Free Broken Heartland by J.M. Hayes Page A

nor in the doors’ cubby holes either. She did find a crumpled Jack-in-the-Box sack under the driver’s seat, empty but for dirty napkins. She crawled out of the car and set it out on the grass to take back as evidence.
    The back seats were folded down to increase storage space. Presumably, the boy who died had been tied up and tossed back there. She opened both back seats, though, just in case. And found nothing. She folded them down again and ducked back inside to examine the rear. There was a storage compartment under the carpets there. Only, of course, it was meant to be opened from the other direction. The floor accordioned up toward her. She was still young and limber, though, and she managed to open it without cutting herself on the jagged strip of roof that appeared to have been opened by a gigantic can opener. There was something in there, netted to the passenger’s side—a compact ice chest, it looked like. Getting it out and into her half of the rear compartment was another struggle.
    Someone had wrapped the ice chest with clear tape and then written, over and over again, “Sealed for delivery,” along the edge in magic marker. She thought the handwriting was something the recipient would recognize, and was meant to ensure this package would arrive unopened.
    Now, what to do with it? Benteen County didn’t have a crime lab. The chest had to be opened, though her dad wasn’t likely to think she was the one who should do it. But he was busy, and once she knew what was inside—drugs, money, a decapitated head—Heather would know what to do next. She should call Englishman, she supposed, not that he could do anything with it she couldn’t do herself. She got her cell phone out and thought about it for a minute. Then, since her phone took pictures, she documented the container before her miniature Swiss Army knife slit neatly through the tape.
    It was cold in the ice chest, but there was more water in there than ice. It should have gotten where it was going before now. A small box swam atop the ice water. And an envelope. She made digital images of both, then opened the box. It was filled with four tiny test tubes. Each held a nearly colorless fluid. None were labeled. She took another picture before closing the box and returning it to the chest.
    That left the envelope. It was unmarked on the outside and sealed, but there was no point in stopping now. She used the knife again. A single sheet of plain white paper lay within. It wasn’t addressed to anyone and it wasn’t signed. But she knew who should get the test tubes now—Doc at the coroner’s office, if he was there. She’d call first, right after she called Englishman to tell him what the note said.
    This was getting seriously weird. She reread the paper as she photographed it with her cell phone. It didn’t sound any less strange when she read it out loud.
    â€œI will not guarantee the integrity of stem cells transported in this manner.”
    ***
    â€œSomeone changed the lock.” Juhnke was still steaming. No doors in Buffalo Springs High should fail to open to his ring of keys.
    The sheriff was getting tired of traipsing around the old building on Juhnke’s heels. He didn’t even know if this mystery choir had anything to do with his deputy’s accident, though it was certainly suspicious. If it wasn’t related, he needed to turn his attention lots of other places, and quick. “I could shoot it open,” he offered, putting his hand on the butt of his .38.
    â€œOh no,” Juhnke said, taking him seriously. “That’s not necessary. There’s another entrance.”
    â€œI know,” the sheriff said. “The outdoor stair at the back of the building.”
    â€œOf course, they could have changed locks back there, too.”
    â€œYeah,” the sheriff said, “but there’s a way into the cage that surrounds the stairs that doesn’t