feeling of his warm grip seeped into her chilled skin, reminding her she should have brought gloves to this frigid, windswept place. She let go and felt the chill in the air more now than before. The first thought that jumped in her head was to take his warm hand in her own again. How silly, she thought, since she much preferred the company of the stiff and dead. But then, Sheriff Grant was pretty stiff. He gripped his jaw so tight, his temporomandibular joint protruded. The man was really mad that Webber wasn’t here.
“I work under Dr. Simon Webber. He sent me in his stead.” Lydia brought her tool kit in front of her to show the sheriff as well as all their onlookers that she had the credentials for being here. She cleared her throat. “I assure you, I’m well qualified to assess the situation. I have a Ph.D. in forensic anthropology, and I—” She bit the inside of her cheek to stop any more insecure blabbering from spilling forth. She had nothing to prove here. I’ve earned this. I’m a doctor—even if Dr. Webber still calls me Miss Muir.
But that would all change after this case. Running a top-notch examination here was exactly what she needed to prove herself in her field, once and for all. God had seen to it. He wanted her to succeed in her own right. Not because of who her father is in the world of science, but because of her own merits.
Lydia breathed deep and silently prayed. God, You have given me the skills and the desire to understand the basic makeup and structure of Your creation. I am ready to handle whatever anyone, even the hard-faced sheriff giving himself TMJ, throws at me.
She straightened all twenty-seven vertebrae of her spine and hoped the onlookers missed her trembling shoulders. She hoped they shook from the whipping wind and not nerves. “It’s quite cold out here, and it looks like it could start to pour any second. Perhaps you can show me the crime scene now.”
The sheriff’s mouth twisted instantly. “Crime scene? Dr. Muir, it is way too soon to call this incident a crime. I’m sure this is nothing more than a historic burial unearthed by erosion.”
Lydia blinked, speechless. She watched the wind lift the front of the man’s blond, silky hair. Piercing blue eyes became exposed to her and chilled her more than the cold wind. His gaze narrowed on her face. A face she knew made her look younger than her thirty-three years. Her dad always said, despite her height, she had a baby face, and in times like this his nickname, “Trinket,” would do nothing for her credibility. Not that it ever did, but that never stopped him from using it.
“Perhaps you are right about the remains being ancient,” she said, treading carefully. “I’m sorry if I made the wrong assumption. I was told a skeleton had been found. The M.E. asked my department for a consultation, and Dr. Webber sent me—”
Saying the words out loud made her realize how ridiculous they sounded. Out of all her other colleagues, Webber had sent her?
What was left of her excitement fizzled out completely as she realized what this really meant. She could have kicked one of the stones at her feet. Webber sent her for the same reasons this guy spouted. Dr. Webber didn’t want to make the trek out to the cold north for old ancient remains. That’s why he told her to box them up and bring them back to him. She was nothing more than a courier of goods. And here she thought she might finally have earned Dr. Webber’s support for the promotion to Director of Anthropology.
Lydia squelched her rising disappointment. She could dwell on it later when she was alone. For now, regardless of why she was sent here, she would see the case through professionally. She would not make any judgment until she had assessed the scene. With her chin lifted a notch, she met Sheriff Grant at eye level, thankful her tight bun didn’t allow the wind to play peekaboo with her strands like his. She had one chance to set the stage and show she meant business.
Lydia pushed her glasses up on her nose—and noticed his deprecatory eyes travel down her tall body. Her bravado faltered as she realized he formed judgments of her. Terms from her childhood, and even adulthood, came to mind. Beanpole. Giraffe. Sunshade. At least her six-one-and-then-some height wouldn’t be blocking any sun on the island today, because there was none.
“Just show me the way,” she said, and caught the other people behind the sheriff staring.
“Not until I have your word that you will keep this discreet,” Sheriff Grant said, pulling her attention back to him. “I’m not looking for some fresh-out-of-college intern looking to make headlines or improve herself in her profession. I want your word that you’re not here to further your career or to make a name for yourself.”
“Further my—?” She sputtered to a stop. How did he know? She attempted to keep her face as still as the granite ledges around her, but her shoulders trembled all on their own. Was it the cold, or was she that transparent?
“It’s my job to protect the islanders from harm,” Sheriff Grant continued. “I need to know you can be discreet and professional.”
“Always,” she answered quickly, but her voice held a shiver. It had to be the cold and not fear. Never fear. With God as her guide, never shall she fear.
The sheriff’s unnerving, steely eyes relaxed a little, but not his jaw. “Good to hear, but tell me, Doc, did you think to bring a coat? It gets real chilly out here with the wind and all. The climate is a bit rougher than what you’re used to on the mainland.”
“Of course I brought a coat. It’s in my bag on the boat. But I’m perfectly comfortable as I am.” She ignored the cold, salty spray misting around her, knowing it would seep into her wool suit real fast. Now, there was a smell to avoid. Death she could handle, but wet sheep, not so much.
“Your shaking shoulders tell me differently, but have it your way.” He shrugged as he tossed a glance over his shoulder at two gawking teenaged boys huddled together. “These boys are Robbie and Mack Reed.” Neither would pass for fifteen. Their faces were pale and sullen with eyes as turbulent as the waves behind them.
Their timorous behavior told her these young ones were her body finders.
Sheriff Grant confirmed her assessment. “They came out to this side of the island earlier this morning to explore and came across the skeleton.”
Lydia scanned the backdrop of rocky ledges. She wondered how much farther the island expanded beyond them. Stone surrounded her, from the rocky ledges to the numerous flat rocks dotting the ocean behind her. They couldn’t have been more strategically placed if they had been pawns on a chess board with the island of Stepping Stones as their queen. A lighthouse stood far out in the distance on the farthest rock, warning ships not to come any closer to the dangerous protruding stones. A natural tactic that seemingly kept the outside world at bay, and the town untouchable.
Until now.
“Do people come here often?” she asked.
The sheriff hesitated before he answered, “We don’t get too many visitors in Stepping Stones. Or did you mean this side of the island?”
“Both.”
He shrugged. “Most stay on the side where the higher ground is. These waters get pretty rough. Storms come through and submerge these rocks real fast.” He angled a disappointed look at the boys. Their chins dropped lower to their chests; apparently, they had already heard the lecture. “The boys know they made a dangerous choice today, but I think under the circumstances they’ve been punished enough.”
Their punishment, her reward. Just thinking about digging her hands into the dirt had Lydia’s adrenaline spiking again. She took a breath and piped up. “Okay, boys, show me what you found.”
