B.J. Daniels - Hero's Return

Instead, voice breaking, he said, “Tuck. It’s so damned good to see you,” and closed the distance between them to pull his older brother into a bear hug.

* * *

TUCKER HUGGED FLINT, fighting tears. It had been so long. Too long. His heart broke at the thought of the lost years. But Flint looked good, taller than Tucker remembered, broader shouldered, too.

“When did you get so handsome?” Tucker said as he pulled back, his eyes still burning with tears. It surprised him that they were both about the same height. Like him, Flint had filled out. With their dark hair and gray eyes, they could almost pass for twins.

The sheriff laughed. “You know darned well that you’re the prettiest of the bunch of us.”

Tucker laughed, too, at the old joke. It felt good. Just like it felt good to be with family again. “Looks like you’ve done all right for yourself.”

Flint sobered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Like Dad used to say, I’m like a bad penny. I’m bound to turn up. How is the old man? Was that him I saw leaving with Lillie?”

“You didn’t talk to them?” Flint sounded both surprised and concerned.

“I wanted to see you first.” Tucker smiled as Flint laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently before letting go.

“You know how he was after Mom died. Now he spends almost all of his time up in the mountains panning gold and trapping. He had a heart attack a while back, but it hasn’t slowed him down. There’s no talking any sense into him.”

“Never was.” Tucker nodded as a silence fell between them. He and Flint had once been so close. Regret filled him as Flint studied him for a long moment before he stepped back and motioned him toward a chair in his office.

Flint closed the door and settled into his chair behind his desk. Tucker dragged up one of the office chairs.

“I wondered if you wouldn’t be turning up since Lillie brought in a package addressed to you when she came to pick up Dad. He often spends a night in my jail when he’s in town. Drunk and disorderly.”

Tucker didn’t react to that. He was looking at the battered brown box sitting on Flint’s desk. “A package?” His voice broke. No one could have known he was coming back here unless...

Flint’s eyes narrowed as if he heard the fear in his brother’s voice. “I thought maybe you’d sent it on ahead of you for some reason.”

Tucker shook his head. “Apparently someone was expecting me,” he said, trying to make light of it when the mere sight of the box made him sick inside.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re back,” his brother said. “Whatever it was that sent you hightailing it out of here... We’ll deal with it as a family. I only wish it hadn’t taken you so long to return.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Flint sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I knew something was going on with you your senior year.”

Tucker nodded, his gaze shifting to the box sitting on his brother’s desk. He swallowed. “It wasn’t something I could talk about back then.”

“And now?” Flint’s phone rang. He buzzed the dispatcher to hold all his calls unless they were urgent. “I’m sorry. The phone’s been ringing off the hook. You probably haven’t heard. One of the locals found skeletal remains in Miner’s Creek.”

“Actually, I did hear. That’s—”

Flint’s phone rang again. He groaned as he picked up, listened and rose from his desk. “That was the coroner. I have to run next door. Not sure how long it’s going to take. Where are you staying?”

“I just got in.”

“You’re welcome to stay with me and my wife, Maggie. Or you can always go out to the ranch. I think your room is as you left it. Hawk and Cyrus have been busy running the ranch. No time to redecorate even if they had an inclination to do so.”

Tucker nodded. “I’m looking forward to seeing the place—and the rest of the family. So you’re married. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I have to run.” Flint came around his desk to put a hand on Tucker’s shoulder again. “I’m glad you’re back. I hope it’s to stay.” He looked worried. Not half as much as he was going to be, Tucker thought.

“I’ll be sticking around.”

Flint sighed. “Then we’ll talk soon. You have a lot to catch up on.”

As his brother went out the door, Tucker rose and stepped to the desk and the box sitting there. Just as Flint had said, it was addressed to him. He didn’t recognize the handwriting—not that he figured he would. Picking up the pocketknife lying beside the box, he still hesitated, afraid of what was inside, but unable not to open it to find out.

He sliced the tape across the top and carefully turned back the flaps. A faintly moldy scent rose from the box along with the rustle of newsprint. For a moment, he didn’t see anything but wadded-up newspaper and what appeared to be pages from a magazine.

Hesitantly, he pushed some of the paper aside and blinked, unsure for an instant as to what he was seeing. With a startled gasp, he jerked back as though bitten by a rattlesnake. Heart pounding and sick with disgust, he reached in and removed the wadded-up paper until all that remained in the box was the tiny battered naked doll.

One dull dark eye stared up at him—the other eye missing from the weather-beaten toy. Shaking all over, his stomach heaving, he lurched around his brother’s desk to throw up in the trash.

CHAPTER THREE

FLINT STOOD AT the edge of the autopsy room, trying to breathe normally. He’d never liked the morgue, especially early in the morning when the smells always got to him.

Today the morgue reeked of eggs and sausage. Sonny had been eating a breakfast sandwich when Flint had come in.

“Busy morning. They brought in a homeless man.” He nodded toward the second table where the naked corpse lay, its chest cavity open. “Looks like a heart attack given the condition of the heart.” He made a motion as if offering to show it to him, but Flint waved that off.

Sonny, making a “your loss” face, put aside his sandwich to move to the other table where the skeletal remains had been placed in the positions where each had once been when connected.

“Amazingly, she’s only missing a few fingers,” Sonny was saying. “But the deputy who brought back the earth she’d been found in is still sifting through it, so he might find them yet.”

Flint merely nodded.

“You can tell a lot from bones. Like this fibula,” Sonny said, picking up the left leg bone. “The length of the long bones tells us about what age she was—early twenties. From measuring the femur, tibia, humerus and their radii, I can tell that she was about five foot six. She was medium boned. If you look at the state of the bones, you can get a pretty good indication of how long she was buried along the creek bank. Fifteen to twenty years, but closer to twenty years.”

“You’re sure it’s been that long?” Flint asked, thinking how impossible it might be to identify the woman, let alone locate next of kin if they did.

“It’s not an exact science. It takes a while for the body to decompose to the skeletal stage.” Sonny started to put the leg bone back but held it up one more time. “Looks like she broke her left leg. It’s an old break that was long healed before she went for a swim.”

He put down the bone and picked up another one. “These bony ridges form where the muscles were attached to the wrist. She could have had a job where she used her hands, like a waitress.” Putting that bone back, he picked up the skull.

Flint saw that tufts of long blond hair were still attached to it. “What about DNA from the hair?”