17
There was a homeless girl on our property? And she stole our dog?”
“There was a young woman with worn-out boots fleeing through the woods, who may be the actual owner of the dog,” Raquel answered testily.
“I haven’t noticed any encampments around or anything, have you?”
“In the five days we’ve lived here? No. But we know this property has always drawn outsiders. I think…I think homeless or poor or whatever, this wasn’t the girl’s first time visiting.”
“Why?”
“I just do.” Upon returning to the house, Raquel had found herself heading straight for the hand-painted murals in the children’s rooms. They’d always struck her as something a teenage girl might create.
Thinking of the forlorn boot, then studying the delicately shaded woodland creatures, it’d felt like a match.
Girl with the boot equaled girl with the brush.
Though she hardly had anything concrete to base it upon.
“If Mr. Man was her dog, it might explain how well he knew our home,” Theo allowed, hand on the steering wheel.
Raquel understood his pause. Explain the dog knowing the house, sure, but to immediately make a beeline for a well/grave that didn’t exist on any map?
The past twenty-four hours had been incredibly unsettling.
And now this—they were off to the Shereford PD for the great pottery unveiling.
“Why the rush to unseal the crockery thing?” Raquel asked, buckling her seat belt.
“Contextual data. Apparently, dating the bones is pretty expensive and time-consuming. As that’ll take a bit, the anthro is a big fan of gathering whatever additional information we can.
Not to mention that guy from the historical society…
Mason? Man has a positive hard-on for that crockery.
Why, if he could just have a moment alone with it to whisper sweet nothings… ”
Raquel found herself smiling. Leave it to Theo to be wildly inappropriate if not downright adolescent when she needed it most.
“But as the earthenware is part of what may or may not become an active investigation, Mason isn’t allowed to seize it on behalf of the antiquities-minded citizens of the town,” Theo continued.
“Chief Grady negotiated a compromise—she’s transporting the sealed container to her office for inspection.
Mason and the other lady—Betty?—will assist with the historic preservation piece while Grady provides official oversight. ”
As a something-for-everyone sort of deal, that was particularly well played, Raquel thought. “What about the bones expert?”
“Staying at the well. Have you ever heard of wet screening? Apparently, that’s the next step. Sounds cool.”
“Every boyhood crime-solving fantasy you’ve ever had coming to life?” Raquel teased.
“You know, not a single one of them is wearing a superhero cape. Very disappointing.”
Raquel reached over and touched his hand as he fired their vehicle to life.
“I’m sorry about the dog,” she offered softly.
But Theo being Theo didn’t appear bothered at all. “Don’t be. If your suspicions are true, it’s only a matter of time before we see my man again.”
I love you so, so much, Raquel thought. Then turned away before Theo could see the fear in her eyes.
Theo and Raquel had driven by the Shereford Town PD before, a dark cranberry bungalow that not only fit the historic Main Street vibe but also practically screamed, “Even our law enforcement is quaint and adorable.” They’d never stepped inside, however, which made Raquel genuinely curious.
She could tell by the extra bounce in Theo’s step he was also excited.
For a numbers guy who spent most of his time sitting behind a desk, he loved anything that spoke of action or drama.
She’d once asked him what he’d do if he ever got tired of making a fortune in finance.
He’d answered Hollywood producer. Which could still well be in the cards.
Now he paused to run his fingertips admiringly across the intricately carved details on the heavy wooden door before pushing it open.
“As the saying goes, they just don’t make things like they used to.”
“Including hand-dug wells,” Raquel added dryly.
But Theo had a point, as the door swept open to reveal gleaming hardwoods, impressive crown molding, and gorgeous mullioned windows overlooking the river that bisected town.
“Not your father’s police station,” Theo whispered.
Raquel merely nodded. As she’d never met her father, that was quite possible.
They passed through a small foyer to enter the main room, which was dominated by a giant L-shaped desk and a wall of black metal filing cabinets. Definitely more institutional in appearance, given the two computer monitors and executive desk chairs.
No one was seated at the moment. Instead, Chief Grady was standing before a bank of bay windows, with two practically levitating senior citizens. The historical society members, she deduced.
All were staring down at the floor, where a blue tarp had been spread out.
Peering between their legs, Raquel could make out a distinct round-shaped object that had definitely seen better days.
The crockery. It was much larger than she’d expected, the size of a large stew pot.
True to Theo’s original description, it was capped with a lid that appeared to be coated with some kind of thick substance.
All three turned slightly at Theo and Raquel’s arrival, then went back to the matters at hand.
“Could be pine tar,” Mason was saying, pointing at the sealant. “Or bee’s wax, which was more common for food products.”
“Only one way to find out.” The gray-haired female, sounding chipper.
“I brought the toolbox,” Mason declared.
“I have the evidence bags,” Chief Grady added.
Theo joined the party, already completely enthralled. Raquel, on the other hand…not like she had anything to add. She roamed the space to see what there was to see. And to try not to remember what she could still remember.
The nerve-jangling loudness, from ringing phones to clacking keyboards to staticky radio bursts.
The overwhelming smell of human sweat and industrial-strength disinfectant with a top note of scorched coffee.
The burly officer’s heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing uncomfortably.
The more sympathetic gaze from the hastily summoned social worker now taking a seat at the metal table.
Not knowing where to look. Up at the water-stained ceiling. Down at her bloodstained hands.
“Just tell us what happened,” the sheriff instructed sternly. “No matter what, the truth’s always the best place to start.”
And her thinking that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Well, maybe not the absolute stupidest. That was her telling Lilly and Charlie Boy that everything would be all right. It hadn’t been, never would be. Would she see them again? Probably not. Would that be in their own best interest?
Truthfully speaking, yes.
She’d smiled then, staring at the man and his drab, sweat-stained uniform. Smiled and smiled until he shivered slightly and made a move as if to cross himself. As if she were the problem. As if some of the blood on her hands didn’t belong to all of them.
Because she knew. She knew she knew she knew. And with her gaze she told the fucking sheriff he wasn’t fooling her for a second.
He pushed back his chair. Muttered something about coffee. Exited the room.
The social worker had leaned over then, her gaze sharp and steady.
“Yes. You are correct. Everything you’re thinking right now is absolutely true.
But here’s the deal, hun. You can stoke all that righteous rage in your soul.
Or you can make the decision to play by their rules for two more years, then get the hell out.
You strike me as the tough sort. Don’t throw it all away. ”
Raquel had done exactly that. Because she was the tough sort, and at sixteen she’d firmly believed nothing could ever break her. That’d had to wait until she actually felt safe and loved and happy. Then…
Oh, how the mighty had fallen. She reached reflexively for the historic pendant before remembering she’d left it in the house, not wanting to call any more attention to herself.
“Gently, gently!” Mason’s voice barked across the room.
Raquel returned to the gathering in time to see Chief Grady delicately pry off the lid of the pot, the tarp now littered with crumbled pieces of sealant.
A slight popping sound, then the round cover was in Grady’s hand, the chief blinking slightly in surprise.
Immediately everyone tilted forward for a better look.
“What is it?” Theo asked excitedly.
“May I?” Mason was already reaching down with gloved hands.
He slowly withdrew a slim, notebook-sized object. It appeared to be an ancient leatherbound book, already crumbling beneath his touch.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Betty chirped. She jumped over to an open bin, pulled out a folded cloth, then spread it out on one side of the tarp. Mason reverently lowered his charge onto the white cotton.
“There’s still some debris at the bottom,” Mandy observed. “Though the inside appears bone dry. Must’ve been one helluva sealant.”
Distracted nods as everyone shifted over to study the new item. Only Raquel remained hanging back. There were enough chefs in the kitchen, she thought. Plus…she was pretty sure she already knew what they’d discovered. The question was, did it have a connection to the Hannah Dixon from her locket?
Sure enough…
“It’s a historic ledger!” Betty and Mason basically exclaimed at the same time. “Oh, goodness!”
“No touching, no touching!” Mason held up his gloved hands, sounding slightly wild.
His gaze locked on Mandy. “Nitrile gloves aren’t recommended for handling old documents.
They reduce dexterity, can lead to torn or damaged pages.
I have to take them off, Chief Grady. I have to!
Protocol demands freshly washed bare hands. ”
The man sounded so virulent Raquel would’ve let him strip buck naked on principle alone. Apparently, Mandy agreed.
“But no touching anything more than you have to,” the woman cautioned.
“The inside page,” Betty whispered. “That’ll give us a starting date. Oh my goodness. Just look at the brittleness of the pages. They’re practically falling apart right before our eyes. Careful, Mason. Careful!”
After Raquel’s past nine months with historic deeds, she knew exactly what the woman was talking about. And yes, any kind of gloves, from nitrile to cotton, were frowned upon, as the fragile nature of centuries-old paper demanded a handler’s utmost tactile sensitivity.
Mason bounced across the room to a closet-sized bathroom. Two minutes of vigorous scrubbing later, he was back, exhaling slowly like a warrior preparing for battle.
Raquel took advantage of the situation to move to the other side of everyone and take up further inspection of the mud-caked pottery.
“Seventeen ninety!” Mason declared triumphantly seconds later.
“I knew it. Historic remains!” Theo sounded as giddy as the town historians.
Betty slanted Theo a look. “I’ll have you know, young man, that I happen to have books from the 1790s in my possession. That hardly makes me a historic skeleton now, does it?”
Raquel bit back a laugh, as Theo followed the flaw in his logic.
“Umm, er, point taken.”
Raquel lowered herself to kneeling, peering deeply into the rounded crockery.
“Look at this, Betty,” Mason extolled. “It appears to be an extensive list of town records—births, deaths, marriages. ‘Born December 1, 1790. Departed this life…Wed on…’”
“A name,” Betty spoke up firmly. “What’s listed on the inside cover. Maybe the identity of a town clerk, or doctor, local clergy member?”
“The ink’s too faded. I can’t make it out just yet. But given all the embellishments, it strikes me as distinctly feminine.” Mason glanced up. “Say, a midwife?”
Betty sat back, blinking rapidly. “Seventeen ninety? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think—”
“Now, now, no getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s take it entry by entry. Just…” Mason ran a finger down the densely scribbled accounts. “Baird, MacAllister, Dixon, McLean. The sheer volume of notations. We’re going to need weeks if not months to sort through all of this.”
“Date of the final entry?” Mandy prodded.
More delicate turning of pages. “It appears the final note is from 1791. I’m not sure of the month.”
“Did you say midwife?” Raquel interrupted the exchange. Because she now understood what was at the bottom of the crockery. The so-called debris.
And it made her hands tremble and her heart hurt. Because no, it hadn’t taken physical violence or abject poverty to break her. Hope had proved a much more effective annihilator.
“There was more in here than a ledger.” She met the gaze of the others. “You’re going to need the forensic anthropologist again. Pebble-sized bones. Rose petal fragments. These are the skeletal remains of an infant.”
Stunned silence.
Chief Grady walked over to study for herself. “Jesus. I think you may be right. But how did you know?”
“I just do.” She couldn’t speak anymore. Blindly, she turned toward Theo, the man who protected her even at the expense of himself. He pulled her gently into his arms, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, where their pain could belong to them, and them alone.
Another long moment.
Then, Chief Grady: “I’ll make the call.”