Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner Read Free Book Online Page B

long time.”
    â€œSee, there you go,” I said. “There’s a bit of info we can use.”
    River grinned.
    â€œHow about relatives? Did she have living relatives?”
    â€œDon’t know,” River said, getting cups and saucers from the cupboard. He held up a finger to signal an interruption and steamed the milk, which made a racket that filled the tiny kitchen. “I suspect she didn’t have any kin, ’cause I bought this place and all the contents, kit and caboodle. I’d take it by that she didn’t have anybody to leave it to. I kept a few of the things from the house because they were interesting or made me think of something from my own childhood, but I gave the rest away. Haven’t tackled the attic yet; it’s still stuffed full.”
    He fiddled with pouring and scooping and served up two aromatic cups before throwing the dish towel over his shoulder. “Nutmeg? Cinnamon?” he asked.
    On any other morning that would’ve made me giggle. River looked like he belonged on a tractor, not acting as our barista.
    He caught my smile and shrugged. “Coffee is important to me,” he said. “I like to learn about things that are important to me.”
    He joined us with his own cup and I went back to my notebook. I jotted down the name of the lawyer. He might not be inclined to tell me anything either, but if I made some noise about the undisclosed grave, he might be forthcoming, if only to protect his vulnerable parts. I asked more questions about the property transfer and River answered patiently, though he didn’t have much useful information. Then his phone rang and from his side of the conversation it was clear we were being summoned. I raised my mug and took one last satisfying gulp before reluctantly setting it down in its saucer.
    When we got back to the tent, the crime scene techs were collecting the markers they’d used to identify details at the scene and the body was being loaded into the wagon.
    Ron Solomon, the medical examiner, came over to greet us. I’ve known Ron, now a burly man in his mid-fifties, since I was a kid. He and my father had been on the parish council together at St. Raphael’s. They’d also been racquetball buddies and, despite being a decade apart in age, fast friends.
    Like a lot of people who deal with death for a living, Ron has a dark sense of humor. “Tell you what, Mr. Jeffers,” he said, after introductions were made. “I’m gonna give you a twofer. Since I was out here anyhow for the female, I had a look at your skeleton. He’s got a hole in his skull, seems like it warrants a further look. I don’t think he died of natural causes. Bad news for him, good news for you. We’ll be transporting the remains back to the morgue.”
    â€œWell, I can’t say I’m sorry to be turning this over to you,” River said, “but I would like to know what you find out about the fella. I somehow feel responsible for him, crazy as that sounds.”
    â€œNot crazy at all,” Ron said. “I get it. So does half the town, for that matter. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your part may not be over. A lot will depend on what we find out. North Carolina burial laws can be tricky, and family burial grounds are protected. We’ll have to keep this area condoned off until we find out more. Sorry.”
    River sighed and Ron turned and motioned for us to follow him. “Just a few quick questions and I can let you folks be on your way,” he said. “What are the odds we’d have two unidentifieds here in this same spot, huh? Probably fifty years apart, but still weird.”
    â€œWhat are you basing the fifty years on, Ron?” I asked.
    He pursed his lip. “Nothing remotely scientific,” he admitted. “They just look like old bones. I’ll be able to run some tests later.”
    â€œHave you ever encountered a glass casket