One of the boys shouted. Honey barked, zooming after the ball. Two sheriff’s cars were parked across the street. Four men squished through the swamp, getting grass and mud stains on their tan uniforms.
Carol leaned over her firm twenty-seven-year-old legs. “They’re looking for more bones. Don doesn’t think they’ll find them. You know — animals.”
I shivered again. A mosquito landed on one of the blue veins on my flabby forty-five-year-old legs. I splatted it.
“They didn’t find the bullet, either,” Carol went on. “They think the victim was killed somewhere else, then dumped here. The skull’s getting a dental examination today, and the coroner’s conducting an autopsy later this week. Though I don’t know what she can see in a bunch of old bones.”
“Can’t they reconstruct the body?” Brad would know: the one person I couldn’t ask. “Find out what the victim looked like from the shape of the skull, that sort of stuff?”
Carol shrugged. “That costs money. Don said the sheriff is hoping to match the victim with dental records. He seems to think it might be someone who knows the area.”
“Of course!” I sat up straight. “Valley View Road just connects this little stretch to the main road. Even people from town get lost trying to find it. The murderer has to be from around here.”
“I’ll tell you what else.” Carol lowered her voice. “It’s a woman, and the coroner thinks it’s been buried there anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five years. She’s not telling the press, because she’s just guessing. But Don heard the sheriff telling the district attorney.”
“Does Don know the woman’s age?”
Carol frowned. “No, dammit. Someone came and Don had to leave the hallway before they got to that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We at least know she’s an adult. This is a small town, less than five thousand people. Fifteen or twenty-five years ago it was even smaller. It shouldn’t take the sheriff long to match the skeleton’s teeth with the dental records. How many missing women could there be?”
“My mother would know.” Carol looked toward the house. “She’s living in Florida now. I wonder if she’s home.”
I pushed off the lounger. Twenty-five years ago Carol had been two; I’d been twenty. I straightened, the pain in my shoulder another reminder of my age. It was time to go. These old bones needed air conditioning.
Honey and I walked home. Tired from her romp with the boys, she flopped on the kitchen linoleum and slept. I watched her for a moment, half regretful. For once I had time to play. We were having leftover roast for dinner, the house was clean, the wash done. I had a poem about a balloon to finish, but who could rhyme balloon with blue moon when your mind kept shouting “Murder! Murder!” Then I remembered Helen, and I looked up her office number.
Before she came on the phone, I regretted my impulse. Helen wouldn’t thank me for calling her at work. But I had already given my name to the receptionist. I grimly hung on.
“Ann! I’ve been thinking about you. What have you heard?”
I breathed easier, and plunged in. She sounded young on the phone, interjecting encouraging comments at all the right places. I wondered why I had ever disliked her.
“I knew it was a woman.” She tsked. “The poor girl.”
“It’s her parents I feel sorry for. All these years... never knowing...” Honey twitched and stretched, her eyes opening to slits. “That reminds me, Emily called after you left last night. She sold her chair design to a large manufacturing firm. She’s pretty excited.”
“Good for her! Frankly, I’m amazed my son supported her career. Given his views on women, that is — which he never got from me.”
“It’s not so amazing.” Honey ambled over to lick my swollen ankles, and I chuckled. “What he wants for his wife isn’t necessarily what he wants for his daughter.”
“My dear Ann, don’t you mind?”
“Not at all. I have my poetry.”
She sighed. “Well, if that satisfies you... Although I think every woman should be prepared to support herself.”
“So does Brad. That’s why he’s heavily insured.”
“Very foresightful, my son.” She paused. “Still, there are other reasons besides widowhood why a woman would need to support herself.”
“Divorce, you mean.”
“Not only divorce. Brad could have a long illness. The stock market could plunge. Your bank could go belly up. Anything could happen.”
“Brad and I won’t get divorced, our bank account is insured, we have excellent health insurance, our investments are diversified.” Even though she couldn’t see me, I shook my head. “It’s not as if I wash the floor every day for something to do. I have my poetry.”
“Then why are you so interested in the skeleton?”
“I found it. Why are you?”
Carol’s mother knew of six women who’d disappeared under mysterious conditions. Two had been in their teens, the oldest forty-three. The disappearance of three of the women, according to Carol’s mother, had been reported, and the sheriff’s deputies were probably all over their families. That left three who were free game.
“I went to grade school with Ginny,” Carol said, her eyes on the twisting lane. Her two boys were with a cousin; Honey was in my basement. The road straightened and Carol pressed down on the gas pedal. “Ginny’s family belongs to a church in West Linden. No dancing, no drinking, no fun. My mom says Ginny’s sister drank, danced, and had a lot of fun. Her dad kicked her out when she was seventeen. Ginny was a baby when it happened, but I don’t know anyone else in the family. They keep to themselves.”
After that I expected to meet someone in a long black dress with her hair covered. But the young woman who welcomed us into the living room with a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and an oak entertainment center wore shorts and a brief top.
Carol introduced me, saying we were collecting old clothes for our church. Ginny had just dropped off two bags of clothes at Good Will, but she invited us in for iced tea.
We sat in the living room while Ginny checked her baby, then clinked glasses in the kitchen. I admired the beamed ceiling and the leather furniture. Carol told me Ginny’s husband — a member of the church in West Linden — was a plumber.
Ginny had barely returned with a tray of iced tea when Carol began. “Did you hear about the skeleton by my house? Ann found it.”
“Did you?” Ginny’s face lit with interest. “Mike and I were talking about it last night. Isn’t it terrible?”
Carol nodded. “Terrible. Sheriff Brooder thinks it’s someone from around here.”
“No kidding.”
“That’s right. I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted.”
“Me!”
“Your parents, anyway. Because of your sister, you know.”
I winced. Carol was as subtle as a bolt of lightning.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t talk about Margaret.”
“That’s your prerogative.” Carol shrugged. “After all, it’s not me you’ll have to make the explanations to.”
“You really think the police...” Ginny glanced around the room, as if searching for spies. Her voice a whisper, she said, “But Margaret’s alive.”
“Alive!”
“She writes me. It would kill Mom and Dad to know.” Ginny’s chin lifted a fraction. “Mike knows about it. He understands. It’s just that—”
“Where is she?” Carol asked.
Ginny hesitated, and Carol sliced her hand across the air. “Come on, Ginny. We won’t tell your parents.”
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Ginny’s jaw hardened and she stood. “Margaret lives in Chicago with her husband and two children. I’ll give the police her address, but it’s nothing to do with you.”