Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(36)

“Nope. I was the one to deliver the news. I saw the look on his face. That was the look of a man who’d just lost the love of his life.” The sheriff blinked hard. “I asked some questions and was satisfied he knew nothing of the accident. I’m not sure who first spread the story of him causing the accident—I’d like to kick their ass. Damn town loves gossip.”

“And telling us? That’s not spreading gossip?” Michael raised a brow.

“I’ve never repeated the story to another person, and I’ve told plenty of people to shut up about it. I’m just giving you some background on what your brother’s experienced here because you’re related. I’d say he’s rather bitter. Now you know why.”

A waitress set two huge platters of food on the table. Michael inhaled. Christ. It was heaven. He didn’t even look at Jamie as he dug in. “Holy shit. That’s good.”

Jamie nodded, her mouth full.

Sheriff Spencer grinned and pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Here’s your directions. Like I said, watch the odometer, otherwise you’ll never know which road to turn on.” He stood, picked up his hat, and glanced at his watch. “Kinda late to drive out there tonight. You’re gonna want better light. I’d wait till morning. It’s up to you. Hotel’s just down the street.”

Michael stood to shake his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

The sheriff touched the brim of his hat at Jamie. “Good luck.”

Michael sat back down with a sigh and picked up his fork. Tomorrow morning was fine with him. He wanted to eat and then sleep. Nothing else.

“All this cheese,” Jamie said, focusing on her plate. “I’m gonna have a ton of calories to work off.”

Michael suddenly lost his need for sleep.



Mason Callahan did not like autopsies. He sat in his car outside the medical examiner’s office, air conditioner blasting, and wished for a cigarette. His partner, Ray, was home with a nasty flu bug, so Mason was on his own today. It was easier when Ray came along. It gave him someone to man up to. By himself, it was too easy to wimp out, stalling by sitting in his car, no peer pressure to get his ass inside and listen to what the ME had to say.

He tried to attend the autopsies related to his cases, but usually it was a single victim. Today, it was the adults found in the pit by the bunker. Was this even called an autopsy? What do you call it when there are just bones left? It’s more like a puzzle to put back together instead of a body to take apart. That should be the opposite of an autopsy.

Christ.

Can you say stalling?

It was just bones. But he still didn’t like stepping foot in the building. It had that smell.

He forced himself out of his car, felt the heat slam him in the face, and put on his hat. People always asked how he could wear a hat in this heat. He liked his hat. The brim shaded his eyes and his neck, and the light straw color reflected back the sun. Without his hat the top of his head got hot.

He’d taken two steps when his phone rang. An unfamiliar number showed on the screen. Any other day he’d let it go to voice mail, but maybe this was something important. Something that needed him to get his butt there right away. Away from the ME’s building.

“Callahan,” he answered.

“Detective. This is Maxwell Brody.”

Mason instinctively stood straighter. “Yes, Senator. What can I do for you?”

“After our talk the other day, I’ve been thinking hard, trying to remember if there was anything else odd going on when Daniel disappeared.”

Here it comes again. Mason closed his eyes. There was always something the family held back, feeling it was none of the police’s business or had an aspect too embarrassing to reveal. What in the hell had the senator waited twenty years to talk about?

“I had to go back to my calendar. In my type of position, there’s always a permanent calendar, a permanent record of what I’d done that day.”

Mason heard another male voice speaking in the background.

“Hang on, Detective.” The senator’s voice was muffled as he answered the other male. He came back on the line. “I’m sorry. My brother, Phillip, is here. He’s been helping me review my calendar and diaries from that time.”

Mason stood straighter, fighting the need to remove his hat. The governor was there, too? This was what you’d call a power phone call.

“A few months before Daniel vanished, I started having problems with…well, I guess you’d call it a stalker.”

Mason’s ears perked up.

“I always associate the word stalker with a woman being followed, but I don’t know how else to describe what I had to deal with. It started simple. The usual crap in the mail. Bullshit letters. The kind of stuff we roll our eyes at but always date-stamp and file away. Just in case.”

“What type of letter would you call a bullshit letter?” Mason asked.

“Oh, stuff like he hated my policies, I don’t remember which in particular. Someone always hated everything. The eye of God is upon me. I’m not doing God’s will, or I’m leading the people away from the path of righteousness.”

“A religious fanatic,” Mason stated.

“Believe me, I’ve heard them all. You can’t survive in this position without a very thick skin. I don’t engage the odd ones. You get a feel for it after a while. You instinctively know who isn’t playing with a full deck, and you don’t engage.”