pleasure boys—rare, medium rare, or ruined?”

  Paint and Andy answered “rare” in unison. Their true preferences or my aunt’s not-so-subtle nudge? Who knew?

  When Eva exited to mind the steaks, I shooed our guests outdoors to keep her company. She greeted them with one of her favorite jokes.

  “To a dedicated carnivore like me, there’s nothing like the smell of meat sizzling on a grill,” she began. “Always wonder if Brie’s stomach starts to rumble whenever I mow the lawn.”

  Cheeses. I shook my head and closed the door, glad to have the small kitchen to myself as I plated my contributions and carried them to the table.

  The dinner chatter started off light and teasing. Paint talked about the bearded dude he’d hired to play a moonshiner in a series of TV commercials. When the guy showed up for his audition in dirty bib overalls with what looked like sprigs of moss stuck in his whiskers, Paint was sold.

  Andy entertained with his tales of daring-do, diagnosing an ailing pet python—his first serpent patient. “Give me a goat or pig any day.” He laughed. “It’s hard to feel warm and fuzzy about reptiles.”

  No one mentioned skeletons, the sheriff, search warrants, or Eli Watson’s threats. A perfect escapist evening until Andy commented on my car’s early afternoon whereabouts.

  “Brie, I saw your Prius parked in front of Hands On this afternoon.”

  “My Prius?” A stupid question, but I was stalling.

  “Sure, nobody could miss your ‘MeChef’ license plate. You didn’t run into Nancy Watson, did you? She works there.”

  Eva dropped her knife mid-slice. It clattered on her plate. She gave me her evil stink eye. “Do tell, Brie. What were you doing at Hands On? I’ve never seen you with a manicure, and I don’t see one now. You knew that witch worked there. Mollye Camp told you.”

  Uh-oh. Caught pink toe-nailed. I shrugged. “No biggie. Got a pedicure. Very relaxing.” Until Nancy figured out I was a Hooker.

  Aunt Eva wasn’t about to end her beady-eyed interrogation. “Did you speak with Nancy?”

  “Uh, yes. She did my pedicure.”

  “And you just chatted about the Kardashian girls and traded recipes for cheese grits, right?” Eva sniped.

  “If you must know, it was Lady Gaga and Pit Bull.”

  “Come on, give, girl. What happened?”

  I sent a pleading look toward our male dining companions, hoping they might run interference. The cowards left me on my own.

  “My toenails really needed—”

  “Don’t even.”

  “Nothing worth mentioning. I wanted a firsthand look at the woman. Wanted to see if she seemed capable of killing and burying a two-hundred-pound man all by her lonesome.”

  “And your conclusion?” Eva prodded.

  “She has a hot temper and impressive, flinty strength for her size. I know Jed was murdered when she was decades younger, but she’d still have needed help putting him in the ground. She’s no dimwit. On her own, it would have taken her hours to bury his corpse. Even at night, playing lone gravedigger would have been a risky proposition with your cabin so close.”

  “You’re making a bad assumption,” Eva said. “What if the cabin was empty, no one home? As soon as Jed took off on what would be his last fishing expedition, I hightailed it. Just wanted to get the hell away.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Jed drove off in his truck, but I had my old Fairlane. I rounded up our hound dog, Butch. Back then we grew cotton, so I didn’t have to worry about leaving any other animals. Didn’t know when I’d come back—if I’d come back.”

  “How long were you gone?” Paint asked.

  Eva closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t have more than a dollar or two. Stopped at a campground and slept in my car. Wasn’t eager for anyone to see me, what with a black eye and a swollen jaw. I was only gone the one night and didn’t speak to a soul. I was preoccupied, wondering the best way to go about divorcing Jed’s sorry butt.”

  “Dang,” I said. “That could have been an alibi.”

  She shrugged. “No one knows when Jed died, so there’s no such thing as an alibi. He could have been killed the day he went fishing. Or the next day or a month later.”

  “Guess you’re right,” I agreed reluctantly. “It’s not like testing decades’ old bones can tell anyone precisely when they were buried.”

  Eva sighed. “We don’t even know where he died. Maybe he tussled with his killer on the farm. Or maybe he was murdered on the river and his killer carted his body back here.”

  Since the topic of Jed’s murder had been broached, I filled Paint and Andy in on the sheriff’s search of Udderly property.

  “They took your shotgun, Eva?” Andy asked, alarm evident in his voice. “What if Mark decides to visit tonight?”

  My pulse skyrocketed. “Mark?” Alarm made my voice go up an octave.

  Eva laughed.

  Then I remembered. “Oh, right, Mark’s that wily old coyote.”

  My aunt nodded. “Yep. He haunts the creek along the edge of our property. Lilly named the critter Mark after the umpteenth time she heard me swear, ‘Mark my words, that coyote’s dead.’ In the past two years, he’s cost us four goats and one beautiful guard dog.”

  We were seated boy-girl at the small dining table. Eva patted Andy’s hand. “Don’t you worry. Miss Brie wasn’t the only one to go on an afternoon walkabout. I stopped by a pawnshop. Got me a new—well, new to me—rifle, Ranch, Mini-14, stainless steel with a wooden stock, two twenty-round magazines and a fifty-round box of .223 shells. I can deliver twenty rounds as fast as I can pull the trigger. I’m ready for Mark or any two-legged critter that comes prowling ’round here.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to spend the night?” Paint asked. “Be glad to sleep on the couch. I doubt Eli will bother you, but seeing my truck here would give him pause.”

  “What?” Andy exclaimed. “Did Eli Watson threaten you?”

  I gave a short replay of my flea market adventures.

  Andy shook his head. “That is one sorry specimen. Eli keeps a pit bull chained in his yard. Dog’s hooked with a logging chain. Sheet of plywood for shelter. No water half the time. Keeps just enough weight on the animal to keep the Humane Society off his case. Not a blade of grass left from that poor animal’s frustrated prowling. Damn, I wish South Carolina would make it illegal to chain dogs, but I don’t have a lot of hope.”

  Since we were well into the murder topic, I figured I might as well do some fishing of my own.

  “You two grew up here.” I looked at Andy, then turned to Paint. “That gives you both a leg up on knowing Ardon County bad seeds—male and female. Who would you nominate as Jed’s killer?”

  Eva smiled. “Feel free to name anyone but me, boys.”

  Andy glanced at Paint, who nodded. “Sure, we’ve talked about it. Asked our dads what they thought. Consensus is the killer was either some pissed-off Watson kin, one of the buddies Jed boozed, gambled and whored with, or a jilted hussy he made promises to with no intention of keeping a one of them.” He stopped, bit his lip, and looked down. “Pardon me, Eva.”

  “No pardon needed, Andy. I found out what Jed did, who he really was, a few months after I married him. A few months too late.”

  “Any hussies—besides Nancy—would have the same problems with body disposal,” I said. “Who were Jed’s boozing buddies?”

  “Dad only remembers two of them,” Paint said. “One is Bubba Deacon. He’s serving a thirty-year stretch in Broad River prison for felony murder. Store clerk got killed in the shoot-out. Then there’s Aaron West. He’s a deputy, probably tagged along with Sheriff Jones when he searched your place tod
ay. Skinny, balding, crooked teeth. See him?”

  I was about to answer when flashes of blue light painted the window beside our table. Crap. Had to be the sheriff or his flunkies. Why was he back?

  Eva left the table and opened the front door before Sheriff Jones finished stomping up the stairs. The scrawny guy standing behind him fit Paint’s description of Deputy West, though he hadn’t mentioned how scary those crooked yellow teeth looked when the man bit his lip.

  Paint, Andy, and I took up positions flanking my aunt. We weren’t about to let the lawmen bully her.

  Sheriff Jones pushed in. “I need to speak to Brie Hooker.”

  Huh? I swallowed. What could the sheriff want with me? That third glass of wine—one beyond my usual limit—suddenly felt warm and accusing in my stomach. I felt a tad tipsy and light-headed.

  “Come in,” Eva said. “State your business and let’s get this over with.”

  The sheriff stared at me. “You’re Brie Hooker, right? You need to answer some questions. Where were you this afternoon?”

  “Why is it any of your business?” Andy jumped in.

  “She doesn’t have to answer,” Paint added. “You know, the right to remain silent and all.”

  I appreciated the moral support, but I had nothing to hide. My guess was Nancy Watson had concocted some phony baloney story that I’d threatened her. Might as well answer his stupid questions and get the jerk out of Eva’s hair.

  I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. “I had an uneventful afternoon, Sheriff. I left Udderly about two thirty and drove to the Hands On salon for a pedicure. A three o’clock appointment. Afterward, I shopped for groceries at Publix in Clemson and stopped at Dee’s Bakery for a loaf of bread. I arrived back on the farm about six.”

  “The Hands On receptionist says you gave a fake name. Pretended to be someone else. Why?”

  Spam in a Can. “No harm, no foul. Just didn’t want to stir up unnecessary trouble. I’d heard Nancy wasn’t on the best of terms with Eva, and I saw no reason to announce I was kin.”

  “But she found out, didn’t she? You had a heated argument with Nancy Watson outside Hands On.”

  I shrugged. “Not exactly an argument. Mrs. Watson did all the yelling. I just listened. Why?”

  I hazarded a glance at the deputy, wondering if his expression would give me any clues. Deputy Snaggletooth was staring at my boobs.

  “Nancy Watson is dead. Poisoned by the look of it. Autopsy will give us a definite answer. I hear tell your father, Howard Hooker, keeps some fancy garden on this farm, one filled with poisonous plants. Is that true?”

  My mouth gaped open like a steamed clam. I couldn’t quite get enough oxygen. Mom’s words of wisdom swirled through my brain—“only idiots talk to police without a lawyer and help dig their own graves.” I felt the shovel in my hands.

  I’d shut my trap. Not another word.

  Eva stepped between Sheriff Jones and me. Ramrod straight, she looked ready to sock him. “Sheriff, my niece has nothing to do with whatever happened to that trash. Sounds like you’re leaping to mighty stupid conclusions. The floozy probably overdosed. Wouldn’t doubt she did drugs. You should leave. Now. Any more questions, contact our lawyer, Iris Hooker.”

  Thank you, Aunt Eva—though it might have been better if she hadn’t called the deceased a floozy and the sheriff stupid. Too bad I couldn’t manage to suck in enough air to tell off Jones myself.

  The sheriff’s smile chilled me. “We’ll be in touch with Miss Hooker’s lawyer,” he drawled. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to stare down my aunt. “I was about to ask your whereabouts this afternoon. But I have the feeling you won’t answer. You’ll hide behind your mouthpiece, too. Believe me, you’ll both answer eventually. Answer for everything.”

  Deputy West trailed the sheriff. He glanced back over his shoulder long enough for his creepy gaze to rove over my body. His lips curled back imprinting the sorry image of his crisscrossed choppers on my brain. Eva slammed the door. Relief.

  My aunt sank into the nearest chair. “Aren’t you boys glad you stayed for the floor show? Normally, we charge extra for the entertainment, and it doesn’t start until after dessert’s served. You made dessert, right, Brie?” Trembling hands betrayed her brave words.

  If Aunt Eva could pretend she was fearless, so could I. “Pumpkin brownies coming up,” I said. “Who wants coffee?”

  As if any of us would need caffeine to stay awake tonight.

  Who killed Nancy Watson? And why?

  Tomorrow I’d quiz Eva, try to find out more about Jed’s possible enemies.

  FIFTEEN

  I woke up strangling my pillow, my sheets wound around my legs tighter than a mummy’s shroud. A bad night tossing and turning. My room was blacker than dark chocolate. Could it really be morning? The alarm’s insistent buzz said it didn’t matter. I had to get out of bed.

  A long day ahead, and Eva needed help.

  A stiff wind rattled the cabin’s windows. A strong incentive to slip on jeans, wool socks, a heavy sweater, and a down jacket. It might be spring, but it would be hours before any of the farm’s breathing occupants saw forty degrees.

  I peeked in Eva’s bedroom. Empty. Already up and at ’em. Did she ever sleep in? Foregoing a much needed mug of coffee, I forced myself to hustle to the milking barn where Orville and Frank, the Clemson Ag part-timers, greeted me.

  Frank grinned. “Your aunt’s playing midwife at the horse barn.”

  The horse barn sat catty-corner to the milking barn and housed Eva’s horse and Lilly’s mule. Unfortunately, Mollye’s Shetland ponies had long since gone to their ultimate green pastures, and my aunts had quit boarding horses as their goat herd grew. That meant the two remaining equines often had a Noah’s ark collection of roommates in need of temporary housing. Newborn critters and their mamas got first shot at the barn condo. Pushing hard on the warped barn door, I almost toppled when it gave way.

  Eva knelt beside a bleating black nanny.

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Two.” Eva’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Come meet them.”

  One kid was already swaddled in a colorful wrapper Eva’d knit last winter. Her creations were unique. Her motto: “Goats don’t care if the colors clash.”

  Baby number two was still wet; the afterbirth glop washed away. Eva was warming the newborn with a hair dryer to get its blood circulating.

  Watching the kids’ first attempts to stand on toothpick legs made me giggle. But assisting with the messier aspects of birth—yuck. Too bad babies weren’t actually delivered by storks.

  If I ever had babes of my own, I planned to be in a hospital, suitably drugged, with a masked-and-gloved stranger standing by for cleanup. I’m not big on pain and have a weak stomach. Maybe I’d never have kids. Hey, I hadn’t even found a candidate for Daddy.

  I knelt beside Eva. “They’re sweet, perfect. What can I do?”

  “Not much left to do here.” Focused entirely on the baby, Eva barely spared me a glance. “Go see if Orville and Frank need help with any chores.”

  Their jobs on Udderly’s crack-of-dawn milking shift included cleaning the goats’ undersides, monitoring the automated milking machines, and sterilizing equipment. Udderly’s Border collies herded the does in batches for milking. As I approached, two collies darted in and out of the scattered goats, encouraging dawdling does to head to milking stalls.

  Dawn had painted the thin scattering of clouds in brilliant pinks and oranges. It looked like the beginning of a clear, beautiful day—well, except for the fact that I was now a murder suspect. No matter how lovely the weather, I wondered if a tornado loomed just over the mountain peaks. Couldn’t shake my sense of dread.

  Frank looked up as I approached. “How’s our new mama?”

  “Just fine. Two healthy babes. Would you or Orville like some hel
p?”

  “I’m fine. How about helping Orville with his egg treasure hunt?”

  “Will do.” I smiled though I’d have preferred a toasty warm, indoor assignment.

  Our free-range feathered menagerie included a pair of peacocks, a few Muscovy ducks, a rooster, and a flock of egg-laying hens. The females were far more devious than the Easter Bunny in hiding eggs. The irony of wandering through hoar frost foraging for eggs I wouldn’t eat wasn’t lost on this vegan.

  An hour later, I held a mug of hot coffee against my frozen cheek. Once feeling returned to my face—my nether cheeks were on their own—I started whipping up a batch of egg-free banana and coconut cream batter for French toast. The bread sizzled in coconut oil while I crisped bacon in a separate pan for the meat eaters. Everyone but me.

  Gravel skittering in the drive announced my folks’ arrival. I’d phoned them last night, describing Sheriff Jones’ accusations and threats. Dad was apoplectic that anyone could consider his only daughter a murder suspect. I’d rarely heard him cuss before. He put words together with great creativity. Mom, who couldn’t abide foul language, didn’t even scold him. Maybe I should share some of my cheesy options with Dad. I had the feeling there’d be plenty more occasions to cuss in the days ahead.

  Mom barreled into the cabin without knocking. Her embrace squeezed the breath out of me. Then Dad tagged in with a crushing papa bear hug.

  “Oh, Honey, I can’t believe that dipwad sheriff questioned you like a common criminal,” Dad began.

  Mom nodded. “I might have given Sheriff Jones a pass for doing his job, if he hadn’t said you and Eva would answer for your sins. He has an agenda, and finding the truth isn’t on it. But, Brie, you didn’t help matters, traipsing off to Hands On and pretending you were someone else. What were you thinking?”

  The expected rebuke still stung. “Yep, in hindsight that appears lame. Of course, I never expected Nancy to drop dead.”

  Eva joined the group and shared in a round of hugs before breaking free. “Let’s eat, I’m starved. We can talk over breakfast.”