The Bones She Buried: A completely gripping, heart-stopping crime thriller(49)

“Like a league?” Josie asked. “Like they have with bowling?”

“Yeah, exactly. I mean, it was just a bunch of local guys getting together, hanging out and competing. Anyway, for a few years they actually had championship shooting matches. All the clubs would enter their best shooter, and the last guy was the champion. He’s the guy that got the belt buckle.”

Josie felt a small thrill of excitement set off butterflies in her stomach. Finally, a lead on the belt buckle. “So that belt buckle belongs to the 1973 shooting champion?”

“That’s what they think, yeah. In rifle shooting, on account of it having two rifles on it,” Mettner said.

“So how do we track down these clubs? Did anyone have a name? Anything?”

Mettner shook his head. “No, but they said sometimes in the local papers they would report stuff about the competitions, and I’m talking the local papers, you know? Like the ones that don’t exist anymore. I don’t know if the local library would have them or not.”

“They do have them,” Josie said. “I know exactly where to look. Thanks, Mett!”

“What happened with Lance Fraley?” he asked.

Josie gave him a run-down of the interview with Noah’s dad.

“Gretchen’s working on locating this Ivan guy?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m going back upstairs now to write up some reports.”

Back at the desk, Gretchen was having no luck finding a white male, approximately sixty-five years old, named Ivan. “I might have to go over to the Catholic church tomorrow, see if they kept records,” she said.

Josie told her what Mettner had found out. “So you’ll go to the church, and I’ll go to the library.”

“Yes,” Gretchen said. “As long as Chitwood doesn’t change his mind. But it’s late so it’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

“First thing,” Josie agreed. “I’m going to get out of here now. I feel like I haven’t seen Noah in weeks. I need to check on him.”





Thirty-Four





Josie went to Noah’s favorite barbecue restaurant and got his favorite meal. It was what he would have done for her—what he had always done for her in times of great stress. He made sure she ate and got enough rest even when those were the last things she wanted to do.

She found him at Colette’s. Every light in the house was on. The front door was unlocked. As she moved through the house calling his name, she saw boxes stacked in each room. Noah was in Colette’s bedroom, throwing clothes from her dresser into an open box on the bed, sweat pouring from his temples down the sides of his face. His dampened T-shirt clung to his torso. His movements were frenetic. Once the box was full, he punched the clothes down inside it, taped it shut, and grabbed another box from the floor.

“Noah,” Josie said as she set the takeout bag on the empty dresser.

“Hey,” he said. He gave her a glance and kept going, yanking clothes off the hangers in the closet and stuffing them into the new box.

“You’ve been at this all day?” Josie said. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” he said. “I just want to finish.”

Josie took another step into the room and grabbed another empty box from the floor. “Let me help you,” she said.

He didn’t protest. They worked in silence until everything in the room was packed into boxes. Noah collapsed onto the edge of his mother’s bed, shoulders slumped. His skin was pale, and dark circles smudged the skin below his eyes. Josie gave him a moment to catch his breath, sitting next to him and lightly stroking his back. “I brought you something to eat,” she said. “Let’s go down to the kitchen, okay? You need to eat.”

He pointed at the bag. “Is that from Talulah’s?”

“Yes,” Josie said.

When he smiled at her, her heart skipped a beat. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the container, opening it, pulling out the sandwich and eating it where he sat. His movements gradually slowed from the manic pace of earlier, and Josie was surprised when, between mouthfuls, he asked her if there were any new developments. She started to tell him about her and Gretchen’s day, but when she got to the part about interviewing his dad, Noah turned to stare at her, his mouth hanging open, a lump of half-chewed beef brisket visible. A red hue crept from his collar to the roots of his hair. He said, “You talked to my father? You went to his house? Behind my back? Without even talking to me?”

Josie stood up from the bed. “I didn’t do it ‘behind your back,’” she said, perplexed. “Noah, you know this was a legitimate line of inquiry.”

“We’re talking about my dad here,” he said, his voice nearly a shout. He tossed the remains of his sandwich into its takeout container and paced the room.

“Yes, but to us he was a family member of one of our victims who might have had knowledge that would help our investigation. Noah, you know this.”

“He’s not a family member,” Noah snarled. “He is not family to me. He abandoned my mother. He cheated on her, and then he walked out and never looked back.”

Josie stood and tried to take one of his arms, but he swatted her away and continued to pace in the small area. “I’m sorry, Noah,” Josie said. “I’m sorry that your mother died. I’m sorry we’ve had to speak to your father. I can’t even imagine how painful this must be for you, but please know that Mettner, Gretchen and I are trying to find the person who killed your mother. That’s all.”