behind his brother, shaking his head. He looked to Mack, who had another year or so on him, to take the lead.
A little empathy, she reminded herself. It’s not every day kids see a dead body. Never mind a decomposed one. This was why she didn’t do well in social situations. People didn’t “get” her excitement, and she tended to forget her brain worked differently than most. “It’s okay,” she assured the boys, “just point the way. I’ll take it from here.”
The one named Mack flipped his red hair off to his left. His hands stuffed into his zipped-up gray sweatshirt. “I found...it...over there when I pulled our rowboat up onshore. At first, I thought they were sticks. Then I saw the sk—skull.” He visibly shivered. A woman came up beside him to drape her arm around his shoulders and pull him close. Her carrot-red hair matched that of the boys. She looked too young to be their mother, but definitely related. Lydia was about to ask when the woman plastered pleading hazel eyes on the sheriff.
“Wes, can I please take them home now? They’ve told you everything they know. It’s bad enough they had to be the ones to find...the body.”
Lydia watched the woman’s eyes fill with a level of intimacy as they locked on the sheriff’s. The two of them must be an item, she speculated, but the sheriff’s blank and emotionless stare implied Lydia failed on that assessment. Not a good start, Dr. Muir.
Sheriff Grant turned to her. “Do you need to ask them anything, Doc?”
“If I do, I’m sure I can find them easy enough,” Lydia answered.
“True, but I want this matter wrapped up today.”
Lydia studied him and wondered about the rush. The bones weren’t going anywhere. “I’ll take your requested expedience into consideration, but I won’t make any promises.”
He shot her a disapproving look but signaled the dark-haired deputy. “Matthews, would you mind bringing Pat and the boys home? I’ll take Dr. Muir back in my patrol boat.”
“I’ll put her bag in your boat,” the deputy replied, and unhooked a set of keys from his belt.
“Thanks. I don’t know how long I’m going to be.” He lowered his voice below the pounding of the waves and squawking seagulls, but not so low that Lydia couldn’t hear what he said. “It looks like it might be a while.”
“That will all depend on what I dig up,” Lydia announced as she took a step in the direction Mack had insinuated with his head toss.
“What you dig up?” Sheriff Grant balked as she walked past him. “Hold on a minute. You’re not turning this place into a dig site.”
She kept on walking. A few moments later a boat’s engine rumbled to life, leaving her with the sheriff on this side of the island. Each of her footsteps was carefully placed on the squishy mounds of sand. Either it had just poured or when the tide came in, the water surely covered this side of the island. Which would explain the unearthing of the body over time. But how much time? A hundred years? Or one?
Thoughts of the skeleton had her picking up her step. How long had it been here? What was the cause of death? What was its ancestry? Why was it buried on this side alone, and what were the secrets it took to its shallow grave? All things forensic science could answer—all things she could answer. Lydia hurried forward, eager to locate the remains, and eager to find what they would tell her.
After another ten yards, the lay of the land dropped considerably beneath her shoes. The backs of her calves tightened in an effort to keep her from sliding down on her rump. That would be the icing on the sheriff’s cake. She could have no mishaps with this case. She didn’t doubt he would be the first to call Dr. Webber to get her out of here. He seemed as territorial as a bulldog. She wondered what he had to guard...or perhaps hide.
The ground sloped more. Lydia turned to crab-walk down a steep mound of sand. With her feet solidly planted, she took the next sidestep. Then her gaze caught on the protruding rib cage sticking out of the sand, and all thoughts of the bulldog vanished.
She took her next step without looking down and felt her feet slip beneath her. Her arms shot out to catch her balance, but her tool kit unevenly distributed her weight and she slipped more, dropping her case and picking up speed as she descended. In a crouch, she locked her legs to stop the slide, but there was no way out of it. She was going down. In mere seconds, she would find herself cuddled up with the skeletal remains of an adult female.
* * *
“Do you always get so up close and personal with your work, Doc?” Wes gripped the upper arm of the bone hunter. He caught her midair, pulling her back like a rag doll. A very tall and thin rag doll.
“All the time,” she boasted. Her shaking fingers tugged at the bottom of her suit coat. For a doctor, she wasn’t very bright to come out to the cold north with no gloves. She probably only had the latex variety in her black case.
Wes noticed her tool kit a few feet down the embankment. She’d dropped it in her fall. He sidestepped down to retrieve it, not sure why he did. He shouldn’t be helping her in any way. Not until he knew if she intended to sensationalize the find or not. He dared not tell her about the pirates. If word got out, he’d have every treasure hunter in the Northeast invading his island by morning.
His best choice would be to stick close and hurry her up. Wes handed the kit over and watched her grip the hard case at her front as she’d done before. A buffer between them, perhaps? A means of protection? “I’m not going to hurt you,” he chided.
“I didn’t think you were.” Her coffee-colored eyes widened to saucer size through her lenses.
“Then what’s with—” Wes shook it off. “Forget it. Let’s just get this over with so we can get out of the cold. The sun’s setting.”
“Sun?” She looked to the skies without a squint.
He did a double take. Was this woman being snarky with him? “Yeah, sun.” He tapped his watch. “Five-thirty. Daylight is disappearing while we stand here over this dead guy.”
“Girl.” She looked straight at him.
“What?”
“It’s a dead girl. Woman actually.”
“How do you know?”
“Her posterior ramus of the mandible is straighter than that of a male’s.”
“I see.” He didn’t have a clue.
“A male’s is much more curved.”
“Right.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Is that all?”
“Well, a woman’s pelvis is wider, as well.”
“Of course, but can you give me an estimate of age?”
The doctor turned away to give the skeleton her full attention. Wes watched how Lydia Muir became absorbed in her task to the point where he thought she forgot he still stood behind her. Minutes went by while she dropped her case at her feet and opened it to withdraw a pair of blue latex gloves. She approached the bones and crouched down. Her hand reached out, tracing some markings on the ribs. Abruptly, she stood and circled around to the other side with continued skilled concentration.
