Free Twice Dead by Catherine Coulter Page B

real violent. Whoever did this was mad as hell, hit her as hard as he could, right in the face. I wonder who she was, poor thing. First thing is to see if any of our own young people went missing a while ago. Thing is, I’ve been here nearly all my life and I don’t remember a single kid disappearing. But I’ll ask around. Folk don’t forget that. Well, we’ll find out soon enough. I think she was probably a runaway. Old Jacob didn’t like strangers—male, female, it didn’t matter. Probably found her poking around in the garage or maybe even trying to break in, and he didn’t ask any questions, just whacked her head. Actually, he didn’t like people who weren’t strangers, either.”
    â€œYou said the blow looks violent, and it’s in the front. Why would Jacob Marley be enraged if she was a runaway, or a local kid, hanging around his property?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe she back-mouthed him. Old Jacob hated back talk.”
    â€œThe white jeans are Calvin Klein, Sheriff.”
    â€œYou’re saying this is a guy now?”
    â€œNo, that’s the designer. The jeans are expensive. I don’t think they’d go real well on a runaway.”
    â€œYou know, ma’am, many runaways are middle-class,” Sheriff Gaffney said, and heaved himself to his feet. “Strange how most folk don’t know that. Very few of ’em are poor, you know. Yep, the storm must have knocked something loose,” he said, bending over to examine the wall closely. “Looks like old Jacob stuffed her in there pretty good. Not such a good job with the concrete and bricks, though. It shouldn’t have collapsed like that, nothing else in here did.”
    â€œOld Jacob was a homicidal maniac?”
    â€œEh?” He spun around. “Oh, no, Ms. Powell. He simply didn’t like nobody hanging around his place. He was a real loner, once Miranda up and died on him.”
    â€œWho was Miranda? His wife?”
    â€œOh, no. She was his golden retriever. He buried his wife so long ago I can’t even remember her. Yep, she lived to be thirteen, keeled over one day.”
    â€œHis wife was only thirteen?”
    â€œNo, his golden retriever, Miranda. She just up and died. Old Jacob was never the same after that. Losing someone you love, so I hear, can be real hard on a man. My Maude promised me a long time ago that she’d outlive me, so I’d never have to know what it’s like.”
    Becca followed the sheriff back up the basement stairs. She looked back once at the ghastly pile of white bones wearing Calvin Klein jeans and a sexy pink tank top. Poor girl. She thought of the Edgar Allan Poe tale The Cask of Amontillado and prayed that this girl had been dead before she was stuffed in that wall.
    Sheriff Gaffney had laid the skull on top of the skeleton’s chest.
    An hour and a half later, Tyler stood next to her, off to the side of the front porch. Dr. Baines, shorter than Becca, whiplash thin, big glasses, came out nearly at a run, followed by two young men in white coats carrying the skeleton carefully on a gurney.
    â€œI never thought Mr. Marley could murder anyone,” Dr. Baines said, his voice fast and low. “Funny how things happen, isn’t it? All this time, no one knew, no one even guessed.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, nodded to Becca and to Tyler, then spoke briefly to the men as they gently lifted the gurney into the back of the van.
    The unmarked white van pulled away, followed by Dr. Baines’s car. “Dr. Baines is our local physician. He got on the phone to the medical examiner in Augusta after I called him about the skeleton. The ME told him what to do, which is kind of dumb, since he’s a doctor and I’m an officer of the law, and of course I’d be really careful around the skeleton and take pictures from all angles and be careful not to mess up the crime scene.”
    Becca