Buttons and Bones by Monica Ferris Read Free Book Online

brushing one of the cobwebby timbers supporting the ceiling.
    Two of the walls were lined with a double row of thick, rough-plank shelves, supported by pegs hammered into the dirt. There were perhaps a dozen glass jars, very dusty, with some long, greenish vegetables suspended in them, probably green beans. What had probably once been white adhesive tape with a short message—a date?—could be discerned on the closest jar. Like the ceiling, the shelves were draped with cobwebs.
    Betsy let the flashlight linger on the shelves for a few long seconds before bracing herself and turning it downward.
    The skeleton lay in a disarticulated heap in the center of the floor. Its details were blurred with dust but it seemed all there. The skull was turned upward and away from the rest of the bones, its square eyeholes looking toward her, a gold molar gleaming faintly under the flashlight’s beam. The rib cage had collapsed, the lower jaw lay teeth down among them. The shinbones were across the thighbones—Betsy had the sudden thought that the body had initially lain with its knees drawn up. One arm was outflung, the ends of the fingers mere suggestive bumps under the dust.
    There were no footprints; obviously Jill had stayed on the steps, too.
    There were small round objects here and there around the skeleton, barely discernable, and Betsy puzzled over them for a while. Then, Oh , she thought, buttons. But there did not seem to be any remnant of clothing present. That was another puzzlement until— Mice , thought Betsy, recalling the fate of the mattress and quilts. She shuddered at the thought of mice making nests from a dead man’s clothes.
    But was it a man? It could be a woman. Betsy didn’t know how to tell the sex of a skeleton.
    Who are you? She thought at the skeleton. And how did you come to be here in this root cellar?
    There came no reply. She went back up the steps.
    Jill was sitting cross-legged on the bed regaling the children with the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.
    Lars got back a few minutes later, ahead of the heavy rain, but only just, rushing back into the cabin right as the wind picked up. Betsy went out to greet him. He had a big block of something wrapped in newspaper.
    “Ice for the ice box,” he explained and went to put it in a compartment at the top of the refrigerator, next to a much-diminished bag of ice cubes. “Sheriff’s on his way,” he added.
    “Deputy John!” cried Emma Beth happily from her place in the bedroom doorway.
    “No, honey; up here they have a different deputy. I don’t know his name yet.”
    “Will he want a Cherry Coke?” In Emma Beth’s experience, a deputy always appreciated a Cherry Coke.
    “We can ask him when he comes. But first we’ll have to talk some business over with him. I want you and Airey to stay in the bedroom while we talk. Can you do that?” Lars could put on an air of authority that was scary. He wore it lightly now, but it was unmistakable, and Emma Beth nodded. Even Airey nodded, his face solemn.
    “Yes, Daddy. Can Mama stay with us?”
    “No, darling, Mama has to talk business, too.”
    “I can stay with you,” said Betsy. “We can color and I can read to you.”
    “Color!” cheered Emma Beth.
    “Book!” said Airey.
    “We’ll do both,” decided Betsy.
    The children were each given a cookie and a glass of milk to entertain them until the sheriff’s department arrived. When it did, it came in the person of a stocky Native American man. He drove a white patrol car with big green letters spelling SHERIFF on its side. He wore the brown and tan sheriff’s department uniform under a yellow rain slicker, and a shower cap over his hat. He introduced himself as Deputy Jack McElroy—pronounced “mackle-roy”—and stood streaming water onto the linoleum floor right inside the door while Lars introduced himself as a sergeant on the Excelsior police department and produced identification to confirm it. McElroy’s eyebrows lifted and Betsy