Deeper Than the Grave by Tina Whittle

This is private property, girl, and what you’re doing is trespassing. Didn’t you see the POSTED signs?”
    She was angry, but calm. I relaxed a little. Itchy trigger fingers made for deadly trouble, but there was nothing itchy about this woman.
    I lowered my hands a smidgen. “First of all, my boyfriend is a highly trained security operative, so to say that he’s ‘tromping around’ is highly inaccurate. Second, Richard called me and asked me to come. So if you don’t like that, your problem is with Richard, not me.”
    She kept the shotgun leveled at my head. “You always talk back to someone holding you at gunpoint?”
    â€œUnfortunately, yes. It’s a character flaw. But I only do it when I’m not really worried about getting shot. And I’m not.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause I’m not doing anything worth shooting me over. And you don’t strike me as a woman who wastes ammunition, Mrs. Amberdecker.”
    She scowled, then lowered the gun. “Put your hands down, you look ridiculous. Where’s Richard?”
    â€œBack at the chapel. There was a tornado—”
    â€œDon’t you think I know that? Damn thing came through like a freight train. Did it hit the chapel?”
    â€œThe roof lost a few tiles, but Richard said he can fix it.”
    She huffed in relief. She came forward, the wet leaves crunching underneath her boots. Her expression was still hard, but curious. Matter-of-fact instead of angry. She hadn’t released the gun, though, so I kept my hands where she could see them.
    â€œThen what did Richard call you for?” she said.
    â€œThe chapel may be fine, but your great-great-grandfather’s tomb isn’t.”
    She froze. “How bad?”
    â€œBad enough that Richard’s got me out here looking for bones. One of which I’ve just found, by the way.”
    â€œWhat? Where?”
    I pointed with the toe of my shoe. She followed with her eyes, but didn’t turn her head or gasp or even act startled. She just stared at the skull the same way she’d stared at me.
    â€œI think they found the coffin too,” I said. “We’ll know when we get back to the chapel. Richard wanted to get the remains located as soon as possible. He knew you’d want that too, so he called me.”
    She shook the rain from her eyes, squinted at me. “You’re Dexter’s girl, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes. His niece.”
    â€œI remember. Your uncle helped us bury Braxton the first time we found him.” She nodded toward the skull. “Where’s the rest of him?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    She knelt and examined the skull, her shotgun butt-first on the ground beside her. She looked up at the sound of voices behind me, then footsteps. Trey and Richard coming up the path. She hoisted the gun and went to meet them.
    Richard hurried over at a jog. “Rose! Where have you been? I was two seconds from calling the police!”
    â€œGoddamn coyote got one of the new kids—I heard it bleating and screaming all the way from the kitchen. So I tracked the varmint down and blew it to kingdom come. Then the damn twister came through and I had to lay low in the culvert over by the south field. And now I come back to this mess.”
    Trey came forward—cautiously, deliberately—a borrowed rain slicker dripping water on his shoes. He directed a top-to-bottom assessment Rose’s way, then mine. Only when he was satisfied that the situation wasn’t about to erupt in gunplay did he speak.
    â€œYou said you found the skull?”
    I nodded toward the tree. “Underneath the leaves. I haven’t had a chance to look around anywhere else, but…”
    â€œBut?”
    I knelt at the base of the tree. “A skull wouldn’t set off the metal detector, not by itself. There’s something else down there.”
    Richard came over and stood at my