Sharyn McCrumb - Lovely In Her Bones

“No. I need a ride.” Seeing their startled faces, Coltsfoot hastened to explain. “See, we only have two patrol cars. Mr. McKenna needs one to patrol the county, and Pilot’s using the other one over at the Nunwati Nature-Friends Craft Fair, which is tonight.” He paused on a wistful note, but no expressions of sympathy were forthcoming.

“What about Harkness’ car?”

“Oh, he just used his own, and they paid him mileage. County figured it was cheaper.”

“Couldn’t you take your own car?”

“Patricia won’t let me have it,” murmured Coltsfoot, reddening. “I was wondering if you’d mind me riding out with you. I don’t know why Pilot didn’t run me out there when he went. Maybe he hadn’t decided they needed me then. I was setting up for the craft fair when they came and got me.”

Milo cut him off. “Barnes has been to Sarvice Valley since the inquest? What for?”

“I don’t know. I think he was questioning somebody. He had the FBI guy with him.”

Milo turned to Tessa. “Would you like me to drop you back at the courthouse? I think I should go back now.”

Tessa, who had just remembered what it was like to live with a dedicated scientist, managed a brave smile. “No thanks, Milo. I’ll make it on my own.”

Daniel Hunter Coltsfoot spent most of the ride to Sarvice Valley complaining about the circumstances that had led to his becoming a deputy. Patricia Elf needn’t complain now about having to set the booths up by herself at the craft fair; if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

“And I’d say that the Sarvice Valley killer is a lot more likely to get me than those Tennessee convicts were to get her when she insisted I buy that gun!” he finished bitterly.

“Why don’t you just refuse to do it?” asked Milo. “Sense of duty?”

“Of course. I am a deputy,” said Coltsfoot with a noble lift of his chin. “And besides, Pilot happened to mention that if I didn’t go through with it until this investigation is over, he was going to get a lot more interested in minor drug offenses in the county.”

“I see,” said Milo, stifling a smile.

“Damn right. The Nature-Friends would kill me.”

“I see you brought a gun,” Milo remarked, glancing at the holster on Dummyweed’s belt. “Do you know how to use it?”

“I’ve never tried, but it looks easy enough on television. Bang, bang, you’re dead. Right, man?”

“Oh, boy,” said Milo to himself.

“I’m strictly nonviolent myself. Peace marches; run for hunger; demonstrations against the nuclear power plants.” He slapped the pistol on his thigh. “But when there’s a killer out there and you’re the law-a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

“Right,” said Milo, turning at a cluster of houses. “I think I’ll stop and get Comfrey Stecoah. You wait here.”

He hurried up the concrete steps and tapped on the door. In a moment, Comfrey Stecoah himself appeared and ushered Milo into a small, sparse living room. Comfrey, still wearing the clothes he had on at the inquest, had been eating his lunch on the chrome and glass coffee table.

“What is it?” he asked Milo.

“Pilot Barnes assigned us a guard for the rest of our stay.”

“’Bout time,” grunted Comfrey.

“It’s that Coltsfoot guy. With a gun.” Milo enunciated each word carefully, underscoring the implications.

“Right. Let me finish eating. I’ll meet you at the church.”

He’s a good guy, Milo thought as he walked back to the car. If they fire Bevel Harkness, they ought to hire him as deputy in the valley. Maybe I’ll mention it to Pilot Barnes.

“How much longer are you guys going to be here?” asked Coltsfoot when they were on their way again.

“We should be gone by tomorrow, I hope,” said Milo. “We’re remeasuring the skulls today, and then we’ll rebury the remains. I can do the computer work back at the university. Two days, at the most.”

“I’ll still miss the craft fair,” sighed Coltsfoot.

Milo pulled the car into the parking lot below the church. Before he got halfway up the bank, Jake came running to meet them.

“Have you seen Elizabeth?” he demanded.

Milo’s eyes narrowed. “I left her here with you!”

“She sent me out for tomatoes,” said Jake sheepishly. “When I came back, she was gone!”

Elizabeth was in no hurry to get where she was going. She needed the time to think. By the time she reached the path up the mountain, Elizabeth was sure that she had not been followed. She had at least ten minutes’ head start before Jake came back and began to search for her. By the time he found her, she hoped she would have everything settled. She slowed to a walk, forcing herself to look at the plants along the path, while her mind considered the problem. Bloodroot and yarrow… could she ever tell Milo the truth? Boneset… pigweed… maybe she could have brought Jake with her. He might have understood. Could he track her through the woods? She frowned. Of course he couldn’t! Indian stereotyping again.

She stooped to examine a yellow-orange tangle of vines in a sunny spot beside the path-the love vine. She had found it in her plant book under “dodder-also known as strangleweed.” She wondered if anyone had planted this one, and if so whose name it bore. A cluster of gnats swarmed up into her face, and she batted them away. The air was thick with heat.

“Think this through,” Elizabeth said aloud wishing for a moment that she could turn and go back to the church. Whose responsibility was it anyway? She had nearly reached the end of the path-not far now. Soon Milo would figure out what she already knew, and by then it would be too late to salvage anything from the confusion that would follow. Elizabeth kept going. She had to talk to the Wise Woman of the Woods.

Amelanchier’s cabin sat in green silence in the clearing. Elizabeth was relieved to see that no tourists had made the trek up the mountain. She stood in the shadow of a sourwood tree, watching a red-tailed hawk on a reconnaissance flight. It flew a back loop toward a thatch of pines, out of her line of sight. She wondered if she ought to search for Amelanchier, perhaps at the creek whose wind-sound barely reached her ears. She looked again at the still cabin, deep in shade; its doors and windows faced her like a blank stare. She knows I am here , thought Elizabeth. She sees me. She wondered how she knew.

As Elizabeth turned over her feelings, she was surprised to find that her reluctance to go on came from shyness rather than from fear. Elizabeth was never very direct with anyone. “Are you going to the kitchen?” she would say to Bill- not , “Bring me a glass of water.” She wondered if there were any diplomatic way to discuss multiple murder, but she was not afraid. Never once did she think: I could be next.

She walked slowly through the fescue grass, knowing that she was not within the cross hairs of a rifle sight, not bothering to move in stealth. She would not ring the yard bell or “rad” a note; and she must not think of Victor or Alex for the next half hour.

Elizabeth tapped on the door.

“It’s open!” Amelanchier’s voice sang out.

Elizabeth eased the door open and peered inside. The old woman sat at her plank worktable, scooping dried herbs into small plastic bags. “Making up a batch of bitters,” she told Elizabeth. “Tourists cleaned me out.”

She motioned her visitor toward the stool against the wall. “You want to tie them tags around the neck of the bags for me?” she asked, shoving a handful of garbage-bag ties across the table.

Elizabeth picked up the wire and plastic sealer and began to wind it around the neck of the bitters packet. “We have to talk,” she said softly.