Page 49 of Skin and Bones

“I saw that in your file,” Dash said. “You’re a scary man, Walt.”

Walt seemed pleased, so I assumed he took it as a compliment.

“Deidre,” Dash continued, “the evidence board pointed to missing records. I need you to dig into the historical archives of the Harbor Development Corporation. Property transfers, permit applications, anything related to the wetlands project Elizabeth was investigating.”

Deidre’s eyes lit up. “The county archives have everything from 1990 to 2000 in the basement. I’ve already called in a favor with the clerk to pull those boxes.”

“Dottie,” Dash continued, “your medical expertise is crucial. Can you analyze the autopsy report more thoroughly? Look for anything that contradicts the official drowning ruling.”

“I’ve already started,” Dottie replied. “I’ve identified three separate inconsistencies so far in the postmortem examination. The pattern of petechial hemorrhaging alone suggests asphyxiation prior to submersion.”

Hank leaned forward, interested. “Would that be consistent with strangulation before entering the water?”

“Precisely,” Dottie said, clearly pleased. “The hyoid bone also showed microfractures consistent with manual strangulation. I could tell that just by looking at the pictures. If you could exhume the body I could be even more thorough.”

Dash winced. “I’d hate to put more stress on Elizabeth’s father. Let’s wait on that and see if you can find everything you need through other means.” His gaze moved to Hank. “Hank, we identified the country club as a key information hub last night. Can you work your connections there? See if there’s anyone with loose lips who remembers Elizabeth’s death.”

“Consider it done,” Hank agreed. “I have a standing tee time with Judge Calloway tomorrow morning. Man’s been a member for forty years and knows every skeleton in every closet on this island. He tends to become particularly talkative around the third hole when he’s had a Bloody Mary or two.”

“And Bea—” Dash turned to her, “—your social connections are invaluable for this investigation.”

“You mean I know where all the bodies are buried,” she said with a knowing smile. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Dash nodded. “The more Mabel and I searched through files and witness statements, the more connections we came across. But the statements left in the case file are incomplete at best. Some of them refer to statements taken, like Clinton Harrington, but his statement isn’t in the file at all. We need information about the relationships between Milton, the Harringtons, and the Cromwells. Focus on the time period just before and after Elizabeth’s death. I want all the dirt on all of them.”

Bea’s eyes lit up. “I’ll dig through my files. It’s going to be juicy. I remember that summer. This island was a hotbed of scandal. If I remember right, that was the same summer Cromwell’s wife had an affair with Clinton Harrington.”

“I don’t think so,” Deidre said. “I think that was several years before Elizabeth was killed.”

“I’ve got pictures somewhere,” Bea said. “If I’m right you have to let me go shopping with you to pick out some new clothes. And you have to pay for them.”

“I have no desire to look like a lady of the night at my age,” Deidre said. “I’m a Whitmore.”

“Don’t pull that lord of the manner attitude with me, Deidre Whitmore. I remember your Aunt Phyllis. Woman knew the inside of every bedroom on Grimm Island. And your Uncle Josiah married his first cousin.”

“That’s ancient history, Bea,” Deidre said, sucking in her cheeks.

My eyes had grown wider as the conversation progressed, and everyone was quiet. None of this was ancient history to me, so I watched with fascination.

“Chicken,” Bea said.

“Fine, you’ve got a deal.”

Satisfied, Bea made herself at home behind the counter and poured herself a drink.

Dash turned to me last. He looked a little shell shocked, but he continued on with the briefing. “Mabel, you and Dottie should follow up with both of Milton’s ex-wives as we discussed. See if you can jog their memories or shake loose information that we might not have in official reports.”

“I have Lucinda’s number, so I’ll give her a quick call,” Dottie said. “We were friends when she lived on the island. But I haven’t spoken to her since she moved away.”

As the meeting broke up, each Silver Sleuth heading off with their assigned tasks, Dash lingered at the counter while I refilled the coffee carafe.

“You doing okay with all this?” he asked quietly.

“Sure,” I said, smiling. “I’m living out my Nancy Drew fantasies and helping a group of octogenarians keep their minds active. Seems like a win in my book.”

He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “About last night?—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” I interrupted quickly, heart hammering. “It was just…”

---