Page 14 of Skin and Bones

“Not surprised,” Dottie said, her lips pursed in disapproval. “That man was as crooked as they come.”

“And now he’s enjoying federal accommodations,” Bea added, passing out sidecars like candy.

She handed one to me and I could’ve sworn Chowder arched a wrinkled brow at me. I took a small sip and watched the sheriff over the rim. I knew the hornet’s nest he’d walked into after Milton’s arrest couldn’t be an easy one. The scandal had rocked our sleepy island community, leaving the department short staffed and under scrutiny. It would be a long time before people on the island trusted law enforcement again.

“The case I’m interested in goes back further than the recent issues,” Sheriff Beckett said diplomatically.

“What’s the case?” Hank asked.

“The drowning death of Elizabeth Calvert, summer of 1996.”

A hush fell over the table. Even Bea, never at a loss for words, seemed momentarily silenced.

“Oh, I remember that one,” Hank said. “Tragic.”

“We all remember that one,” Deidre said. “With the exception of Mabel, of course. Were you even born, dear?”

“Yes,” I said. “And things like that don’t happen often on Grimm Island. It was the talk of the town for years during my childhood.”

Beckett placed a thick manila folder on the table.

“Hold on, young man,” Hank said. “I know the law. Any case files or evidence is for law enforcement eyes only. You can’t show us any of this legally.”

Sheriff Beckett smiled and pulled out a single sheet of paper that looked very official. “Which is why I’m officially swearing you in. I told you I need a posse. Now raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

I was too shocked to do anything but stick my hand up in the air and repeat the words the sheriff was saying. I’d had no idea posses still existed, and I’d never imagined that I’d be part of one. I didn’t own a cowboy hat, and I’d never ridden a horse.

“So help me God…” we all repeated in unison.

“I need signatures from each of you,” Sheriff Beckett said, “and then I’ll file this with the clerk of court.”

“Do we get badges?” Dottie asked.

“No,” Beckett said.

“No matter,” Bea said. “I’ve got a fake one somewhere. Used it once when I was working on a story.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Beckett said.

“I need to buy more bullets for my gun,” Dottie said. “I’ve only got four left.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a silver .45 revolver with a pearl handle. And then she pulled out a makeup compact and opened it up. Inside were four bullets.

Sheriff Beckett opened his mouth to say something and then promptly closed it again. Probably a smart move on his part.

“What good is it to carry a gun around if it’s not loaded?” Walt asked, incensed.

“I used to keep it loaded but I was digging around for a pen one day and accidentally pulled the trigger. Shot a hole right in the bottom of my brand-new Vera Bradley bag. So I took the bullets out and put them in here.” She closed the makeup compact and rattled it for good measure.

“I’ve got a .22 you can use,” Hank said. “That .45 will knock your teeth loose.”

“Deal,” Dottie said. “We can trade.”

Deputy Harris winced and Sheriff Beckett shook his head, probably second-guessing his idea of making a posse that included five octogenarians and me. I had to admit, I was questioning his judgment as well.

He opened up the case file and spread out several photographs. I recognized the harbor shoreline, though the images were grainy and weathered with age. In one photo, something dark lay half submerged at the water’s edge. I looked away quickly, my stomach clenching as the reality of what we were discussing suddenly hit home—not just an old case file but a young woman’s life cut short.

“Elizabeth Calvert, twenty-two years old,” he began, his voice taking on a clinical edge that I suspected helped him maintain professional distance. “Found floating near the pier on the morning of July 16, 1996. Top of her class at Charleston College, home for the summer before starting graduate school at Duke. According to the official report, she had been in the water approximately twelve hours.”

“In 1996 I was working as a medical examiner for the state,” Dottie said. “If I remember right it was the Charleston ME who did the autopsy. It was declared an accidental drowning.”

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