Case of the Abandoned Bones Read online

  Now, inches away from seeing what this baby could do, I glanced again at the dogs and prayed the cab of this tractor would keep the vast majority of the noise outside. After all, I didn’t want to spook either of the dogs, and if it proved too loud, then I’d have to take them back to the house. Verifying the hydraulic pressure was where it should be, I eased the tip of the spike down and engaged the hammer.

  First and foremost, I should point out the dogs had absolutely no problem with the noise. It was loud, yes, but then again, it could have been so much worse. What I found disconcerting was the simple fact that it felt like a giant had come up behind me, grabbed a hold of the tractor, and had just shaken the snot out of it. Everything in the cab which wasn’t bolted down was flung up into the air, before falling noisily back to the ground.

  I grinned at Sherlock and Watson, who had just given themselves a solid shake to dislodge the dust and debris which had settled on their coats.

  “That was something, wasn’t it? Wow. I think that just rattled my teeth loose. Okey dokey, let’s see what we got. Think there’s any chance we broke it in half on the first try?”

  I was ignored. Apparently, with this spiked-gizmo moving this way and that outside, the dogs thought there was some type of monster attached to the tractor, and assumed it needed to be watched. Shrugging, I leaned forward in my seat to inspect the damage.

  A tiny divot, no bigger than a golf ball, was visible on the huge rock’s surface. Surprised and elated that I’d get to use this mechanical spike for much longer than anticipated, I resumed hammering away at the boulder. With the size of the dust cloud this thing was kicking up, I was surprised there was any dirt left on the ground.

  “We’re gonna have to give this thing a bath when all this is over,” I told the dogs nearly thirty minutes later.

  Patience won out. A deep, jagged crack was visible, which effectively split the boulder in half. Additionally, it only took another ten minutes of hammering before one of the halves split again, reducing each section to about the size of a small loveseat. Figuring that was about the limit of what my tractor could lift, I made short work of the other half of boulder.

  Intent on dragging the pieces out of the way, thus giving me access to the next set of large boulders, I grabbed my gloves and a set of chains. It took nearly twenty minutes to attach the chains and drag the four broken pieces of rock away from the rest. Rubbing my hands together, I returned to the cab.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked the dogs. Positioning the tractor by the next large boulder, I maneuvered the hydraulic hammer into place. “If we can get these two broken down, and then maybe those three over there, I’d say that’d be a good day’s work.”

  Once again, I was ignored. The dogs only had eyes for what was happening on the other side of the glass. Looking back on the events of the day, I definitely should have paid more attention to what the corgis were doing.

  As the afternoon passed, with me busy at the controls of the tractor, my mind started to drift. After all, it didn’t really require too many brain cells to pull this lever here, and rotate that knob there, while pushing a few pedals down there. So, I started reflecting on how much life had changed for me, and if you would have known me several years ago, you’d say the difference was as significant as night and day.

  Several years ago, I had been living in my home state of Arizona, in the great city of Phoenix. I had recently lost my wife of over twenty years to a horrific automobile accident. I had been a best-selling author, but my sales had begun to drop. Why? My depressive attitude transferred to my books. I had been told they weren’t as good, and I had to admit, they weren’t.

  I was in a deep, depressive funk, and thankfully, I could see that. That was when one phone call changed my life forever: I had inherited a winery.

  Fast forward to the present day. Here I was, sitting in a tractor, of all things, in an attempt to clear the land so my winemaster could figure out what he wanted to do with it. My winery. It may be mine on paper, but I fervently believed there were two owners, and no, I wasn’t thinking of my late wife, but my very-current fiancé, Jillian.

  I was engaged to be married. My books were selling like hotcakes once more, and I had recently hit the USA best-seller’s list, a feat I hadn’t accomplished in several years. I owned two dogs, who at present, were sitting beside me in the cab of my tractor.

  Sherlock and Watson. My life had already started improving for the best when those two corgis came trotting into the picture. Both were rescues, only I steadfastly believe they rescued me, not the other way around. They lived with me, kept me company, and were fantastic listeners.

  Most of the time.

  The cab of the tractor gave a mighty shake. Watson slid off her chair and would have taken a hard fall, but, thankfully, I managed to catch her before that could happen. Gently placing her back on the seat, I gave the affectionate girl a pat on the head, and then did the same for Sherlock when he glanced our way.

  “Better watch yourselves. This last boulder is huge. Flat, but huge. I thought we had finally broken through, but the hammer slipped. Sorry about that, guys. I’ll pay better attention next time.”

  As if either dog didn’t believe me, both sat up on the seat and stared – intently – at the massive slab of stone below.

  “Ready for round two? All right. Here we go.”

  A second tremor shook the cab, but it wasn’t as strong as the previous one. This time, I was rewarded with a large crack on the slab’s surface. A few more strikes by the hammer’s spike and I saw the point sink into the rock, suggesting the slab might not be as thick as I had originally thought. Pulling the hammer up and out of the stone, I let the tractor idle and hopped out to take a look.

  Both corgis had their noses pressed to the glass as they watched.

  “Hmm. Doesn’t look like much, guys. I may have thought this was the biggest sarcophagus in the world, but I think it’s just my overactive imagination. Back in your seat, you two. Let’s break it into a few more pieces.”

  Once the slab had been broken into five pieces, and I had just dragged the second chunk out of the way, both dogs perked up again. In fact, Sherlock started howling.

  Ever hear a corgi howl? It’s a funny sight to behold. It was all I could do to not laugh at the poor guy. Watson, for her part, seemed to be wriggling with anticipation, almost as if Vance was here with his bag of doggie biscuits.

  “What’s going on with you two? There’s nothing to see, okay? I… Sherlock? Stop pawing the windows. You’re gonna get it dirty. Well, dirtier than it already is.”

  Sherlock threw back his head and howled again, only it wasn’t high-pitched. Quite the opposite. The howl was low, long, and full of syllables.

  “Awwwooooo…wooo….wooooooo!”

  Bemused, I turned to my tri-colored corgi and gave him a friendly scratch. I checked the time and decided we all needed a break. After all, the corgis had been in the cab with me for over three hours. Perhaps they needed a potty break?

  Reaching in, I twisted the key and shut the engine down. “Fine, is that better? Here. Would you two like to go running around? I think I might have a ball in here somewhere, so maybe we could…”

  I trailed off as both corgis took off like a bat out of hell. Both circled around the tractor and zeroed in on the patch of pale earth that had been exposed with the partial removal of the slab. Watson yipped her encouragement as Sherlock went full-on prairie dog on me. He shoved his snout down low, hunched his back, and dug like he believed I had been trapped by an avalanche. Dirt, scraps of weeds, and bits of rock were thrust between the corgi’s squat rear legs as the hole Sherlock was digging widened to four feet. Five minutes later, he was still at it.

  For the record, I had considered putting a stop to the digging at least five times, only something prevented me from doing so. I think it had something to do with the urgency in which Sherlock was digging. What would possess him to frantically dig in that spot for so long?

  “I can only assume you’ve found something,” I mused, as I leaned against the tractor’s front wheel and watched the proceedings.

  Sherlock finally paused in his digging. He looked up at me, gave himself a thorough shake, and then over at Watson. He yipped once and promptly resumed digging. This time, however, Watson joined him, only she was digging in a completely different place.

  I was about to laugh and take a photo, for posterity’s sake, when a thought occurred. What if Sherlock had found something? What if that slab had been some type of burial stone, and there was some type of tomb below it? Might some type of ancient people have once lived on this land and used it to bury their dead?

  Eww.

  What had Caden always told me about wine? That it absorbs the nutrients and flavors of all that’s around it? The existence of ancient burial grounds would definitely raise a question or two from my buyers, that’s for sure.

  “Sherlock? I’m having second thoughts, dude. Maybe you shouldn’t dig so close to the other pieces of that slab. Come on, let’s get back inside the cab, okay? Oh, man. You’re absolutely covered with dirt. What’s Jillian going to say? She’s coming over tonight for a nice, romantic dinner. What’s she going to say when she sees you two covered with dirt?”

  Neither dog bothered looking up.

  I snapped my fingers a few times in the hopes that it’d get the dogs’ attention. But, to have both of them pause at the same time, and look up at me, with the same annoyed expression on their face? Jillian would have ended up laughing her butt off. Me? I shook my head and hooked a thumb at the tractor.

  “All right, that’s enough. We need to think about heading back. I want both of you to…”

  I trailed off as I noticed what was in Sherlock’s hole. It was off-white, domed, and the size of a mini-basketball. Sherlock, satisfied that I had now given the situation my full attention, shook himself off a second time and stepped back. Watson joined him a few moments later and, together, they watched me kneel down on the ground and scrape away the dirt with my gloved hands.

  “This had better not be what I think it is,” I grumbled to myself, as I picked up a nearby rock and used it to chip away the hard earth surrounding the object.

  Several large pieces of dirt broke away. Once I had removed them, the majority of the object was revealed, causing me to curse violently as I jerked to my feet. I stared at the object before picking up both dogs and placing them in the tractor’s cab. Turning to look back into the hole, I groaned and pulled out my cell. While I placed the call to my detective friend, Vance Samuelson, Sherlock and Watson crowded the window and stared intently at me. I’d like to say that this was the first time the dogs have discovered something like this on my property, but anyone familiar with my history in PV will know that’s a lie. This was just peachy.

  The empty eye sockets of a bone-white skull leered evilly up at me.

  TWO

  “You’re up, Watson. It’s your turn to… Sherlock? Let her have the ball, okay? Thank you. Now, why don’t you… Sherlock? I said drop it, pal. Poor Watson hasn’t had a chance to play with the ball yet. Be a good boy and let her have it.”

  I swear that dog held the ball in his mouth as long as necessary, ensuring it was completely coated with saliva. Dropping the soggy tennis ball at my feet, he looked defiantly up at me, as if to say, you wanted it, there it is. Let’s see you touch that nasty mess, dad.

  We were currently at one of PV’s two parks, trying to burn off some excess energy (and help me get my mind off of things). All you dog owners will back me up when I say, if you don’t give your dogs something to do, then they’ll find ways to entertain themselves. Trust me, you really don’t want that. Seeing how the last couple of days have been pretty hectic, and I haven’t been able to spend too much time with either of the corgis, an excursion outside for some playtime was warranted.

  My thoughts kept drifting back to the talk of the town, namely, the discovery of human remains on my land. Who was the unlucky person? How did the bones end up under that huge rock? Did I have any insight as to how long they’ve been there?

  Thankfully, the dogs were there, and kept pulling me back to reality. Typically, Sherlock wasn’t this ornery whenever we played with a ball. Now, for some reason, it was like he was deliberately pushing my buttons. He wouldn’t share with Watson. He wouldn’t give me the ball. When he did drop it at my feet, he’d dart in to grab the ball before I could. I knew I couldn’t get mad at him, seeing how I knew what he was doing. The clever little dog was trying to distract me. I think he could tell every time my mind wandered, and he felt it necessary to steer it back on track.

  After ten minutes or so of idly tossing the ball around, both corgis perked up and turned, in unison, to look at the street. Noticing that something had caught their attention, I automatically looked that way. However, I couldn’t tell what either of them were looking at. Confused, I looked back at my dogs and waggled the ball.

  “Guys? Over here. What are you looking at? There’s nothing over there except passing cars. Did one of your many admirers drive by?”

  Sherlock whipped his head around at me, whined, and then returned his attention to the street.

  “But, we’re not working a case!” I protested.

  Watson nudged my leg. By the time I looked down at my red and white corgi, Watson had already resumed staring at the street, too.

  I groaned. “Fine. You win. Here. Want me to take some pictures? Could either of your Royal Majesties care to indicate what I should be looking for?”

  Both dogs ignored me.

  “Fine. I see how I rate.”

  I slowly panned the street with my cell phone, taking a series of pictures as I did so. I really hadn’t a clue what I was looking for, so I made sure to hit all areas of the street. Once done, I was finally able to tuck my phone away.

  Unsurprisingly, this seemed to mollify the dogs.

  “I’ll never understand you two.”

  Right about then, a group of middle-schoolers wandered by. There were four girls and one boy. One of the girls, whom I guessed was the ringleader, since the rest of the group came to an immediate stop once she did, approached me and asked permission to pet the dogs. Surprised by the girl’s good manners, I nodded.

  “Is this a boy or a girl?” the girl wanted to know.

  “Boy,” I answered.

  “Aren’t you a cute boy?” the girl cooed, which caused Sherlock to roll over onto his back and wait for a belly rub. Not to be outdone, Watson thrust her nose under the girl’s arm and nudged it up and out of the way. Moments later, my timid little girl wedged herself in between Sherlock and the girl, forcing the 12 year-old to pet her, and not him.

  “That one is a female,” I pointed out.

  “What are their names, mister?” one of the other girls asked.

  I pointed at Sherlock. “That one, the male, with the black, orange, and white coat is Sherlock. He’s the one who hasn’t blinked since you picked up the ball. Under your arm, there, is Watson.”

  “Omigod!” the girl cried, as she looked adoringly at the two dogs. “Sherlock and Watson! I should have known! Lisa, did you hear that? Do you know who these two are?”

  The rest of the gang crowded close and began heaping praise and adoration upon the two corgis.

  “These dogs are famous!” another girl exclaimed, as she whipped out her cell phone and started taking pictures. “I am so posting this online. Jenna, squat down next to them. Put an arm around each of them. Perfect! I’ll bet these pics will go viral by the end of the day?”

  Viral? Whatever happened to just sharing the picture with your friends? Whatever.

  An excited squeal from one of the girls had me looking back at the group of kids. They were all kneeling on the soft grass and petting both of the dogs. I noticed the soggy tennis ball next to Sherlock and pointed at it.

  “Both Sherlock and Watson love chasing after that ball. Care to do the honors?”

  “Can we?” the girl excitedly asked. “You don’t mind?”

  “Do you see how soggy that ball is?” I countered. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson,” the girl gushed, admitting to me she knew who I was.

  She grabbed the tennis ball and hurriedly rose to her feet. Both corgis were on their feet in a flash. Sherlock sensed there had been a shakeup with his playmates and, without looking back at me, chased after the girl and her friends. Watson, bless her heart, waited by my side. She looked up at me, yipped once, and wriggled with anticipation.

  “Go on, girl. Go have fun. And… you just earned yourself a treat when we get home.”

  Watson tore off after Sherlock and the kids. In the meantime, I headed for the closest park bench which would allow me to keep an eye on the dogs. Leaning back, I shaded my eyes and watched the dogs frolic with the youngsters. Should I be worried something will happen to them?

  The answer was simple: no.

  Everyone in this town seemed to know the dogs, and all of them, I might add, wanted to be their friends. As for me, I was perfectly comfortable to remain on the sidelines and remain unknown. Let someone else get all the attention.

  Now, that typically worked for me, except for days like this. My name, and my winery, were all anyone could talk about. Just because a few bones were located on my property, everybody wanted to freak the hell out.

  Well, okay. Sure, they might’ve found over 200 bones, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it? Yes, that might mean they found a complete skeleton, but was that any reason to dig up nearly half an acre? And cordon off nearly five acres of surrounding land?

  On the plus side, the city of Pomme Valley very kindly removed the last of the large boulders from that section of the property. It was Chief Nelson, himself, who suggested they remove the rest of the boulders, just to see if there were any other remains hidden in the ground. Consequently, there weren’t. I still had the feeling I was gonna get the bill from the crew who had been brought in to break up the stones.