Silver's Bones (3 page)

“I lived on a lake as a kid. I miss it,” I said.

“Yes, it's so calming here—not a place where you'd expect a dead body.”

“Yeah. It must be disconcerting for you to have this going on nearby.”

“Gosh, more so for Adriana. Don't you think?”

I nodded.

“Adriana said you solved the murders that occurred last fall on the south side of the lake.”

“It was a team effort.”

“Do you believe in curses?”

“Not in the least.”

“Me either. Adriana does. Even though she's a strong person, she's been through a lot of personal disappointment. She doesn't need any more stress.”

What disappointment is she speaking of? Her ex-husband, Adam Lewis, or me? Time to change the subject.

“Did she tell you it wasn't recent—this burial?”

“Yes. Will it be difficult to figure out who it is?”

“We'll have expert help. So, have you seen anyone in this area who didn't belong?”

“We get a few fishermen or canoes coming in close, but not on the property. It's really quiet out here. Why do you ask?”

“You might get some lookie-loos.”

“Oh, wow. People will try to go on her property?”

“I'm absolutely sure of it. That's why we're stationing guards not only to protect the scene but the residents, as well. You're going to have to show your ID to get in and out of your own property until they get to know you.”

“Fine, if it keeps people out.”

“Any of your relatives buried here or go missing through the years?”

“Boy, not that I know of.”

“Is the lake named after a family member?”

“Yes, my great-grandmother Emmaline Rose Ronson. She was quite the woman, from what I understand. I wish I could have known her.”

“Adriana said the original landowner had been killed?”

She lifted her brows and nodded. “Yes, ‘the scandal', as it's referred to in the family. I just learned about it from my great-aunt when my grandfather died a couple years ago. The story is the original owner, Old Pete Stafford, willingly sold Hubert the land then later accused him of swindling him. Old Pete was shot when he attempted to slice Hubert's throat with a buck knife.”

“Oh, man. Did Hubert shoot him?”

“No, Emmaline. Old Pete didn't bargain on Emmaline being a marksman. I think he must have had dementia, or something. Anyway, I guess the family never used the southern end of the lake after that. In the 1970s, my grandfather, Melvin, granted the southwest quarter to the county and sold off the southeast plot to David Martin, Del's dad, who developed it. The northern half eventually became my mother's, who transferred ownership to my brother and me.”

“When did you sell off the additional four lots on the north side?”

“Almost three years ago. Del agreed to finish the lodge before he started building the other houses.”

“We'll need to talk with your family. Can I get their contact numbers from you?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you for your time. We will need to search your land.”

“No problem.”

 

 

On my way to Bruce
and Lynn
Campbell's I waved at Greg Woods and asked if he had found anything else.

“Mosquitoes and a dead squirrel. How's that?”

“Need to spray up again?” I asked.

“Bastards are biting my eyelids.”

“I'll be back to join you in about fifteen minutes.”

“We need bug net hats.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

I stopped at the checkpoint to ask Deputy Spanney if anyone who didn't belong tried to enter. So far, no one had.

“Hey, Spanky, see what you can do about getting bug net head gear for us,” I added. “The mosquitoes are merciless. We need four of them.”

“Okay, sure thing.”

As I continued down the road, I waved at Troy and John Odell, who were swiping at their eyes as they moved through the woods.

I recognized the Campbells from the Save-Rite, but we'd never been formally introduced. Bruce Campbell was a round-faced man with a bald spot on the back of his head. While he usually sported a smile, today his face was full of concern. Lynn was a little woman with thinning brown hair who used to work in the store deli. She asked me if I wanted something cool to drink, and I accepted a glass of ice water. They invited me to sit in their great room, which was the same design as Adriana's, but decorated in dark green and brown with a Northwoods motif—pine trees and bears everywhere. An old wood boat propped in the corner was used as shelving. It was filled with bear statues and fishing paraphernalia. The couple sat on the edge of their seats, as I explained we'd found remains on their neighbor's property.

“Oh, my golly. We wondered what was going on over there,” Lynn said.

“This was not a recent event—”

Bruce interrupted me by saying, “You know, my first thought is it's got to be the Dawson girl. You know, the girl who disappeared from a farm not far from here—must be fifteen, sixteen years ago.”

“What was her name?” I asked.

“Silver Rae Dawson. Her folks live just a couple miles from here, too.”

“I remember. It was highly publicized.”

“Oh, you bet. It was quite the deal. Some of us business owners in town paid for school buses to transport folks out to search most of the county.”

“Well, we won't know for certain who it is until testing can be done.”

“Like the DNA?” Bruce asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, at least Ray and Franny would get closure,” Lynn said.

I nodded and asked if either had noticed anyone coming or going or had found any strange objects in the area.

“I've done a lot of work on my lot, clearing brush and what not, and have never seen anything weird, but you're sure welcome to look,” Bruce said.

“Thank you.”

I then went through my spiel about the guards and how the investigation might affect them. They were only mildly concerned.

“As long as I can go fishing, I'm good,” Bruce said.

“And as long as I can get him out of my hair for a little while, I'm good,” said Lynn.

They both chuckled.

 

 

By the time I returned
to Adriana's, four bug hats had been delivered by one of our reserve deputies.

By mid-afternoon, it looked like a war zone with WCCO, KARE-11, KSTP, and KMSP news helicopters hovering overhead. You'd think they could use one and agree to share the footage. All we'd need was a multiple helicopter crash. But there wasn't much we could do as long as they kept their distance. Hopefully, they'd give up when they realized they wouldn't be able to see much with the tent up.

Just as Greg and I went in to take a break and get more water, a University of Minnesota van rolled in. Dr. Kennedy, from the U's Forensic Pathology Department, didn't look at all like I expected. She was pretty with dark, curly hair to her shoulders, and was in dressy jeans and a T-shirt. Her interns, Kyle and Chris, immediately started setting up another large tent in the side yard.

Adriana appeared and offered the new arrivals her family room for their use, including electricity or wireless access. She replenished pitchers of water, pots of coffee, sandwiches and cookies, then asked if it would be okay if she walked Tino down the road. I said she'd never be safer.

“Nice hat, by the way,” she said.

“This old thing?”

She giggled.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I'm fine. Maddie says she embarrassed you.”

Boy, those two are tight.

I shook my head and gave her a look like I didn't know what she was talking about.

 

 

We had completed our search
areas by six o'clock, so Troy sent Greg and John home. Dr. Kennedy had a portable lab, complete with several tables full of recording and collection materials. Troy and I basically would be spectators for this piece of the investigation. We both hung around a bit to watch the meticulous process of recovering the skeletal remains, but at the rate they could work, this would take days. The excavation crew would work until dusk before they called it a night, so I went home to my bride and two new stepsons, Luke and Colby.

 

Chapter 3

T
his was only our second night together as a family. The previous winter I had bought a big old 1913 fixer-upper on a double lot on the corner of Sixth Street and Morris. Because it had been subdivided into three apartments, Del Martin suggested we gut it and start from scratch. Now with five bedrooms and a third story one-bedroom nanny apartment, my place was plenty big for my new family plus Brittany Hackett, the nanny.

Brit had all the class in that family. Her mother, Connie, was a nice person but an airhead with horrible taste in men. Brit's no-good half brothers and their sperm-donor father, Kent Silva, were in St. Cloud serving twenty-four- month sentences for burglary. I helped put them away and was proud of it.

Del worked on my house renovation for six months. By June it was completed, but we'd decided—actually, Shannon decided—she and the boys wouldn't move in until after we were married. Shannon's family finished moving her out of her house and into mine while we were in Hawaii. Several boxes were still stored in the basement ready to be unpacked as Shannon found time or needed something.

When I pulled my Ford F-150 into the garage next to Shannon's Honda Pilot, Bullet, my yellow lab, bounded up to greet me with a green tennis ball in his mouth. The two white toy poodles from next door were barking shrilly on the other side of the fence. Ignoring the little yappers, Bullet dropped the ball in front of me. I picked it up and pitched it down the large grassy area alongside the pool. I was annoyed to see pool toys scattered all over the pool deck. As I moved on toward the house the poodles continued barking.

My neighbor Doug Nelson shouted, “Suzy, Ruby, quiet!” I looked up to their elevated deck where he and his wife Marie were sitting. I waved. Doug stood and leaned over the deck railing. He was a good forty pounds overweight and most of it was the belly hanging over the rail. They used to own the candy store in town. Sampled a few too many batches.

“Hey, Cal!”

“Hey, Doug.”

“Heard you guys finally found the Dawson girl.”

“Where'd you hear that?”

“Oh, it's all over the news, ya know.”

“Well, we won't know who we have for a while.”

“Ya, I s'pose. Well, have a good one.”

“You too.”

From their deck and upper floor windows, the Nelsons could get a good view of our whole backyard, including the pool. They seemed like nice people, but we'd see how much they enjoyed young boys living next door full time.

Bullet, panting heavily, followed me up the back steps. As I walked into the kitchen, Colby, my six-year-old stepson, yelled, “Daddy!” It was the first time he'd done so, and it touched me. I caught Shannon's smiling eyes and we shared the moment. Soon it would soon be official; we'd filled out all the adoption paperwork before we got married.

“Son,” I said, “how was your day?”

“Good. Teddy Kohler came over and we swam in the pool all day. How was yours?” he said. Teddy's dad had been murdered the previous year. His mother, Eleanor, was now raising their five children on her own.

“Sweaty,” I told Colby. “I was in the hot sun with no pool to jump into. Think I'll put on my trunks and go for a swim before I eat.”

“Me too,” Colby yelled and took off.

I made my way over to Shannon to give her a kiss. “Hi, Mrs. Sheehan.”

I stuck my nose in her strawberry blonde hair that smelled like lavender.

“Hi, Mr. Sheehan. Brittany made a pot roast. I kept it warm for us.”

“You didn't eat?”

“I wanted to wait for you.”

Eight-year-old Luke, the quiet one, was watching television in the great room, so I went over and tousled his hair. He looked up and said with no enthusiasm, “Hi.”

“You swimming with us?”

He shook his head. I had to give the kid time.

Shannon followed me upstairs and sat on the bed while I changed. She said, “So I heard the remains were found on Adriana's property. Was that weird for you?”

“Um, yeah, a little.”

“They put out a call for overtime to patrol the area.”

“Did you volunteer?” I asked.

“Nope. When you're home, I aim to be.”

“Good. Aren't you going to join us in the pool?”

“I think I will,” she said, and shucked off her clothes. I focused on her parts not tanned by the Hawaiian sun. I took stripping as an invitation and moved in.

Her hand went up to hold me at bay. “Colby is expecting us. Catch you later.” She winked. I watched as she quickly threw on her bikini as if it was some kind of protection. I felt overwhelmingly and completely in love with her. I pulled her into me and really kissed her. She was everything I wanted and needed in a woman: smart, trustworthy, strong, calm . . . and horny. When we parted I noticed tears in her eyes.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I didn't think I'd ever be this happy again.”

“Me either,” I said. “Only I've
never
been this happy, period.”

“Sometimes I worry . . .”

“Shh.” I pulled her in close again. “Nothing bad's going to happen, Shannon.”

But I had the same worry, and I didn't know why. Maybe everyone has it when they have something too good to lose.

 

 

An hour later, while Shannon
and I were eating dinner, Brittany came into the kitchen.

“Good pot roast, Brit.” I said. “Where did you learn how to cook like this?”

“From my grandma. I spent a lot of time with her while Mom was working.”

Her mother, Connie Hackett, was a server at Buzzo's Bar. She had met Brit's biological father, Eddie Cassidy, while Silva was serving a serving a twelve-month stint for assault. Cassidy was a musician playing an extended gig in town when he died in a car crash just before Brit was born. Could have been a different life for both Brit and Connie if Eddie had lived.

She was grabbing juice boxes and snacks. “The boys are hungry again. We're playing cards in Colby's room,” she said.

Shannon said, “They said they had a fun day in their new house. How did things go for you?”

“Yeah, it was fun. The pool is an added bonus.”

“Use it whenever you want, you know.”

She noddded and said, “After we play cards I'll get the boys ready for bed, then I'll call you to tuck them in.”

“Sounds great. Thanks, Brit.”

As I ate I looked around and noticed the state the kitchen was in. Brit hadn't cleaned up. I saw dirty pots on the stove, food spills, and dishes stacked in the sink.
Shit.
I got up and began to rinse dishes off and put them in the dishwasher.

“Finish your dinner, Cal.”

“I'm done.”

Shannon got up, grabbed a sponge, and started wiping up spills.

“You may regret us moving in,” she said.

I walked over and hugged her from behind. “It's an adjustment for all of us. But I do wish Brit would clean up after cooking. You can talk to her or I will.”

“Do we pay her to be a maid or a nanny? Cal, you're going to have to let some things go or it won't work.”

“I'm not just talking about Brit,” I said. “The boys can do their part. Pick up their shit.”

She patted my back patronizingly. “You're right. I'll talk to them.”

We soon got the call the boys were ready for us to tuck them in so we climbed the stairs to the second floor. We went into Colby's room first. I could hardly find him with all the stuffed animals in his bed. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “Goodnight, Daddy.” On the way out I picked up his dirty clothes strewn on the floor.

I had to step around thousands of Legos to get to Luke's bed. He hugged his mom but didn't return mine. I knew he would have a harder time with Shannon remarrying and moving in. He remembered his dad—he was three when a drunk driver hit and killed Evan while he was out jogging. Colby was only one and had no memory of his father.

The boys never went to bed this easy at Shannon's. It was always a fight. Maybe they were wiped after being in the pool most of the day. When I was a kid I dropped off to sleep as soon as I hit the pillow because I was so active. That was the trick—keep them active and off electronics. When Shannon and I walked down the stairs to the great room, Brit was on her way back up.

“You cleaned up. I was going to do that after the boys were in bed.”

“Oh,” I said. “We can all chip in.”

“Okay, well, I just want to thank you for letting me live here in my own apartment and giving me this job. It really helps with my tuition, and I just love the boys.”

“And they love you,” Shannon said.

“You bet,” I said.

Shannon gave me her
I told you so
look as we settled in on the couch. She tuned in to her favorite hateful housewives show.

How many nights a week is that thing on?
“These women must make you feel really superior,” I said.

“Yes.”

I picked up my
Golf Digest
.

She patted my knee. “I appreciate your being honest with me earlier about the messes. We'll work things out . . . and Luke will come around. He just needs time.”

“I know.”

When the bitchfest masquerading as a reality show was finally over, I took the remote and turned the channel to watch the news on KRBN. They led with “breaking news” and showed a bird's eye video of the dig site. All their cameras captured was the tent top. Next, they honed in on the BCA van.

Joe Hoff, the anchor, said there was speculation that the remains belonged to Birch County's most publicized missing person, Silver Rae Dawson.

“That's premature in my opinion,” I said.

“Seriously.”

They flipped to a short video of Hoff asking Silver Rae Dawson's father if the Sheriff's Department had been in touch with him.

“No one's contacted us, but we feel strongly that it's our Silver Rae buried there. It's only a couple miles from home.” He wiped tears from his eyes.
Poor guy. This must be hell.

Hoff then showed photos of other unsolved missing persons' cases in Minnesota. Jacob Wetterling was one. For all we knew, the bones could even be his.

“Man, the sooner we identify this victim, the better,” I said.

“Mind if I turn this off now?” Shannon asked. “Don't we have some unfinished business?” She wiggled her brows and started humming “Dixie.”

Before we started dating, she'd put me off, saying no one she worked with would cross her Mason-Dixon line. It was my job to tease her by whistling the tune. Now, it was one of our signals that we were up for some “southerly action.”

I took her hand and led her upstairs. I locked our door and slowly undressed her, then myself. We fell into bed and wrapped ourselves around one another and got lost in the bliss.

Shannon fell asleep in my arms. Because of the boys, we'd rarely spent the entire night together before we were married, so I relished holding her like this, hearing her soft snores. But I went from living alone to sharing my space with three others. After only two days, the house was already messier. I needed order. How in hell was this going to work?