Katy Lee - Grave Danger

The ground sloped more. Lydia turned to crab-walk down a steep mound of sand. With her feet solidly planted, she took the next sidestep. Then her gaze caught on the protruding rib cage sticking out of the sand, and all thoughts of the bulldog vanished.

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.”