Page 3 of Skin and Bones

“Not since yesterday,” Walt reported. “He was at the pharmacy picking up a prescription.”

“Did you see what for?” Deidre asked, leaning in so eagerly she nearly knocked over her teacup.

“Couldn’t tell,” Walt said, clearly disappointed by this gap in his intelligence gathering. “Brown paper bag, folded at the top. Very discreet.”

“Blood pressure medication, most likely,” Hank declared with authority. “Law enforcement has the highest rate of hypertension of any profession.”

“Could be pain medication,” Dottie countered, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Did you notice how he rolls his neck? I bet it’s arthritis. Unless he’s addicted to pain pills. That’s a whole other problem.”

“Maybe it’s something more…personal,” Bea whispered, raising her eyebrows.

All I could do was shake my head. The poor sheriff would have an interminable disease by the time they got through with him. “Or it could just be allergy medicine,” I offered. “I’ve seen him sneeze every time he walks past the magnolias on Harbor Street.”

“Interesting that you’ve noticed his sneezing habits, Mabel,” Bea said, her smile spreading like warm butter.

I felt my cheeks flush. “We live on a four-thousand-acre island. Everyone knows everything.”

“Clearly not everything,” Walt said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Otherwise we’d know what was in that prescription.”

“You all do realize that stalking the sheriff is probably illegal, right?”

“It’s not stalking,” Deidre protested. “It’s community awareness. You should just ask Jerry, Hank. Don’t you two play golf together?”

Hank grunted. “Jerry holds confidences better than a Catholic priest. He’s a pharmacist with scruples.”

“Imagine that,” I murmured.

“He’ll be here any minute.” Dottie said with a meaningful glance at the clock. “It’s almost closing time.”

She wasn’t wrong. For the past three weeks, ever since Sheriff Dashiell Beckett had been appointed to replace our disgraced former sheriff, he’d developed a habit of stopping by The Perfect Steep just before closing time for his evening tea. Black, strong, no sugar, splash of milk. It was the most predictable thing about him.

“He’s very consistent,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Professional habit, I guess.”

“Or he likes the view,” Bea suggested with an exaggerated wink in my direction.

I pursed my lips. “He likes the tea, Bea. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” all five seniors hummed in unison, with identical expressions of disbelief.

“So what’s the book this month?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“The Graves of Walter County,” Deidre said, producing a worn paperback from her bag. “About a series of cold cases in a small Texas town in the 1960s.”

“How many victims?” I asked, despite myself. These murder mysteries were admittedly a guilty pleasure.

“Seven,” Dottie replied eagerly. “All buried in the woods behind the killer’s house. But he didn’t bury them deep enough and when heavy rains came one spring one of the bodies was washed into the creek and floated all the way downtown. Victim was a girl that had gone missing from the college in the next town.”

“The killer strangled all his victims with his belt,” Walt said. “Had a real unusual belt buckle that left an impression in the tissue.”

“The author’s research was impressive,” Hank added, reaching for a scone. “Though I found myself quite irritated by his abbreviations of words. He kept using the word anal for analysis, as if that’s some kind of shorthand those of us who deal in crime use on a daily basis. I can tell you I’ve never uttered the word anal in my courtroom.”

I stifled a laugh, entertained by the absurdity of the conversation.

“Pass the clotted cream,” Walt said, unfazed. “I enjoyed the book. It reminded me of a case in Annapolis back in ’82.”

The bell above the door jingled, and I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. A hush fell over the Silver Sleuths as Sheriff Beckett entered, right on schedule.

He was still in uniform, dark pants and a short-sleeved button-down that fit well across his broad shoulders and hugged his biceps. His dark hair was slightly tousled by the wind. A thin scar ran along his right jawline, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it because of the stubble he’d let grow.

---