They both stepped back.
“Grab your metal detector again,” Rhetta said. “I think someone moved the car to where it was when we got it. I wonder why. Sweep the area under where we found the car one more time, real carefully. Let’s do it in a grid, like they do in the detective movies. Start here.” She pointed to the newer impressions. Using her foot, she connected the four dents, making a rectangle out of the area. She searched for something other than her foot when she saw how much dirt had glued to her tennies. Spotting an old section piece of a ladder rung lying nearby, she used it to scratch in the dirt and divided the whole thing into smaller squares.
Poised over the first square, Ricky flipped the switch on the detector. It hummed quietly as she started at the first square and made a thorough sweep of it before moving to the next. At the square closest to what would have been the left front wheel of where the car was parked when they picked it up, she was rewarded with a solid beep.
“There may be another tool or something in the ground there,” Rhetta said, pointing to the spot where the metal detector had pinged the loudest. She bent over and ran her hand across the dry soil. She found nothing.
“What can we use to dig?” asked Ricky, peering around the empty barn. “I don’t see anything resembling a shovel. In fact, I don’t see anything resembling anything I can identify, except maybe some really dried cow patties.” She screwed up her face at the distasteful objects.
“I’ve got one of those emergency portable shovels in Streak,” Rhetta said. “Randolph makes me keep a whole kit in there in case I ever get stranded in winter and have to dig myself out.” She rolled her eyes. “He must think we’re in Montana instead of Missouri. I’ve never had to use it, but now’s a good a time to break it in.”
* * *
Rhetta returned with a flashlight and a camping-style folding shovel. Ricky took the shovel from her while Rhetta shone the beam on the spot to dig.
“Dig slowly, so we don’t tear up whatever that is. It may be more evidence.” Rhetta crouched and aimed the flashlight.
After removing a few shovels of dirt and making a hole about six inches deep, Ricky glanced up. “This plastic shovel can barely tear up this dirt, so I don’t think we have to worry very much about it tearing any—” Before she could finish, the shovel connected with something hard, making a thud as it did. Ricky prodded again. “I don’t want to mess anything up, so I think we should use our hands.”
Ricky laid the shovel aside, and Rhetta propped the flashlight against it. Both of them hunched over the small hole. They carefully sifted handfuls of soil, then tossed them aside, forming a small pile.
“I feel like an archaeologist, or anthropologist, or one of those gists,” Ricky said, and giggled.
“Oh, God,” Rhetta said. She wasn’t laughing. She stopped sifting to snatch the flashlight and shine it into the hole.
“What is it?” Ricky scooped another handful of dirt before she saw it. “Oh, no!”
They both stood and gaped. A gnarly finger bone wearing a heavy onyx ring protruded through the crumbly dirt.
“Can that be…?” Ricky said.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a hand.” Rhetta bent over the hole again.
Ricky backed away. “Whose is it?”
“I don’t know, but whoever belongs to it may still be connected to it, so I think we need to call the cops,” Rhetta said, turning and heading for the doorway.
Ricky dropped the metal detector and scrambled after her. “I’m coming with you. I don’t want to be alone with that hand. Or whatever is attached to it.”
When they reached the doorway, both women stopped and leaned against the outside of the barn. Rhetta welcomed the heat and brightness of the sun and the warmth of the barn’s wood siding.
“I think we may have just discovered where Malcom Griffith has been all these years,” Rhetta said.
“What? Why do you say that?” Ricky clutched her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.” With that, she swiveled around and upchucked against the barn.
Rhetta clutched her own stomach. “I’m a sympathetic puker,” she mumbled and began inhaling deep breaths until the urge subsided. “Are you okay?” she asked Ricky when her own nausea passed.
Ricky gulped, then held up her hand and nodded.
Rhetta pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed the sheriff’s office. As she dialed, she whispered, “I saw two gold initials on that black ring—M and G.”
Chapter 4
Forty minutes later, Rhetta remained outside but watched as the deputy strode toward what she knew to be a gruesome discovery. The lone officer who responded to the call told her they’d probably found the remains of a dead cow and scoffed when she insisted he’d best take a look.
“I don’t know of any cows who wear initial rings,” she whispered to Ricky. “In fact, I don’t know of any cows who wear any jewelry at all.” Ricky choked back a laugh. “Unless you count ear tags.” Both women began to suffer hysterical giggles. Not appropriate, thought Rhetta. I better suck it up and shut up.
When the deputy reached the excavation, he squatted, and pulled out a ballpoint pen, which he used to prod the dirt. He shot up and slapped at the transmitter on his shoulder. Rhetta clearly heard his shrill voice calling in his location and requesting the coroner. She sighed and walked over to a still-trembling Ricky, who was puffing away at her third cigarette as she leaned against the barn. Rhetta could barely resist jerking the cigarette away from her friend and sucking until the nicotine made her head spin. This barn discovery was setting her resolve to quit smoking back a significant number of notches.
“I need to call Randolph.” Rhetta resisted the cigarette craving, and pulled out her cell phone. She slid her thumb across the first name on her favorites list.
Her husband answered on the third ring. Before he could even say “Hello,” Rhetta blurted, “Randolph, Ricky and I just found a body, and I believe it’s Malcom Griffith.”
“I think my cell phone is acting up,” Randolph said. “I could’ve sworn you said you just found a body. And what was that about Malcom Griffith?”
“The phone isn’t acting up. Ricky and I found a body, or at least a hand, so far, and I strongly suspect it belongs to Malcom Griffith. Can you come out here? We’re at the barn where we got the Z28. While we’re waiting for the coroner, this nice officer is going to take my statement.” Rhetta nodded at the deputy who had reached her side. The sandy-haired, crew-cut-sporting deputy sheriff reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a small spiral flip notebook, tapping it against his wrist as he waited for her to get off the phone.
Randolph let out a long sigh. “Oh, God, Rhetta. What did you do now?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Randolph’s three-quarter-ton Ford pickup roared into the driveway and screeched to a stop in a dust storm. The powdery clay swirled and glued itself to the waxed finish of the new bronze colored tuck that Rhetta named the Artmobile II. The first Artmobile, an older model pickup, had been a total loss when Randolph was run off the road earlier in the year. Randolph must’ve left home immediately and more than moderately exceeded the speed limit to get there so quickly. Their five-acre farmette sat on a gravel road on the other side of the county, nearly 25 miles away.
The coroner’s dark blue van pulled in behind Randolph, then barreled around him and down to the barn. It was followed by a black-and-white county sheriff’s sedan, plus a tan Chevy Suburban with the Missouri Highway Patrol logo on the door.
“Probably all of the Major Case Squad has been called out,” Randolph said, and began coughing as the dust engulfed them from all the vehicles. Rhetta began wheezing, so she trotted away from the cluster of cars and gulped fresh air. Her wheezing subsided.
Randolph followed her, and cleared his throat. “What on earth made you come out here? And how did you find a body?” Randolph put his arm around Rhetta’s shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.” She glanced a
t Ricky who was talking animatedly on her cell phone. “Ricky must be calling Jeremy. This is his development, and actually, I’m not sure if he still owns the barn or not. Ricky told me Jeremy sold it to a man in Arkansas.”
Before Rhetta could fill Randolph in on the discovery, she heard Ricky’s voice rise. “Jeremy, what the heck do you think? That we wanted to find a body? Get a grip!” Ricky ended her conversation and thrust the phone into her pocket. She strode to Rhetta and Randolph, muttering under her breath. “Like we deliberately found a body to sabotage his development.”
Before Rhetta could explain to Randolph, they were again interrupted, this time by the deputy who had initially interviewed Rhetta. “Mrs. McCarter, I’ll need you and Ms. Lane to go by the sheriff’s office in Jackson sometime tomorrow morning to sign the statement.” It wasn’t a request. “Besides the obvious issue of the remains, we received a complaint call from the property owner.” He glanced at his notebook. “Mr. Jeremy Spears. Apparently someone called him and told him there were trespassers here.” He glanced from Rhetta to Ricky.
“I’m dating Mr. Spears, and have been out here before. In fact, the old Z28 I’m working on for Mrs. McCarter”—Ricky jerked her thumb toward Rhetta—“came from this barn. I found it very strange that the barn was locked, so I climbed in and opened the door.” Ricky took a final drag on her cigarette, then stubbed it out on the ground. She reached down and recovered the butt and held it in her hand. “I knew the barn was empty. We just wanted to look around.”
Ricky went on to explain what had turned up in the Z28. The deputy scribbled furiously.
Randolph shook his head. “I can’t believe it. You two found a body under that Z28.”
The deputy jotted in the notebook then flipped it closed. “The area here will be blocked off until the Major Case Squad can bring in a forensic pathologist to uncover the remains. This barn is a crime scene. No one can go in or out until it’s released.” Deputies were already stringing yellow crime scene tape around the barn and across the opening Ricky had crawled through. They used the tape to impose a makeshift barricade across the driveway.
Ricky motioned to the deputy, who turned his attention to her and re-opened his notebook, ready to take down anything she said. “When we called the sheriff’s office earlier today to let them know we found Malcom Griffith’s wallet in the Z28, the officer we spoke to didn’t seem too impressed. In fact he said they weren’t going to have anyone pick up the stuff until the morning.”
Without answering her, the deputy tucked the notebook away, slapped his shoulder and stepped back. But not before they heard him say, “I’ll be 10-20 in Gordonville at Fast Lane Muscle Cars, recovering evidence.” He turned to Ricky. “Please lead the way, Ms. Lane. We’re all going to your garage. That stuff you found in that car just might be murder evidence.”
Chapter 5
The phone call with Jeremy must’ve helped Ricky return to feeling like her spikey old self. When Rhetta asked her if she wanted to ride with them in the Artmobile, she declined, and instead insisted on driving Rhetta’s Trailblazer to her shop. Rhetta hugged Ricky before climbing into the truck with Randolph. They pulled onto the highway behind Ricky, bringing up the tail end of the mini-caravan heading to Fast Lane.
When they were on the county road, Randolph glanced at his wife. “Why did you two go out there? Were you thinking you could do a little investigating?”
“I had no intention of investigating, as you put it. I only thought we might find more clues, and be able to turn everything over to the police, since they were supposed to come out tomorrow. I’m more than willing to let them handle it. I sure don’t know anything about solving a cold murder case, or any other murder case for that matter.” She pulled down the visor mirror to check her hair. Just as she feared, her short spikes had flattened against her head and were covered with a halo of clay dust. She shook her head and watched the dust cascade to the top of the dash. She also sported a streak of dirt across her left cheek. At least she hoped it was dirt, and not a crayon of dried cowpile. All the dust had made her eyes water, so she removed her contact lenses. She stared at her eyes in the mirror, barely distinguishing where green ended and bloodshot began. Groping into the back seat, she produced the tissue box Randolph kept. She snatched a handful and spit-wiped her cheek.
Randolph reached into the console and produced a packet of wet wipes. He handed her one of the foil wraps. “Here, this may work better.”
She grinned.
* * *
Rhetta and Randolph edged in the crowded driveway at Fast Lane and parked behind a Cape Girardeau Sheriff’s sedan. Although several police cars had crammed into the short drive, there was no sign of the Highway Patrol SUV. When they entered Ricky’s shop, they spotted her perched on her stool watching a crime scene technician meticulously bag the wallet, sunglasses and the wrench. Two other deputies were scrutinizing the Z28.
“Your car’s going to the lab,” said Ricky, holding her hands up in surrender. “I explained everything to that nice deputy over there.” She jutted her chin toward the officer who was dusting the car for prints. “There probably isn’t much left of this car to process, because I’ve sanded and cleaned so much of it, but oh, no, they’re going to gather and bag up all the pieces.” She hopped down from the stool and stood in front of the car’s original small block 350 engine and turbo transmission, and the rear bumper cover that lay against the wall.
“Even this stuff.” She pointed to the pile of parts. “They’re going to load all of it up, take it to the lab and go over everything.”
Rhetta glanced at Randolph. “I guess that puts my Z28 on hold for a good long time.” She took Ricky’s place on the stool and swiveled back and forth.
“Sergeant,” Randolph said as he walked over to the deputy. “I understand you fellas have a job to do, but since my wife and I have a lot of money tied up in this car, we’d like to have an itemized receipt of all the pieces you take. That way we can match up everything upon its return.”
The deputy nodded, signed off on the evidence sheet the tech presented, then watched as the tech lugged an armload of evidence bags to his car before answering Randolph. “Judge McCarter, you know as well as I do, you may not get this car back for a very long time.” He withdrew a pad of forms from a sheaf of papers he’d placed on the workbench and began filling one in. “Maybe never, if the body found has anything to do with this car and there’s a trial.”
Rhetta pointed to all the bags as they left and said, “That pile of bags is my car?”
Ricky patted her arm. “Don’t worry, we’ll put it all back together.”
Rhetta’s stomach knotted, as though she’d just taken a kick to her gut. Even though at first, she’d been reluctantly enthusiastic about Cami’s replacement, the thought that this Z28 was now probably lost to her made a tear escape. She snuffled to mask it. “Dang allergies.” She grabbed a paper towel on Ricky’s workbench and blew her nose. She mumbled into the towel, and cleared her throat. Randolph put an arm around her shoulders.
The deputy called out to Ricky. “Ms. Lane, I’ll need your help getting me the serial numbers and part numbers on the larger parts for my compilation.” He tapped the pen against the clipboard and nodded toward Randolph. “Let’s start with the Vehicle Identification Number.” The deputy wiped his brow with a paper towel. “This could take a while.” They trudged toward the car. Randolph followed them.
“Can I offer you a bottle of water?” Ricky asked. When the deputy nodded, she detoured to the refrigerator in the corner, grabbed a cold bottle of water, and met the officer at the car.
The tech returned and was repacking his satchel. “How long did you say this car spent in that barn?” He turned to Ricky.
“Close to twenty-five years, I was told,” Ricky said.
“But the man they think was under the car has been missing fifteen years?”
Ricky nodded.
The tech shook his head. “Unbelievable. I’m hea
ding over to the barn as soon as I finish up here. This is the strangest case I’ve ever been called to work.” He headed for the door. “We don’t get many murders here in Cape County, especially not cold cases. This one could take a long, long time.”
Rhetta’s nicotine craving skyrocketed.
Chapter 6
Before leaving, Rhetta wrote a check to Ricky for all the labor and parts for work done to date. The deputy’s words about keeping the Z28 for evidence echoed in her ears. She didn’t want Ricky out the cost of labor or any parts already purchased for the doomed car. Rhetta already thought of it as lost, seeing as how Cami’s replacement would likely never get to park inside the Garage Mahal, their detached garage. She’d christened it that because she claimed it was finished as nicely inside as the house was.
“I can cancel the LS1 engine, so at least you won’t be out that expense,” Ricky said. “We can always find another one when we get the car back.”
Rhetta nodded. “It doesn’t appear that we’ll have any use for it for a long time, according to the deputy. I guess the car will be held as evidence. But isn’t the new motor already loaded on the truck and on its way?”
Ricky fired up another cigarette. “I don’t have to accept delivery. I’ll send it back.”
Rhetta perched on the shop stool, elbows on the workbench. “I have to tell you, I’m getting bummed over losing this car. I can’t talk to Randolph about it, because he keeps trying to cheer me up. I was on board with getting this Z28 to replace Cami, but now, with this….” She didn’t finish, just sighed and gestured vaguely toward the car.
“We both thought you’d enjoy your new ride so much that maybe losing Cami wouldn’t hurt so badly.” Ricky blew a long slow spiral of smoke.
Rhetta stared at the various second-generation Camaro posters on the wall, and at a picture of Cami taken at a car show two years before. “I loved that car.”
Ricky nodded. “Me, too. It was awesome.”
The women sat quietly for a moment. Then Rhetta added, “I didn’t tell you about my mother’s locket that was lost in it, did I?”