17

Dear Reader,

Did you ever have one of those moments when things appear to be going in slow motion? And you’re seeing everything through a fog so that lines are blurred and edges softened? That’s what was happening to me. They say it’s your brain’s way of protecting you from a terrible shock. I think that’s true. And I couldn’t be more grateful for it.

Shelby dug her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts with shaking hands. It took her three tries to punch in the numbers 9-1-1.

The dispatcher answered on the first ring, and Shelby explained the situation. She was proud that her voice barely trembled as she recounted the scene.

The woman listened patiently and asked the occasional question. It was obvious she was as shocked by the situation as Shelby and the teens were.

“Human remains, you say?”

“Yes. There’s a shallow grave, and there are bones,” Shelby said, her voice quavering.

“Could they be from an animal, perhaps? Someone’s pet dog or cat?”

Shelby shook her head violently. “No. I’m quite certain they’re human bones. The . . . the skeleton is still intact.”

The dispatcher on the other end drew in her breath sharply. “A patrol car is on its way.”

“Thank you.”

Shelby ended the call and punched in another number.

“Frank McDonald,” the husky voice drawled when the call went through.

Frank sounded tired, Shelby thought—as if she had woken him. She felt guilty. The police were on their way—perhaps there was no need to bring Frank out at a time like this.

“Frank.” She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice, but she wasn’t successful—she was wet, cold, and frightened, and it was obvious.

“Shelby? What’s wrong?” Suddenly Frank’s voice became brisk and businesslike.

Shelby explained about the teens digging a fire pit and uncovering what looked to her like human remains.

“I’ll be right there. You’re at Zeke Barnstable’s farm, right?”

Relief flooded Shelby. “Yes. Take the gravel drive past his house as far as it goes. We’re in that small copse of trees at the end of it.”

“Hang on. I’m coming.”

“What should we do?” Hannah asked as Shelby stuffed her cell phone back in her pocket.

She’d wrapped her thin arms around herself and was shivering.

“You kids go wait in my car.” Shelby pointed toward the road.

“I’ll stay here with you,” Chip said, raising his chin and squaring his shoulders.

He was a good deal taller than Shelby although as thin as a willow branch, with the faintest suggestion of facial hair on his chin and upper lip.

They waited in silence until, several minutes later, car headlights pierced the darkness created by the canopy of trees. Shortly after that, they heard twigs snapping and leaves rustling. Two uniformed patrolmen burst through the bushes into the small clearing.

Shelby sagged with disappointment. She had hoped that Frank would be the first to arrive.

One of the officers turned on his flashlight and aimed the powerful beam at the shallow hole in the ground.

Shelby turned her head quickly. She’d already seen as much as she wanted to.

Shock set in and Shelby began to shiver. She yearned to go home, crawl under her down comforter, and not come out again until this was all over. She tried not to think of that because it only compounded her misery and unfortunately wasn’t an option.

The sound of someone stumbling followed by a muffled oath announced Frank’s arrival. He burst through the tangle of bushes, putting up an arm to ward off the low-hanging branches on the saplings nestled between the larger trees.

“Shelby!”

Shelby moaned and threw herself into Frank’s open arms. He stroked her hair with his hand and tightened his other arm around her. She stood like that for a few minutes, letting her muscles relax, giving in to the tears that were hot behind her eyelids. Then she made herself push away from the warm circle of his arms.

“Frank,” one of the officers called. “Come take a look, would you?”

“Why don’t you go wait in the car?” Frank whispered in Shelby’s ear.

She straightened her shoulders. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll wait here.”

Frank walked toward where the officers were clustered together without looking back. They talked in low voices, only an indistinct murmur reaching Shelby.

Frank walked over to Chip, who still stood by the grave, his posture stoic although Shelby saw the faint tremor in his limbs. Frank clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go back and wait in your car, son? I’ll be along to talk to you shortly.”

Chip didn’t need any further encouragement. He gave a shuddering sigh, turned on his heel, and began thrashing his way back through the bushes toward the road.

Finally, Frank turned to Shelby. “Were you the one who found . . .” He gestured toward the makeshift fire pit.

“No. Amelia and her friends did.”

Frank looked around. “Where are they?”

“I sent them to sit in my car.”

“What was Amelia doing out here so late?”

Shelby bristled at the note of censure in his voice.

“She certainly didn’t have my permission, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Frank hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m going to need to talk to the kids.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck.

The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, and darkness was descending fast.

Frank went first, holding back branches and making a path for Shelby to follow. Chip was sitting in his own car, his arms folded on the steering wheel with his head resting on them.

Amelia, Brad, Hannah, and Lauren were in Shelby’s car, the girls in front—Amelia behind the wheel—and the boys sitting far apart in the back.

“Go sit in my truck,” Frank said to Shelby. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“I’m okay.”

Frank shrugged, opened the front door of Shelby’s car, and crouched down.

“Are you girls okay? Amelia?”

They nodded their heads, their eyes wide and their lips quivering.

“We only wanted to make a fire pit,” Hannah burst out.

“What brought you out here to Zeke Barnstable’s farm?”

The girls looked at one another. Finally, Lauren spoke, her voice so tiny, Shelby could barely hear her.

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go, and we knew Zeke wouldn’t be coming after us. . . .” Her voice trailed off as if she’d suddenly realized what her words meant.

Frank nodded his head. “How did you choose the spot to dig?”

One of the boys in the back cleared his throat. “We looked for a clearing in the trees and a spot that was pretty flat.”

“I take it you have no idea whose remains those are?”

Frank glanced from the occupants of the front seat to the back. They all shook their heads.

Frank’s knees gave a loud crack as he stood up. He put a hand on the roof of the car and bent down. “I’m going to send one of the officers over to take down your names. Then you all go on home, okay?”

A look of relief washed over the teens’ faces.

“Take Amelia home,” Frank said to Shelby. “I’ll be by when we’re finished here.”

•   •   •

Shelby was quite certain that never before in her life had she been so grateful to walk through her own back door. She grabbed the old fleece that she kept on a hook in the mudroom and pulled it on, breathing a sigh of relief at the instant warmth that enveloped her.

With a grunt, Bitsy got up from the corner of the kitchen where she was curled up in Jenkins’s dog bed, her head hanging off one end and her feet the other. Jenkins ambled in from the living room, yawning widely. They surrounded Shelby, and she bent down to accept their warm, sticky kisses.

Amelia went straight to her room. Shelby decided this was not the time to talk to her; she’d had a bad shock, and she was cold and wet—no good was likely to come of it. She’d save that conversation for the morning.

As soon as she heard Amelia’s door close, she tiptoed up the stairs and peeked into Billy’s room. He was sprawled on his bed, still in his shorts and T-shirt, a book splayed open on the floor. She hated to disturb him even though his hands and face were grubby and needed washing. She maneuvered the covers out from under him, laid them lightly on top of him, and tiptoed back out of the room.

Back in the kitchen, Shelby filled the kettle with water and plunked it down on the stove. She dug around in the pantry, found a box of chamomile tea, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

She jumped when the kettle whistled and quickly pulled it off the stove. It was probably going to be quite a while before Frank was finished at Zeke’s farm. She took her tea into the living room and tried to find something to watch on television but nothing held her interest. Too many questions were revolving around and around in her mind: Whose body had the kids found? Was it even human? It had certainly looked like it to Shelby, but she was far from an expert. The medical examiner would be able to tell for sure.

Shelby was dozing when Frank knocked on the front door. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why he was there, but then it all came rushing back to her. She hobbled to the door—stiff from being curled up on the sofa—and pulled it open.

Frank looked wet, cold, and tired.

“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee?” Shelby asked as she held the door wide.

Frank’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Do you have anything stronger? It’s been quite a night.”

He followed Shelby out to the kitchen, where she rummaged in the pantry and pulled out a slightly dusty bottle of Knob Creek bourbon. She poured a splash into a tumbler.

“Ice?” She held the glass toward Frank.

He shook his head. “I’ll take it neat.”

Shelby put the drink down on the table in front of him and took a seat opposite, pulling her legs in to avoid his long ones, which were stretched out under the table.

Dear Reader, Frank looks so comfortable sitting at my kitchen table—as if he belongs there. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not.

Frank took a big gulp of the bourbon and sighed. “I needed that.”

“What did you find out about that grave and the . . . body?”

“The ME confirmed the remains were human. We won’t know much more until the autopsy is completed. He promised to get on it right away.” He shook his head. “Pathologists get all excited about cases like this. He’s going to start on it tonight.”

Shelby shivered. “So, you don’t have any idea whose body it might be?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that it’s Brenda Barnstable’s. She’s been missing now for a couple of years and suddenly a body turns up in a shallow grave on Zeke’s farm.”

“Do you think Zeke killed her?”

“Seems pretty likely, don’t you think?”