Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 13

Mason blinked, remembering his attempts to break some small tree branches to roast marshmallows with while camping. It'd been a disaster. He'd used an ax to finish the job. "So someone took a bat or mallet to him, and he tried to protect himself?"

Nodding, Dr. Peres gently laid the bone back in its place. "He was. .h.i.t with something hard. And his skull shows three blows that are perimortem...close to time of death. I can't tell you what the weapon was other than it was large and blunt. The imprints on the skull are too large to be a hammer." She lifted the skull, showing Mason three impact sites with radiating fractures.

"Were those enough to kill him?"

"Easily."

Had the man been beaten to death?

"But I don't think that's what killed him." She rotated the skull and showed him a small circle at the back of the skull. "This is probably your cause of death."

"Christ," muttered Mason. "Entry or exit wound?"

"Entry," stated Dr. Peres. "See how there's no beveling of the bone around the wound? Entry bullet holes are flat around the holes. The bevel is inside. I didn't find an exit wound or the bullet. It either exited through the eye or never exited at all." She frowned. "Though I would have found the bullet if it had stayed inside."

Mason made a few notes. "Do the others have gunshot wounds?"

"Three of the skulls do," answered Dr. Campbell.

"Do you have ages for the rest of them?"

"They're all in the same age range," said Dr. Peres. "Three are white, two African American."

Mason looked up from the notes he was scribbling. "Oh? An equal-opportunity killer?"

Dr. Campbell's eyes narrowed. "Does the race matter?"

"Usually killers will stick to one race. Not always but more often than not."

"I prefer the word ancestry over race," added Dr. Peres.

Mason held up his hands. "I just want to find who did this. Sorry I'm not the most PC person in the world. Frankly, I can't keep up with what's okay to say and what's not. But yes, a pattern in the type of victims does help direct us to the killer." He met both women's gazes. "Now. Tell me how you can tell someone is black...African American...whatever. He's been killed, and I want to find the murderer."

The women exchanged a glance, and Dr. Campbell picked up the closest skull. "Common to African Americans is the wide nasal opening and the rectangular eye orbits."

"Rectangular? Seriously?" Mason asked.

Dr. Peres picked up a different skull. "See? This one is Caucasian."

Sure enough, the other skull had eye openings that looked more angular.

"There are many things to take into account when determining race," said Dr. Campbell. "But the nose is one of the most useful."

In Mason's opinion, the noses were f.u.c.king gone. All that was left were holes. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"d.a.m.n it." He dug the phone out. It was the same unknown phone number from before. The senator.

"Callahan," he answered, avoiding eye contact with Dr. Peres. No doubt he was getting the evil eye for answering his phone in the middle of her lecture.

"Detective, I thought I'd save you some time. I made some calls and tracked down the arrest record of the man I told you about earlier."

Already? Mason couldn't get results that fast.

"I'm having a copy e-mailed to you. The man's name was Jules Thomas."

"Thank you, Senator. I'll look it over."

"Glad to be of help." The senator signed off.

Mason slipped his phone back in his pocket, shaking his head. The man knew how to get things done. Fast.

"Senator?" asked Dr. Campbell. "Senator Brody?"

"Yes, your ex-boyfriend's father. He dug up some information for me." He didn't volunteer more information. Dr. Campbell personally knew the senator and his son. If she had questions, she could ask them.

"I've enjoyed the anthropology lesson, but I need to head back to the office." Mason touched the brim of his hat. "I look forward to your reports, Dr. Peres. As soon as we can figure out who these skeletons are and match them to missing persons' records, we'll figure out who did this to them. And who did it to that bus full of kids, too. Goodbye, Dr. Campbell."

He kept his walk to a steady pace as he exited the operatory. Pushing open the door to the outside heat, he inhaled deeply three times.

Fresh, clean air.

Michael did a double tap on the desk bell for the second time. Jamie glanced around the small room. The little town's only hotel turned out to be a bed-and-breakfast two buildings down from the restaurant. The house was charming, but it had that old lived-in smell to it. The one where you figure the carpets have been vacuumed twice a day but not cleaned in several years.

Michael looked ready to jump the counter and check them in himself. Jamie put a hand on his arm. "The woman at the sheriff's office said to keep hitting the bell because the guy's a little hard of hearing."

Michael's answer was to whack the bell again. Finally, a m.u.f.fled voice came from upstairs.

"What'd he say?" Michael asked.

Jamie shrugged. "Beats me. But at least he heard us."

Someone came slowly thumping down the stairwell. The cadence of the steps was odd, unrhythmic. A gray-haired man smiled at them as he rounded the corner. One of his legs was slightly shorter than the other and didn't bend. Jamie responded to his contagious grin as he limped behind the counter.

"Well, you must be the two Sara called me about. She said you'd be checking in. You from Portland?"

The power of small towns.

"Yes. That's us," she replied. "Are you Chuck?"

His brown eyes beamed. And Jamie fell in love. If she could remember her grandfather, this is who she'd want him to be like. Smiley and kind. "I am. And I've got your room all ready for you."

"That's great," said Michael, bending to grab his bag. "We're bushed."

Jamie froze. "Wait-"

Green eyes and brown eyes looked quizzically at her. The green ones twinkling innocently.

"We need two rooms," she pleaded.

Chuck's face fell. "Oh...well. Then we've got a problem. I'm full up."

"Full? The whole place is full? I thought this town rarely got any visitors," grinned Michael.

"Now, that's true. But I've only got five rooms. And four are full. It's kind of a busy week for me. The Hensens have relatives in town but no room to put them, so they take up two of my rooms. Jordeen Gold's mother-in-law is here, but she won't sleep at Jordeen's because Jordeen is her son's second wife, and she's still rather partial to the first." Chuck ticked off the rooms on his fingers. "And Bill Norman has been staying for the last two nights since his wife kicked him out. I figure he'll be here another two nights. That's usually about her limit." He looked up with a grin. "That leaves one for you."

"Perfect," said Michael. He leaned a little closer to Chuck. "Jamie just didn't want the town getting the wrong idea...seeing as we're not married and all. But you seem like an understanding kind of guy."

Jamie wanted to elbow him. "We don't want to put you out. Is there somewhere else where one of us can stay?"

"You ain't putting me out." Chuck patted her arm. "That's my job. And I'm the only place to stay for thirty miles. Unless you feel like camping."

Jamie's stress level was floating somewhere close to the ceiling. A night alone in a room with Michael Brody. Hormones had been bouncing between them since they met, and now they were going to be trapped in a small s.p.a.ce with a bed?

Wait a minute. What the h.e.l.l was she worrying about? She took a few deep breaths. She was a grown woman, not a teenager. This man had been flipping all her switches into the on position for the last two days, and now she had a chance to be alone with him. This was an opportunity, not a situation to run from. She needed to look at this differently.

Peeking from the corner of her eye, she saw Michael was pleased with the arrangement. Why didn't this sort of situation stress men?

She needed to start thinking like a man.

If she wanted something from a man, she needed to show him. Or ask him.

What's he gonna do? Say no?

She doubted it.

"Well," said Chuck slowly. "I do have the attic room. I don't rent it out during the summer because the air-conditioning doesn't-"

"That'll work. We'll take it, too." Jamie exhaled as her argument with her inner vixen suddenly became meaningless. She had her own room. Disappointment surged, surprising her. An opportunity had slipped through her fingers. But more so, she was missing out on taking a chance. She rarely risked anything. But she'd nearly talked herself into risking...risking what? A moment of embarra.s.sment when he refused? Losing out on one of the hottest nights she'd ever experience? How often did men like Michael Brody come along?

This was the first time in her life.

Would there be a second chance?

G.o.d, she was confused.

Beside her, Michael's shoulders shook in a silent chuckle, as if he knew what was going through her mind. She glared at him. "Michael will take the attic."

Chuck was cool. Michael liked the old man a lot. He'd given Michael a wink as they'd headed up the stairs to the rooms.

"I need a few minutes to check out the attic room," said Chuck. "I'm gonna let you guys wait in the first room. I'll go open the windows up in there, but it's gonna be hot. You better give it some time to cool off." He handed Michael the key. A real key. Not a key card. "I was just putting a bottle of wine in here when you guys showed up. It's still cold. Enjoy." Chuck closed the door behind him, and Michael heard his uneven steps trudge up another set of stairs.

"Perfect," said Jamie. "I need some wine." She picked up the bottle, glanced at the label, and deftly used the opener to slide out the cork. She poured a large gla.s.s and raised a brow at Michael in question. He nodded and she poured a second gla.s.s, handing it to him.

The room was clean, and the king bed looked comfortable. The decor was dated and faded, but Michael could not care less.

Jamie's wine vanished. She refilled her gla.s.s and disappeared into the bathroom. Michael could hear her banging little makeup jars and brushes and shampoo bottles and whatever else women traveled with. She would probably come out in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, even though it was ninety degrees outside. And then send him to his hundred-degree room.

Michael sighed, set down his wine, and flopped on the king bed, tucking his arms under his head. Tomorrow they would talk to Chris and hopefully find out some leads on what happened to Daniel. There was nothing more he could do about it tonight. Thinking endlessly about it wasn't helping; time to put it aside and pay attention to what was in front of him.

Jamie.

What did he want from this woman?

s.e.x.

Was that all?

He frowned. No. Not even close.

His body was craving s.e.x. That was obvious. He simply had to be in her presence and he felt his hormones. .h.i.t overdrive. But he wanted more than that. Michael studied the ceiling. He wanted that part that came after, too. The part where you wake up the next morning and roll over to pull the woman closer to you, knowing neither of you had to leave. The part that sits on the back deck and drinks coffee together, sharing the Sunday newspaper, and discussing where to vacation next.

He could still hear that overpowering voice that'd spoke in his head the first day he'd seen her. The one that'd told him to hang on to this woman. End statement.

Now...how did he let her know? Without her walking out on him or laughing in his face?

Aw, f.u.c.k. He was in deep.

And she had the shovel.

He couldn't blow it tonight. He patted his pocket, checking for his cell phone, feeling an urge to call Lacey and get her advice.

How would it look to Jamie if she came out and he was on the phone with another woman? Not cool.

Think, Michael. WWLD? What would Lacey do?

Lacey would talk. She'd say exactly what was on her mind to Jamie.

He could do that. Just filter out the s.e.x stuff.

He wanted to know what Jamie was thinking. They'd had several moments where he felt like she'd let her guard down and spoken to him like she'd known him forever. And several moments where the hormones were off the charts.

Lacey would tell him to simply ask Jamie how she felt.

No problem. He sat up, feeling clearer in the head, ready to talk.

The bathroom doork.n.o.b turned.

Michael took a deep breath.

Why hadn't Chuck left a bottle of vodka?

It's now or never.

She'd had a second chance dumped in her lap when Chuck said he needed to check the attic room. Only a stupid girl would ignore it. Jamie held her breath as she reached for the bathroom doork.n.o.b. She'd spent the last five minutes arguing with herself-and finishing that second gla.s.s of wine-as she changed into the black bra and matching thong that she'd coincidentally packed.

Some coincidence. She'd known exactly why she'd thrown that black duo in her bag. Because she might end up in a hotel room with Mr. Hottie. And here she was.

The only thing holding her back was herself. She was certain he wouldn't turn her down. She'd caught him staring at various parts of her body multiple times, and he'd been putting out that protective vibe since her house was trashed. She could almost smell the pheromones.