Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner

before, or heard of one being used in this area?” I asked.
    â€œNope,” Ron answered. “I’ve read about them, but I’ve never actually seen one—never expected to, either. I think you can file that invention under ‘seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Unless you’re a canonized saint or a banana republic dictator, I see no reason you need meet your maker in a display case. ’Course this one isn’t see-through, but still, very impractical. I take it you’re looking into that whole situation?”
    â€œYes, we’re going to do some research for Mr. Jeffers.”
    â€œGood call,” Ron said, looking back over his shoulder to grin at River. “My money’s on Sophreena. She’s a bulldog once she gets her teeth into something, and with Esme on board, you got yourself the Dynamic Duo.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard,” River said with an amiable smile.
    â€œAnything you can tell us that might shed some more light on how this guy got here, Ron?” I asked.
    He stopped a few steps from where the young woman’s body had been found and turned as if to finish this conversation before he entered sacred ground. He tilted his head and thought for a moment, his bushy eyebrows bouncing up and down with the effort. “Well, I suppose you already know this land used to belong to a family named Harper. I think it passed on to Charlotte Walker sometime in the seventies, when Mrs. Harper died. I guess the Harper line died there, too. I didn’t know any of them, but my grandpa was a farmer and he rented acreage from the widow Harper after her husband died. There used to be more than three hundred acres on this homestead. So I’m guessing whoever this man is, he’d be related to the Harpers in some way. Now, I did know the Harpers’ granddaughter a little. Her name was Marla. Marla Walker. We went to Morningside High at the same time, though she was a couple of grades ahead of me and we definitely didn’t travel with the same crowd. I was a nerd, which I know you’ll find shocking,” he said with a big grin, “and she was a wild child.”
    â€œWalker, not Harper? Does she live around here still?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” Esme answered, shaking her head, then noticed the peculiar looks coming her way. “No,” she repeated. “The way you put it sounds like she’s deceased.”
    â€œYeah, she is,” Ron said, still looking at Esme, his forehead pleated into frown lines. And yeah, her name was Walker. Don’t know how she was related to the Harpers, but I assume she was king to them somehow. She left here while we were still in high school. Ran off with some boy as wild as she was. Bound for California, I believe, but I don’t know where they actually ended up. I heard she died in a car crash, must have been about ten or twelve years ago.”
    â€œI guess that explains why she didn’t inherit the place,” I said.
    â€œDoesn’t explain why her kids didn’t, though,” Esme mused, and again she got a piercing look from Ron. “Assuming she had kids,” she added quickly, giving me a sidelong glance.
    â€œShe did, I think,” Ron said. “Although I can’t remember for sure. Like I said, I didn’t really know her that well and everything I heard about her after she left here was tidbits I picked up at class reunions and such. Sorry, that’s about all I’ve got to contribute. Except one more thing that might mean something as you dig around in this, so to speak. Though it’s hard to tell since your backhoe work kind of scrambled things,” he said, turning slightly toward River, “I’d say the grave digging was an amateur job. The grave’s not deep enough and there’s no vault. There’s no way they should have expected that coffin to hold up under all that pressure without one. And it