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“I KNOW WHAT this is.” Officer Geri Marvin gave a decisive nod, her stubby arms crossed over her chest. “I saw it on the Science Channel.”
Her partner, Howie Werker, quirked a dubious eyebrow at her. “You watch the Science Channel, Geri?”
She rolled her eyes. “I saw it somewhere. I’m telling you, this is one of those, like, antique guys. Like Kennedy Man. This stiff is thousands of years old.”
“Kennewick Man,” Detective Bonnie Hernandez corrected without taking her eyes off the skeleton tangled in the upended root mass. She leaned over the cratered ground in front of it to get a better look. “And you’re jumping to conclusions, Geri.”
It was the first time I’d seen Bonnie’s feet shod in anything other than designer pumps. In deference to the post-storm mess, she wore practical but fashionable flats with a taupe pencil skirt and a sleeveless, cranberry-colored shell that appeared to be finely knitted silk. Her short, dark hair was tucked behind her ears, displaying a pair of elegantly understated garnet earrings. Next to her, I looked like pre-pumpkin Cinderella in ratty old cargo shorts and a pajama top.
Now, hear me out! Technically it was a pj top, but it was styled just like a T-shirt. Not that any of my real tees are patterned with lots of fluffy cartoon sheep jumping over lots of little cartoon fences. It was an ironic purchase! Anyway, I’d let my dirty laundry pile up and this was my last clean top and I didn’t expect to run into anyone today and...
Oh, shut up.
Conspicuously absent from Bonnie’s neat, businesslike ensemble—conspicuous to me at least—was the four-karat engagement ring Dominic Faso had placed on her finger last Christmas. She’d called off the wedding in April, although Dom claimed he’d been the one to pull the plug. I knew him well enough to call BS on that one. He and I had, after all, been friends since middle school. Plus I was, you know, married to him once.
Okay, the divorce was a long time ago, seventeen years to be precise, and I regretted the split from the instant I signed the papers that turned me from Jane Faso back into Jane Delaney. It’s an old story. I wanted kids. He didn’t. I never got over Dom and never satisfied my maternal instinct, even as he cycled through two subsequent wives and three—yeah, you guessed it—kids. What can I tell you? I’m a slow learner.
Naturally, the instant I finally decided I could live without Dom was the exact same instant he decided he couldn’t live without me. That was three months ago, and he’d spent those three months wooing me.
I like the sound of that. I don’t think I’d ever been wooed before. I could get used to it.
Howie nodded toward the skeleton. “What if this guy’s an Indian? Native American, whatever. If we’re standing on an old Indian burial ground, some tribe will get its panties in a twist and the town’ll have a nasty fight on its hands.” Howie was a tall, good-looking, dark-skinned man whose neat beard sported a dusting of gray. I figured he must be close to having his twenty years in and wondered if he was planning to retire from the force anytime soon.
“Yeah, well.” Geri reached behind her police cap to tighten her brown ponytail. “I’ll bet you a pitcher at Murray’s that this guy’s some kind of ancient caveman.” Murray’s Pub was a local watering hole, the most downscale and therefore coziest bar in town. That evening, as on every Wednesday, the pub would be packed for the weekly trivia contest.
Bonnie didn’t respond to the wager. Somehow I doubted she was a beer drinker. Howie, however, was all over it. “Add a plate of spicy crinkle fries and you’ve got yourself a bet,” he said.
“So what now? We call in an archaeologist or what?” Geri stepped into the raw crater to get a better look at Crystal Harbor Man.
Officer Howie Werker and Detective Bonnie Hernandez shouted at her to get out of there.
Geri hopped back. “What?”
“This is a crime scene,” Bonnie said. I could tell she wanted to add, you moron. When Geri opened her mouth to object, Bonnie added, “Until and unless the ME determines otherwise, this immediate area is to be treated as a crime scene.”
The young cop blew a frustrated breath. Clearly she wasn’t accustomed to reining in her tongue.
A voice called, “Nice day for a dead body!” I turned to see Mayor Sophie Halperin slogging across the lawn. She wasn’t alone. Dom was with her. SB howled his warbling welcome, turning excitedly from his beloved Dom to me to announce the momentous event.
In the past, my heart would have done a little flip on spying my ex. Not that I wasn’t glad to see him. I still considered him a good friend, though perhaps no longer my closest confidant, and for sure no longer the man I ceaselessly pined for. It was progress, I knew, but after seventeen years, it felt strange to be on the receiving end of unrequited longing. A nagging voice deep inside told me I should jump at this long-awaited chance to tie him down before some other woman beat me to it. Dominic Faso never stayed single for long. It was now or never.
Sophie and Dom offered cursory greetings to the rest of us before moving to the edge of the crater to view the phenomenon for themselves. Their perplexed frowns remained fixed in place as they scrutinized the mass of roots. They weren’t seeing it. After a minute, their eyes widened in unison.
“Wow,” Dom said.
“I’ll be damned,” Sophie said.
Dom looked his fill, then left the mayor standing there gawking. He approached me and went in for a lip-lock. I turned and let his kiss graze my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Bonnie noticing her ex-fiancé’s affectionate attentions toward Ex-wife Number One.
He took in my bedraggled, scraped-up appearance. “You look like you’ve been rolling around on the ground.”
“It’s called boneyard aerobics. You should try it sometime.”
Dom was tall, with curly dark hair and deep espresso eyes that nearly always held a corner-crinkling smile. He gave my back a little rub, then took note of the garment under his palm. “Are those sheep, Janey?” he asked. “Is that a pajama—”
“It’s ironic,” I snapped, shrugging off his hand. “What are you doing here?”
He squatted to give SB some love. The dog bowed his head in abject submission, his customary posture in the presence of those more alpha than he. It was not an exclusive club—Sexy Beast is content with his self-appointed position at the bottom of the pack and has zero ambition for higher office.
“I was meeting with Sophie about the street fair when the call came in about our bony friend here.”
Dom was a major donor, organizer, and food supplier for the annual Crystal Harbor street fair, which was the following Sunday. He owned a bunch of health-food restaurants called Janey’s Place. Yep, he’d come up with the name back in the Pleistocene when we were still dating. The flagship store was located on Main Street here in Crystal Harbor, but over the past two decades Janey’s Place had grown into the most successful health-food chain in the New York metropolitan area. My ex was a millionaire many times over.
Good thing I divorced him while he was still poor. Wouldn’t want any of that pesky alimony compromising my scrappy, can-do attitude and proud self-reliance.
Yeah, more irony. Sue me.
Sophie was a short, well-padded woman in her mid-fifties, with graying hair and a spooky way of knowing everything that went on in her town. She was a friend of mine as well as a regular client. She’d be up for reelection next year, and as a new resident of Crystal Harbor, I’d finally be able to vote for her. If it were up to me, Sophie Halperin would be mayor for life.
She turned to the detective. “What are your thoughts, Bonnie? Don’t see any crime-scene tape.”
“There’s a chance it’s an ancient burial. I’m reserving judgment until Cliff gets here.” Dr. Clifford Reddy was the medical examiner. He’d be the one to determine whether Geri would drink free at Murray’s that night.
Sophie indicated the skeleton’s position. “Guy looks pretty relaxed. Like he’s lazing around with a good cigar.” She turned to me. “You found him, huh?”
“Yep.” SB was eager to investigate the crater, but I kept him close to me with a shortened leash. I didn’t need him doing his business on what might turn out to be a crime scene. “The tree went down and there he was. Or she.” I shrugged.
“Well.” Sophie propped her fists on her ample hips and addressed the bones. “How the heck did you end up here, fella? That’s what I want to know.”
She was interrupted by a distinctive deep rumble, which grew louder by the second. Geri squinted into the distance. “Does the ME ride a motorcycle?”
Sophie snorted. “That, I’d pay money to see. Cliff Reddy makes me look like a famine victim.”
I followed Geri’s gaze to the footpath. I recognized that big honkin’ Harley. My heart did its overdue flip, though I managed to keep my expression neutral. “It’s Martin McAuliffe,” I announced.
“McAuliffe,” Dom sneered. He wasn’t smiling now. “Perfect.”
Detective Hernandez eyed Martin with distaste as he rolled to a stop on the cobblestones a few yards away. “Where’s his priest getup?” she asked. The first time Bonnie had met him, Martin had been impersonating a man of the cloth. He’d also been advising me to keep my trap shut during her interrogation of me as a murder suspect, much to her annoyance. I just knew the lovely detective was looking forward to the day she could pin something serious on him. She turned to Howie. “Go guard the entrance. Don’t let anyone else in except Dr. Reddy.”
Howie took off at a trot as Martin dismounted and removed his helmet. No helmet hair for the padre, whose sandy locks were shorn close to the scalp.
Geri swaggered over to him, gesticulating. “This path is for pedestrians, sir. Vehicular traffic is not permitted.”
His response was a dazzling, flirtatious, blue-eyed grin. “Good afternoon, Officer.”
Unmoved, she hitched herself up to her full five one. “Sir, I must ask you to leave at once. This is a crime scene.”
“Absolutely, Officer,” he said, while striding toward our little group.
Bonnie greeted him with, “Let me guess. You have a police scanner.” Her slight Dominican accent had grown more pronounced, a reliable barometer of her irritation.
“You’re a vision today, Detective,” he said. “You should wear red more often.”
Geri stalked up to him, her little hand on her holstered gun. “Sir, I’m not going to tell you again—”
“Geri,” Bonnie interrupted, “go help Howie secure the gate.”
“But we can’t let anyone just—”
Bonnie silenced her with a look. Grumbling, the cop trudged after her partner.
Martin and Dom exchanged barely civil nods. Neither offered his hand. Sophie gave Martin a warm hug. She walloped his back. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
I could have told her, at the risk of embarrassing Martin. He lived with his mom in a working-class neighborhood on the South Shore. I knew little else about him except that he tended bar at an upscale Irish pub in Southampton. Or at least he did three months ago when I first met him. His easy familiarity with criminal subterfuge, police procedure, and oh yeah, breaking and entering offered tantalizing hints to his background.
Despite the fact he was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a... well, inside a damn fine package, Martin and I actually had a history. No, not that kind of history, so don’t even start. We came close to buying the farm together a few months earlier. The dirt farm, as in six or more feet under. That kind of shared close call should bring two people closer together, but the fact is, I’d seen almost nothing of the padre since then.
“Hey, Jane.” He bent to greet a fawning Sexy Beast, while giving me an appreciative once-over. “Cool top.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m working on it.” He strolled to the upended base of the willow tree. All eyes homed in on him in anticipation of a lingering scrutiny followed by the inevitable aha moment. Instead he took one brief glance and casually announced, “He’s wearing a ring.”
“What?” Bonnie said.
“Check it out.” He pointed, and the rest of us gathered at the edge of the potentially evidence-rich crater to look.
“Not seeing it.” Sophie squinted. “Oh, wait...”
“I think you’re right,” Bonnie said. “It’s crusted with dirt, but there’s definitely something there.”
I saw it too, now that I was looking for it. Dom stood closest to the finger bones. He leaned over and started scraping dirt from the ring.
“Stop!” Bonnie cried. “This is a crime scene, Dom!” Sexy Beast barked, reinforcing her point.
He straightened, palms raised in apology. “Sorry, I just—”
The finger bone plopped into the crater at our feet. Bonnie cursed, spearing her ex-fiancé with a look guaranteed to shrivel his soul. Or something.
The five of us stood staring at the little bone, still encircled by the dirt-clogged ring.
Proximal phalanx, that’s what it was. Mrs. Deluca would be proud.
“Oh, what the hell.” Sophie bent with a grunt and reached for the bone. “Scene’s already compromised.”
I saw Bonnie stiffen at this further violation of protocol, but Sophie was the mayor, and alienating her would not be politic, and it probably didn’t matter anyway. So she gritted her teeth and watched Sophie straighten, pull a tissue out of her pants pocket, and scrub away at the ring.
The rest of us gathered around her, eager for a peek at the long-buried artifact. If handling a human finger bone grossed Sophie out, she gave no indication, not that I’d ever known her to be squeamish. As she rubbed, the glint of yellow gold emerged.
The wide ring wasn’t smooth. Some sort of design was carved into it. Sophie concentrated on a section, at one point spitting on the tissue to get into the grooves. Bonnie gave a longsuffering shake of her head, but really, it’s not as if the crime lab was going to get usable DNA from a ring buried under a tree for who knew how long. I think.
Abruptly Sophie stopped scrubbing the ring. She just stood there staring at it. The patch she’d cleaned bore an abstract openwork design that resembled leaves on a vine. The rest of us leaned in close. For some reason, Sexy Beast whined, pawing Sophie’s leg.
Bonnie spoke first. “I think it’s safe to say we’re not looking at ancient grave goods.”
“Or Native American,” I added. “I guess Howie and Tina will have to split the bar tab.”
“Better keep an eye on McAuliffe here.” Dom gave me a secret half smile. “Wouldn’t want this piece of jewelry to walk away.”
An inside joke. Well, hardy har har. I wish I’d never told him about the incident last spring when Martin strolled out of a wake at Ahearn’s Funeral Home with a brooch he’d filched from the occupant of the casket. But only because I didn’t get to it first.
“Probably engraved on the inside,” Martin said. “Hard to fence. Not that I know about such things.” He smiled sweetly at Bonnie, whose baleful expression told him to enjoy his smart-ass freedom while he could.
Sophie had remained silent. I now saw that her summer tan had lost a good deal of color. Her lips were white. SB continued to whine, and I realized his agitation had to do with Sophie’s emotional state. There are times I would swear that animal is telepathic.
“Sophie?” I placed my hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”
She shook her head, still staring at the ring. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. I tried to take the finger bone from her, worried she’d drop it in the grass, but she wasn’t letting go. Her hands felt like ice. She looked a little unsteady on her feet. Dom put his arm around her back, clearly prepared to catch her if she headed south.
She shook her head again and looked into my eyes. “It’s not possible,” she whispered.
I glanced from her stricken face to the ring and back again. “What’s not possible, Sophie?”
“It’s not possible,” she repeated. “He’s dead.”
The rest of us looked from her to the skeleton. Yes, he was dead, no doubt about it.
“He killed himself. Drowned,” she said.
Bonnie squeezed her arm. “Who are you talking about, Sophie? Who killed himself?”
“Ernie.” Slowly Sophie reached into the neckline of her polo shirt and withdrew a thin gold chain. Hanging from the chain was a ring identical to the one in her hand, but smaller. “My husband.”
