Sara paid no attention to him. “I think it’s safe to assume that Derek Oliver was murdered during that house party, which means that everyone who was there is a suspect.” She looked at Jack. “Even if he or she is no longer alive.” She meant his father.
Randal spoke up. “Once Flynn gets here, we can leave and go see Billy. He’s bound to know something about this. Bodies can’t just be stuck in a closet and left there undetected. They tend to...well...”
“Right,” Sara said. “They decay.”
“Last I heard, he was in the Shadow Palms nursing home,” Randal said. “It’s not far away.”
“You’re saying we’re to leave Sheriff Flynn alone with the body?” Sara asked. That sounded nicer than saying “the bones of Derek Oliver.”
The two men turned to glance at the skeleton, then back at Sara. “You want to take some photos?” Randal said.
“You mean before Broward shows up, takes everything away, and tells us it never existed?”
“That was on my mind, yes,” Randal said.
Sara’s camera bag was by the door. “I have two cameras with me and you guys have phones. Let’s cover every inch of this room, then send the pictures through to the cloud. They won’t be able to tell us that we made it all up.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Jack said. “What cameras do you have?”
Two
Sheriff Daryl Flynn wasn’t happy to be told there was another dead body in his town. He said he hadn’t yet recovered from the woman who had been shot, stabbed, and poisoned.
At Lachlan House, he stood about four feet away from the split skull with the jewels scattered about. The clasp of one of the bracelets had caught on a tooth. If he let himself think about what he was seeing, he might throw up. Randal had told him of some long-ago house party, but he didn’t comprehend much. “Uh...” He couldn’t think of what to say. He straightened his shoulders. Thanks to his association with Randal, he was in better physical condition now. His stomach was flatter and he moved more quickly. But the good didn’t override the Medlar-Wyatt propensity for complicating his life. “I have to call Broward.” He sounded as if he were saying he had to amputate one of his limbs.
“Maybe they’ll...” Even Sara couldn’t think of a creative possibility. As the sheriff pulled out his cell phone, they braced themselves for the big shot Detective Cotilla to come on the line. Flynn put it on Speaker. He didn’t want to be alone.
“They found a body.” Flynn didn’t explain who “they” were.
“Skeleton,” Sara said.
“I recognize that voice,” Cotilla said. “Who is the dead person?”
“Derek Oliver,” Flynn said. “It’s possible he was murdered in 1997.”
“Ninety-seven? So there’s no blood?”
“Just bones, but the skull has been... Well, it’s... It’s bad.” Flynn couldn’t finish.
There was a pause, then Cotilla said, “You sure you didn’t find some animal?”
Flynn’s voice rose. “It’s wearing a tuxedo!”
“That sounds cute. Maybe—”
Sara put out her hand to take the phone and Flynn gladly gave it to her. “You want us to call you when we find out what kind of animal it is? And we’ll make sure this scene is well photographed?”
“You can do that? In spite of the fact that so many of the photos you’ve turned over to me in the past were blurry?”
“I’ll try,” she said in fake innocence.
“That sounds good. We are drastically understaffed here, and some old case might find itself buried under more recent problems. You understand me?”
“Perfectly,” she said.
“Good! Just let me know when you have it all figured out and send me a pretty report. We do so enjoy the way you write and illustrate those.”
“We will do that,” Sara said.
