forty-four hours to go.â
Rather than get annoyed that he was keeping such close track of the time, Moira said brightly, âJust think, if this job doesnât work out for you, you can get one as the town crier.â
He ignored the comment. Instead, reaching his car, he released the locks and got in behind the wheel again. âBack to the cemetery?â
Moira nodded. âBack to the cemetery,â she confirmed.
* * *
Avery Weaver, the groundskeeper, frowned as he looked up from raking a small patch of leaves that had fallen from a large, shady deciduous tree.
âYou again?â he fairly snarled, seeing the two detectives walking into the cemetery.
âLooks that way,â Moira replied. âWeâve got that court order you were so anxious to look at.â She took it out of her pocket and handed it over to the scraggly man. âAnd we brought friends,â she added, indicating the navy van pulling up behind Gilroyâs car.
Written in large block letters on the side of the van were the words Crime Scene Investigations. Stopping directly behind Davisâs unmarked car, the vanâs driver and passenger both disembarked.
Two members of Sean Cavanaughâs CSI team looked to Moira for their directions. âWhich grave is it, Moira?â the driver asked.
âItâs that one,â Davis told him before Moira had a chance, pointing out the grave in question.
Moira looked in her nonpartnerâs direction. âI see youâre taking Blakeâs advice and speaking up.â
Davis shrugged carelessly. âThe man sounded like he knew what he was talking about,â was all he said as he turned to watch the two CSI agents mark off the grave and then begin digging.
He wasnât the only one watching. But, unlike Davis, in the groundskeeperâs case, Weaver was looking on uneasily.
And then Weaver turned toward them. âYou need me for anything else?â he asked, addressing his question to Moira.
âNot unless you know of another grave around here thatâs been disturbed or tampered with,â Moira told him.
The tall, lanky man pulled back his thin shoulders, emphasizing his complete lack of physique.
âNo, but thereâs going to be a burial at the other end of the cemetery in about an hour and I should get over there to make sure everythingâs ready for it.â
Moira inclined her head. She saw no reason to have the man hang around right now, getting in their way. For the time being, his usefulness had ended.
âWhere can we find you in case we have any more questions?â she asked.
âIâve got a room right off the office.â Weaver pointed in the general direction of the small one-story building. And then he added in a vague manner, âIâll be around.â
âSure he will,â Davis commented under his breath as the groundskeeper scurried away.
Moira glanced in his direction. âYou donât trust him, either?â
âThe manâs a weasel,â Davis observed. âWhatâs to trust?â
Moira laughed. âWell, at least weâre on the same page when it comes to that,â she commented.
Ninety minutes later, Emily Jenkinsâs coffin was exhumed and brought up out of what was to have obviously been the womanâs final resting place.
The two crime scene investigators who had just hoisted the coffin placed it on the ground next to the large hole they had excavated.
Riley OâShea looked toward Moira, aware that she was the primary on the case. âYou want to do the honors?â he asked.
Moira shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was to pry the lid from the coffin and find herself looking down at a twenty-year-old corpse. âYouâre the experts here.â
âOkay, brace yourself, Detectives. This is not going to smell pretty,â Riley warned, adding, âIf youâve got handkerchiefs with you, Iâd suggest using
Christopher R. Weingarten