A Veiled Antiquity (Torie O'Shea Mysteries) by Rett MacPherson Page B

Therefore, he hates me. He’s tried to create a city ordinance to get rid of my chickens, but so far he hasn’t succeeded. He fancies himself King of New Kassel, not just mayor. When election times roll around his slogan is “Bill Kassel reagh for Mayor of New Kassel.” It didn’t help our relationship too much when Eleanore Murdoch had a poll one week as to who was New Kassel’s most recognized face and I won.
    I jumped out of my car almost before it stopped. Sheriff Brooke was standing next to his Festiva with his hands on his hips, looking menacing as hell. Deputy Duran was there as well, including several other CSU personnel.
    “If you touch one thing, these men have orders to arrest you on the spot.”
    “Nice to see you, too, Sheriff. So, you gonna get up to Marie’s house and start looking at this like it was a homicide now?” I asked.
    “That’s none of your business.”
    I walked over to where Marie’s grave was just as the clouds broke into a downpour. I was careful not to step where the yellow police tape was that revealed where the evidence was. The dirt was in a pile off to the right. Her casket was open, her body all humped at one end of the casket, as if the perpetrator had moved her body, searching for something.
    “Oh, my God,” I said.
    “It’s not pretty, is it?” Sheriff Brooke said from behind me.
    “No,” I said. The rain dripped off of my nose. I didn’t wipe at it.
    “Get a tarp over here,” Sheriff Brooke yelled out to the CSU. “The evidence is getting soaked, you morons.”
    “What did Eleanore Murdoch say about me?”
    “She and Bill were both in the library, as was I, when Duran came in and said that somebody had dug up Marie’s grave. Your Aunt Bethany asked who could have done such a thing and Eleanore said you seemed obsessed with Marie and that she had reason to believe—”
    “So you just believed her? You didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt?”
    “If I had stopped and thought about it, I would have realized that it was just Eleanore being vicious. But after you going in Marie’s house the other night, well, I just jumped the gun.”
    “As did the mayor,” I added.
    Sheriff Brooke nodded.
    I noticed where the footsteps of the perpetrator were. The person had dug from the foot of the grave, toes pointed toward the place where the headstone would eventually go. I stood there and tried to mimic what their actions would have been.
    “What the heck are you doing?” Sheriff Brooke said.
    “Digging a grave.” In went my imaginary shovel, feet in the same position.
    “Well, when you’re finished, get home. You’ve got no business being out here,” he said. “Duran, get over to the Dijon house and get it taped. I don’t want anybody in there,” he yelled over the roar of the rain.
    Duran nodded, got in his patrol car, and took off.
    “I think you should check the guest list at her funeral,” I said.
    “What?”
    “There were six or seven people there that were not New Kasselonians. I think those are your suspects. It was one of those people.”
    “Does Rudy hate it when you act like you know everything?” Sheriff Brooke asked me.
    “Despises it. Look, anybody that lives around here for any length of time would know better than to dig up a grave at Santa Lucia at … what time was it exactly that this occurred?”
    “About seven forty-five. Father Bingham interrupted him.”
    “Exactly. Seven forty-five on a Wednesday evening. Father Bingham is playing bingo at the bowling alley, which always lets out at seven-thirty. After he cashes in his chips—he always wins something—and after he blesses everybody, he pulls into the rectory at seven forty-five. Everybody knows that,” I said.
    That shut him up. It was a wonderful sight to behold. So, while I was at it, I thought I’d just go for the jugular and get it over with.
    “Also, he was left-handed.”
    “How…”
    “From where his feet were positioned, and where the pile of dirt fell, he