BushWhacked

By Susan Schreyer

A human skeleton is the last thing Thea Campbell and fiancé Paul Hudson expect to find buried in their own yard. Neither do they expect the town of Snohomish, Washington to erupt with excitement over a fictional pirate treasure the dead man is rumored to be guarding. This is obviously an old murder, and the police need to solve it.

Unfortunately, the disappearance of the bones hardly slows down local excitement as family and friends abandon any good sense they previously possessed. Some hold a séance, hoping for guidance to the treasure from the hereafter. Others take a more straightforward approach and dig up Thea’s yard with an unwavering persistence.

Someone, however, has not forgotten the decades-old crime, and that someone wants all the evidence destroyed, no matter the cost.

Thea and Paul are drawn into the mystery by earthly and unearthly forces, headed for a trap that, if sprung, could be their final rest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Schreyer
• Release date: Sep 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301312290

Susan Schreyer

Susan Schreyer lives and writes in Washington State. She shares space with her husband, son and, from time to time, her daughter. Her three cats have given up on supervising her writing and her horse never had any interest in anything but dressage and eating, anyway. From time to time Susan imagines herself resurrecting her blogs, but don't hold your breath. She's currently livin' the dream and can't be relied upon for follow-through.Her Thea Campbell Mystery series includes (in order of publication) DEATH BY A DARK HORSE, LEVELS OF DECEPTION, AN ERROR IN JUDGMENT, BUSHWHACKED, SHOOTING TO KILL and SAVING THE QUEEN OF DIAMONDS. Another is in the works, but is currently nameless.

Book preview

Chapter One

Even as loud as it was, the diesel tractor's grumbling did not drown out my sister Juliet's scream. I whirled and spotted her across the yard, by my house, partially concealed by the big rhododendron. Her second scream, a prolonged howl, set my pulse into a panicked lick in a single beat. The shovel I'd been using, to improve a temporary home at the back of the garden for the big old rhody, flew from my hands with the force of a home-run swing.

Blood, and a lot of it, was my first thought.

I booked it, straining to see as I ran from the end of my yard toward the house. Unfortunately for me, the half-uprooted rhododendron hid most of Juliet. From sixty feet away all I could see was the flashing of pink parka and red Wellies in a frantic, blurry motion that took her nowhere. No way could I determine what had gone so wrong -- and with my twenty-three-year-old younger sister, assuming the worst was always the safest bet.

However, the jerky, marionette-gone-berserk leaps accompanying her continual high-pitched shrieking had me reconsidering after a few frantic strides. I cut my pace to a walk.

Mice, and a lot of them, was my second thought.

No doubt we'd uncovered a nest of the little critters (previously) sleeping through the cold, wet December, doubly protected in their cozy burrow by the dense evergreen branches of the rhody and the foundation of my house.

Without warning, Juliet's panic found a forward gear. Unfortunately Paul, my fiancé, was also by the house -- and standing directly in her path. With the speed of a fat man on a zip line, she slammed him onto his back in the sodden grass and kept going. The shovel he'd held arced gracefully through the air and pierced the center of the kitchen window, shattering the glass with Hollywood drama.

Juliet's fiancé, Eric, driving the borrowed tractor and finessing the heavy lifting of the rhody, took a slow minute to notice her hysteria -- understandable, since he was practically sitting on the noisy engine. He made up for the oversight with the speed in which he abandoned the machine and rushed after her. They both disappeared around the corner of the house without a backward glance.

I hot-footed it to Paul, although he'd regained his feet before I was half-way there.

Are you okay? I asked, ignoring my sister's still audible, though incoherent, babbling.

Yeah. He snagged his knit cap off the ground and pulled it back on over his dark hair, then brushed plant debris and dirt-on-the-verge-of-mud off his butt. I helped. Looks like we've got another window to replace. What the hell was that all about?

Probably a family of mice who thought they were hibernating. She was practically standing on the rhody while Eric lifted it out of the ground. The poor, groggy little things probably ran laps around her feet.

Mice don't hibernate, Thea, he said, striding the few paces toward the rhody before I was done brushing him off. I trotted after him and took another couple of swipes. In Western Washington, the winters are so mild they probably don't even -- He breathed an oath with religious overtones -- a new habit I noticed a few days ago when he'd returned from his Christmas visit with his family in Minneapolis. Crouching by the base of the plant, he pushed the leafy branches aside.

With my line of sight cleared, there was no need to ask what had grabbed his attention. Dangling from a root was a dirt-colored human skull.

The breath I sucked in didn't exhale. I bounded two steps, grabbed his jacket and tugged as he reached toward the gruesome thing.

Oh for God's sake, Paul. Don’t touch it. It's someone's head. How can someone's head be attached to my rhody's roots? I kept tugging as little black dots danced on the edge of my vision.

He ignored my attempt to save him.

I expect it belongs with the rest of the skeleton. He pointed.

Protruding from the rocky dirt at the bottom of the hole was a recognizable jaw bone. What were likely other bones poked through the crumbling, dark soil.

Okay, so I wasn't looking at the short end of a decapitation. But come on, the rest of the body being there wasn't much better. Grisly discoveries of human remains didn't happen in quiet, close-to-tiny, downtown Snohomish, Washington, the Antiques Capital of the Northwest.

And they especially didn't happen in my backyard.

While I stared, Paul pulled his phone out of the inner pocket of his parka and dialed 911. When he finished giving the details of the situation and our address he disconnected, switched to camera mode and took pictures. I opened my mouth to mention his lookie-loo attitude, but Juliet and Eric returned.

Really, Juliet, Eric said, an arm around her shoulders, encouraging her along, you probably just saw a rock or some odd root, isn't that right, Paul? … Paul?

We both turned toward them. I locked gazes with my sister and her large gray eyes widened. She swung into her fiancé like she was trying to hide. His heavy jacket muffled her yip.

Actually, there really is a skull here, and likely the rest of the skeleton, too. Sorry, Paul said.

I stood and, to hide my shakiness, brushed at the grass and mud stuck to my blue-jeaned knees. Eric, I squeaked, cleared my throat and tried again. Eric, why don't you take Juliet around front? I think the police will be showing up soon. Paul just called them.

Juliet peeked at me as the wind lifted her long golden brown curls and blew them across her and Eric's faces. He brushed her hair away. She didn't. You called the police? Oh, my God. Do you think that person's been murdered?

Paul and I exchanged a look. It was the first thing that jumped to my mind, and likely Paul's as well.

Let's just say it's unusual enough to have a body buried under the bushes in one's backyard, not to mention well within the city limits, that it's a good idea to let the police know, he said.

Juliet whimpered.

I turned away from her, and the skull snagged my gaze. Pretty darned likely your death wasn't due to natural causes, I muttered.

Shivering, I pulled the zipper up to close the collar on my jacket then snugged my knit hat down over my ears. The near-freezing weather on this second to last day of December did not make spending time in my garden pleasant. In fact, this time of year I even put off going to Copper Creek Equestrian Center to ride my horse until a little later in the day -- just in case it warmed up a bit. Mornings generally found me comfortably at my desk in Thea Campbell Accounting, my home-based business.

Paul considers me a weather-wimp and thinks our Northwest winters are balmy enough to teach his paleontology classes outdoors. He's a professor at the University of Washington in Seattle, a half-hour commute from Snohomish on a light-traffic day. Absorbed in examining the bones, he probably hadn’t noticed how I'd retreated into the stand-up collar of my parka to stay warm. He'd shut the tractor off and gone back to taking pictures. I considered jogging in place, or grabbing my shovel and making the hole for the rhody bigger, just to work up a sweat.

Eric led Juliet away, an arm wrapped so protectively around her shoulders as to make my five-foot-eight-inch sister appear closer to my five-foot-two. She sure looked cozy. Eric was so considerate. If it wasn't for his couple of wistful backward glances, I'd have thought he cared only for Juliet and had no interest at all in our unpleasant discovery.

All I'd wanted to do was move a lovely old plant to the back of the garden to save it from the mess of reconstruction work, scheduled to begin next week after the New Year's holiday. Two months ago an arsonist's fire caused extensive damage and drove Paul and me from our bed in the middle of the night. Since then, we’d been living out of packing boxes in the cute, but cramped, garage apartment at my aunt and uncle’s across town. The aftermath of finding a contractor to do the repair work, the lengthy permit application process and a hundred other little holdups schooled me daily in patience. If this was truly a murder scene, then the long awaited reconstruction would very likely be delayed. I turned a sneer in the direction of the skeleton. Thanks a helluva lot.

I pulled my glove off, straightened my engagement ring and replaced the glove. I'd finally said yes to Paul's proposal after the fire. Truth be told, what I yearned for most was to build the nest Paul and I would share. I wanted to hang pictures we'd both picked out, squabble over furniture, and do all the things two people did as a couple to grow into us.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets and feeling very brave, I crouched to take another look at the bones. The winter chill crept through my jeans and the soles of my Wellies, but the shudder I couldn't repress came from a thought: The body had been right there, practically against the back of my house, for the entire two and a half years I'd lived here. The people I bought from only owned the house a year. Surely, they hadn't known about the body. They seemed like such nice, normal folks. Even the neighbors on either side of me thought so.

The skull looked old -- of course, the dirt may have stained it, making it appear ancient. Was it possible the house hadn't been here at the time the grave was dug?

If this person was murdered, I sure wished the killer had buried the body under someone else's shrub. If the identity of this person remained a mystery, then the reason why they'd been buried here would remain so as well. I stood, looked up at the uniformly gray sky then back at the bones. At least it wasn't raining, although that could change soon and probably would. As usual. What a mess we'll have on our hands then.

Paul, done with his picture-taking, slid his phone back into his pocket, walked around the hole to where I stood and put his arms around me.

Your lips are turning blue, he said. Very colorful with your red nose and green eyes.

I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. Thank you so much for the compliment. I don't suppose anyone official is going to rush over here so we can get whatever needs to be done over with and go someplace warm with coffee.

He tucked me closer, resting his chin on my head. I see you're taking this well.

Better than my sister, anyway. I risked another look at the skull. Wonder who it is and how long they've been here.

There's a chance we may never know, but I expect the Snohomish P.D. will bring in a forensic anthropologist to try and figure it all out. Out of our hands, at any rate. He hugged me.

You always say that. I'd put money on you being right here with them, excavating the, um, remains.

His laugh came out low.

That's what you're planning, isn't it. I tipped my head back and squinted mock disapproval at him.

Even though he’s thirty-five-years-old, the prospect of digging up dinosaur bones always lights a little-boy spark in his blue eyes. No dinosaurs were in sight, but that spark was. Maybe he just liked to dig in the dirt. The corner of his mouth twitched in the half smile I fell in love with only eight months ago.

I tsked. You're impossible. Look at you, you're so excited you can hardly stand still.

He exaggerated a shiver -- but his eyes danced. I'm freezing my butt off.

You're such a bad liar.

A distant wail of sirens grew louder. I guessed they were on their way here and couldn't fathom the reason for the noise or the rush, although I was glad for it. Must have been a slow crime day. The skeleton wasn't going anywhere.

Yoo hoo! My great Aunt Vi's voice preceded her around the corner of the house. She hustled toward us, raincoat flapping open while she held a two-fisted grip on the little plastic rain bonnet protecting her silver hairdo. In her Oxford-type blouse, pleated skirt, hose and Wellies, she looked dressed for a hike around the estate with the Queen of England. Appropriate, since she was British. There you two are. Juliet said you were guarding the body.

Aunt Vi's friend Margaret Nelson from the senior center bunco group trailed behind, but stopped by the corner of the house, the uprooted rhody commanding her attention. Her hands crept, from where she’d clutched her coat closed against the weather, upward to cover her mouth.

I sighed.

Aunt Vi lived clear across town. She and Uncle Henry owned the farm where Paul and I now lived in the little detached-garage-turned-apartment. I had no idea where Margaret lived, except that it wasn't in my neighborhood of well-tended, vintage cottages. Obviously, the local gossip hotline was on fire. I simply couldn't imagine how that happened -- much. My sister had a life-time membership and my aunt was one of the royal pooh-bahs. Before long, the whole town would be parading through our backyard and gawking.

I turned Paul loose and addressed my aunt. One or two points needed clearing up. How did you get here so fast? And how did you know --

She zipped past us, releasing her bonnet long enough to wave away my question. Juliet sent me a text message. I was just giving Margaret a lift to the repair shop to pick up her car. My, my. She bent over the root ball. Would you look at that? I wonder ….

Nobody I know, I said adding a sheepish, this time.

With a little grunt, Aunt Vi straightened then stepped carefully around the hole, tipping her head from side to side. Sad, very sad indeed.

Paul lifted a dark eyebrow at me. I shrugged. Well, yeah.

I've always wondered how she died and where she was buried, my aunt mused.

My brain stuttered trying to find something understandable in her words. I'm sorry -- what did you say?

You know who this is? Paul asked.

Not precisely. Not her name, anyways. These must be the remains belonging to the ghost in your house.

Chapter Two

There's no ghost in my house, I said.

My aunt drew herself taller and clutched her coat closed with one hand. There most certainly is. Are you telling me you've never seen her or sensed her presence?

Aunt Vi --

You've lived in this old house, what, going on three years now and you haven't noticed? Her British accent turned BBC-proper. And here the poor dear has been lying underneath that big rhody outside your kitchen window all this time, probably hoping to get your attention so's to get a decent burial. Her gaze lingered on the bones as she tapped her cheek with an index finger. It's a wonder whoever planted the shrub didn't notice, but then it's nearly as tall as your roof and was likely a twig when it was put in the ground. I doubt the original hole for the rhododendron had been dug deep enough.

Aunt Vi --

Or, she said, pointing at me, her gray eyes wide with excitement, maybe it was planted on top of her on purpose. That means she was murdered. No wonder she hasn't crossed over. She nodded sharply. You're just going to have to solve the crime.

You've got to be kidding, I said. I'd had enough crime investigation over the past year, what with two in the equestrian community and another at the university, to last me well into my next lifetime.

A small, strangled noise came from Paul. Both Aunt Vi and I glared at him.

Sorry, he said. Just clearing my throat.

You'll be wanting to take this a mite more seriously, Paul. It's not just Thea's help she's going to be needing.

Vi …. The sirens crescendoed at the front of our house. Paul took his cue. How about we let the police handle it?

I studied him for a moment, more than a little incredulous. The police handle a ghost? Was he nuts?

He shook his head, obviously believing he could read my thought process. The body, Thea. I'm talking about the body. There's no doubt they'll regard this as a suspicious death.

Weren't we supposed to be married years before he could get into my head like that?

There's more to this than just a body, Aunt Vi scolded. You mark my words. Holding her rain bonnet with both hands again, she wheeled to face Margaret, still planted by the corner of the house. What do you think, dear?

Taller, sterner and usually a more imposing presence than my aunt, Margaret currently bore a closer resemble the timid mouse I'd previously assumed frightened my sister. She regarded Aunt Vi with a slightly wall-eyed expression. Ghost? Well, um ….

Let's toddle along and get your car, dear, Aunt Vi said. I can see it's going to take some doing to get these two youngsters to come to grips with the bigger picture.

I got the big picture, all right. Every last depressing detail of it. The police would have to process the scene, identify the dead person, decide if there was a case to pursue, and it would take too long. Too long to suit me. After the delays with permits, insurance and everything else, I wanted my life back. This latest development wasn't going to make that happen any time soon.

Two Snohomish City police officers, both male, one older and gray-haired and the other so young he still had acne, rounded the side of my house and stopped Aunt Vi and Margaret.

Is one of you Thea Campbell? asked the older of the two.

No, Aunt Vi said, and pointed. She's the young woman in the green parka and Wellies.

Thanks, he said and strode toward me.

Paul left my side and intercepted them. I'm Paul Hudson. I made the call.

Eric returned and introduced himself as well. They all shook hands and the younger officer pulled out a little notebook. Can you show us where the body is?

It didn't take too long for the officers to get down to business. The rhody and most of the area adjacent to the back of the house was declared off limits and yellow-taped to prove it. And then they stood, along with Eric, around the root ball of the upended rhody listening to Paul lecturing on excavation technique. I didn't have to listen to his words to get the drift. His descriptive gestures said it all. I wasn't sure if the police forensics team used the same techniques as a paleontologist, but somehow I had the feeling I'd find out. In detail. As long as he chose to educated me someplace warm and dry, preferably with coffee, I suppose I wouldn’t mind.

I waited, well back from the police tape, and worried -- not only about how this discovery would put a serious crimp in the reconstruction plans, but that the rhododendron, whose gigantic dark pink flowers brightened every April, would go into shock and die before we were allowed to move it to the new location at the back of the yard. It likely took years for the shrub to reach its huge size, and I wanted it to live.

My shoulders sagged, despite my chilled state. The police needed to get their investigation over and done so we could move forward with the reconstruction.

Juliet stomped around the corner of the house and halted next to me. A few feet into the backyard was as close as she intended to get to the skull. I knew this because she'd said so last time she'd stomped around the corner of the house to see what was keeping Eric.

Dammit, I'm freezing my tush and starving to death and he's still chitty-chatting about leaving the stupid tractor here.

I think they're done talking about the tractor, I said. Obviously, her agenda differed from mine.

Dammit. And they say women gossip. Eric, she bellowed his name, louder than necessary. I'm cold. I want to go. He held a hand up, one finger raised in a wait-a-minute. Did he just flip me off? If --

Of course not. Good God, you're crabby.

She ignored me completely and shouted again. I mean it, Eric. I'm leaving with the first person who has a warm car and will get me a cup of coffee.

I guess that'd be me, then, said a cheerful female voice from behind us.

Brenda Kirby, the woman who owned the salon where Juliet, Aunt Vi and I had our hair cut, tip-toed through the wet grass. Even in platform wedgies her long, flowery skirt skimmed the top of the grass. Her short, black parka was zipped to her chin and the fuchsia beret she wore angled over her short, dark red hair echoed the color of the flowers on her skirt. In each hand she held a to-go cup of coffee. What was she doing here, in my backyard and, did I dare hope, I could talk her out of one of the cups of coffee?

Here you go, ladies, she said, handing us each a cup. I figured you'd be pretty chilled by now.

I took a long, grateful sip and sighed as the hot liquid made its way down my throat, warming my chest. Thank you. Another swallow stilled my chattering teeth. What brings you here, and how did you know we'd need coffee?

An impish smile accompanied a shrug of her shoulder. Oh, you know.

I didn't, but Juliet seemed to, or thought she did if the smug turn of her mouth was any indication. I hoped she wasn't going to get all psychic-vibes on me.

You're really into that texting thing with Aunt Vi, aren't you? Juliet said. You guys have a club or something?

Oh.

Noooo, not exactly.

Juliet cracked a grin -- the first I'd seen since the rhody came out of the ground. You all got new phones at the same time?

You could say, Brenda replied. She was standing close enough to Juliet that she had to almost tip backwards to make eye contact. Brenda was the only person I knew who was still shorter than me when she wore heels. Vi, Audrey, and a bunch of the rest of us took a class together on how to use them. Vi sent out a group message just a bit ago, and since I was closest and had a minute to spare, I said I'd come over and bring you coffee.

Sweet. The wind blew a strand of Juliet's curly hair across her mouth. She wiped it away and took a sip from her cup. This weather is frizzing my hair beyond bad. Can you do anything for it?

I'm off today, but Audrey's at the salon. She can put a relaxer on it.

Great. Can you text her for me? Eric's got my phone. I refuse to get any closer to the body.

Brenda didn't even flinch at the body, but plucked her Android phone from her pocket and slid out the keyboard. Thumbnails resplendent in purple polish flashed over the miniature keypad. She paused, looking expectantly at the screen. A soft beep preceded her satisfied smile. Audrey said to come on in. She's got an opening in an hour.

Thank God, said Juliet, and took a long swallow of coffee.

So, what's going on here? Brenda dropped her phone back into her pocket and hunched her shoulders against a gust of cold wet wind.

No way Aunt Vi hadn't given her the full report. I skinny-eyed her, and she flapped her lashes at me in feigned innocence.

I was the first to see the skull, my sister said. Aunt Vi said the woman was murdered and her ghost has been haunting the house ever since, seeking justice. I'm sure, on nights when it's especially dark and still, you can hear her wail. Juliet gazed heavenward, and in a breathy voice intoned, Help me find peace. Find my killer.

Brenda shivered, but her eyes sparkled. How exciting.

Juliet, that's so not true. My sister's imagination hadn't changed since she was fourteen.

Juliet's gray eyes narrowed. Ha. Is too true.

No, it's not. There isn't any ghost in my house. And the body was probably buried there years ago when there wasn't a proper graveyard in town -- and certainly no house here.

Juliet frowned, chewed her lip and frowned some more. Well, if that's the case then I am so not visiting you here. There could be whole families buried in your yard. In fact, there's probably a whole stack of bones under that rhody.

Brenda giggled. You'd better watch out, then. Those ghosts are going to follow you home since you're the one who discovered them first.

It shouldn’t have surprised me that Brenda didn't scare easily, but then bravery isn't necessarily the domain of the tall. After all, I'm shortish and I'm certainly not afraid of much. In fact, Juliet's tall and a wuss. Brenda's teasing comment, and likely her own imagination, had Juliet shifting uncomfortably. She studied Eric for a moment.

Eric! I want to go. Now! I mean it. He didn't respond, so she turned to Brenda. Forget this shit, come on. You can drop me at your salon if you don't mind. She huffed, spun on her heel and marched off. Brenda wiggled her fingers at me and said good-bye before joining my impatient sister.

Eric