The coroner’s van arrived shortly after, which was good because when Santiago told me I needed to stop talking to Summer about my dad’s visit to her house, I found it very hard to do anything else. The distraction of watching the coroner examine the bones and then carefully load them into her van gave me something else to focus on. For the moment.
But as soon as Savannah and Santiago loaded up the crates of bottles and Savannah headed back into town to catalog them, I couldn’t help myself. “My dad warned you not to disturb this barn?” I asked again.
“I didn’t know he was your dad, Paisley,” she said. “Maybe I should have thought of that because of the last name, but a lot of folks around here share a name and aren’t close kin. Just look at the Shiffletts.” She blushed as she looked over at Santiago, Sheriff Shifflett. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s true, and you couldn’t have known that Lee was Paisley’s father, but now, we need to stop talking about this until I can get your statement,” Santiago said. “Have time to give it now?”
“Sure,” Summer said, “if you do.”
“Pais, could you and Mika head into town to get us a table at the inn? Summer and I will meet you all there,” Santiago said.
“Sure thing. We’ll wait in the car,” Dom said, and the two men walked Mika and me over to my Subaru. “Actually, Paisley, mind if I ride with you? I wanted to ask you some more about your business.” He winked at me. “Mika, would you mind keeping Chris company?”
I rolled my eyes, as I thought my friend would never fall for such an obvious ploy, but she said, “Sure. Sounds like fun. See you in a few, Pais,” and got right into the front seat of Chris’s huge pickup. I smiled. “I think she’s smitten,” I said to Dom as I climbed into my driver’s seat.
“I know he is,” Dom said. “I haven’t seen him smile that much in years except when Jill is around.” He drummed his hand against the dashboard. “She’ll be kind to him, right?”
“Are you kidding? Mika is the kindest person I know, to a fault sometimes. He won’t take advantage of that, will he?”
Dom shook his head. “Chris is a straight-up good guy. He’s had a hard run of it since his wife died a few years ago. Single dad. Lost his job as a chef. It was rough for a bit, but when he took what he loved – cooking with his daughter – and made it into a business, everything started to turn around.”
I smiled and thought back over the last couple years of my life – my split with Sawyer’s dad, the need to build my own business to support the two of us, a new house to care for – and I almost laughed out loud for joy. All my hard work, all the things I had dreamed and imagined, all of them had come to life. Even a sweet, kind, self-sufficient man who didn’t need me but wanted me. All of it was there, and I could absolutely understand how Chris might feel in this moment when things got so much better. I was excited for him . . . and excited for how Mika might be a part of that for him and he for her. “Good. That all sounds good,” I said. I didn’t know Dom very well, and I didn’t think it quite appropriate to put my over-hoping joy at Mika and Chris’s connection on him. At least not yet.
We rode in silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “I actually wasn’t totally BS-ing back there when I said I had questions about your business. I have this client, and she’s interested in starting a thrift store of sorts, all mid-century modern stuff, but she doesn’t know much about running a business. Any tips you’d give her?”
I smiled. “Lots. Give her my number, and we can meet up and talk. I might even be able to work with her to get merchandise.”
“Really? That’s very nice of you. I don’t want to impose, and I know she wouldn’t either,” Dom said.
I glanced over at him as I turned onto Main Street and parked up from the inn by Mika’s shop. “It’s not an imposition. I really believe in helping other women build their businesses. I’d be happy to help, especially since what she and I do are similar. I bet Summer would help, too. She’s decorated her entire house from things she picked up in thrift stores.”
“Nice. I’ll ask her.” He blushed a little around his collar and then stepped out of the car. Mika and Chris pulled up just behind us, and when they walked over, they were both laughing. “You have to get Chris to tell you the story of the first time he made mac and cheese for Jill, Pais.” She put her hand on Chris’s arm. “You’ll pee your pants.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I said, “why wouldn’t I want to hear it?” I rolled my eyes and led the way toward the inn.
We were on the early side for a weekend dinner, so it wasn’t hard for the host to find a table for six in a quiet corner. While we waited for Santiago and Summer to join us, we ordered drinks – beer for most of us and a dirty martini for me. Then we went ahead and got some stuffed mushrooms and an order of nachos as starters. It was going to be a long weekend, and it felt like we could probably all use a little extra something tonight. I knew Santiago wouldn’t mind, and I made a point to save some of both appetizers.
When he and Summer came in about a half hour later, Dom pulled out the chair next to him for Summer while I patted the one next to me for the sheriff. He kissed my cheek and looked at the small plate in front of him. “Thanks for saving some for me.” He looked at his friends. “How steep is my bill already?”
“This is my fifth beer, buddy, so get your AmEx ready,” Chris joked as he nursed his first beer.
“I had four other appetizers, but the server already took the plates,” Dom added. “You’re lucky Paisley guarded that sample with her life or you’d be missing out on the best mushrooms in the state.”
“I had to throw my body in front of them to stave off Dom’s fork, I’ll have you know,” I said. “You’re worth it, though.”
He grinned at me as he stuffed the last of his mushrooms into his mouth and then kissed me on the lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled against my mouth.
“You’re welcome,” I said with a laugh. Then, as silence descended, I made a suggestion. “Maybe tonight, we don’t talk about what – I mean, who – we found today. Would that be okay with everyone?”
Santiago squeezed my knee under the table as he nodded. “I like that plan. Any objections?”
“I move we accept Paisley’s motion,” Summer said.
“Second,” Dom added. “All in favor?”
A resounding “aye” rose up from the table, and our server must have decided it was time to get more food into us because she hustled over and took our orders.
The rest of the evening was relaxing and fun. We chatted about our jobs, about our families, and about our town. In fact, the most riled up we got was when we started talking about the high-speed internet that kept being promised by our board of supervisors but still hadn’t come in. “I tried to load a PowerPoint presentation the other day,” Santiago said, “and it said it would take forty-nine hours to load.”
I groaned. For me as a small business owner, the internet was a source of daily frustration, and for Mika, too, so we spent some time strategizing how we could put pressure on the board to get things moving.
But beyond that, we mostly laughed and drank a couple too many beers and then allowed our designated drivers to get us home – or walk us home, in the case of Chris and Mika. There was definitely something burgeoning there, and I was here for it.
Fortunately, my DD was the sheriff, and after he dropped Dom and then Summer off at their cars, we went back to my house, where we switched to hot tea and settled into the cooling evening on the porch.
Santiago was still very professional about how we discussed his cases, and he never revealed anything, even to me, that would put his investigations or someone else’s privacy in danger. But we had come to a place in our relationship where I was, as he said, his sounding board when he needed to figure something out.
Tonight, he needed to do a lot of figuring, so I sipped my tea and listened.
“That body had been there a long time. Decades, right? I mean you said some of those bottles were from the late 1800s.”
I nodded and sipped. I’d learned over the past few months that he knew most of the answers to his own questions, and it was best if I simply gave him someone to share his thoughts with.
“The question, I guess, is whether the body was above those bottles or below them. I suppose we should have been keeping things in the order in which they came out of the hole, but how could we know we’d need to do that?” His face had taken on the distant gaze I recognized as his “thinking expression.”
As he stared out across the wildflower meadow below my house, I studied his face. He was handsome in a quiet way: strong jaw, wonderful black hair, a soft mouth. But he wasn’t one that would be on magazine pages; instead, it was the face of someone you trusted, which of course was perfect in his role as sheriff, especially in a community that distrusted authority for a variety of reasons. He had fought hard to get where he was, and he kept fighting to keep not only his position as an elected officer but to actually serve the community he loved. That’s one of the things I loved about him.
I cleared my throat as I realized that my thoughts had turned to love, something I wasn’t quite ready to confess yet, but fortunately, Santiago didn’t seem to notice because he turned to me and said, “Is there a way to date glass?”
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t know the specifics, but I know the way it was made matters and so does the top. I can get some resources together and come over tomorrow and help you sort them by date if that would help.”
He nodded. “I think it would. I know that we don’t know exactly where in the pit we were when Mika found the man’s skull, but I think having some sense of how old things are might help us find out how he ended up there.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Is it possible that someone just tried to bury a person who died naturally there?” Even as I said the words, I realized how ridiculous that sounded, especially if the body was from a time when people buried their loved ones, often in their own backyards.
Santiago grinned. “Not likely, Pais, but I appreciate that you are not thinking the worst about whoever did this. That’s a fresh perspective.” He sighed. “Sadly, though, I think we’re probably looking at a death that someone wanted to keep hidden, and well hidden, too.”
I dropped my head. “I figured that was the case, but you know me, always hopeful.” I looked up and smiled at my boyfriend.
“That’s one of the reasons I lo— I like you so much,” Santiago said as a blush came to his cheeks. “You are amazing,” he whispered as he leaned over and kissed me.
I tried to slow my heart rate as I thought about the word he almost said, but the tenderness of his kiss made that completely impossible.
The next day I woke to one of those early fall mornings that steal my breath every year. It was only fifty degrees, and the warmth of the sun was lifting steam off the roof of the chicken coop when I went out to see the girls. Their eggs were wonderfully warm against my hand, and I went right back in and cooked up a great omelet for myself before heading into town for my usual Saturday work day at Mika’s shop. It was early, so she wasn’t even open yet. But I knew my friend, and sure enough, the door was unlocked and the coffee was brewed.
She was knitting and listening to music in one of the chairs in the Cozy Nook, and when she heard the door open, she smiled and slid the insulated carafe of coffee across the table toward my seat. I had lots of work to do, and I had told Santiago I’d be over at ten to look at the bottles with him. But I made the executive decision as the CEO of my business to spend this hour sewing with my friend. I took out my latest cross-stitch project and began to stitch.
I had decided to get ambitious, since my last project had been mostly a one-color bull dozer for Sawyer’s room. This time, I was taking on a project by my favorite designer, Teresa Wentzler. It was her Father Winter pattern, and it included a ton of tiny stitches and blended threads, so the piece was a challenge. But I loved the idea of having it – with the name of our farmhouse, Sanctuary – stitched into the bottom panel so I could hang it by the fireplace this winter. Or next winter. Probably next winter at this rate.
I picked up a bobbin of light pink thread and found the corresponding lavender color to blend as Mika whizzed through another row of the shawl she was knitting to sell. It was a gorgeous hunter green, and I decided that if my first week of business at the shop hit my goals, I was going to buy it for myself. It was lovely. Of course, I’d have to keep my purchase secret, send in a decoy to buy it, or Mika would try to just give it to me.
“So what’s on your work agenda for today?” Mika asked, as she did every week.
I always appreciated the question because it forced me to plan ahead, not just get caught up in whatever task appeared at the moment. “I need to get the newsletter done and do some social media posts about the shop opening next weekend.” I sighed. “I’m going to miss my Saturdays here with you.”
Mika grinned. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I wondered if I could come work at your store next weekend. Mrs. Stephenson said she’d cover here, and I’d love to help out on your first day.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “I would love that. Thank you.”
“Yay, and maybe if I sit and knit, it’ll help sell some of my things, too. Speaking of which, can I show you the pieces I thought we could display there?” she asked as she stood up and pulled a tote out from behind her chair.
“Definitely.” I finished the row I was stitching and then sat forward. “Let me see.”
Mika held up a beautiful pair of chunky mittens in a lovely gray wool. “I have a few pairs of these in different colors. And I have this.” It was a stunning cable-knit sweater in a blue-green that made me think of the ocean in winter.
“Wow, those are amazing. I think they’ll sell quickly. What else?”
She showed me a couple of baby blankets and two children’s sweaters that were beyond adorable. But it was her last set of items that most piqued my interest. “These are cowls. You wear them like scarves, but they just button up.”
Each of them was thick and full, and I could just imagine putting one on under my winter coat and feeling so cozy. The colors she had chosen were gorgeous too – bright purples and blues, a hot pink that someone fun would adore, and a very lovely brown that tended toward rust. “I love these, Mika. If you can make more, I think they’ll do really well. Maybe Dad can make a rack to display them?”
“Ooh, do you think he would?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “For you, he’d build an entire display set. Want me to ask him?”
“Yes please,” she said as she tucked her creations back in their bin. “I’ll bring these over later in the week to set up?”
“Sounds good,” I said as I took out my phone to text Dad. I sent the message and then packed up my own sewing. “I need to get over to the sheriff’s office for a bit.” I told Mika about how we were going to try to date the bottles. “Be back with lunch in a couple of hours?”
“Good luck, and yes, please. My treat,” she said.
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. Mika’s business was picking up, especially with her new stall at the city market, but now that she was going to be selling at my shop, too, she’d had to hire a young woman to staff the market stall, and she was working every spare minute to make items to sell as well as running her own business. She was well on her way to having a really good income, but she wasn’t there yet, not with the outlay for all the yarn and staffing.
As I walked up the street to the sheriff’s office, I thought about how far I had come in just the last year. I had more offers to salvage than I could take on, many at no cost to me beyond the crew and gasoline from Saul, who kept cutting me a break on even those expenses despite my protests. My online auctions were still doing well, and I was launching my own online store in conjunction with the brick-and-mortar one next week. I had never in my life had so much cash and found so much joy in anything I’d done, and the least I could do was share it with my best friend.
When I walked in the front door of the station, the dispatcher waved me right back to the conference room, where I found Santiago and Savannah in front of the table spread with our bottles. They were still divided by color, and while the look was visually very pleasing, what with the rainbow of browns to blues to greens to clears, color wasn’t going to be especially helpful here.
Instead, I texted both of them a link to a great website I’d found by a man named Reggie Lynch, who was a bottle expert, and the three of us set about looking at seams and toppers, studying the patent marks on the bottom. Before long, we had a clear sense that most of the bottles were from around 1940 to 1960. A few were earlier, but nothing was as old as I had thought it would be. Nothing from earlier than 1920, certainly. That was a bit disappointing for me in terms of sales, but from the perspective of solving a mystery, a more focused and more recent date was definitely good.
“So it looks like the person was put into the pit sometime in the ’40s or ’50s,” Savannah said. She picked up a green glass piece that was seamless from top to bottom, consulted the pattern mark, and added it to the large collection of glass from the 1940s.
“Does indeed,” Santiago said. He turned to me. “Unless you see a bottle that really catches your eye, Pais, I think we’ve got enough information to go on.”
I scanned the table one last time but then shook my head. “As far as I can see, it’s more of the same. But if you want, I have another half hour or so, and I can sort the rest, or at least more of them.”
Santiago smiled but shook his head. “That’s really not necessary, but I appreciate the offer.” He took a photo of the bottles as they were sorted on the table. “In fact, since a tech checked them for evidence last night, you can take them with you if you want. We didn’t find anything telling, and I know they’d make a good addition to your opening next week.”
Savannah snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Your new store. Need help setting up?”
“Definitely,” I said, “whenever you’re free. I’ll have food, and we’ll knock out the last of the arrangements.”
“I’ll get one of the guys to cover for you if you want. That way, we can both be there,” Santiago added.
The police force in Octonia was tiny, just Santiago and Savannah really, but recently, Santiago had brought on two new part-time deputies, young men who were from the county and who really loved the people here. It was good for everyone, especially the two full-time officers, since it gave them a few more evenings and weekends free.
“That would be great,” Savannah said. “I’ll bring some special lemonade.” She made air quotes around the word special, and I laughed.
“Great. Alright, Sheriff Shifflett, can I ask your help in loading up these bottles? I’m parked down by Mika’s. Want me to bring the car around?” I asked.
“Nope. I could use the exercise.” He filled two of the crates and then lifted one in each arm while I hefted the final remaining crate into both of my arms. “You ready?”
I grinned. “Yes, sir. Can I get the gun show after?”
Savannah cackled, and Santiago rolled his eyes as we headed out to the street and up to my car. I opened the hatch with my key fob, and Santiago carefully arranged the crates with my cat Beauregard’s blanket between them to prevent them from sliding. Beau would not be happy that he did not give his permission, but since he was rarely happy anyway, I didn’t care.
After I shut the hatch, Santiago leaned against the car and said, “So have you talked to your dad?”
I sighed and shook my head. “I thought about calling him this morning to see why he visited Summer, but I didn’t want to sound like I was accusing him of something.”
“Are you accusing him of something?”
I fluttered my lips. “Maybe? I mean, why would he warn Summer away from changing the barn but not tell me the same thing? Why would he care at all?”
“It’s a good question,” Santiago said. “Your call – but one of us has to talk to him. If you’d prefer I do it, I can, but we might get a more truthful answer if you bring it up casually.”
“Right,” I said as I bit off a fingernail I’d been growing out for over a week, a major feat for me. “But I’m not a police officer, so anything he tells me is hearsay, right?”
“I’m going to send you to law school so that you get real knowledge instead of TV police knowledge,” he said with a laugh. “Technically, yes, but if it’s a simple explanation – lead-based paint, worry about destroying a landmark – something like that, then there’s nothing that’s a big deal there.”
I shuddered. “And if it is a big deal . . . or if he won’t tell me . . .”
“Then, I’ll have to bring him in.” Santiago sighed and pulled me against his side. “Either way, maybe it’s best to give him a chance to explain without getting me involved.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.” I dropped my head onto his shoulder. “And if it’s not good, I guess it doesn’t really matter who hears it first.” I groaned and pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Here goes,” I said as I pressed my dad’s photo in my contacts.
“I’ll wait inside. Give you some privacy.” He walked into Mika’s store, and I waited for dad to pick up the phone. Or rather, I both hoped he wouldn’t and that he would. Part of me didn’t want to do this at all, and part of me just wanted to get it over with.
Just when I figured Dad had done his usual and left his phone somewhere that he couldn’t hear it, my stepmom Lucille picked up. “Hi, Pais, your dad is in the garden. What’s up?”
My dad and stepmom shared everything, so I knew that whatever I told him he was going to tell her anyway. I said, “I need to talk to Dad about the octagonal barn I took down yesterday.”
Lucille sighed. “I told him not to get involved, to just let things evolve as they would. What happened?”
“We found a body,” I said.
“Where are you? We’re coming over,” she said.