Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (13 page)

“Need any help?”

“No. Without sounding like a jerk, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my way.”

Th

e contrary part of me wanted to watch Darrell work.

Th

e lazy part wanted to curl up on my leather bench seat.

137

A nap won out. I crawled in the truck and dozed off .

Revving of several loud motors jolted me awake. I blinked the fuzziness from my brain and checked the time on my cell phone. Damn. I’d slept for an hour.

I peeked over the dashboard. Th

ree ATVs had cir-

cled Darrell Old West wagon train style. Th ree guns

were pointed at his head.

My pulse spiked.

Th

e gun-toting off -roaders were an odd lot. A heavy-set older man who reminded me of creepy Uncle Fester. A younger black-haired guy with mutton chop sideburns, and a skinny woman with a bad dye job and a big revolver.

I removed my gun from the holster, and tried to slip from the truck as stealthily as possible. Th ey cut their

engines. I rounded the back end by the bumper and came up on the weakest leak: the old guy.

“—the hell you think you can jus’ show up on private land?”

“We had permission,” Darrell said calmly. Even with his hands up in the air he kept a tight hold on the clipboard.

“From who?”

“From the landowner.”

“Wrong answer, bub. You one of those sick

sumbitches that sees an obituary and decides to come 138

out and scavenge?

“No.”

“And who do you mean by ‘we’?” Th

is from the

Elvis wannabe.

Good as time as any to show myself. “He meant me.” I had my gun out and pointed at Uncle Fester.

“Drop the guns.”

Th

ey looked at one another. With confusion? Or malice?

“I said: Put. Down. Th

e guns. Now.”

“Why should we? Th

ree of us, one of you, and you’re

trespassin’ on our land.”

“Th

is is June Everett’s land. Which we’ve got permission to be on. So drop the goddamn guns.”

Th

ey did.

“Tell me who you are.” With the barrel I gestured to the old guy. “You fi rst.”

“June’s uncle, Charlie Colhoff .”

Mr. Mutton Chops went next. “Willie Colhoff .

June’s cousin.”

I waved the gun between them. “How’re you related?”

“Charlie is my dad.”

Bad Dye job chimed in: “Jeannie Colhoff . I’m married to June’s brother Jeff , and I think you’re full of shit.

June wouldn’t let no one out here where Lang died. It’s disrespectful.”

“Why isn’t your husband out here with you?”

139

She shifted her stance. “He’s home with the kids.”

A white Cavalier zoomed into view. June Everett climbed out. Th

e robe? Gone. Th

e tiger-striped span-

dex pants and a bleach-stained off -the-shoulder black sweatshirt wasn’t any better.

I lowered the gun by my thigh.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?”

“We were tryin’ to fi gure out who they are.” Jeannie gestured to me and Darrell.

“She’s here to fi nd out who dug the damn hole that killed my Lang.”

Whoa. Th

at wasn’t why I was here at all.

Th

e air expanded with dramatic pause.

Jeannie said, “Jesus. Are you drunk? Again?”

“What’s it matter to you? Least I ain’t hidin’ it.”

June’s gaze wandered to the pit. “Where’s Jeff ?”

“Minding the kiddies,” Jeannie said.

“Ain’t he always?” June muttered. “Poor bastard.”

Jeannie’s glower could’ve torched the prairie grasses.

“She don’t look like no expert to me,” Uncle Charlie said.

Darrell stepped forward. “Th

at’s because I’m the ex-

pert. I’m checking specifi cs before we talk to the sheriff .”

“You called it in?” Jeannie demanded. “We made the decision—”

“—to ignore it! Now Lang’s dead and them damn 140

bones are missing and I wanna know why.”

For several seconds the outburst hung over us.

Jeannie clambered off her ATV and moved in front of June. “Honey, I know you’re hurtin’, but this ain’t gonna bring him back. It’s only gonna hurt us.”

Her comment intrigued me. “How can fi guring out why those bones were here, and where they went, hurt you?”

She whirled on me. “We’ll all be in a world of hurt if Game, Fish, and Parks fi nds out we was lettin’ guys hunt off season. Fines. Jail time. Th

en they’ll wanna know

who else’s been huntin’ around here and there ain’t no way we’re gonna snitch on our friends.

“Next thing you know, they’re sayin’ we ain’t cooperating, then they’ll freeze our bank account and take our vehicles. With no money we can’t make the house payment. Th

en they’ll auction off the family land and we won’t have nothin’ left, all because of a goddamn pile of bones! We got kids to worry about.”

Her chest rose and fell fast as a cornered rabbit’s.

I didn’t try to allay her fears. Th

e outrageous picture

she’d painted actually happened all the time out here in the wide-open spaces, where landowners constantly squared off against various government agencies.

Darrell, however, was used to dealing with hysterical responses. “I understand where you’re coming from Mrs. Colhoff , but let’s not put the cart before the horse.

141

Th

ere could be lots of explanations for the bones found on this property. If you’ll let me do my job, we’ll have a better idea on what we’re dealing with.”

Charlie motioned Jeannie and June over. Willie shot me a glare that said it was a family meeting and I wasn’t invited.

I returned to my truck and swapped the gun for my smokes and hopped on the tailgate.

Darrell pursued me. “Th

is brings back memories.”

I blew a smoke ring. Watched the ghostly distortion fl oat away.

“Remember that night we went to the ball game in Faith? And Leroy’s car broke down halfway to White Plain?”

“Yeah.” Th

e memory surfaced. A hot summer night

in July. Th

e moon had been so full and bright it’d blocked out starlight. Cold hot dogs and warm beer. Th e dusty

ride to the reservation with Ben’s rowdy friends.

Th

e best part of the night? When Ben drove me home and I’d had his undivided attention. We’d talked about everything. Laughed. Sang along with the tunes on the radio. He’d teased me and I hadn’t minded a bit.

A cold fi st clamped my heart. Someone had taken that from me.

Engines sputtered, followed by a high-pitched whine as the machines sped away.

142

June reappeared. “Sorry.”

Darrell jumped down. “Not the fi rst time it’s happened, believe me.”

“Didn’t think they’d be out this early. If you need anything else I’ll be up at the house.” She drove off . I thought it a bit odd that June didn’t want to stick around to hear Darrell’s hypothesis.

“Come on. I’ll give you my expert opinion.”

We traipsed over to the hole. He crouched down.

“At fi rst I thought this might’ve been what’s called a

‘high’ burial ground. Where fallen warriors and holy men were buried separate from the tribe, in a place closer to the Great Spirit.”

Darrell’s index fi nger traced the drawings on his clipboard. “But as I diagramed the area, I realized the elements up here are harsh. Not only does the wind blow—that alone causes serious erosion—any type of moisture, rain, snow, would run back this way, not down the bluff , but away from it. If this were an ancient burial ground, the bones would’ve been exposed long before now.”

It didn’t make any sense. “Okay. Th

is isn’t a burial

ground.”

“Ah ah. Doesn’t mean someone else wasn’t buried up here. A settler. A soldier. A lone Indian. A miner.”

“But the problems with the natural elements wouldn’t have changed.”

143

Darrell smiled. “Forgot you had brains, too, gorgeous.”

I ignored his fl irting. Why would someone move the bones? If they’d gone to all the trouble to dig them up, wouldn’t they have fi nished the job and also refi lled in the hole?

A hole that size would leave a considerable pile of dirt.

So where
was
the dirt?

I spun in a circle. No dirt piles were scattered on the ground. Th

e wind blew hard in South Dakota, but

not that hard.

I paced to the edge and peered over.

No big chunks of earth covered the weeds growing up the slope. I had an
X-Files
moment. Either aliens had sucked it up or it’d been scooped up and moved.

“When you fi nd a burial site, what do you do with the dirt?”

“Pile it up. Th

en it gets sorted a shovelful at a time.

Why?”

“It’s missing.”

“What’s missing?”

“Th

e dirt!” I pointed to the hole. “Somebody dug the hole. Where’d the dirt go?”

“I don’t know.” He hunkered down again. “Th e emergency vehicles and traffi

c out here erased any tracks.”

“Th

ere weren’t any.”

Darrell looked up at me sharply. “What?”

144

“When Kevin and I were out here waiting for the ambulance, I noticed there weren’t any tracks of any kind. I thought it was weird at the time.”

He kept his attention on the ground. “Wrong.

Someone was out here spinning cookies. Th

ere isn’t any

tire pattern more than six inches long. Anywhere.”

Th

e hair on the back of my neck lifted. “Do you think whoever took the bones came out here and purposely destroyed the tracks so no one could trace them?”

“Yes. But they would’ve needed a small front end loader or a Bobcat to dig a hole that size and then transfer the dirt.”

“How did they get that much dirt past the Everett’s?”

“Th

ey didn’t.” He shaded his eyes and scanned the horizon. “Th

ey’d have had to drive across the fi eld. Let’s check.”

We walked the fl attest part of the land, the most logical path for heavy equipment, and kept a distance of about ten feet between us. After what seemed like a two-mile trek in circles, we stopped.

Nothing.

I kicked a rock. “Th

is sucks. Th

ose bones and that

dirt have to be around here some place.”

“Why is this so important to you, Julie?”

“Because somebody thought the bones were important enough to move and I need to at least try and fi nd them.”

145

Darrell placed his hand on my shoulder. “For who?”

“For me. Because it’s the right thing to do.” I knocked away his false show of concern. “You don’t have any fucking idea, do you, of what it’s like not to know.

To wonder, day in and day out, what happened. Th e not

knowing ties your guts in knots and burns a small hole in your hope. Th

at hole gets bigger and bigger until you’ve got nothing left inside you but cinders.”

Darrell fl inched like I’d slapped him.

I marched back to my pickup. Two Marlboro’s negated the fresh air in my lungs. I wandered a few feet and watched half a dozen ducks land on the stock dam.

Weird to see water. Most dams were bone dry.

I froze. Maybe . . . “Darrell? What about using a hole that’s already there?”

“I suppose that’s logical, but I don’t see any holes nearby.”

“I do.” I pointed to the brackish water.

We each grabbed a shovel.

Darrell paced the perimeter of the dam, studying the vanishing trail. “If the dirt was dumped in here, it was dumped on this side.”

“Which means because of the steep angle, the dirt pile should be close to this edge.”

“In theory, yes. But consider other factors. Environmental—”

146

“I don’t want to consider other factors. I want to know if the bones are in there.” I gripped the shovel below where the metal scoop met the handle. “Let’s poke around. See what pops up.”

“Bones aren’t going to fl oat to the surface like pieces of wood, they’re too dense. Th

ey’ll sink to the bottom.”

“Even if they’re old?”

“Th

ey’d be lighter, but it wouldn’t make that much diff erence.

“So, if I nudged one, it wouldn’t rise to the top?”

He shook his head.

I shrugged. “Worth a shot anyway.”

I carefully picked my way down the slope and dipped the shovel tip in the water.

Darrell snatched it from me. “Don’t go indiscrimi-nately jabbing with that thing. If there are bones, they might break if you smack them too hard. Let me do it.”

Secretly, I was relieved. Made me shudder, thinking about the muffl

ed crunch of metal striking bone, and the

vibration of it traveling up the handle, and ultimately settling in
my
bones.

He started with a small circle and made it progres-sively bigger. We slid fi ve feet to the right and he began the process all over again.

When Darrell jerked the shovel back, I knew he’d hit pay dirt. He switched the angle and dug in. Th e

147

chink of the metal hitting something solid made my skin crawl. It could’ve been a rock. Digging up rocks produced a noise like that.

Darrell heaved a shovelful of wet dirt on the embankment. He used the curved side of the shovel to scrape and spread the mud fl at.

I looked back at the dam and wished I hadn’t.

A skeletal hand had appeared where the water met land.

148

In theory I thought finding the missing bones would give me a sense of relief. Th

e reality was I wanted

to vomit.

Darrell smoothed out the mud until the arm bones were visible. He said, “Call the sheriff . Suggest he call the Pennington County Search and Rescue team. Non-emergency situation.”

I scrambled up the embankment, away from the gruesome fi nd. Luckily the sheriff was in the offi ce. No

big stunner he wasn’t thrilled I was involved in another bizarre circumstance in Bear Butte County.