B.J. Daniels - Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch

“You think she was young, huh?” he called down.

In the well, Rupert stopped to inspect one of the bones in the light from his headlamp. “Based on growth lines, I’d say twenty-eight to thirty-five years of age.” He put down one bone to pick up what appeared to be a leg bone. “Hmm, that’s interesting. The bony prominences show muscle development, indicating she spent a lot of time on her feet. Probably made her living as a hairdresser, grocery clerk, nurse, waitress, something like that.” He put the bone into the body bag and picked up another shorter one. “Same bony prominences on the arms as if she often carried something heavy. My money’s on waitress or nurse.”

Few coroners would go out on a limb with such conjecture. Most left this part up to the forensics team at the state crime lab. But then, Rupert Milligan wasn’t like most coroners. Add to that the fact that he was seldom wrong.

“What about height and weight?” Hud asked, feeling a chill even in the sun. His father had always liked waitresses. Hell, his father chased skirts no matter who wore them.

Rupert seemed to study the dirt where the bones had been. “I’d say she was between five-four and five-seven. A hundred and twenty to a hundred and forty pounds.”

That covered a lot of women, Hud thought as he carried the container with the skull in it over to Rupert’s pickup and placed it carefully on the front seat. All the teeth were still intact. With luck, they’d be able to identify her from dental records if she’d been local.

He tried to remember if he’d heard his father talking about a missing person’s case about fifteen years ago. Rodrick “Brick” Savage loved to brag about his cases—especially the ones he solved.

But then this one wouldn’t have been one he’d solved. And fifteen years ago, Hud had been eighteen and away at college. He wondered if Dana had mentioned a missing woman in one of her letters to him. She’d written him every week, but the letters were more about what was happening on the ranch, I-miss-you letters, love letters.

Leaving the skull at the pickup, he went back to watch Rupert dig through the dirt on the well floor. The coroner slowed as he hit something, then stooped and shook dirt from what he’d found.

Hud felt his chest heave as Rupert held up a bright red high-heeled shoe.

AFTER THE BIRTHDAY party and in between customers, Dana defied Hud’s orders and told Hilde about what Warren had found in the old dry well by the original homestead’s foundation.

Dana was sure the news was all over the canyon by now. But still she’d waited, not wanting to say anything to anyone but Hilde, her best friend.

“He really thinks the bones are human?” Hilde asked with a shiver. “Who could it be?”

Dana shook her head. “Probably some ancestor of mine.”

Hilde looked skeptical. “You think the bones have been down there that long?” She hugged herself as if she could feel the cold coming up from the well just as Dana had earlier.

“It’s horrible to think that someone might have fallen in and been unable to get out, died down there,” Dana said.

Hilde nodded. “It’s just odd that you found them now.” Her eyes lit. “You think the investigation will hold up the sale of the ranch?”

“Maybe, but ultimately the ranch will be sold, trust me,” Dana said, and changed the subject. “Thank you for the birthday party. I love the purse you made me.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’ve had such a lousy day. Why don’t you go on home? I can handle things here. It’s your birthday.”

Dana groaned. “I hate to imagine what other horrible things could happen before this day is over.”

“Always the optimist, aren’t you.”

Dana smiled in spite of herself. “I think I will go home.” She looked outside. Clouds scudded across the pale sky, taking the earlier warmth with them. The sign over the door pendulumed in the wind and she could almost feel the cold trying to get in.

Across the way from the shop, the top of the mountain had disappeared, shrouded in white clouds. The first snowflakes, blown by the wind, swept across the window. Apparently the weatherman had been right when he’d called for snow before midnight.

Dana would be lucky to get home before the roads iced over.

FROM DOWN IN the well, Rupert signaled for Hud to pull up the body bag. It was heavy, but mostly from the layer of dirt retrieved from the bottom of the well. The dirt would be sifted for evidence later at the state crime lab.

He put down the body bag, noting that the weather had turned. Snowflakes danced around him, pelting him on gusts of wind and momentarily blinding him. He barely felt the cold as he squatted near the edge of the well, pulling up the hood on his marshal’s jacket as he watched Rupert finish.

The red high-heeled shoe had triggered something. Not a real memory since he couldn’t recall when, where or if he’d even actually seen a woman in a red dress and bright red high-heeled shoes. It could have been a photograph. Even a television show or a movie.

But for just an instant he’d had a flash of a woman in a bright red dress and shoes. She was spinning around in a circle, laughing, her long red hair whirling around her head, her face hidden from view.

That split-second image had left him shaken. Had he known this woman?

The canyon was like a small town except for a few months when the out-of-staters spent time in their vacation homes or condos to take advantage of the skiing or the mild summer weather.

But if the woman had been one of those, Hud knew he’d have heard about her disappearance. More than likely she was someone who’d worked at the resort or one of the local businesses. She might not have even been missed as seasonal workers were pretty transient.

“I’m going to need another container from the truck,” Rupert called up.

The wind had a bite to it now. Snowflakes swirled around him as Hud lowered the container down and watched the coroner place what appeared to be a dirt-caked piece of once-red fabric inside. Just as in his memory, the woman had worn a red dress. Rupert continued to sift through the dirt, stooped over in the small area, intent on his work.

Hud pulled his coat around him. The mountains across the canyon were no longer visible through the falling snow. And to think he’d actually missed winters while working for the police department in Los Angeles.

From down in the well, Rupert let out a curse, calling Hud’s attention back to the dark hole in the ground.

“What is it?” Hud called down.

Rupert had the video camera out and seemed to be trying to steady his hands as he photographed the well wall.

“You aren’t going to believe this.” The older man’s voice sounded strained as if he’d just found something that had shaken him—a man who’d bragged that he’d seen the worst of everything. “She was still alive.”

“What?” Hud asked, his blood running cold.

“Neither the gunshot wound nor being thrown down the well killed her right away,” Rupert said. “There are deep gouges in the earth where she tried to climb out.”

Long after Rupert came up out of the well neither he nor Hud said anything. Snow whirled on the wind, the bank of clouds dropping over them, the sun only a memory.

Hud sat behind the wheel of the SUV, motor running, heater cranked up, drinking coffee from the thermos Rupert had brought. Next to him, Rupert turned the SUV’s heater vent so it blew into his face.

The older man looked pale, his eyes hollow. Hud imagined that, like him, Rupert had been picturing what it must have been like being left in the bottom of that well to die a slow death.

The yellow crime scene tape Hud had strung up now bowed in the wind and snow. The hillside was a blur of white, the snow falling diagonally.