Dairyland Murders Book 2: Femur in the Fieldstone

By Chris Seaton

After a crazy summer of old love, new love, and a whole lot of murder, Bernice Hordstrom has had enough of dead people. Needless to say, she is less than thrilled when she and her aunt, Darlene, find not one but two suspicious graves on the abandoned farm out in the boonies. Conspicuously absent, SAC Evan Wyatt has his hands full with the mysterious disappearance of a college coed at UW Platteville. Meanwhile, the memory of an escaped fugitive continues to cloud Bernice and Agent Wyatt's relationship with doubt and suspicion. And the harder Bernice tries to stay out of trouble, the more her innate need to find out the truth draws her in until all of their lives are changed forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Seaton
• Release date: Dec 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311631145

Chris Seaton

An introvert by nature, Chris Seaton has spent her life blending into the background and absorbing the personalities of everyone around her like a Scandinavian sponge cake. In her mystery/romance series, Chris tries to capture the brutal beauty of the Upper Midwest. She sees it in the people that dwell there in their steadfast resilience. It's home.

Book preview

Femur

in the

Fieldstone

Dairyland Murders Book 2

by Chris Seaton Copyright 2011

Smashwords Edition

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy and find other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Acknowledgments and Dedications

Thank you to Pauline, Carla, Brenda and Elaine for their editing efforts. I dedicate this book and series to all the strong, opinionated, and funny women I've had the privilege to know

(and all the handsome oblivious men they inevitably put up with).

Please Note:

All the characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual person or persons is completely coincidental. Furthermore, all representations of government officials and offices are fabricated by the author and bear no resemblance whatsoever to actual public employees, their duties, or their places of employment. No offense or malice of any kind was intended in regards to said persons.

Chapter 1

Leave it to you to waste a perfectly decent day. Darlene stood and stretched, letting the cool breeze of September honor her with its presence.

Well, Lord forbid I actually get to enjoy it with you griping every five minutes, Bernice returned. She poked the crowbar into the pile and twisted it into a small hole between the stones, working it until a small boulder popped loose. The boulder reluctantly vacated the home it had occupied for decades and rumbled down the short slope onto the grassy ground. No one held a gun to your head, she added.

They looked like an odd couple doing an odd job. In the mid-morning sun two women of a certain age were perched on either side of a haphazard pile of roly-poly rocks. They were on the edge of a tree line that marked the boundary between two neglected fields.

Well, considering your track record for getting in trouble, I figured it'd be in my best interest to make sure you didn't break nothin' messing around out here. Darlene managed to palm a football sized rock in each hand and walk the short distance to the back of the pickup truck.

Bernice did her best not to be jealous. After her brush with death a couple months earlier, her body just wasn't healing fast enough for her taste. Walking every day was helping with her ankles, but her ribs and back were being a lot more stubborn about getting with the program.

It's not messing around, Bernice corrected her, grunting and gritting as she slowly pulled a smaller rock up to her chest. It's taking advantage of an opportunity. Do you know how much these rocks would cost if I had to buy them? Mrs. Beaker is just giving them to us for free. With a very unladylike, Huvvv! she heaved her prize into the truck box.

What she's doing is taking advantage of the free labor, so she doesn't have to pay someone to haul them away. Darlene picked up a couple more boulders and dropped them in. You ask me, you might as well just go into town and get 'sucker' tattooed on your forehead.

Bernice stopped and leaned on the truck, frustrated and quickly losing her patience. Look, I already confiscated every rock on the farm that I could find. It's still not enough hardscape for the new garden. She held up her hand with a stern face, sensing an old objection. I'm putting in this garden with or without your help, so put up or shut up. Bernice stomped back to her place on the pile. I know I'm not going to get both.

For quite a while after that, the task of moving the rocks from the pile to the truck was performed in silence. The tall brown weeds and wild flowers in the surrounding fields filled in the gap, making swishing sounds when the wind disturbed them where they stood. They were in the twilight of their lives, tall and tippy, heavy with seed and waiting for their internal clocks to tell them it was time.

The plants were joined by the nuthatches, chickadees, and cedar waxwings that were populating the trees further down the strip from the rock pile. The birds’ chatter and chirping came and went with the wind. They hopped quickly and covertly through the branches, scavenging for whatever berries and bugs they could find. It would have been quite a lovely moment, but Darlene Glenwood and Bernice Hordstrom, the aunt and niece owners of Lollygagger's Acres were just too crabby with each other to truly enjoy it.

Darlene, stubbornly proving that she was actually capable of holding her tongue, took her mood out on a bowling ball-sized boulder. She kicked at it repeatedly with her foot until she found the sweet spot, and the boulder gave way. Unfortunately, she didn't take the laws of physics into account, and her side of the pile began to slide down with the boulder like a tiny avalanche.

Bernice saw it coming and grabbed Darlene's arm, pulling them both off balance. They wound up falling backwards down the other side. Thankfully, neither got hurt, but landing in the mature bed of burdock was not met with enthusiasm.

As they trudged back out, it was evident that the prickly little pom-poms clung like barnacles to every exposed sock, shoelace, or strand of hair. Regrettably, this was not the first time either of them had dealt with such an infestation. They left the barb-covered orbs intact for the moment, knowing full well that disturbing them only encouraged the little bastards to fall apart on contact.

Darlene's tolerance had hit its breaking point. I've had enough, she proclaimed. Let's get this shit over with and go home.

Bernice surveyed the results of their unintentional land slide. Looks like we got enough here anyway. Let's gather a few more up and head back.

'Bout goddamn time, Darlene grumbled.

Instead of reacting negatively, Bernice smirked at her aunt. Ah, you're just pissy 'cause Cameron's missing your play date this weekend.

Hey, I understand he's got a job to do, Darlene defended her bad mood. Don't mean I gotta be happy about it.

Cameron Sparks was a large, dark, fifty-ish blast from their past. Bernice had worked with him when she was a reporter for Action 18 News in Minneapolis. He was a veteran camera guy. Cameron had become re-acquainted with the ladies when the remains of a man long forgotten (by most accounts with good riddance) was discovered in the neighbor's barn, and he had been sent to shoot footage.

The relationship Cameron picked back up with Darlene had reawakened old passions, which quickly turned into something deeper. He was fast becoming a fixture at the farm. With his expertise in the kitchen, Bernice's therapeutic walks were also required to work off the extra calories. Unfortunately, duty called him away that particular weekend. He was off shooting footage of tornado damage in Northeastern Minnesota.

They began to make quick, steady work of picking up all the rocks laying into the grass. Hopefully, I get to have the house to myself for a change, Darlene remarked, sending a skeptical eye in Bernice's direction, "unless he cancels again."

"If he does, he does. Bernice rolled one rock onto the tail gate and bent down to grab another. I just hate wasting reservations. That's all."

He was Evan Wyatt, Special Agent in Charge from the Madison office of the Wisconsin Department of Criminal Investigation. So far, he'd been unable to locate and apprehend a certain killer. As a result, he'd been working obnoxious amounts of overtime to keep himself in marginally good graces with his higher ups and hopefully keep his job.

Agent Wyatt and Bernice's initial meeting was about as prickly as the burdock barb digging into her ankle. Even so, they somehow managed to forge a tentative partnership to expose that killer. Overcoming mounting corpses and subsequent attempts on their lives, the attraction between them was undeniable. It eventually won out over emotional obstacles and practical common sense.

Bernice had been spoiled in her previous relationship with the convenience of a local entrepreneur who made his own schedule. Agent Wyatt lived and worked on the other end of the state. His job was unpredictable and time-consuming.

After four hastily canceled dates, Bernice had resorted to bringing the mountain to Mohamed, showing up at his office for a late evening appointment with a gift box of fudge. Following the pleasurable destruction of his pretentious desk (a pesky reminder of his ex-wife), the rest of the date had continued in his apartment. There they shopped for a new desk from his laptop in bed. Bernice had never realized how much better fudge tasted when one was naked.

That had been three weeks ago. For their latest rendezvous Bernice had gone online and found a deal on a swanky hotel in downtown St. Paul, complete with dinner reservations. For the last week she had called in almost daily to make sure some other crisis hadn't cropped up. There were no new stings on meth houses, no sudden raids on suspected pot farms, and no new dead bodies; so far, so good.

Darlene glanced over at the fieldstone and stopped, perplexed. Investigating, she removed some rubble out of her line of vision. It was hard to make out, but there seemed to be more soil in the newly exposed part of the pile. The additional earthworms squirming indignantly made it clear something was different. She pulled their protesting bodies aside and began to recognize what she was looking at. Hey Bernice, I think there's an animal buried in here.

Bernice looked up and frowned. Ew, you mean like a dog or something?

Darlene shifted her head, looking at the newly excavated piece of bone. No, it's bigger, more like a cow.

Bernice let her eyes take in the entire pile of rocks and shook her head in disagreement. No, can't be a cow. The rock pile's not big enough for a whole cow.

Darlene leveled a knowing glare, remarking, You of all people know firsthand that a body will fit in a smaller space if you cut it up enough.

Bernice reacted with a very distasteful expression, and then her pocket rang. She looked at the caller ID on her cell phone and noted, Someone else who knows that first hand. She started the phone conversation with, Please tell me you are taking me away from all this.

In response there was a chuckle, followed by a sad sigh. It didn't sound promising. Please don't hate me, was Agent Wyatt's pleading response.

What now? Bernice didn't bother hiding the disappointment in her voice. Darlene discreetly busied herself with the rock pile.

There was another sigh. Trouble down at the UW Platteville campus. He didn't elaborate. He simply said, I'm really sorry.

Now it was Bernice's turn to sigh. You know, I have a good mind to go all by myself and call you from the jetted tub in our hotel room.

"Would it be one of those kinds of phone calls?"

She smiled. I don't know. Would you have me arrested for sexting? She liked the frustrated groan she got in response. Well, if absence makes the heart grow fonder...

It makes other organs ornery and uncomfortable, Agent Wyatt countered. How about another visit to my office, Ma'am?

See, I knew you were getting spoiled, Bernice teased. I can wait.

Suit yourself. Gotta go. Later, Bunny. He mocked her with the dreaded nickname she hated.

You're gonna pay for that, she warned and hung up her phone.

When Bernice turned around, she was completely taken off guard. Darlene was standing on the rock pile and holding a large, long bone over her head like it was some sort of primitive trophy.

See, Darlene pointed out. Look how big it is. Definitely gotta be a cow bone.

Bernice couldn't help but giggle. All right, Mrs. Flintstone, you've made your point.

The giggling subsided almost as quickly as it had begun. Bernice felt tightness creep into her as she approached the newly exposed part of the rock pile. It increased until her scalp felt like it was being pricked by needles. She blinked a couple of times, hoping to God her mind was playing tricks on her. Darlene, she cautioned in a low voice, I think you should put the bone down. Now.

Darlene knew the tone and didn't like it. She immediately dropped the bone and launched herself off of the pile, catching her balance in a couple of steps after her ungraceful dismount. She briskly wiped her hands in the grass, twisting her face with appalled revulsion. Good God, don't tell me.

Bernice pointed to the grimy heel of the exposed tennis shoe and simply said, Call the cops.

In her detached state Bernice found it morbidly curious that a tennis shoe could remain so intact compared to the foot that was in it.

That was about all she could make out from her vantage point twelve feet from the crime scene behind the yellow tape. It was all too familiar: the cops everywhere, the lady ME poking around the rock pile, and a familiar looking sedan pulling up into the crowded field.

The man coming out of the sedan, however, was not familiar. He was outrageously tall and thin. He walked with a long gait and an obvious hump to his shoulders from having to inhabit the world of short people. Bernice thought he resembled one of those walking trees from that long movie with the hobbits.

He gave Darlene and Bernice a curious glare before proceeding into the melee. Other uninterested glances were sent in their direction before the investigation continued.

That must be Agent Determyer, Bernice commented.

Uh huh, Darlene mumbled. She was sitting on the ground, carefully tugging on the burdock balls to remove them as intact as possible, so far so good. Not as friendly as your agent.

Agent Determyer was from the Department of Criminal Investigation field office in Eau Claire, which had official jurisdiction for their location. Agent Wyatt turning up for the last investigation was a fluke. With ever tightening state budgets, agents were spread thin and had to cover for each other when required. Last time, Agent Determyer had been preoccupied with tracking down heroin dealers in La Crosse, so Agent Wyatt had covered for him. Hindsight being 20-20, Bernice was grateful for the fluke.

They both looked up to watch the expensive crossover SUV pull in. Oh God, Darlene grumbled. As she made a sour face, one of the burdock pods exploded on contact.

Gladys Beaker shuffled through the tall grass as best she could in heels. The frosted tips of her tightly shorn coif caught the golden rays of the noonday sun with the gaudy sparkle of a brass trumpet. She craned her head in either direction and looked completely appalled at the spectacle of the whole thing. She expressed as much as she walked up to Darlene and Bernice. Can you believe all this? she gestured as she planted her spiky feet firmly. I can't.

When you're the one who finds the body, you're a little more convinced. Bernice confirmed dryly.

Gladys turned her attention at what could be seen of the rock pile through the brown and blue uniformed bodies standing in the way. Did you recognize who it was?

No. Bernice dug down deep to find the patience to answer such an idiotic question. Mrs. Beaker was still the nice rich lady who was letting Bernice have free reign on the derelict property. Hopefully, this was the last dead body Bernice would encounter here. When we figured out it was human, we left it alone. It's up to the police to do the identifying.

Oh, was the surprised response. Gladys' voice rose in pitch. Did you touch it?

Bernice couldn't help herself. Actually, Darlene had the femur bone in her very hands.

Gladys gaped at Darlene with complete shock. Did you really? she questioned dramatically.

Darlene was not thrilled with the attention. I thought it was a cow bone, she grumbled, sending a vicious stink eye in Bernice's direction. It was received with amusement.

Gladys reacted to the explanation with skepticism. Does a human bone even look like a cow bone?

It does if you're not looking for a human bone, Darlene snapped at her, getting up with an indignant jerk. She stomped off to the open cab of the truck for what meager peace and quiet she could gain. She continued removing her pesky pickers alone.

Well, that was kind of rude, Gladys remarked after her, like I would know the difference either way. She looked to Bernice for agreement.

Bernice smiled back politely.

Gladys glanced at the rocks residing in the open box of the pickup. Don't suppose you get to keep them now?

Bernice sighed dejectedly at the wasted work. Well, not right away. Sheriff said I can have them back after they've been processed for evidence.

Well, I guess you can move on to the house and barn then. Gladys shifted her gaze further down the county road. The neglected structures were barely visible through the canopies of oak trees surrounding them. I'd like to get shells for the new house and horse barn up before winter. She looked at Bernice like she was addressing a distrustful foreman. Since you can't do anything here, you might as well move on.

Agent Determyer lumbered over from the crime scene. He addressed Gladys first. I understand you are the owner of this property?

Gladys shielded her eyes in annoyance from the sun and craned her neck to look up at the tall man. That's right, I just purchased it from the county last month. She pointed to the rock pile behind him. Is this going to hold up my building schedule? I have a dozen horses waiting for their new home. It's very expensive to have my trainers board them for me.

If Agent Determyer had any sympathy for the woman or her boarded horses, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed to look at everyone with the same tight-lipped countenance. Are you planning to build where this victim was found?

No, of course not, Gladys vented her impatience, I'm tearing down the old farmstead and rebuilding over there. She pointed to the previously mentioned structures.

Once we have established whether or not this victim had any connection with the former owners of your property, you may continue to build as you wish.

Well, Bernice is in charge. You can go over there with her right now if you like.

Neither Bernice nor Agent Determyer looked thrilled at the prospect. There was a slight standoff, waiting for someone to make a refusal.

Their decision was stalled by the lumbering of a large van approaching from the west.

Ah, hell, Agent Determyer commented unemotionally, the media's here.

The bright red color of the van told Bernice it was the KYBT van. Its less than perfect condition indicated it was the back-up van.

Only one van? Darlene voiced from the cab of the truck. Boy, not nearly the fanfare Old Herb trumped up.

More like tornado damage in the Arrowhead took precedence over this story. Bernice watched as the van scraped onto the meager shoulder and parked.

Agent Determyer made a stern face at a couple of loitering deputies. One deputy sauntered out to meet the very young camera crew emerging.

This crew will take the shots and sell the story to the other local news affiliates. Still, I doubt there'll be much fanfare either way. With the new addition of the camera crew to the crime scene, Bernice decided that looking around the old property was now more attractive. You want to follow me over there, Agent? She indicated with her head.

We'll take my car, he concluded bluntly and walked in that direction.

Darlene, I'm heading over to the farmstead, Bernice hollered to the forlorn figure in the truck cab. Darlene waved back.

She glanced at Gladys, who suddenly seemed a lot less inconvenienced by the dead body on her property. You think I should go over and talk to the reporters? Compulsive straightening of hair and clothing followed the question.

Only if you want to be arrested for compromising a criminal investigation, Bernice remarked. She left the crestfallen Gladys behind and followed Agent Determyer to his car without further comment.

If the demeanor of the law enforcement agent was eerily familiar, the interior of his car was not. Unlike the meticulous care Agent Wyatt took with his cruiser, Agent Determyer took no care whatsoever. It was apparent the moment Bernice opened the passenger door and had her sense of smell rudely assaulted. Stale cigarettes took front and center, mixed with the odors of hot ketchup and old coffee.

Her seat was empty, but the coating of crumbs and stains on the upholstery made it obvious that empty did not imply clean. Fortunately for Agent Determyer, Bernice was already dirty. Getting unidentified food debris stuck on her ass would really make no difference to her. She carefully buried her shoes in the pile of paper and food wrappers that were taking residence on the floor.

He started the car and backed out onto the road. His annoyed-looking expression changed little. Bernice held her tongue and looked out the window.

As they approached the house, she noticed a small white sign just past the driveway. It was an old fashioned road sign marking the beginning of the next township in hand painted letters. Bernice was surprised that it hadn't been replaced with the newer stamped signs. But this was a poor township, and if it wasn't broken they didn't fix it.

Just into the yard from the sign stood a huge stump. It was easily three feet in diameter and a good six feet tall. Several small trees were attempting to grow out of it, making the arrangement look like a large horrendous shrub. It was not a welcoming sight to the rest of the yard, not that the rest of the yard was much better. Bernice guessed the county was absolutely thrilled that Gladys took this eyesore off their hands. Looking around though, it made Bernice a little sad.

The sedan bounced in protest as its shocks were put to the test in the rutty overgrown driveway. They stopped under another gigantic oak tree. Bernice exited the car and looked around.

I would appreciate it if you would watch your step out here while I'm in the house. His tone belied no appreciation whatsoever.

Bernice shrugged an acknowledgment and hid her irritation. She figured he'd lumber off on his errand and leave her in peace. Agent Determyer didn't move.

I know who you are, you know. The observation was revealed as a warning. Don't expect any special treatment.

When Bernice turned to confront him, what she saw chilled her veins like ice water. She was expecting a look of disapproval. What she got was a leer, an obvious leer with a tinge of creepiness that penetrated her dirty clothes. No longer the lumbering tree creature, Agent Determyer took on the persona of Count Orlok.

Bernice held her ground, smiled politely and stated, Good to know. She endured the violating perusal for a few more seconds. Finally, he relented and moved toward the neglected house.

She shook her head and unconsciously rubbed the warmth back into her arms. She tramped through the overgrown yard and walked in the completely opposite direction. "What if Agent Determyer had turned up earlier in the summer for the murder investigation instead of Agent Wyatt?" she thought.

Bernice probably wouldn't have been involved in the first place. That meant the killer probably wouldn't have been found. Considering the collateral damage of solving the murder, she couldn't decide which was the better outcome. She knew if life hadn't taken the course it did, she would have ended up with a different love life.

And she wouldn't be at this old broken-down farm, because the compulsion to put in the new ornamental garden would not be fixated in her brain like some form of self medication. It was her way of trying to mend her pain. Bernice was trying to create something beautiful from an ugly experience. Despite the inconvenience the garden was turning into, it was still cheaper than therapy.

And so, the absorbing thoughts swirled around her head as Bernice waded through the waist high grass and overgrown perennials. She automatically stopped when she got to the barbed wire fence. It was only still standing because it had grown into the trunks of the weedy maple and elm trees that marked the edge of the yard and the beginning of another farmer's field.

The other side of the fence was a wall of tall brown corn. It blocked out any view beyond it. Absentmindedly, she acknowledged that corn prices were up this year. The farmer would probably make a decent profit.

Bernice looked back at the house as she followed the tree line. It was an old four square house, rather unusual for Northwest Wisconsin which favored Folk Victorian architecture. Considering the house had not been inhabited for at least a decade, it was still holding up reasonably well. Someone had possessed the sense to install gutters, probably in the 1970s. The pyramid shaped roof was still fairly straight, but the green shingles were curled up like birch bark, and the brick chimney was starting to crumble.

The second story windows on her side of the house were still intact. She knew the ones facing the road had been broken long ago. She could only guess on the furry tenants inside. She could understand why Gladys chose to demolish the structure. It was less hassle than trying to work with old wiring, plumbing, and a crumbling foundation, never mind the daunting task of evicting skunks, bats, and God knows what else. But all the same to Bernice, it was still a damn shame.

As she watched the hunched over form of Agent Determyer work his way around the second floor, her thoughts drifted to Agent Wyatt. She wondered what sort of trouble had cropped up at the Platteville campus. Probably drugs, they seemed to be rampant lately. She had seen firsthand as a reporter the tidal wave of misery and destruction drugs could cause.

She wondered if that was why the body was buried in the fieldstone. Maybe some poor soul overdosed on drugs and was buried there by freaked out friends. She doubted it. Most people who died in that manner were either found in their homes or dumped indiscriminately. This person was buried carefully, implying to her that someone knew what they were doing.

Bernice stopped herself from thinking on it further. It would do no good. She had no reason to involve herself in this new discovery. The last time she had let her snoopy reporter instincts get her involved, she almost got killed. She had residual scars to prove it.

Needn't she remind herself, there was no Agent Wyatt around to humor her this time. And she wanted nothing to do with Agent Creepy, who was emerging from the house at that moment. His slamming of the back door caught her attention. It also distracted her from watching the ground as she walked.

Agent Determyer scanned the back yard just in time to watch Bernice's head suddenly disappear into the tall grass. Hey! he yelled, trudging out to her.

He found her crouched on her knees, folding away the grassy stalks and leaves from an object planted in the ground. Well, I'll be damned. He chuckled a little. Boy, I heard folks say you got a knack for finding trouble. Guess they weren't lyin'.

Bernice didn't even bother looking up. She was too alarmed at having stumbled upon a tiny grave stone.

Chapter 2

Oh my Lord!

Bernice thought that Gladys might actually swoon.

Are you telling me there are two dead bodies on my property? Well! This is just too much.

It is your responsibility to exhaust all reasonable efforts to find the next of kin for proper exhumation and reburial of the deceased, Agent Determyer seemed to recite from rote. You can start by notifying the last known property owners. The county should have records. With little in the way of salutation beyond a nod, he went back to his original crime scene.

Well! Gladys exclaimed again, I don't know how much more of this I can take. She faced Bernice with a look of complete irritation. This was supposed to be a fun project for my retirement, but after I let you in here as an act of good will, you just find nothing but problems for me.

Bernice burned with indignant humiliation. She took several breaths. Gladys, I don't think I need to remind you that both bodies were here before me. If we hadn't found them, someone else would have.

I'm not so sure, Gladys barely mumbled under her breath then presented the most insincere smile. But as long as you did, maybe you can help me find the next of kin for the grave by the house. She rolled her eyes at the inconvenience of it all. Between the architect, the contractors, and my horse trainers, I just don't think I can handle one more thing on my plate.

Bernice crossed her arms and seriously rethought her need to scavenge the old property. So far, all she'd managed to turn up were dead people. She'd had enough of dead people.

Picked clean