Page 16 of Skin and Bones

“Speak for yourself, dear,” Bea interjected, patting my hand. “I was an investigative journalist for years before I decided the social column had the juicier stories.”

“I want you to review the case file and the evidence,” he explained. “Talk to people who were around back then. See if memories have loosened with time, if people are more willing to speak now that Milton is behind bars. Retrace the steps of the investigating officer.”

“Should be interesting,” Hank said. “Milton’s reach is far, even from the state penitentiary. He’s still got more supporters than he should around here.”

Deidre nodded. “A lot of people benefited from his arrangements.”

“What’s our operational timeline?” Walt asked, getting down to business.

“I can give you three weeks,” Beckett said. “That’s how long I can keep this under the radar before questions start getting asked.”

“And our authority?” Hank inquired, ever the judge.

“None, officially,” he admitted. “You’re temporarily deputized volunteers having conversations. I’ll handle anything that requires actual law enforcement.”

“What about interference?” Dottie asked. “There will be those who won’t want old cases reopened.”

Sheriff Beckett’s expression turned serious. “Her father wants it. But that’s also why we’re keeping this quiet. It’s why I’ve brought you all in on this instead of bringing in outside investigators. An outsider would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“And we’re practically invisible,” Bea said, cackling. “Nobody pays attention to old people asking questions. Especially around here. Everyone is nosy. And so little happens around here that the past might as well be the present.”

“And me?” I asked, still not sure why I was included. “What’s my role in all this?”

“You’re essential,” the sheriff said, his eyes meeting mine directly. “You’re the legs of this operation.”

“The legs?” I repeated.

“You’ve got youth on your side,” Walt explained matter-of-factly. “You can cover ground faster than we can.”

“And you can go places we can’t without raising suspicion,” Dottie added. “People talk to you differently.”

“Not to mention your tea shop gives us legitimate cover for meetings,” Deidre pointed out.

Bea patted my hand. “Face it, dear. You’ve just been drafted as our field agent.”

I looked at Sheriff Beckett, who nodded. “I need you out there with them. Sometimes on your own, sometimes accompanying one of them.”

“Plus you can run if necessary,” Walt added pragmatically. “My sprinting days ended with the Reagan administration.”

I couldn’t deny a flicker of excitement at the thought of my involvement in the case. After ten years of predictable routines, I was ready for something different.

“So,” Sheriff Beckett continued, looking around at our unlikely group, “are you in?”

The Silver Sleuths exchanged glances, some unspoken agreement passing between them in the way that only people who’ve known each other for decades can communicate. I found myself holding my breath, caught up in a moment that suddenly felt like a turning point—not just for the case, but for me.

“We’re in,” Walt declared, speaking for all of them.

I nodded, surprisingly certain of my answer. “I’m in too.”

As I looked around the table at this band of senior citizen sleuths and the mysterious sheriff who’d brought us together, I realized I’d just agreed to dig up secrets that had been deliberately buried for decades. Secrets that powerful people would prefer stayed hidden. Secrets worth killing for.

What had I just gotten myself into?

CHAPTER

FOUR

When you open a tea shop at the crack of dawn, midnight is practically the middle of the night. So when my doorbell rang just after midnight my first instinct was to pull the pillow over my head and pretend I hadn’t heard it.

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