Chapter Four
It’s the next morning.
I’m at my desk, tapping the folder Jill Fenwick left behind, sipping what’s left of my coffee. Tammy’s at her own desk, headphones on, fingers moving quickly over her keyboard as she continues running the dozen or so background checks.
Time to make the call. I dial the number for Buena Park PD; in fact, the direct line to Detective Rachel Carson. The phone rings twice before I hear a clipped, “Carson.”
“Detective, this is Samantha Moon. I’m a private investigator out of Fullerton, calling about the raptor fossil theft at Craig Park. You’ve been assigned the case, if I’m correct?”
A pause. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” There’s a tired rustle of papers on the other end. “I’ve been wondering when someone from their side would reach out.”
Her voice is brisk, but I can hear the exhaustion underneath it.
Undoubtedly she’s overworked, stretched thin.
Buena Park is a smaller city, with a likely underfunded police force, with cases stacking up.
Buena Park might have Knott’s Berry Farm, Medieval Times, and the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum, but beyond a few tourist destinations, it’s a pretty modest and fairly poor town.
“Just wanted to introduce myself,” I say smoothly. “Dr. Fenwick hired me to help recover the stolen items. I was a federal agent once, and like to coordinate when I can, mostly making sure I’m not stepping on any toes.”
That earns me a shift in tone. “Federal agent, eh? What agency?”
“Housing and Urban Development.”
Another pause. “HUD? Well, that’s a first.”
I laugh softly. “You’d be surprised how much crossover there is. Fraud, embezzlement, theft. Patterns are patterns.”
Carson lets out a tired huff, not quite a laugh. “Fair enough. Listen, I’ve been doing what I can. I reached out to the delivery company, the one that brought in the crate with the bones in question the day before the theft. Finally got the driver on the phone just yesterday.”
I lean forward. “Anything useful?”
“Not much, quite honestly.” She flips through something on her end—I can hear the faint crackle of a report being reviewed.
“Driver’s name is Marcus Shields. Said everything looked normal on his end.
There was a guy who met him at the receiving dock, though, someone real antsy who kept fussing about how carefully the crate was to be handled, hovering over his every step. Made an impression.”
I reach for a pen and notepad. “Is there a name of the person who signed for the delivery?”
“Craig Park employee named Adam Lowell. He’s listed as an assistant curator or some such horseshit. Bunch of adults playing in the dirt and getting paid for it, but whatever. Anyway, no priors on this Lowell weirdo, no flagged activity, at least not that I’ve found.”
I scribble the name down. “Anything else? Security footage from the delivery?”
“Nothing useful. We checked, but the cameras that covered that dock angle weren’t recording properly that day or the next, when the theft occurred. Same glitch that hit the vault.”
“How convenient,” I murmur again.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Carson’s voice dips with frustration.
“Look, I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Moon.
We’re not exactly flush with resources here.
I’ve got four active burglary cases right now, two robberies, and a missing persons file that just got dumped on my desk. I’ll keep working this, but…”
I can feel it coming.
“We’re just talking about ancient bones here, right?” she says with a tired chuckle. “Not even human bones.”
“Monster bones,” I add.
“Yeah, fucking dinosaur bones.”
“Apparently, they’re valuable bones,” I remind her gently. “The kind that attracts black-market dealers. If they cross state lines, this could go federal pretty fast.”
Carson sighs. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… a lot to juggle.”
“I get it,” I say softly. And I do, too. I’ve worn a badge, felt the weight of too many cases and too few hands. “I’m not here to interfere. But if I find something, I’ll loop you in. Sound good?”
“That works for me,” Carson says. “Appreciate it, Samantha.”
Hmm, guess we’re on a first name basis now. “One last thing,” I say. “Did anyone else on the staff give off any weird vibes?”
She lets out a short laugh. “Weird vibes? I mean, they’re all dino-dirt nerds over there. Everybody gave off weird vibes. But no red flags.”
“All right. Thanks, Detective. I’ll check-in when I turn something up.”
“Good luck.”
I end the call, setting the phone down thoughtfully. Tammy slips off her headphones and looks at me. “Anything interesting?”
“Apparently, we’re dealing with dino dirt nerds.”
Tammy snorts. “Hey, we can’t all be jocks and prom queens.”
“The delivery guy mentioned someone hovering during the bone drop-off. A fellow named Adam Lowell, assistant curator.” I tap my pen on the notepad. “Could be nothing. Could be something.”
“I’ll start digging. Hehe, get it?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t pay you to make jokes.”
“They’re given out free of charge.”
“Start pulling his socials, too, Miss Funny Bones. Get it?”
“Oh, Lord. Do I sound that bad?”
“Worse, because you laugh at your own jokes.”
“Someone has to. And I’m on it. Let’s see what I unearth.”
“No, just no.”
She giggles as I snatch my nearly empty Starbucks paper cup.
Truth is, I don’t need coffee to wake up.
I don’t need anything to perk up, quite frankly.
A body that’s capable of near-instant healing also comes with a brain that fires at peak efficiency: no brain fog, no sugar crashes, nothing to dull the edge. Just clean, relentless clarity.
I smile to myself as I sip the rest of the deliciousness. Yes, I drink coffee for the flavor, not the caffeine high. So far, this case is shaping up to be a normal one. No supernatural undercurrents, no ghostly whispering, no dark forces stirring at the edge of my senses.
Just a fossil theft. Just bones. Granted, extremely valuable bones, but that’s it. Then again, I’ve been around long enough to know that nothing is ever just bones.
We’ll see...