Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Killing me.”
“Just say yes or I’m driving to your house.”
I groaned. “Yes. Fine.”
She was cackling when she hung up.
I realized as I stood there and stared at my cell phone that for a powerful primordial being, no one I knew was scared of me in the least. That was probably a good thing.
Thinking we were going to need coffee, I got busy in the kitchen making some. I used the blend with chicory because it was really good on cold, rainy mornings. Cole was still talking to everyone on the doorstep, giving me time to pull down an assortment of mugs, since nothing of mine matched. The Bower got all the pieces that came out of the kiln perfectly shaped and glazed. The experiments, the ones where something had dripped or a color came out just funky, those lived with me in a wide variety of shapes and sizes.
When I finally turned, I was surprised to find Abel, Narah, and Justin in my living room as well as the police officers.
“Good morning, Mr. Baker,” the younger of the two women said, striding over to me with her hand out. Her black hair and dark brown eyes were quite striking. “I’m Detective Rosario Fuentes, I’m a homicide detective from Manhattan, and this is my partner, Yolanda Washington.”
“Good to meet you.” I took her hand and then her partner’s. “How do you two like your coffee?”
“Milk, no sugar for me,” Fuentes said, smiling, not doing the thing law enforcement did sometimes where they turned down a warm beverage on a cold day. “And milk and cinnamon for my partner.”
“Absolutely. Would you like to sit in here or over by the fire?”
“By the fire, please.” Washington smiled at me as well before making a beeline for the sectional.
“Mere—” Cole gestured at the troopers. “—this is captain Nolan Soames of the West Virginia State Police, and troopers Dom Sorvino and Blake Fulton.”
“Good morning,” I greeted them. “Would you like coffee?”
“Please,” Soames said quickly. “That would be great.”
I set up a little area on the island in the kitchen with creamer and sugar, then carried the mugs over to the detectives already seated.
“This is a gorgeous mug.” Fuentes lifted it up so she could see the bottom.
“It’s mine,” I told her. “I mean, I made it. That’s my potter’s mark.”
“It’s got a great weight to it.”
“That’s high praise,” Washington told me. “She’s very picky about her drinkware.”
I smiled as I sat down near them, and Cole and the others joined us. He had brought me a mug with cream only, which I appreciated.
Fuentes straightened up and looked at Cole with her dark brown eyes. “Mr. Swann—”
“That’ll get confusing fast,” he told her. “Please just call me Cole.”
“Cole,” she repeated. “As your uncle, Abel Swann, is the contact on record who was given the death notification when your father died in a car accident, we wanted to include him. We appreciate you allowing him and his wife and your cousin to be here, as it saves us time.”
“Of course.”
“We went to their home first this morning, since that’s the address we had on file for you. We were told when we arrived that you and your brother are staying here.”
“That’s incorrect,” Cole told her. “We live here.”
“Okay, I’ll make a note of that in the file.”
“Perfect. Now please tell us whose remains were buried on my uncle’s land.”
Washington looked at Cole with her lovely hazel eyes and took a deep breath. “Apparently, the bones your uncle had on his property are those of your father, Anson Swann, and were disinterred from Holy Oaks Cemetery in Woodside, New York, without authorization.”
“Someone stole my father’s bones and buried them here?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“How did no one notice a grave being dug up?” Cole asked her.
“We’ve been in touch with the cemetery staff, and unfortunately, no one saw anything. The grave itself appeared undisturbed when it was checked on.”
Cole nodded.
“If the bones weren’t currently sitting in the chief medical examiner’s office in Charleston, no one would have believed the bones had been moved. As it stands, once the bones are finished being completely examined, they will be released to you, and you can make arrangements for them to be reinterred. Since your father’s grave is next to your mother’s, I assume you’ll want them to go back to Holy Oaks.”
“I will.”
She looked at Fuentes, who immediately pulled a tablet from the laptop bag on the couch beside her, powered it up, and began to type. Washington then returned her gaze to Cole. “What’s the best email for you so we can pass the information on to the cemetery director?”
Once Cole had given it to her, he asked the question I already knew the answer to. “Why do you think someone dug up my father’s bones, Detective?”
She cleared her throat, then took another sip of her coffee. “At this time, the examination is ongoing. We have a holiday on Thursday, and several staff members are taking Friday off as well, but we expect that all the findings will be concluded and put into a final report by the beginning of next week.”