A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (9 page)

The sheriff sighed. "Let's go take a look."

They walked out to the jeep, and Derrick opened
the back. "Here is some clothing." He opened a box
containing a large plastic storage bag. "This box contains another set. I made this map of the crime scene.
It shows the relationship of the clothing to the graves.
In with each set of clothing was about a four-inch
piece of duct tape." Lindsay and the sheriff looked at
each other a moment. "And some rope," he finished.
"The rope, tape, and clothes that were found together
are bagged together.

"Also, we found this." He pulled out a small box
and opened it. An open Swiss army knife caked with
dirt lay inside. "It was near the grave of the bones I
brought in a while ago"

"The clothes will help identify the remains," said
the sheriff.

"There's more." Derrick pulled out several more
plastic sandwich bags. "This is a quarter, a dime, several weathered candy wrappers, and a ball point pen."
Derrick pointed to a place on the map. "They were
found here and here, just a few feet apart. I think it's
where he parked his car, and these things were lost when he got out on the driver's side and the little girls
got out on the passenger side."

The sheriff looked impressed. "You have a knack
for detective work, son," he said.

"Yes, Derrick," said Lindsay. "I think you were
Sam Spade in another life."

Derrick grinned. "If archaeology hits a slump,
Lindsay and I can open a detective agency. Anyway,
we've found a cart load of other stuff you will have to
look at," Derrick told the sheriff. "I think it is miscellaneous trash. It fans out from the immediate scene,
but some of it may be important. I also found the rest
of the dog's bones."

"This is good," said the sheriff as he studied the
meticulously drawn map. "Real good"

"Some scout troops are coming out to work on the
dig, so I'm going to ask Frank for a few more crew
members. I think I can have this finished in another
day or two"

"Great. I appreciate your help." The sheriff hesitated a moment, looking at Lindsay and Derrick. "Are
you two related, brother and sister?" he asked.

Derrick looked puzzled, but Lindsay knew what he
meant. "The hair," she said. Lindsay and Derrick had
almost identical long, chestnut-brown hair.

"Oh," said Derrick. "No, it's just some kind of
cosmic coincidence."

The sheriff just grinned.

After Derrick dropped the evidence off at the sheriff's
department, he and Lindsay headed for the site in his
jeep.

"Wait," Lindsay exclaimed. "I have to stop off at Mickey Lawson's portrait studio. It won't take long."

"Sure thing. I needed to stop at the hardware store
anyway to see if my shovels are ready. This guy they
recommended does a good job of cutting them off
straight and putting a good edge on them"

"I'll walk over to the hardware store when I'm finished," she said as Derrick let her out in front of the
studio.

The display windows of Mickey Lawson's studio
contained rows of family, school, wedding, and various club photographs. She opened the glass door and
walked in. A middle-aged woman sitting behind a
mahogany desk looked up with a smile as Lindsay
entered.

"Can I help you?"

"My name is Lindsay Chamberlain. I called for an
appointment with Mr. Lawson."

The receptionist put on a solemn face. "Yes, about
little Peggy. That is so sad. Sarah and Mike are just
broken-hearted, just like when she disappeared. Now
they have to grieve all over again. But it was so hard
for them, not knowing what happened to her."

Lindsay nodded. "Is Mr. Lawson in?"

"He stepped out for just a moment"

"Thank you. I'll just walk around and look at these
pictures."

"Mr. Lawson is a good photographer."

"I see that"

"People come from all over. Clubs particularly like
him. He has done some nice pictures for the garden
club."

The photographs were mostly typical family and
wedding portraits: full face and profiles in the same portrait, portraits with silhouettes, and portraits taken
with fancy filters.

Beside the wedding photographs hung a series of
portraits of the garden club members, each with a
flower in an oval inset. Marsha's picture was there,
with a large red rose.

"Those of the garden club are good, don't you
think?" asked the receptionist.

"Yes, they are. Did each member grow the flower
in her portrait?"

"They certainly did. Many are prize winners, too"

"They are quite lovely."

On the opposite wall hung several pictures taken
at various local functions: one of the sheriff giving a
campaign speech, which made Lindsay smile, and
one of a magician with a large mustache in top hat
and tails, thrusting a white rabbit in one hand and his
hat in the other toward the camera. The photograph
was foreshortened so that the rabbit, the hat, and the
magician's arms projected out from the photograph
and appeared large. There was a series of circus pictures: clowns, elephants, bareback riders, trapeze
artists, all taken with varied camera angles and
styles. Some pictures of the clowns, the lights, and
the crowd were surreal. These, thought Lindsay,
were pretty good, better than the more traditional
ones. She wondered how often Mickey indulged his
creativity.

When Mickey Lawson returned, he greeted Lindsay with a broad smile. He had a boyish face underneath thick, sandy brown hair. She had seen him with
the Pruitts but hadn't paid close attention to him then.
She guessed him to be about 30. He was tall, large boned, and slim.

"Sorry," he said. "I had to go up to Tylerwynd to
see Grandmother Tyler. When she talks, we all listen."
He gave a little laugh.

"I was just enjoying your photographs," remarked
Lindsay.

He blushed slightly and bobbed his head, pleased.
"Thanks. People around here seem to like them. Come
back to the studio. Tell me again what you want."

"Just some information for the report. I used many
of your measurements in the identification, and I just
need to see them myself. If I have to go to court, I can
say I saw your studio and how you take your measurements."

"Sure. Can I ask how you use them?"

"I do calculations from the photograph and find out
the actual size of the head. Then I can compare the
calculations with the skeletal remains."

"I see. I'm glad I keep such good records."

His studio looked like most studios Lindsay had
ever been in. He had a large box camera, a stage, and
an array of lights. Toys and various props sat neatly on
a shelf. A red light above a door in the corner of the
room revealed the location of the darkroom. Beside
the door several metal filing cabinets lined the wall.

Painted on the floor were measurements from the
camera to the stage, from the camera to the lights, and
from the lights to the stage.

Lindsay took out a tape measure and measured the
floor markings. "They correspond to my tape measure," she said. "That is basically all I needed to
know. Why don't you take a picture of the floor here
and send it to the sheriff's department?"

"Sure." He grinned broadly, obviously appreciating
Lindsay's attention to detail. "I find the way to be
consistent with my photography is to take careful
notes of each picture. Those filing cabinets are full of
information on every photograph I have ever taken. I
can use my notes and re-create a photograph exactly
as it was made the first time."

"That's good to know. I won't take up any more of
your time. Thank you for showing me your studio."

"You're welcome. Just call or come by if you need
anything else."

Derrick was looking in the window of Mickey's
studio when she emerged. "The shovels weren't
ready. That's the bad thing about this guy. He's kind
of slow."

They climbed in the jeep, and Derrick headed for
the site. After five minutes of silence, Derrick patted
Lindsay's hand.

"You okay, Lindsay?"

"Yeah"

She told him about the injuries she had found on
the bones of the children.

Derrick took her hand and held it. "I don't understand it," he whispered.

"Neither do I. I told the sheriff about the massacre
site. This is the same kind of madness."

"You know what we need to do?"

"What?" asked Lindsay.

"Go dancing. Real dancing."

"Yeah, we do. We haven't done that in at least a
year."

"I'll scout around for a place. Maybe good old
Marsha knows somewhere"

Lindsay grinned. "Maybe she does."

"You and Frank seem to be getting close again."

"We went to the movie the other night, that's all."

"Did you have a good time?"

"It was nice. Why do you ask?" She gave him a
sideways glance.

I like to keep an eye on you, Lindsay. I have to
make sure my best dancing partner is happy"

" 1 think I would be a lot happier if I hadn't become
involved in identifying these bones. I love working
with bones, but ... it's hard when they are children."

Derrick reached over and took her hand. "I know."

"Well, speak of the devil," said Lindsay, "isn't that
Good Ole Marsha's Lincoln parked beside Frank's
Jeep'? We can ask her about a place to go dancing."

... and the bones came together, bone to his bone ...
the sinews and the flesh came up upon them,
and the skin covered them above:
but there was no breath in them.

Ezekiel 37:7-8

WHEN LINDSAY AND Derrick arrived at the site,
Marsha, Frank, Jane, and Thomas were sitting at the
picnic table drinking Cokes and laughing. Marsha's
hand was resting on Frank's arm as she ended some
funny anecdote about her garden club. Lindsay sat
down opposite Marsha and Frank while Derrick got
the two of them a Coke from the cooler.

"Marsha. Just the person we wanted to see." Derrick sat beside Lindsay and handed her a bottle. "Is
there any really good place to go dancing near
here?"

"Oh, yes, is there?" cried Jane. "You should see
Lindsay and Derrick dance. They've won tons of
competitions."

"I had forgotten that you and Derrick dance,"
Frank said. "I didn't realize it was that serious. So
you've won competitions together?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, there is a place," said Marsha, before Lindsay had a chance to speak. "Not
here in Merry Claymoore, but about 40 miles from
here. Why don't we all go? I'd love to see Derrick and
Lindsay dance."

Great, thought Lindsay. Marsha just wrangled a
date with Frank.

"Let's do it," agreed Jane. "You all are in for a
treat."

Lindsay gave Jane a pained smile. "You're building
us up quite a bit."

"We can deliver." Derrick grinned and put an arm
around her shoulder.

"Speaking of delivery," Frank said. "A package
arrived for you, Lindsay. I put it in your tent"

"Oh, I know what it is." She downed the rest of her
drink. "See you guys later. Let me know when we're
going dancing." She left for her tent just as Marsha
invited Frank for coffee in town.

The package was from the forensics department at
the University of Tennessee. It was the kit she needed
to reconstruct the face of Burial 23. Lindsay laid out
the supplies on her desk and began placing the skin
depth spacers on the skull. When she finished, she
began with the modeling clay, smoothing it to a
thickness that just covered the spacers. It was like
connecting similar elevation lines on a map.

When Lindsay stood and stretched her stiff muscles, she realized that it was well after dark. She
looked down at the rough image of a face emerging
from her effort. Coarse though it was, she could see
the countenance of Burial 23 taking shape.

It was still early enough to take a walk by the river,
and the night was lit by the moon. She put away her work and left her tent. No one else was home in the
crew's tent village. The tents were dark and empty.
Probably in town, she thought, or taking a moonlight
swim. It was cool, and she hugged herself as she
walked down the deer trail toward the river. No one
was there, and she turned around to return to the
tents. Just ahead she could see a dark form coming
down the path toward her. For a moment, she had the
urge to turn and run. Then she realized it was Derrick.

"You out for a walk, too?" she asked, trying not to
sound relieved.

"Yeah. Nice night for it."

Derrick looked good in the moonlight. Of course,
thought Lindsay, Derrick looked good all the time.

Unexpectedly, he reached out and gently pulled her
to him. For a moment, as if waiting for her to say
something, he simply looked into her eyes. When she
said nothing, he kissed her. Lindsay slipped her arms
around his neck, returning his kiss.

Kissing Derrick was sweet, tender, and exciting,
everything Lindsay thought it probably would be.
When they finally stopped, she stepped back. She had
known Derrick for a long time; he was a good friend.
He had kissed her cheek many times and had even
kissed her lips to ring in a new year, but he had never
kissed her like that.

"Come with me " He held out his hand.

"No."

"Why?"

"Can't afford to"

"But you want to"

"Of course I want to. That's beside the point."

"It will be really good." He kissed her ear.

"I don't doubt that, Derrick." She smiled up at him.
"You are one of the most gorgeous... sexiest men I have
ever known. And you genuinely like women, really like
them. But that's part of the problem."

"How come? I practice safe sex"

Lindsay laughed. "I've never had casual sex, and
I don't intend to start, not even with such a terrific
partner."

Derrick's eyes were soft and dreamy. He was an
expert lover, all gentle and coaxing with the promise
of giving the greatest of pleasure, which she had no
doubt he could deliver.