gaped at the closed portal. “What’s going on? Whose remains are those?”
“I’m not sure, dear.” The thin response carried faintly.
The sound of drawers slamming and the rustling of papers reached Nicole’s ears. What was her grandmother looking for?
“I have to call the police.” Nicole leaned her forehead against the door panel.
“Do what you need to do, honey. Let me be, now.”
On reluctant feet, Nicole went to the kitchen and lifted the telephone receiver. Why was her grandmother lying to her? And what was she rummaging for in the bedroom? Something to do with the child in the rose garden?
Nicole had come to the quiet community of Ellington—to this home she’d known as a haven since childhood—in order to rebuild her life after a devastating loss. More than that, she’d come to look after her only close living relative in the waning years of the woman’s life. What might happen to both of them the minute she placed this phone call to the police station?
Police Chief Rich Hendricks caught the coded call-out from the dispatcher on his police scanner at home. He immediately phoned the station for details not given over the radio, and then abandoned his half-eaten, fast-food cheese-burger. Small loss. No fun scarfing down meals alone all the time anyway. With his wife, Karen, having passed away three years ago and his daughter, Katrina, newly graduated and off to summer Bible camp as a counselor, life had turned pretty blah. A case like this broke up the routine big-time, but it wasn’t the kind of excitement he welcomed.
A baby’s bones found in a trench? When he took the chief job here in Ellington, he researched the town, particularly the criminal history. This little burg hadn’t had a mystery this big since Simon Elling’s infant son was kidnapped in 1957 and never recovered. Had the child just been found? And in the Kellers’ backyard, no less!
Bouncing over the rough terrain on the dug-up streets, Rich’s SUV turned onto Tenth Street. The Keller colonial lay up ahead. Looked as if he was the first unit on the scene, but then, he only lived a few blocks away.
A slender, dark-haired woman stood slump-shouldered beside a bundle on the ground. Nicole Mattson, Jan’s granddaughter. She moved to town only a couple of weeks ago, presumably to start a new life a few months after her Minneapolis police-officer husband was killed in a shoot-out with a team of serial bank robbers. The guy was a bonafide hero, decorated and everything, but that didn’t make Nicole any less a widow. He sympathized.
Welcome to Ellington.
Rich snorted. This was not the way he’d hoped to be introduced to this woman. He’d been eyeing her from afar, giving her space to settle in and time for the sharpest pangs of loss to subside. Since Karen’s passing, Nicole was the first female to spark his interest in dating again…and now he had to approach her in cop mode.
He cruised the SUV to the nonexistent curb, grabbed his interview notebook and got out. She gazed at him, brow furrowed above deep brown eyes. He glanced down at his jeans and Minnesota Vikings T-shirt.
“Sorry.” He sent her a muted smile. “This caught me off duty at home. You must be Nicole, Jan’s granddaughter. I’m Police Chief Rich Hendricks.” He held out his hand.
She took it with a surprisingly firm grip for such a delicate hand and petite frame. Her brown eyes held equal parts sorrow and strength. Nothing squeamish about her, but then she’d been a cop’s wife, and her dad, Jan and Frank’s son, had been a cop, as well. At least, he wouldn’t have to deal with feminine hysterics. He liked her already, though she hadn’t said a word.
“This is what I found.” She pointed toward the bundle at her feet. “I dug it out of there.” She motioned toward a gap in the soil near the bottom of the trench.
Rich narrowed his gaze. The remains hadn’t been buried very deep—only about three feet. He made a note in his book, and then squatted beside the dirt-crusted bundle. A plastic object lay on the fabric. He nudged it with the end of his pen, and it rattled. A baby’s toy. It looked like the rattle had once been blue and white. The bits of clothing that survived might possibly have been red.
“The remains were wound tightly in the yard goods,” Nicole volunteered. “I unwrapped it having no idea I’d find something like this!”
Rich nodded her direction. “You did fine. How could you guess?”
Nicole squatted beside him. “What’s that?” She pointed to another object in the bundle, partially covered by cloth.
Rich nudged the item into view—a small metal cross. That and the careful shroudlike wrapping sent a message: whoever buried the child either felt remorse or actually cared for the infant.
A tag on the fabric caught his eye. He leaned close and made out the store label. His gaze met Nicole’s, but she looked away quickly. Not fast enough to hide the confusion and fear playing across her face. She was afraid her grandmother had something to do with this. A logical conclusion, given the circumstances. He needed to talk to Jan Keller right away.
He rose, Nicole beside him, and swiveled toward the sound of approaching vehicles. A police sedan, followed by the VW Jetta driven by one of their local doctors, pulled up behind his SUV. Rich’s lanky deputy, Terry Bender, climbed out of the sedan, cowboy boots first, beneath uniform slacks.
“Bring the yellow tape,” Rich called to him. “We’ll have to cordon off the area.”
The deputy shot him a thumbs-up and ducked back inside his car. Dr. Sharla Mead approached, carrying her kit. The pear-shaped woman around Rich’s own age of thirty-nine was the county medical examiner, as well as chief of staff at the small Ellington hospital.
The doctor gazed down at the bundle and shook her head. “I’ll do my best with COD, but you’ll need a forensics specialist out here to examine the whole package.”
Rich nodded. “Do what you can. Terry will give you a hand. I’ll call someone in from the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. This kind of case ought to be right up their alley.” Sharla nodded, and Rich turned toward Nicole. “Is your grandmother around? We need to visit.”
White-faced, Nicole nodded. “She’s in the house. Come with me.”
He’d follow her graceful form anywhere, any day, but interviewing a local senior citizen about a long-dead infant in her yard was not on his list of fun things to do, especially with an attractive woman around. They entered the back door into the kitchen. Jan Keller was seated at the table with her face in her hands. A full meal lay before her—meat congealing in its own grease, mashed potatoes, salad—but the dinner plates were clean and empty. Not surprising that no one had an appetite.
Jan looked up, her craggy face set in stone, though a suspicion of wetness smeared her cheeks. “I know you’ve gotta do your duty and ask all sorts of questions, Rich, but you could just as well save your breath. I can’t tell you one thing that will help.”
Rich opened his notebook. Did she mean can’t because she had no idea how the infant ended up buried beneath the rose garden, or can’t because she won’t spill what she knows? His gaze bored into hers, and color gradually seeped from her face. Her stare hid fear, or he’d eat his badge.
He groaned inwardly. If Jan Keller had been involved in what could well be the Elling infant’s kidnapping and murder, he’d have
