bones were discovered, so unasked, I recounted what little I’d seen and heard. That took me less than sixty seconds. Even at that, Mackey acted utterly uninterested.
“You’re one of the designers from Crestview, aren’t you,” he stated with obvious disdain.
“Yes, I’m Erin Gilbert of Sullivan and Gilbert Designs. I’m the one who called nine-one-one.”
“Yeah. Why’d you consider it an emergency? ’Fraid the bones would vanish before I could get here to see ’em?”
“No, I was afraid the workers who uncovered the bones would vanish. They were already driving away when I called.”
Mackey pivoted and said, “Hey, Ben? Where’s Henry Goodwin? Doesn’t he care about these here events?”
“He and Wendell Barton are having a powwow,” Ben replied. “They’re someplace inside the house.”
Sheriff Mackey snorted. “That figures. Mayor Goodwin’s sellout continues. We’ll fix his wagon.” Just then, Mikara rounded the house to join us. Mackey turned to face the second officer, who was standing sentinel by the patrol car. “Penderson?” Mackey shouted, “Let’s just cordon off theentire grounds … since we don’t know what else we might find. Or where.”
“That’s not really necessary, is it?” I asked. “Several of us are living here, and we know there are no bones inside the house.”
“Plus, I don’t really have enough tape,” the deputy said. “Can’t I just …circle all the dug-up area?”
“Won’t that prevent anyone from building new steps?” Chiffon asked.
“Yeah, so what?” Mackey asked. “You can use the back door.”
“Sure. And now that Ben won’t be able to work on the porch steps, he can get started on my gingerbread design.”
“You’ve got Ben Orlin
baking?”
the sheriff asked in dismay.
“No, building a big gorgeous Christmas design,” she replied with a bright smile. “We’re going to make this whole big home look like the candy house from Hansel and Gretel.”
“The witch’s gingerbread house was where she baked the children in the oven, right?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t remember what happened. Just that the house was edible, and there was a trail of bread crumbs that the birds ate.”
Sheriff Mackey grinned. “I sure don’t want to stop Mayor Goodwin from turning Wendell’s inn into a witch’s cottage. Sure, Chiffon. You go right on ahead with your little design project. We’ll keep the cordoning of the house confined to the porch steps.”
“Awesome! Thanks, Greggy!”
Greggy?
“Sheriff Mackey?” I said with a deferential liltto my voice, “Do you think those bones could have come from the grave that was robbed a few days ago?”
He gave me the evil eye and seemed disinclined to answer until he followed my gaze and saw that Henry and Wendell were approaching us. Mackey said in a near shout, “That’s one possibility, Miss Gilbert. Or maybe these cement steps were built to hide someone’s grave … and someone’s unsolved murder.”
In what struck me as a futile exercise designed purely to annoy Henry and Wendell, the sheriff ordered Ben Orlin to move the two piles of dirt and debris a short distance away. Mackey claimed he needed to see if they contained any more bones. They did not. Two hours later, he told us to leave everything where it was and he’d get back to us about when Ben could complete the demolition. Henry and Wendell tried in vain to get him to commit to a time frame.
Chiffon, meanwhile, showed me her plans for slapping ugly painted gingerbreadish Masonite over the classy gray-and-white-trimmed siding and forest green shutters, and we agreed that none of the existing hooks for lights—along the eaves and window casings—would be affected. Within fifteen minutes of the sheriff’s departure, I was ready to devote what remained of my morning and the afternoon to hanging the exterior lights.
Henry had told me that many light strands had been stored in the shed, so I crossed the snow-crusted
“You’re one of the designers from Crestview, aren’t you,” he stated with obvious disdain.
“Yes, I’m Erin Gilbert of Sullivan and Gilbert Designs. I’m the one who called nine-one-one.”
“Yeah. Why’d you consider it an emergency? ’Fraid the bones would vanish before I could get here to see ’em?”
“No, I was afraid the workers who uncovered the bones would vanish. They were already driving away when I called.”
Mackey pivoted and said, “Hey, Ben? Where’s Henry Goodwin? Doesn’t he care about these here events?”
“He and Wendell Barton are having a powwow,” Ben replied. “They’re someplace inside the house.”
Sheriff Mackey snorted. “That figures. Mayor Goodwin’s sellout continues. We’ll fix his wagon.” Just then, Mikara rounded the house to join us. Mackey turned to face the second officer, who was standing sentinel by the patrol car. “Penderson?” Mackey shouted, “Let’s just cordon off theentire grounds … since we don’t know what else we might find. Or where.”
“That’s not really necessary, is it?” I asked. “Several of us are living here, and we know there are no bones inside the house.”
“Plus, I don’t really have enough tape,” the deputy said. “Can’t I just …circle all the dug-up area?”
“Won’t that prevent anyone from building new steps?” Chiffon asked.
“Yeah, so what?” Mackey asked. “You can use the back door.”
“Sure. And now that Ben won’t be able to work on the porch steps, he can get started on my gingerbread design.”
“You’ve got Ben Orlin
baking?”
the sheriff asked in dismay.
“No, building a big gorgeous Christmas design,” she replied with a bright smile. “We’re going to make this whole big home look like the candy house from Hansel and Gretel.”
“The witch’s gingerbread house was where she baked the children in the oven, right?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t remember what happened. Just that the house was edible, and there was a trail of bread crumbs that the birds ate.”
Sheriff Mackey grinned. “I sure don’t want to stop Mayor Goodwin from turning Wendell’s inn into a witch’s cottage. Sure, Chiffon. You go right on ahead with your little design project. We’ll keep the cordoning of the house confined to the porch steps.”
“Awesome! Thanks, Greggy!”
Greggy?
“Sheriff Mackey?” I said with a deferential liltto my voice, “Do you think those bones could have come from the grave that was robbed a few days ago?”
He gave me the evil eye and seemed disinclined to answer until he followed my gaze and saw that Henry and Wendell were approaching us. Mackey said in a near shout, “That’s one possibility, Miss Gilbert. Or maybe these cement steps were built to hide someone’s grave … and someone’s unsolved murder.”
In what struck me as a futile exercise designed purely to annoy Henry and Wendell, the sheriff ordered Ben Orlin to move the two piles of dirt and debris a short distance away. Mackey claimed he needed to see if they contained any more bones. They did not. Two hours later, he told us to leave everything where it was and he’d get back to us about when Ben could complete the demolition. Henry and Wendell tried in vain to get him to commit to a time frame.
Chiffon, meanwhile, showed me her plans for slapping ugly painted gingerbreadish Masonite over the classy gray-and-white-trimmed siding and forest green shutters, and we agreed that none of the existing hooks for lights—along the eaves and window casings—would be affected. Within fifteen minutes of the sheriff’s departure, I was ready to devote what remained of my morning and the afternoon to hanging the exterior lights.
Henry had told me that many light strands had been stored in the shed, so I crossed the snow-crusted
Similar Books
