A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (33 page)

The sheriff took the magazines, kneeled down, and
opened his case. He took out a large plastic bag,
sealed the magazines inside, took a magic marker,
wrote some information on the outside, and placed
the package in the case with the same efficiency that Lindsay bagged and labeled artifacts. The sheriff
stood, grim-faced, and watched the search.

Jacob was showing stress. His eyes were wide and
his breathing quick and shallow, but he stood calmly
enough.

Paul and Estelle came to the third cabinet, which
looked to Lindsay much the same as the others, but
they approached it differently. They slid it out from
the wall. Estelle searched the front as usual, but Paul
studied the back. He placed his hands on the back in
several places, then the sides. His hands looked like a
baseball manager signaling to a pitcher as they moved
over the cabinet-almost magical. A drawer suddenly
sprung out. Lindsay saw Paul's mouth twitch slightly,
as close as he would allow a smile under the circumstances.

He reached in the drawer and took out a shiny
black box shaped like a cigar box.

"Oh, no. Oh, no," came breathy exclamations from
Jacob. "Mother! Mother," he called, as if she could
hear him and would come running.

The deputies walked over to him and grabbed both
arms, and he sagged slightly. Paul carried the box to
the sheriff, who ignored Jacob as he opened the box
and reached a gloved hand inside. Lindsay could see
there were pictures, but she turned her head away and
did not look.

"Read him his rights," the sheriff said. He was as
red-faced and angry as Lindsay had ever seen him as
he bagged and labeled the box of photographs.

"I can explain. I can explain," Jacob began babbling over and over as Deputy Andy Littleton droned
out the Miranda rights.

The sheriff told Estelle and Paul to search everything, then turned and walked toward Jacob. "Take
him upstairs," he told the deputies.

"I can explain. I can explain," Jacob continued as
they led him up the stairs.

Lindsay didn't quite know what to do-follow the
sheriff or stay with the Durants. Suddenly, she wanted
to be outside.

" 1 need some fresh air," she whispered to Derrick.

"Me, too," he said.

"We're going outside," she told the Durants, and
they nodded, continuing their search.

When they reached the first floor, Jacob started
calling for his mother again.

"What is this?" Isabel Tyler demanded as she came
out of the parlor. "What are you babbling about,
Jacob? What are you doing to my son?"

"We're arresting him for the molestation and murder
of Marylou Ridley, Amy Hastings, and Peggy Pruitt."

"I thought you had Mickey and that other boy for
that," she said. "Can't you make up your mind?"

"We have found evidence," the sheriff said.

"What is he talking about, Jacob?"

"I can explain, Mama. I can explain." His voice
was rising to a higher pitch. It sounded as if he were a
child trying to avoid a switching.

"He took pictures of the victims," the sheriff replied.

Isabel Tyler was visibly shaken, but it lasted only
for a moment. She glared at Jacob, then turned and
walked out of the room.

"Don't leave me, Mama. Don't leave me here."

He is in some other place and time, thought Lindsay. Where, she wondered. His room. The basement. A closet? She turned and walked with Derrick out of the
house.

They watched the deputies drive Jacob away, sobbing in the back seat. She heard the sheriff tell them
to put him under a suicide watch.

"I kind of feel sorry for him," Lindsay said to Derrick.

"I know. He never had a chance in that family."

Lindsay started to respond as her eyes left the sheriff's car and glanced at the house, but she gasped
instead.

"What's wrong?" Derrick asked.

"In the window on the second floor. I thought it
was Patrick for a second. It must be Jarvis. Remember him at the picnic? Jacob's son"

Derrick looked up at the ghostly figure in the
window watching the car with his father winding
down the drive.

"He didn't even come downstairs," Derrick whispered. "Let me take you home."

"We may need to take the sheriff and the Durants
back, unless the deputies return with the car."

The sheriff came toward them, carrying his case of
evidence. "You can go, if you want," he said. "Andy
will send a car for us "

"I think we will," Derrick said.

"I know this was hard, Lindsay," the sheriff apologized, "but I thought you might want to see some kind
of ending."

"Yes, thank you. I did."

"Smart thinking about his magician's stuff," the
sheriff said. "Smart thinking about a lot of things.
How do you do it?"

Lindsay shrugged. "I suppose I just understand
people and their artifacts. They always fit together."

The sheriff shook his head in amazement and
glanced back at Tylerwynd. "Hard old lady, isn't she?"
he remarked.

"Certainly cuts her losses," Derrick commented.
"Think you can get her for murdering her sister?"

The sheriff shook his head. "There's not a shred of
evidence and none to be found after 60 years. We've
got Jacob for the child murders, and I believe Patrick
killed Plackert. It was Plackert's blood in the
boathouse, and Patrick's fingerprints were on the
door. But that is all we're going to get. Sometimes
you just don't get to know everything."

"Why do you think Patrick killed Plackert?" Derrick asked.

"I think Isabel Tyler didn't want the site dug because
she was afraid Augustine's body would be found. She
started by hiring locals to try and scare you away.
What she didn't know was that you all were so used to
pothunters, you didn't think anything about it. Then
she directed Seymour Plackert, the family lawyer, to
try and get rid of you. I don't imagine Isabel understood anything about recovery laws. She probably
thought the power company could just order you off
with a little pressure from Plackert. Plackert knew the
laws, but he probably got the idea of planting the marijuana to delay you, thinking that would satisfy the old
lady. My guess is that when I told him about the body,
he went to Isabel and tried to blackmail her, and she
got Patrick to kill him and dump him in the river. But
as I said, there isn't a shred of evidence."

Peace to her bitter bones ...

-Stanley Kunitz

The Dark and the Fair

THE BANNER STRETCHED across the picnic area
at the site read: Welcome Back Ned. Mylar balloons
were tied to the ends of the tables. There was a cake, a
keg of beer, and assorted sodas in a large ice-filled
barrel. Ned stood looking at the sign. Lindsay thought
he was touched by the sentiment, but with Ned it was
hard to tell.

"It was nice of you to give this party for Ned,"
Lindsay told Frank. She had to lean close to his ear
for him to hear above the din of the partying crew.

"Well, it can't have been fun in jail. If we want to get
this site dug, we need to bury the hatchet, as it were"

Derrick brought Lindsay a drink, sat down beside
her, and squeezed her hand under the table. Michelle
sat down across from them.

"Well, Lindsay," she said. "There you are between
Frank and Derrick." Only this time she smiled. Lindsay
smiled back, and Frank and Derrick sipped innocently
on their drinks. Marsha drove up, and Frank got up to
meet her.

Someone-Ronald probably-had brought a radio
and turned it on. Soon the tables were moved apart,
and the crew started dancing.

"Come on, Derrick. Let me show off some of my
new dancing skills," Michelle said. "You don't mind,
do you, Lindsay?"

"No, please, go ahead." Lindsay said, sounding
more calm than she felt. She watched them dance
together, hoping her complexion wasn't turning green
with her envy. She unconsciously rubbed her sore leg.

"Lindsay." Ned sat down beside her. He spoke shyly.
"I want to thank you for your faith in my innocence. It
meant a lot to me in jail. Derrick and Frank told me
what you did to clear me. You're very clever."

"None of us really thought you were guilty."

Ned was not accustomed to thanking people. He
was hesitant, as if Lindsay might get up and leave in
the middle of his speech, but he continued, a new
behavior. Lindsay hoped it would stick, for it would
make Ned's life easier in the future.

"I was sorry to hear about what Patrick did to you.
I hope you're all right," he said.

"Yes," Lindsay agreed. "I'm fine," which was almost true. She had bad dreams occasionally, and her
leg still ached. But she would be fine. She would
make herself fine.

The site was quiet. The corners of the anchored black
plastic covering the excavation waved faintly in the
breeze. Lindsay scanned the sky for the rain clouds
that were supposed to have materialized by midmorning, but only a few small cottony puffs were
scattered about the clear blue sky.

They were finished digging the site. All that was
left was the clean-up. Lindsay did not go into town
very often these days. She did not want to be asked
questions about what happened to Augustine Beaufort. Now that the children of Merry Claymoore were
safe, this older mystery connected to the tragic Tyler
family was far more interesting to the community.
Isabel Tyler kept to her mansion, seemingly unfazed
by the accusations and rumors against her.

The crew were gathering for lunch. Derrick was
already there reading the accounts in the paper. "Tough
old lady," he said when Lindsay sat beside him.

"She'll never suffer the consequences for killing
her sister, will she?" Jane said.

"I don't know about that," Frank commented. "It
seems to me she is probably suffering a lot these
days"

Lindsay shook her head. "She's not suffering. She's
too skilled at blaming others and cutting her losses."

"After all this time, there is just no proof," Marsha
said.

"No," said Frank. "Even though everyone is pretty
sure she did it, she'll never be tried. I'm not sure she
would be even if there were enough evidence. She is
pretty old, and it all happened a long time ago."

"Yeah, but I didn't think there was a statute of limitations on murder," Sally replied. "She may be old,
but she is still causing a lot of mischief: siccing that
odious Seymour on us, abusing her kids, and sending
them to kill people, covering up their wickedness,
and then leaving them twisting in the wind when they
get caught. I say we all storm the mansion and string
her up. I'll get the torches"

"I say we finish the site and go home," Frank replied. "This is the last day. Tonight I'm treating everyone to dinner and dancing."

"I'll go along with that," Derrick said.

"Me, too," Lindsay agreed, standing up and taking
her leftovers to the trash. "I'm going to start packing
the lab. I'd like to get away before any more bodies
are found."

"I hear that," Brian said.

Lindsay and the lab crew were packing up and labeling boxes of artifacts. She still had the bones of
Augustine and her reconstruction, which she was
packing separately. She must remember to ask the
sheriff where they were supposed to be sent.

"I don't know what to do with this."

Lindsay looked up at a field student who was holding out a bag to Lindsay. "It was in the bags for Burial
22. We thought it might be European in origin.
Besides the skeleton of the horse, it would be the only
European artifact we have found. But I think it may
belong to Burial 23 "

Lindsay opened the sealed plastic bag and looked
at the contents. "Well, Isabel Tyler, I think I've got
you," she said aloud. She grinned at the puzzled face
of the girl in front of her and opened the bag. Smiling,
she took out a broken porcelain rose leaf that would
make Isabel's broken pin whole again, as it was in her
picture taken 60 years earlier at the Fourth-of-July
picnic, the day Augustine disappeared.

From Questionable Remains, the second volume in the
Lindsay Chamberlain series.

DR. CHAMBERLAIN" GERALD Dalton, Denny
Ferguson's defense attorney, lay a hand on the
mahogany witness box. "Dr. Chamberlain." He made
a sweeping gesture with his arm, taking in the entire
jury, who sat fanning themselves with their notebooks
and gazing at Lindsay through skeptical eyes. "You
ask these twelve men and women to believe that you
can positively identify my client as being the man who
shot Ahyoung Kim, even though the perpetrator wore
a ski mask ... and you only got a glimpse in his mouth
as he was yelling at you to hand over your purse?"

Dalton removed his glasses and pretended to clean
them with his handkerchief, shaking his head as he
focused his gaze on his task. "My client could go to
the electric chair," he said, replacing his glasses on his
nose. "Are you willing to have that on your conscience? Weren't you scared? This fellow, whoever he
was, had just shot Mr. Kim, and now he fixed his
attention on you. You must've been terrified."

"Your Honor." The prosecutor, Max Gilbert, rose
to his feet. "Is Mr. Dalton going to cross-examine Dr.
Chamberlain, or is he going to testify himself?"

"Get on with it, Mr. Dalton," the judge ordered.

"Dr. Chamberlain, don't most bone experts like
yourself use dental records to identify people, or are
you able to Zen your identifications?" Dalton gave
Lindsay a broad, sarcastic, toothy grin.

"Your client has very distinctive overlapping teeth,"
Lindsay replied, "as I have described in detail. I saw
them clearly and noticed them in spite of my fear
because observation is automatic for me. It's my job."

"It's your job," Dalton repeated. "Haven't you told
your students on many occasions that you need much
more evidence to make a positive identification than
to rule out a person?"