Carla Neggers - The Carriage House

"My nineteenth-century horse thief theory."

"Or Jedidiah Thorne didn't die at sea."

Tess nodded since it was a scenario she'd considered herself. "But who'd care enough to steal his remains?"

"His descendants might. Maybe they know something we don't about how he died and want to keep it their little secret."

"It doesn't wash with what I know about the Thornes. They're not exactly North Shore bluebloods who want to protect the family name. Jedidiah was already convicted of murder." Tess sighed, hating discussing something so real and potentially tragic as a dead body buried in her cellar in such a clinical fashion. "The important thing isn't what I want, it's learning what the truth is."

"You know the fourth scenario," Susanna said.

"Ike."

"Yep. That's the one no one likes. He ends up dead in the carriage house cellar. Whoever buried him there doesn't realize you own the place. You pop up here, push comes to shove, they slip in and dig him up."

Tess didn't want to give this fourth option any credence. She set the soda can on her knee and watched the condensation on the outside drip onto her jeans. "Someone should try to locate him."

"That would be the thing to do, yes."

"One would think his sister-"

"One would."

Tess glanced at her friend. "If there was a skeleton down there and someone stole it last night, I could have put myself in a dangerous position by saying I saw it. I should have pretended I didn't see a thing."

"Too late. You screamed bloody murder. The neighbors knew you'd seen something. It'd be worse if you didn't mention it. Better to have everyone know. Now if someone runs you off the road or something, we'll all think you were right about the skeleton, after all."

"This is supposed to make me feel better?"

Susanna shrugged, pragmatic. "No, but that's not why I'm up here. By the way," she added, easing gracefully to her feet, "why didn't you tell me about the guy next door sooner?"

"What's to tell?"

She raised both eyebrows and shook her head. "No wonder Davey and your dad worry about you. Tess, I noticed this guy, and I have made it a policy not to notice men. He's your lean, tight-lipped, rock-ribbed Yankee. I can see him dumping tea in the harbor and hopping a whaling ship with Ahab, killing a wife-beater in a duel." She polished off the last of her soda. "And he spent more time in the cellar watching you than hunting a skeleton."

"Does that mean you don't suspect him of offing Ike and burying him in the cellar?"

"No."

"He has a six-year-old daughter."

Susanna was silent.

"I slept in his guest room last night," Tess added.

"And?"

"There's a certain attraction at work between us."

"No kidding. Davey already told me, you know."

"Davey? He saw us together for maybe three seconds-"

"All it takes."

Tess gave up. Even Susanna's clients knew not to expect false comfort from her, just her bald assessment of the facts. Her reality checks could leave clients teetering, but they knew where they stood, what they had to do. Often, they knew it before they sat down with her, but needed that blunt back-and-forth with her to admit it.

"Tell me what you know about dead bodies," Tess said.

Susanna cast her a calculating look, vivid green eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I know anything about dead bodies? I know money."

"Your ex-husband's a Texas Ranger. You must have picked up a few things."

"My ex-husband's a snake in the grass," she said calmly.

Tess judiciously remained silent.

Susanna groaned. "Okay, okay. I suppose you want to know how long it takes a corpse to turn into a skeleton?"

"Pretty much."

"For this, I deserve a walk on the beach. Shall we?"

Susanna refused to say another word until they'd crossed the main road, climbed over the rocks and were walking along the cold, wet sand in their bare feet. She breathed in the salt air. "Best to talk about dead bodies when the air is good."

"I took anatomy in art school, but we didn't get into this sort of detail."

"Flesh rotting off bones, you mean? It didn't come up in my money classes, either." She stopped a moment, curling up her toes in the sand. "I missed the ocean in San Antonio, I have to say, although there's nothing quite like a Texas sunset. All right. Dead bodies. Conditions make a difference. A body left out in the open in hot, wet conditions would decompose rapidly. Cool, dry conditions delay decomposition. Usually. Take Ben Franklin and company down in Old Granary."

"Ben Franklin's buried in Philadelphia," Tess said. "His parents are buried in Old Granary."

"Whatever. Point is, the ground there was wet and spongy. That would speed things up."

Tess grimaced. "Gross."

"You asked."

"I know. What else?"

"An unclothed body tends to decompose faster than one that's clothed, especially if it's tight clothing."

"The mummy effect."

"Was your body-"

"I didn't see any clothes," Tess said quickly. "That doesn't mean there weren't any."

"If I buried a body in a cellar and wanted to hurry up decomposition, I'd strip it. It'd be a pain in the neck, but you have to figure the whole business wouldn't be much fun. I'd take the time."

And unclothed remains might take longer to identify, buying time for whoever had-what? Tess shuddered at the thought-the real possibility-that she'd stumbled on a murder victim.

"Most of this is common sense," Susanna went on. "We've all seen dead deer and skunks and such on the side of the road. It's a different picture in summer than in winter, in Florida than in Wyoming. You follow?"

"Oh, yes. I follow."

"As I recall, children and diseased bodies tend to decompose faster than healthy adults." She let the tide wash over her ankles, yelped at the cold water and dashed back to the warm, dry sand, then went back for more. "Also, fat people go faster than skinny people."

"I don't even want to think about that one. It's disgusting."

"Think of it as natural. Mutilated bodies also decompose faster. Makes sense, don't you think?"

Tess walked along the sand, the cold water lapping at her feet as she thought about the natural process of decomposition occurring on a corpse buried in a shallow grave in the carriage house cellar. What she saw the other night had to be her imagination. "What would slow decomposition?" she asked quietly.

"Dry, cool conditions, as I said. And bogs. If you get dumped in a bog, your body can last for ages." She shrugged, matter-of-fact. "Anthropologists love bogs."

Tess breathed out. "Charming."

"A lot of people think lime speeds decomposition, and it can, but only if the body's wet. Otherwise it can slow the process. And arsenic. Arsenic slows decomposition."

"There's lime in the cellar. For the lilacs."

"I noticed."

"Could a body buried in the carriage house cellar last March, when Ike took off, decompose between then and now?"

"Yes."

Tess couldn't speak, felt her head spinning. She was so cold that the seawater seemed warm under her feet.

"Are you going to barf?" Susanna asked.

"No. I'll be okay."

"You want me to throw water on your face?"

"I'm fine."

"Tess, I want you to listen to me. Whatever you saw the other night is dead or nonexistent. If they're dead, they know how they died, and they know how they ended up in that cellar. You don't need to know." Susanna grabbed Tess by the shoulders, her thick, black curls hanging down her shoulders, her eyes bright, intense. "Nobody gets buried in a cellar for a good reason."

Tess nodded grimly. "I know."

"Chances are there's no truth to be found out and justice to be served here. Even if there is, it's not your job."

"That's what I keep telling myself." Her voice was quiet, calmer than she'd anticipated. "Right now, I'm ending up looking like some hysterical nut."