Lavender Beach (14 page)

“Then you should probably know there’s been considerable lack of interest toward butter beans,” Eastlyn quipped.

Isabella grinned again. “Ah, well, Fischer and Jonah predicted that might be the case. We’d better scratch that crop.”

“We could always add more tomatoes, they grow vertical and it would free up space to plant a patch of red and yellow peppers.”

Isabella patted her on the back. “I love the way we’re always on the same page.”

“At least with vegetables.”

The boss smiled again as if she knew a secret. “We have good taste in men, too. Cooper Richmond’s a real hottie.”

Eastlyn sighed. “I knew it. I suppose if I’m willing to dish out dirt on Sydney Reed, I ought to be able to take it when it comes back around to me. I knew it would be a matter of hours before the tongues started wagging. The thing is, how did word spread so fast? This is Monday.”

“Comes with the excellent Pelican Pointe gossip trough, otherwise known as Myrtle Pettibone.”

“That name keeps popping up. I’ve seen her around town. She’s the one who brings her own shopping basket to the market. She has to be pushing eighty?”

“That’s Myrtle.”

“Then Myrtle needs to get a life.”

“Since she’s a staple here, I doubt there’s much chance of her changing the way she obtains intel,” Isabella explained, her voice dripping with mischief and merriment.

“How on earth did Myrtle know Cooper and I spent Saturday night
and
Sunday together?”

Isabella lifted a brow. “I saw Myrtle Pettibone at Murphy’s Market buying cat food. But she didn’t say a word about you two spending Saturday
night
together.”

“We had dinner. Nothing happened.” Except for the electrifying sexual heat between them, enough to melt the ice within the Arctic Circle.

“Well, that’s a darn shame,” Isabella lamented. “I was hoping for some tidbit to throw into the gossip pot.”

Eastlyn sent her a sidelong glance. “Oh brother. Since it’s pointless to stand here and try to battle the rumor mill, I’m going back to work.”

An hour later,
Eastlyn was still replaying that underlying current she’d felt as she drove the tractor over the section of land she’d dubbed the “back forty.” Located at the corner of the property where the edge of the cliff met up with the copse of trees at a ninety-degree angle, the back forty had so far been the roughest to plow. So when she felt an exceptionally large bump, it wasn’t that unusual.

Once she looked down at the ground and to the side, a flash of something white caught her eye. The white stood out in the black dirt, enough that she thought she’d hit one of the newly installed sprinklers. Engaging the clutch, she shifted into Park and stomped on the brake. She shut off the engine and set the parking brake before hopping to the ground. She walked around the machinery, ducked her head underneath to inspect the area around the wheels. There beneath the rubber a white blob stood out in the black dirt. This was no sprinkler head she’d unearthed. The mass looked like bones. 

“Probably animal,” she muttered. But that was before she saw the unmistakable shape of a human skull a few feet away.

She dug in her pocket for her cell to call Brent Cody. As she stared down at the ground, she replayed the grisly scene for the town cop.

Less than eight
minutes ticked by before she spotted Brent’s Chevy Tahoe screeching to a stop at the entrance to the lighthouse where she waited with the owners.

Isabella and Thane were as shaken as she was. They were all visibly distraught. But it was Logan who pulled up behind Brent and seemed even more upset and angrier than the rest. Eastlyn wasn’t sure why.

When Brent walked up, he nodded in their direction. “You guys stay put until I make sure the bones are human.”

“They’re human,” Eastlyn stated. “Thane and Isabella tried to calm me down because I know those bones belong to a person. I’ve been in combat. I’ve seen all kinds of bodies in various stages of injury and death. They’re human bones.”

Brent bobbed his head again and took off in toward the tractor. “Most likely they are, since we had us a serial killer working the area here for probably twenty years or more.” He went on to explain how the pharmacist, Carl Knudsen, had killed a string of young girls.

Eastlyn’s mouth fell open. She decided that might explain Logan’s presence. “Holy crap. That means I’m definitely taking this town out of the running for Mayberry runner-up.”

“Mayberry it’s not,” Logan murmured as he got back in his truck in a huff.

Thane spoke up. “Don’t be so hard on us. That Knudsen fellow was always a creepy guy. I remember him as a kid. No one around here will admit to missing him. Not that Ross and Jill Campbell took over Knudsen’s business, the town’s never looked back.”

Eastlyn decided to follow Brent as he began stepping off the distance to where the bones had been spread out over a ten-foot plot of ground. She listened as he went into detail about the eerie past. “Part of Knudsen’s burial ground was those woods over there. Logan Donnelly’s sister was one of his early victims.”

“That explains his attitude. That’s why you don’t seem at all surprised I uncovered this set of bones.”

“That’s because I’ve been expecting something like this ever since Isabella announced her plans to farm this land.”

“So I guess the fact that I discovered this disturbing piece of history on my own is my fault. You might’ve mentioned it in passing. Someone could have warned me, you know, anyone at all, that I might unearth bones.”

“You’re right. Sorry. We should’ve told you as soon as you turned the first bit of dirt,” Brent admitted as he walked around the tractor. 

She watched as the police chief slapped on latex gloves and studied the path of bones.

Eastlyn tried patience as long as she could. It didn’t work for long. “I hate to point this out, but as you can see, there’s not a shred of clothing near the bones, which might mean the unfortunate victim was buried without them.”

Brent squatted on his haunches, stared at the remains. “You’re perceptive. I have a list of girls who disappeared, three probable victims whose bodies were never found. They went missing, last sighting was less than twenty miles from here near the freeway.”

“That’s…probably not a coincidence.”

“I’ll call the county medical examiner and the crime scene techs, give them a heads up. It won’t be their first trip out here. If I were you I’d plan to take the next couple days off.”

“They should plan to fan out from this spot and see if there are any others.”

Brent gave her a knowing look. “That’s the plan. If we’re lucky we can give another family a measure of closure.”

When she looked up, she saw Cooper running up to the lighthouse at a jog. She chewed her lip. “Pretty soon the entire town will come up here for a look-see.”

Brent sighed. “Then I guess we’d better start heading them back down the hill.”

Eight

I
nside Layne’s Trains, Cooper was eating a tuna fish sandwich he’d brought from home when Eastlyn walked through the door carrying her own brown paper bag.

She jiggled it in the air and said, “Hey, want some company? I’ve got an hour before I have to clock in at your uncle’s.”

“Sure. What’s on the menu?” Coop asked, eyeing the sack. “If it’s better than what I have, how about we trade?”

“Pimento cheese I made from scratch and potato chips. What’s your offering?”

Cooper eyed his paper plate. “Tuna fish salad with walnuts and apples.”

“Hmm, sounds better than mine. Half and half?”

“Deal. Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

“Whatcha got?”

“The fresh coffee I made ten minutes ago, a bottle of Orangina or cream soda.”

Eastlyn pulled up a stool to sit at the counter. “Cream soda. I’ve had enough coffee to keep me floating down a river, especially after the surreal portion of the morning at the lighthouse.”

“That was like a scene from a horror movie. I’d heard about the Knudsen thing but…seeing it from thirty yards away was a different matter entirely. It stirred memories inside me I don’t like to think about.” Cooper went to a small fridge in the rear of the store and brought back two sodas. “I never expected to see that in such a picturesque setting.”

“Me either. Especially since I made out the set of eye sockets and teeth. I’d even say by getting a good look at the rest of the remains, Brent Cody’s dealing with a female buried there for quite some time.”

“You okay?”

“I will be. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen human remains.”

“Are you really happy working at all these jobs? I mean, come on, be honest, you have to miss flying.”

“Sure I miss it. But there isn’t much I can do until I’m able to get recertified. It may take me another six months, especially with the missing limb / disability / handicap thing the FAA has a tendency to focus on. I’ll need to be medically evaluated again, from head to toe, literally, orthopedically and neurologically and—”

“Are there any modifications you need because of your…leg?”

“You mean because of my polymer-coated foot?” she quipped. “I’m not without a sense of humor about it. There’s this guy in Britain, a former Royal Air Force pilot, who came up with a device called the HeliLeg to use to fly rotorcraft.”

“You made that up?”

“No, I didn’t. His name’s McQuillan and his HeliLeg device is designed to let pilots with disabilities fly helicopters and operate the leg controls using a portable device, approved by the FAA. There’s a flight school that teaches how to use it in Colorado. I’ve already checked it out and contacted them.”

“Good for you.”

“Hey, I want back in the air. And when you consider that the FAA finally cleared Tammy Duckworth to fly after years of her trying, there’s hope for all disabled vets who want to get back in the cockpit again. And Tammy’s a double amputee. Of course, they only cleared her to fly fixed wing and not rotorcraft, but that’s beside the point. If a pilot can operate her aircraft safely and perform the duties of flight, then why shouldn’t a disabled person be able to get back in the air? The fact is I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get airborne again. I’ve already been through the FAA’s rigorous medical process once before to prove I’m fly-worthy after I came back stateside and again when I got back to Bakersfield. Believe me, by now I know the drill backwards and forwards. I understand exactly what I’m up against to get it back. I was an idiot for losing my license in the first place.”

“How’d that happen anyway?”

“I failed a drug test.”

“Oh.”

She tipped her head back, met his eyes with her jaw jutted out in defiance. “Just so you know, I offer no excuses. I had a rough couple years adjusting and was in a bad place when my dad died. I should’ve held it together better. But I didn’t. Simple as that. The good news is my flying record is clean and clear other than that one incident.”

“So no drug convictions?”

“Nope, which goes a long way with the FAA.”

He laid his hand over hers. “So after veering off course that one time, you’re back on the right path now. If you’re interested, I think I can swing you a sweet deal on that Sioux chopper.”