Mariah Stewart - Hard Truth

“Consider it told.” Bonnie stabbed at her salad and asked, “So, can you tell me what the hell is going on down there in Southern Bumfuck, for Christ’s sake? It seems as if every time I turn on the news, there’s another body being dug up.”

“There have been four at last count. And I’ll be damned if I know where they came from. It’s pretty horrific. Those remains have been there for years.”

“Well, it’s a farm, right? How come the tractors didn’t plow them up before this?”

“Until that parcel of land was sold off to a developer, it was all wooded. So it was never plowed. It’s only been recently, when they took out the trees to start building the houses, that the graves were discovered.”

“God, that is creepy.” Bonnie shook her blond head. “How are you making out with your plans to sell it?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not selling?”

“I’m not making out well right now, but yes, I’m still planning on selling. Things have been so hectic this week. Plus, there are other factors involved right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like the police-and as of yesterday, the FBI-are investigating multiple murders and could probably block the sale of the property while the investigation is ongoing. I know they’re still looking for other graves. And like the fact that we’re not likely to get as good a price for it at the moment, since there’s so much notoriety attached to the farm. I’m afraid if we put it on the market right now, we’ll attract the curious and the morbid, but no serious buyers.” Lorna leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her entrée.

“You really think real estate developers care about that sort of thing?” Bonnie snorted.

“We-my sister and I-were hoping to not have to sell to a developer. We’d hate to see the family home be demolished and replaced with a row of town houses.”

“Maybe you should put it on the market and see what happens. You never know who might be interested. Though I suppose there are fewer and fewer people going into farming today.”

“True enough, though you’d be amazed at how many working farms there are in the area.”

“A good thing.” Bonnie speared a piece of yellow summer squash with her fork and held it up. “Someone has to feed us. I for one am happy someone is still in the business of raising veggies.”

“You, being a vegetarian, would be in heaven in Callen. You can go right to the farms and buy whatever is in that week. There are also several dairy farms, a few that raise organic meats, and, of course, the mushroom farms. And the vineyards. There are at least half a dozen within twenty miles of our farm.”

“It all sounds so… rural.”

Lorna laughed.

“So tell me what the police and the FBI are doing to find this killer who’s on the loose.”

“For one thing, no one knows if the killer is still in the area. There haven’t been any recent victims found-at least none that we know of. They’re still trying to identify the victims found this past week. Mitch-Mitch Peyton, he’s the FBI agent assigned to the case-is working on that.” Lorna paused, then asked, “Did I tell you I hired a private investigator to help determine if Billie Eagan killed her son?”

Bonnie placed her fork on the side of her plate, then looked up. “Why, no, you hadn’t mentioned that. How do you know Billie Eagan? And where did you find a private investigator?”

Lorna related the entire story. When she concluded, Bonnie shook her head and said, “And here I thought you were languishing down there in Nowheresville, and instead, you’re cavorting with possible murderers, FBI agents, an internationally known true crime writer, and a private eye.”

Bonnie paused, then asked, “Is he cute?”

“Is who cute?”

“The PI.”

“Very. Tall, blond, built. Drives a little sports car.”

“You’re making this up.”

Lorna laughed. “No, actually, I’m not.”

“Well, I suppose we might as well party tonight, because with all that going on in Bumfuck, I don’t see you hurrying to move back to Woodboro anytime soon.”

“I’ll be back. I just need to resolve a few things.”

“A few things like multiple murders and the sale of a very large property.” Bonnie shook her head. “Girl, we won’t be seeing you for another six months. Fortunately, you can take your business with you. All the joys of self-employment, and all the excitement of a juicy murder investigation and a hunky PI. Some girls have all the luck.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to come on out and join in the fun.”

“Well, if the case against Billie Eagan starts moving into dangerous waters, and you need a top-notch criminal defense lawyer, you know where to find me.” Bonnie tapped Lorna on the arm. “Scout around for another hunky PI and we’ll talk reduced fee.”

“Oh, right. I forgot how much trouble you have finding male companionship,” Lorna deadpanned. Bonnie’s great looks and personality, combined with her success, ensured she never had to be alone on a Saturday night unless she chose to be.

“There are lots of men around, but no one all that interesting. Most nights I’d rather be working.” She resumed eating. “At least with a criminal case, you can be assured that some of the reading will be good. As a matter of fact, a few of the statements I’ve read lately rival some of the best fiction on the market.”

“You need a vacation, Bonnie.”

“I just had a vacation.”

“You need another one,” Lorna told her. “Why not come for a visit sometime soon. Stay Friday through Sunday.”

“You’re planning on staying there, aren’t you?” Bonnie asked over the rim of her glass.

“For a while.”

“I bet you don’t come back.”

“I’ll be back. I just have to take care of some business there. It might take awhile, but I’ll be back.”

Bonnie took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and laid it on the table.

“Twenty says you stay in Bumfuck.”

Lorna matched the bill.

“My twenty says you’re wrong.”

Bonnie grinned. “You know, I never bet on anything less than a sure thing, Ms. Stiles. I say a year from now, we’ll be sending your mail to the farm.”

“The only way I see that happening is if they’re still digging up bodies. And if that’s the case, you can pretty much bank that twenty, because I’ll never be able to sell the place.”

“Maybe not such a bad idea, if you get to keep the PI.”

“Ha. Fat chance.” Lorna shook her head. “I don’t think I’m his type.”

“What do you think is his type?”

“The hot convertible sports car type,” Lorna told her. “Like you. You’re more his type. Sophisticated. Accomplished. Gorgeous.”

“Oh, please. Sophistication is a state of mind, and who needs it, really? And may I remind you which of us started a successful business on her own? How much more accomplished do you need to be?” Bonnie waved off Lorna’s attempt at protest. “And as far as looks are concerned, well, let’s put it this way: Jack always brags he’s never dated less than a ‘ten.’ What’s that tell you?”

“It tells me that my taste in men had dropped to a disturbing all-time low two years ago.” Lorna grimaced. “It also tells me I’m better off concentrating on work than on my social life, if that’s the best Woodboro has to offer.”

“Well, you can work wherever you are, and right now, the farm seems like the place to be. Frankly, I don’t know about you, but I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. You know, solve the mystery. Catch the bad guy. Adventure. Intrigue.” Bonnie sighed. “If I were you, I’d be in no hurry to come back here and leave that all behind.”

“I did want to be Nancy Drew,” Lorna admitted.