Grave Danger

She took her next step without looking down and felt her feet slip beneath her. Her arms shot out to catch her balance, but her tool kit unevenly distributed her weight and she slipped more, dropping her case and picking up speed as she descended. In a crouch, she locked her legs to stop the slide, but there was no way out of it. She was going down. In mere seconds, she would find herself cuddled up with the skeletal remains of an adult female.

* * *

“Do you always get so up close and personal with your work, Doc?” Wes gripped the upper arm of the bone hunter. He caught her midair, pulling her back like a rag doll. A very tall and thin rag doll.

“All the time,” she boasted. Her shaking fingers tugged at the bottom of her suit coat. For a doctor, she wasn’t very bright to come out to the cold north with no gloves. She probably only had the latex variety in her black case.

Wes noticed her tool kit a few feet down the embankment. She’d dropped it in her fall. He sidestepped down to retrieve it, not sure why he did. He shouldn’t be helping her in any way. Not until he knew if she intended to sensationalize the find or not. He dared not tell her about the pirates. If word got out, he’d have every treasure hunter in the Northeast invading his island by morning.

His best choice would be to stick close and hurry her up. Wes handed the kit over and watched her grip the hard case at her front as she’d done before. A buffer between them, perhaps? A means of protection? “I’m not going to hurt you,” he chided.

“I didn’t think you were.” Her coffee-colored eyes widened to saucer size through her lenses.

“Then what’s with—” Wes shook it off. “Forget it. Let’s just get this over with so we can get out of the cold. The sun’s setting.”

“Sun?” She looked to the skies without a squint.

He did a double take. Was this woman being snarky with him? “Yeah, sun.” He tapped his watch. “Five-thirty. Daylight is disappearing while we stand here over this dead guy.”

“Girl.” She looked straight at him.

“What?”

“It’s a dead girl. Woman actually.”

“How do you know?”

“Her posterior ramus of the mandible is straighter than that of a male’s.”

“I see.” He didn’t have a clue.

“A male’s is much more curved.”

“Right.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Is that all?”

“Well, a woman’s pelvis is wider, as well.”

“Of course, but can you give me an estimate of age?”

The doctor turned away to give the skeleton her full attention. Wes watched how Lydia Muir became absorbed in her task to the point where he thought she forgot he still stood behind her. Minutes went by while she dropped her case at her feet and opened it to withdraw a pair of blue latex gloves. She approached the bones and crouched down. Her hand reached out, tracing some markings on the ribs. Abruptly, she stood and circled around to the other side with continued skilled concentration.

“Well?” Wesley reminded her of his presence.

“Well...” She bit her lower lip. “Judging by the slight pitting and sharpness of her ribs at her sternal area, I would estimate her age between twenty-five and thirty years when she died.”

“I meant the age of the bones. Are they ancient or are they fresh?”

“I can’t answer that without a full examination.”

“And what does that entail?”

“It means sectioning this site off to search for any clothing, jewelry or artifacts that might give me a ballpark date of burial.”

“Too long. I need something to go by now.”

She scooped a handful of sand away from the pelvis area. A few more scoops and she pulled up something rusty. “How about a zipper? Not your typical ancient woman’s attire.”

The doctor grabbed a plastic bag from her case, but before she dropped it in the bag, she placed it back where she found it and snapped a picture of it with her camera. Then she stood and handed him the bag with the zipper in it to study.

“I’m going to need more proof than a zipper to tell me that we’re not dealing with an old corpse. Zippers have been around for at least a century.”

Dr. Muir met him at eye level. She really was quite tall if she came close to his six-five height. Even if they were nearly equal in height, they weren’t in width. With her hands on her slim waist, elbows jutting out at her side in sharp points, she looked as though the whipping wind could take her for a ride.

“Sheriff, I won’t be able to determine her age until I get the remains back to my lab and analyze their nitrogen level. The higher the level, the younger the age. Anything younger than twenty years will require an investigation, whether you like it or not.”

“You seem pretty smart, Doc. Surely you have something in that kit of yours that can push this along. Give you one of those ballparks you mentioned.”

Dr. Muir pinched her trembling and purpling lips, reminding him that she wasn’t as smart as he gave her credit for. The fool woman didn’t even know how to dress adequately for the climate, and now the cold was settling into her own bones.

Wesley ripped off his coat. “Put this on before you freeze.”

She questioned him with raised eyebrows, but her lips relaxed at his offer. She took his heavy uniform coat without a fight and quickly stuffed her arms into the sleeves and zipped up.

She went back to her tool kit. “I suppose it’s getting dark enough that I could use my ultraviolet flashlight to give you a guess, but this is off the record. I won’t put it in writing.” She turned back with a small black flashlight. “Fresh bones glow a blue color under UV light. Time causes the fluorescence to diminish from the outside in, giving a relative age at each stage of glowing. Bones older than a hundred years won’t glow at all.” She clicked the light on and beamed it on the skull.

Neither of them said anything as vivid blue fluoresced, illuminating the facial features straight through. Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose at the truth staring back at him. He didn’t need the doctor to state anything off the record. And denying the facts wouldn’t change them. These weren’t pirate bones, and treasure hunters were the least of his worries. These bones were fresh ones buried in a shallow grave.

The doctor looked up from her crouched position. “Less than ten years, and these markings on the rib cage—” she pointed at the tiny lines “—are lacerations made by a knifelike instrument. It would appear a crime has occurred on your island, Sheriff Grant. And my assessment says it’s murder.”

TWO

“Dr. Webber, I’m certain these bones are less than ten years old.” Lydia spoke quietly into her cell phone from the back porch of Deputy Matthews’s home, where he and his wife had generously offered to put Lydia up for the night.

Stepping Stones didn’t have a hotel or a motel or any type of boardinghouse really. If it weren’t for their offer, Lydia would have been sleeping in one of the two cells at the sheriff’s station. This huge captain’s house perched on the top of a ledge overlooking the sea, capped with its own widow’s walk and porches, was much better digs. Mrs. Matthews even offered her a lovely room with an ocean view, and Lydia knew come daylight when she could see it, she would love it even more.

Lydia faced the black sea and continued her conversation. “I also see evidence of multiple lacerations on the rib cage. This looks like a murder, and I’m recommending a full investigation.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Simon Webber grumbled nasally. “Your job was to assess the situation and report back to me. I will determine if an investigation is in order. You have not been authorized, Miss Muir.”

“It’s Doctor Muir, and you authorized me to make this call when you sent me here.”

“My mistake. It won’t happen again. Unfortunately, I am still detained with museum business. Tag and categorize the remains and bring them back to me. I’ll determine if the coroner needs to be called in. You are not to call him.”

“Sir, I am not an intern any longer. I—”

“Bring the remains to me, Miss Muir. Or you will regret it.”

The phone went dead, and Lydia heaved a sigh. She leaned forward against the railing and blew out her frustration. Waves roared over and over in the dark night. The sound lulled her as she angled her head over her shoulder and eyed Deputy Matthews and Sheriff Grant through the doorway to the kitchen.

They stood around the breakfast island conversing in their own hushed tones and using sign language for the benefit of the deputy’s deaf wife, also leaning against the yellow Formica countertop. Lydia pulled her coat tighter around her to ward off the slicing air and pocketed the phone.

Her lips pressed tight to regain her composure before facing the officers with the change of plans. As it turned out, this wasn’t her big break after all. It wasn’t her time to shine. God had not prepared her way here as she’d thought. Today would end no differently than any other. More than anything Lydia wanted to fade out of Deputy Matthews’s home. She didn’t want to have to tell them she’d been trumped. Again.

But she couldn’t let them see her failure. Professionalism through and through. That’s the way it had to be. Always, and under every circumstance. She would not let Dr. Webber break her down. She’d come this far with all his comparisons, pitting her against her father. As if she’d ever win that prize. She’d accepted a long time ago that she would never be as brilliant as the great scientist, her father, Dr. Gerard Muir. Apparently Dr. Webber thought she would be when he hired her.

If only she could show him what she was capable of with this case. She may not be her father, but if he would give her a chance, he would see she was a good forensic anthropologist. He would see she was a good candidate for the directorship position. If only.

Lydia breathed deep and exhaled a condensed cloud of air into the cold night, accepting the position wasn’t to be so for her.

“Problem?”

Lydia whipped around to find Sheriff Grant standing there. How long had he been there?

“Everything’s fine,” she blurted out and averted her eyes to look at the lit hurricane lantern hanging on the doorframe adjacent to his head.

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia stepped back into the porch railing, reaching for anything to separate her from this too-good-looking bulldog. She settled for her hands on her abdomen. She knew his kind. He was probably a jock in high school who steered clear of the brainy girls—if he noticed them at all.

“You look beaten.” Through his long strands of hair, he eyed her fidgeting hands, and she stilled them. “Did Boss Man change your plans?”

Lydia raised her chin a bit, but then chose truth over bravado. “You’ll be happy to know I won’t be digging on your precious island tomorrow. Dr. Webber has requested I take the skeleton back to the lab for a consult to determine age in the lab with the right equipment. However, I would like the area to be protected until the report is finished. Just in case.”

“Why isn’t he coming?”

“He’s consulting for a museum.”

“Museum consulting.” The sheriff’s jaw ticked. The man was going to grind down his molars if he didn’t learn to relax a little. “Look, Doc, I don’t see how some pharaoh’s tomb, or whatever is keeping him, is more important than this. I need to assure the islanders their home is safe. It would appear Dr. Webber doesn’t think Stepping Stones is worth the trip, so I would like for you to identify this skeleton before you leave.”

“I have to decline.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because...because I’ll lose my job.”

“How about off the record, then? You know you can’t leave us here in good conscience with no answers.”

Lydia bit her lower lip. Returning to her lab would mean handing this case over to Webber or, worse, one of the others to solve. But staying on Stepping Stones could kill her career completely.

And why should she trust this man anyway? He didn’t trust her. She had to be crazy to even be considering this. “I’ll lose my job,” she whispered more to herself, and wondered if she already hadn’t. What would her father say then?

“I’m sure that’s a possibility, Doc,” Sheriff Grant stated quietly, and pushed his mussed-up hair out of his eyes. She noticed his intense blues soften in the lantern light. She also noticed the way her fingers twitched when he cleared away his hair. Shock smacked her in the chest as she realized she’d wanted to reach up and do the same.

But then Sheriff Grant’s words stopped any thoughts of touching his hair. He understood the risk she would be taking by staying to help him. Lydia pressed her lips. Her decision would determine the path for the rest of her career, even life. And following this man whom she didn’t know in the least might lead her to never work again.

Or maybe this was the path God had prepared for her all along. Maybe this skeleton was God’s way of boosting her career. Maybe this was her chance to prove she was capable. Prove it to Webber, and prove it to her father.

She prayed silently for God’s direction, but she also knew she could only stay and work with Wesley Grant if he was a believer. “Are you a Christian?” she asked him straight out.

Sheriff Grant hesitated, and she thought he would say no. The words practically molded to his lips, but something stopped him from voicing them. His bullishness faded a bit, and he said, “I used to be. Why?”

Lydia breathed a little easier at his answer. It wasn’t an outright no. This really could be her ticket for an upgrade, after all. “Before I decide to team up with you, I want to make sure we have the same guide.”

“And if we don’t?”

“But we do. Even if you’ve given up on God during this time of your life, He hasn’t given up on you. He’s still leading you.”

“I highly doubt it. When my parents died within two years of each other, I considered God dead to me, too. But if it makes you stay, you can believe whatever you like.”

“I believe you still belong to Him, so for that reason, you can count me in, Sheriff.” A bit of fear mixed with a jolt of excitement coursed through her at the sound of her agreeable words springing from her lips. She felt a hesitant smile form as Sheriff Grant extended his hand to shake. Lydia reached for it and verbalized her confounding thoughts. “I’ve never done anything so insensible. My career could end up in the same condition as the skeleton. Dead.” Or it could skyrocket.

Whatever Your will, let it be, God. With that, Lydia shook Sheriff Grant’s hand with conviction. “Let’s do it. Let’s identify this woman.”

As she gave his hand a few good pumps, she noticed how it enveloped her thin-boned one with triple the size and strength. Sheriff Wesley Grant was one strong man and could overpower her in an instant. The thought caused a little fear of him to sprout. Perhaps losing her job shouldn’t be her only concern. Doubts flickered in her mind about this man with whom she’d just struck a deal. Should she have done a little digging into the life of Wesley Grant before she signed over anyone’s death certificate to him?

Sheriff Grant’s piercing blue eyes peeked through his blond strands again. She got the feeling he was questioning her sincerity, too. Seconds ticked by while she made the decision to fully trust him. She let go and decided only time would tell.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you your island isn’t as safe as you think,” Lydia said, breaking their analyzing silence. “Someone may not want this body found, and that someone is most likely one of your islanders. Other people could be in danger.”

He nodded solemnly. “I agree the islanders could be in danger, but I can’t believe one of our own did this.” His tough voice from before was now threaded with sadness. “Meet me at 8:00 a.m. at the Underground Küchen Restaurant on the pier. Time is critical. I can’t and won’t let harm come to this island or its people. I owe them that much.”

“Owe them? For what?”

Sheriff Grant turned and grabbed the handle to the screen door. “Let’s just say I had my own little brush with the law once. Someone tried to pin a theft on me. The islanders believed in me when no one else did, and for that, I owe them.”

* * *

How do you sign “Thank you”? Lydia scrawled out her message on the pad of paper Miriam Matthews carried with her to help her converse with the hearing world.

The woman’s golden-red hair draped prettily around her elegant face as she bent to read the note from behind the wheel of her SUV. The deaf woman had given Lydia a ride into town on her way to the high school where she worked as the school’s principal. A smile blossomed on her lips when she lifted her pretty face. She brought her right-hand fingertips to her mouth, then pulled her hand straight out in front of her to demonstrate the sign.

Lydia mimicked the hand motion a few times until she got it right. She wanted to say, “Thank you for the ride,” but with no knowledge of American Sign Language, she had to settle for only “Thank you.” She made a mental note to buy and memorize a sign-language book.

As she reached for the door handle to exit, the breathtaking view out her passenger window caused her to linger. Beyond the boardwalk and its quaint gray clapboard shops was a long wooden pier reaching out to the expansive, shimmering sea. Sharp rocks with spraying swells dotted the water far below the pier. From inside the car, she could hear their steady, rushing sounds that lulled her into a state of reflection—specifically for what might happen to this secluded gem of a land when word got out someone had been brutally murdered.

Miriam tapped her on the shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her pad of paper had a message scrawled across the top. Do you like the ocean?

“I could listen to it for hours.” Lydia winced and hoped Miriam couldn’t read lips. Here she was, speaking about hearing the ocean, and Miriam couldn’t hear a thing. Empathy, Lydia. Empathy.

Miriam scribbled out another message, I understand, and Lydia’s shoulders sagged in embarrassment. The woman could read lips.

Lydia took the pad and pen to write quickly I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—

Miriam snatched the pad away, her head shaking back and forth, a reassuring smile on her lightly freckled face. “It’s...all right.” Mrs. Matthews spoke aloud, her voice a little squeaky but articulate. “I imagine...the sound is beautiful.” Her face lit up in a friendly, reassuring smile while her hands made the signs for her words. The word for beautiful was represented by Miriam’s long fingers fanning out in a sweeping circle over her whole face. Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more beautiful. Immediately, her hand went to her face to practice the sign, determined to learn it right away.

“I can see you love to learn,” Miriam said again. “That tells me...you are good at your job.”

Lydia’s practicing hand stilled over her face. How did this woman know those were the words she’d longed to hear for the last five years?

For some unknown reason, this woman who couldn’t hear a word didn’t need words to see deep into people and connect with them. Miriam must make a great principal here on the island. Lydia thought the kids must love this kind, perceptive and encouraging lady.

For the first time in her life, Lydia didn’t feel pressured to come up with small talk, and yet, all she wanted to do was talk and get to know Miriam Matthews. And couldn’t. The language barrier would stand in the way. Another reason for the book. She’d order it today.

A knock on the passenger window whipped Lydia’s head to her right. It was the balding deputy who had picked her up in Rockland yesterday and brought her to Stepping Stones. She rolled down the window. “Good morning, Deputy Vaughn, how are you?”

“Morning, Doctor. I’m doing well, thank ya. I just left the site. Kept watch over the remains all night for you, just like you asked. And call me Derek. We’re not formal around here.”

“I have a feeling Sheriff Grant would disagree with you on that one. He seems like a by-the-book kind of guy, but okay, Derek, thank you for protecting the scene.”

The man’s brown beady eyes darkened. Had she said something wrong? “It wouldn’t be the first time the sheriff and I have disagreed,” he grumbled deeply.

Lydia fidgeted in her seat. There were obviously some unresolved issues going on at the sheriff’s station between Sheriff Grant and his deputy. Lydia knew how that went, having issues with her own boss. This was empathy she could offer. “I’m sorry to hear that, Derek. I know work relationships can be difficult.”

“For sure.” His thick Maine accent made her smile. He seemed like a nice man. “Do you need a ride over to the site?” he asked.

“No, I’m meeting Sheriff Grant at the Underground Küchen. He’ll bring me, but thank you.”

The man shrugged his rounded shoulders and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll just head back to the station and do some paperwork then. That’s all I’m ever allowed to do, anyway.” Derek pivoted to his left and disappeared around the back of the car.

The two women watched him in the rearview mirrors disappear behind a gray clapboard shack with multicolored lobster buoys hanging off the side.

Lydia swung back around to Miriam with a shrug. “Looks like the sheriff has caused some strife with his deputy. I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s been a little rude to me, too.”

Miriam frowned for a moment before picking up her pad and pen. After a minute, she passed the pad over. Wesley cares about the islanders more than anything. I know he can be hard on people, but that’s only because people have been hard on him. When I first came here, he was horrible to me. I have forgiven him, and knowing what I know now about him, I hurt for him.

Lydia read the note, but all she could do was nod and look out to sea. Bad things happen to people. That didn’t give them the right to pay the pain forward. And she would make sure the sheriff knew that the next time he barked at her.

Lydia smiled politely and stepped out, turning to sign “thank you” again.

Miriam scrawled another message and held out the pad with a twinkle in her eyes. Don’t order the special. It feeds an army. Owen once made that mistake, and it wasn’t pretty.

An image of the deputy stuffing his face with a whole lot of knockwurst made Lydia giggle. It lightened her mood as she hefted her tool kit to the place she was supposed to meet the sheriff.

Down the street and onto the boardwalk, a row of stores and restaurants welcomed her.

The two restaurants were on either end of the boardwalk with a long row of storefronts and alleyways sandwiched between them. The Underground Küchen was closest to her and built right into the side of one of the rocky cliffs. She stepped up to the glass window, intrigued to find out if she could see the cliff inside on the back wall.

She couldn’t see a cliff, but she did see hoards of people inside. Breakfast at the Underground Küchen bustled, and her stomach went all queasy at the sight. She had to go in there and converse with all those people. She’d never been good at basic conversation. She’d much rather talk about the molecular makeup of the human body, but most people glazed over as soon as she said the words chemical composition.

Had the sheriff arrived yet? She hoped so and searched for Wesley’s long, silky strands in the crowd. At the sight of her silly grin in the reflection of the glass, she backed away from the window and headed to a wooden bench. She couldn’t believe how girlish she was acting over the surly man. Even if he was a very beautiful, surly man.

Lydia imagined the tall, strong sheriff and practiced her newly acquired hand sign for the word beautiful as she moved toward the bench. Just as she was about to sit, her arm was yanked back as her tool kit was nearly ripped from her hands.

She whipped around, tightening her hold on the handle with every ounce of muscle in her. As she wrenched her case back, she took notice of a pair of black leather gloves on the thief’s hands. Gloves that resembled the ones the sheriff had worn yesterday.