Page 4 of Skin and Bones

“Evening, ladies. Gentlemen,” he nodded.

“Sheriff,” Walt replied.

“Good evening, Mrs. McCoy,” Sheriff Beckett said, turning to me with a polite nod. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

I smiled at the formal address. After ten years as a widow, “Mrs. McCoy” felt like a well-worn sweater—comfortable, familiar, and something I had no desire to take off.

“Not at all, Sheriff,” I replied. “Just in time for your usual?”

“Please,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sheriff Beckett smiled with his mouth, but his eyes always remained watchful, alert. It was slightly unnerving and, if I was being honest with myself, slightly fascinating.

“Book club night?” he asked, glancing at the table where the Silver Sleuths had spread out their books and notes like battle plans.

“First Thursday of every month,” Deidre confirmed, straightening her glasses with a librarian’s precision. “We’re discussing The Graves of Walter County.” She held up the book.

“True crime?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I saw a TV special on that case. It was fascinating.”

“We only read true crime,” Dottie explained with a dismissive wave. “Fiction is too…” She paused, nose wrinkling like she’d smelled something unpleasant. “Unrealistic.”

The corner of Sheriff Beckett’s mouth quirked up. “How so?”

“Too many coincidences,” Hank declared. “And the detectives—” he jabbed a finger toward Beckett, “—are too incompetent, so the amateur sleuth ends up solving the case. It’s ridiculous.”

“Unlike real detectives, who welcome civilian input,” Beckett said dryly, his eyes crinkling at the corners despite his deadpan delivery.

Walt leaned forward, elbows on the table, entering what I’d come to think of as his intelligence-briefing posture. “Depends on the detective,” he countered. “And the civilian. Some of us have relevant expertise.”

“Is that so?” Beckett asked, accepting the to-go cup I handed him, his fingers briefly brushing mine.

Deidre sat up straighter, fairly bursting with pride. “Walt was career military. He spent thirty years in Navy intelligence,” she said, patting Walt’s arm. “Worked for the Department of Defense before he retired. Appointed by the president.”

“Really?” Beckett asked.

Walt nodded. “If I told you about it I’d have to kill you. Top secret security clearance.”

“And of course Dottie was a pathologist with the Charleston medical examiner’s office,” Deidre continued.

“It’s true,” Dottie said, cleaning her glasses. “I’ve had my hands in a lot of bodies.”

Deidre’s eyes widened comically, but she continued as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say. “Hank was a federal judge.”

“They called me The Hammer because I liked to put the final nail in a criminal’s coffin as I sentenced them,” Hank added.

Dottie rolled her eyes. “I’ve known you for forty-five years, and I’ve never heard anyone call you The Hammer.” She patted his hand to soften the blow. “But you were tough on those criminals.”

“I spent almost fifty years as a librarian,” Deidre said. “But my true love is research. I can get lost for days in research. And then there’s Bea…” Deidre paused, looking like she was unsure what to say. “Bea?—”

“Had access to more secrets than the CIA,” Bea said with a theatrical flourish of her bangle-laden wrist. “Society columnist. You’d be amazed what people will tell you at charity galas after two gin and tonics. I’ve got the dirt on every player in town if they’ve been here long enough. Of course, I’ve got the dirt on anyone who thinks they’re anyone in the whole state. The South loves old money and family secrets.”

Beckett looked thoughtful as he sipped his tea, his eyes moving from one Silver Sleuth to another as if reassessing them. “That’s an interesting combination of skills.”

“You never want to watch mystery movies with us,” Dottie said. “We always figure out who did it.”

“We call ourselves the Silver Sleuths,” Walt said, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Catchy,” Beckett commented, but he was looking at me as if he were waiting to hear what my special skills were. I hated to disappoint him, but I didn’t think he’d be too interested in my ability to do crossword puzzles or how I can memorize song lyrics the first time I hear them. Neither of those things is helpful when watching mysteries on TV.

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