She shook her head. “No. He never married. He lived with his sister. She’s long dead. There was no other family. They never found a body. Someone said he ran off with a woman he’d met at a carnival that was in town, but that was just a rumor.”
He stood up. “Judge Garrett, you should have been a detective,” he said with a grateful smile. “You’re super!”
She laughed. “First time I was ever called that, for sure. If it was murder, I hope you can find who killed him,” she added gently. “He was a sweet man. Everybody loved him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again.”
* * *
He went back to his office and stopped in the doorway. Jane Denali and Jeff Ralston were listening to a slender woman with curly dark hair that stuck out all over her head, dressed in a very expensive, perfectly fitting gray pantsuit with a spotless white blouse, holding a rolling suitcase.
“Well, can you have somebody find him?” She was raging as she pushed oversize glasses back up on her nose. “I don’t have time to stand around waiting for people!”
Jane and Jeff looked over her shoulder at Gil with expressions of profound relief.
“That’s Gil,” Jeff said. “Sorry, work to do.”
“Phone to answer,” Jane mumbled, and ran toward her desk.
The object of their attention turned around and glared at Gil from gray eyes in a flushed face that was pleasant but nothing more. “So you’re the investigator, are you?” she asked sarcastically, giving him a cold appraisal. “You don’t look much like one!”
Gil’s dark eyes slid over her with nothing more remarkable than indifference. “What are you supposed to be?”
She almost gasped. “I’m a forensic archaeologist!” She flared at him.
He shrugged, arms folded over his broad chest. “Don’t look much like one.”
They glared at each other while a visitor to the office smothered a laugh and took off for the ladies’ room.
She shifted irritably. He had a hawkish look about him. Or a hawkish shadow look, she thought wickedly. “Can I see the supposed human remains you found?” she demanded.
“Sure,” he said. “But who picked you up from the airport?”
“I decided to drive. Now, where is it?” she persisted, looking around, while Jeff, in his office, quickly closed the door.
“I had it in my desk drawer but people complained,” he drawled. He looked down at her smart low-heeled, highly polished black shoes. “Want to go look at the body?”
“We refer to such things as skeletal remains,” she huffed.
“Refer to it however the hell you like,” he said with a blithe smile. “This way, then.”
She left her suitcase by the door and followed him out to one of the deputy sheriff cars. He bypassed his own, spotless one, and ushered her into one that had been used the night before to apprehend two drunken brawlers. It hadn’t been cleaned, and it reeked of beer and unpleasant intestinal fluids.
She made a face. “Don’t you people know about Lysol?” she demanded as she fumbled her seat belt on.
“Sure,” he said, starting the car. “It comes in a can and smells like a hospital. I think the sheriff has a can of it. Want me to go back and get it?” he offered, putting on the brakes.
She ground her teeth together. “Let’s explore the crime scene first.”
“Up to you.”
He drove her to the broken water line, which was covered in mud. So was the pavement all around it.
She got out of the car by herself, noting that her companion wasn’t offering to help, and almost slid down into the mud.
She grabbed the door handle, holding on for dear life while her feet did a hula.
“Sorry about the mess,” Gil said. “Rain, you know.”
She made a rough sound.
“It’s right over here.”
He’d deliberately stopped several yards from the site where the body was found. She slipped and slid and muttered under her breath. She wasn’t wearing a raincoat. She didn’t even have an umbrella. Gil was decked out in his yellow slicker, with another over his hat.
“Don’t they have raincoats in Denver?” he asked.
She glared at him. “It wasn’t raining there,” she pointed out.
He almost bit his tongue trying not to mention the availability of weather apps on the internet.
She stopped just above the body, which had been covered by a tarp on sticks so that the remains themselves weren’t disturbed.
She drew in a breath and wrapped her arms around herself. “Well, we can’t tell much from up here,” she murmured.
“Sorry. Want to go down into the pit?”
“You need to get the coroner out here and have him remove the body to the morgue, unless you don’t have a coroner . . . ?”
Just as she spoke, a van drove up and a young woman with short curly hair got out. “Hi, Gil, nice day for it, isn’t it?” she asked, and paused to light a cigarette.
“I do not smoke!” the forensic expert said pertly.
“Well, I wasn’t going to offer you a cigarette,” the coroner returned simply. “Good God, the price of cigarettes is outrageous!” She blew out a cloud of smoke and coughed.
“Smoking is for idiots!” the other woman muttered.
“Really?” the coroner asked, and sounded interested. “What’s standing around in the pouring rain without a raincoat called?”
Gil got between them. “Cassie, we need to get the body to the morgue,” he said.
“Sure. Worked the crime scene already?”
He nodded. “About three hours ago. Not much in the hole. A chewing gum wrapper and some sort of stick, like from a popsicle. We bagged it and sent it to the lab for analysis.”
“Our lab, I hope,” the archaeologist mumbled.
“The FBI lab,” Gil replied with faint arrogance. “With so little trace evidence, we felt that the lab with the greatest expertise would be best.”
She didn’t try to argue with that. She sneezed and reached into her pocket for a tissue. “Can we leave? I’m freezing.”
“No wonder.” The coroner shrugged, snug in her hooded raincoat. “It’s cold out here.” She gave the woman’s fancy suit a raised eyebrow. “Nice suit. I’ll bet it looks good in Denver. See you, Gil,” she added before the visitor could open her mouth.
* * *
Gil drove the woman back to town. She sneezed the whole way.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She drew in a breath. “Nemara Landreth.”
He just nodded. Odd name. Odd woman. He kept driving.
She pushed back her wet hair and took a deep breath. It had been a long, painful week. Her new co-workers in Denver already hated her guts and had made their opinion of her crystal-clear. They couldn’t wait to shoot her out the door into this hick town to oversee this hick case. She was an expert. Her grades had been phenomenal in college. She had the best education money could buy. And what was she doing with it? Looking at an ancient skeleton in a hole.
“I could have worked in DC for the FBI lab,” she muttered.
“You sure could have,” he said enthusiastically. “There’s still time to apply. There are flights out of our airport all day. You could fly over to Denver and go straight to the nation’s capital.”