The Bone Farm: Celia Brockwell Suspense Series, #3

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: 1969

Chapter 2: Dinner at Lucille’s

Chapter 3: 1970

Chapter 4: The Office

Chapter 5: The Window

Chapter 6: 1974

Chapter 7: The Homecoming

Chapter 8: The Letter

Chapter 9: Killing Henry

Chapter 10: The Name

Chapter 11: Michael’s First Girlfriend

Chapter 12: The Paper

Chapter 13: The Breakup

Chapter 14: Las Vegas

Chapter 15: Brandon Pate

Chapter 16: Keith’s Suspicion

Chapter 17: The Fight

Chapter 18: The Break-in

Chapter 19: The Missing Girl

Chapter 20: The Fall

Chapter 21: Who Is Lucille

Chapter 22: The Death

Chapter 23: A Post Office Box

Chapter 24: The Funeral

Chapter 25: The Fire

Chapter 26: Henry Willis

Chapter 27: The Writing Award

Chapter 1: 1969

Rose

Rose pulls back the curtain and gazes at the dusky sky. It’s almost dark, and Henry should be coming in for dinner soon, bringing Leroy with him. He and that farmhand have become thick as thieves, and she wishes Henry had never hired him. Why hire a farmhand who knew nothing about farming? But at least Henry’s happier, which is a good thing for Rose and Margaret.

He’s got work ethic. He’s smart, and he’ll do what he’s told.

Rose didn’t think too much when Henry brought him on ten years ago. She figured he wouldn’t last long; Henry likes things a certain way.

What’s wrong, Mama? Margaret’s voice interrupts her thoughts. Her long hair shines in the moonlight, and she pushes it out of her face - just like she’s done since she was 6 - as she joins her mother at the window. What are you looking at?

Just watching your daddy and Leroy. They were heading to the barn. It’s almost suppertime now.

Is Moonie about to calve? Margaret's eyes widen. I thought it was too early for that. Maybe they need help.

Rose can tell she’s thinking about going to help them. No, it’s not Moonie. She catches her daughter’s arm. The grip must be too tight because Margaret winces. They weren’t dressed for that.

Wonder what they’re doing then, Margaret pulls her arm away and rubs her wrist. If Moonie’s not out there.

I’m sure I don’t want to know. I think they took whiskey with them.

Oh Mama, Margaret sighs. They just need a little help relaxing. The farm takes a lot of work. And then there’s the factory. I hardly get to see Leroy anymore.

Leroy and the factory. He’s never been too clear about what his job is. Works swing shift, or so he says. He working days soon?

He’s switching back to nights tomorrow. Margaret frowns and looks down at her feet. I don’t like when he works nights. It makes him so angry when somebody wakes him up.

He’s not mistreating you is he? Rose wonders just how alike he and Henry are.

When Margaret’s head jerks back up, Rose knows she said too much. Her daughter walks away from the window and out of her mother’s reach. I don’t understand why you don’t like Leroy. He’s been on the farm for years.

I don’t dislike him, Rose replies truthfully. Leroy is likable. But she doesn’t trust him. Just like she doesn’t trust Henry anymore. You’re just so young.

I'm nearly 19, Margaret juts out her chin the way she used to do when she was 13. I’m old enough to get married with or without your permission. The law says so.

I know, but you’ll always be my baby. Rose makes her voice gentler and reaches for her daughter’s hand. But Margaret turns her back on her mother. And you don’t need my permission. You have your father's.

Leroy seemed nice enough when Henry hired him, if a little odd. And Henry was right; he was a hard worker. But once Margaret became a teenager and stopped looking like a little girl, Rose got nervous. She was sure Henry would feel the same because he was so protective of Margaret. He wouldn’t want a man 13 years older taking a carnal interest in his own daughter.

She’s becoming a woman, Henry had shrugged. Men are gonna take notice. Leroy is a better choice than any of those pimply boys she moons over.

Rose knew then what would happen, and she was right. Margaret had always been a daddy’s girl. Between Henry’s approval and Leroy’s charm, she was bound to fall head over heels.

He treats me fine, Mama. Her arms wrap around her mother, meaning she forgives the slip-up. Rose can’t answer though; her throat is too tight. I promise. We’ll be happy. I love him. In fact, I think I’ll go set the table for us.

No, don’t do that. I’ll take care of it. The doctor told you not to be lifting things. You go rest.

All right, Mama.

Rose watches her fill a glass with water and walk down the hall, her back arching to accommodate her growing belly. The worried mother closes her eyes before the tears can come. Dear God, please let it be a girl.

Chapter 2: Dinner at Lucille’s

Celia slapped Keith’s hand away from the bowl of frosting. You’re worse than a child.

You made plenty of frosting. Keith pouted. I just want a taste. Just one taste.

Then use a spoon, not your fingers. And no double-dipping. Celia covered the sides of the cake with the homemade cream cheese frosting.

This is so good, Keith said as he plunged a serving spoon into the bowl.

You’re going to go into sugar shock.

You said no double-dipping, so I had to make it count. Keith tossed the used spoon into the sink and then retrieved another. Are you giving Lucille the whole cake?

Celia rolled her eyes. Yes, Keith, the whole cake. But I’m sure you could drop by to visit, and she’d share another slice. After all, you’re the one who said we should take her dinner.

It’s the right thing to do. She got your mail and kept an eye on your place while you were gone last week.

Yeah, because a 70-something-year-old woman is a real threat to would-be robbers.

You’re forgetting about Tom. Keith topped off his second spoonful.

True, Celia laughed as she finished the top of the cake. He can be ferocious. She looked around. Do we have everything?

I’ve got the cake and the bread, Keith answered. You can carry the soup.

Let’s go then. Celia tilted her head toward the door. I guess we have to stay and eat with her?

Um, that’s what nice neighbors generally do when they take dinner to a lonely old lady.

Screw you for making me nice, Celia retorted as she opened the door. Let’s do this.

Five minutes and several knocks later, Lucille opened her front door. Tom, her cat, sat glaring at them as she welcomed them into the front hallway. Oh, that smells so delicious! She gushed as she motioned for Keith and Celia to come into her house. Come in, come in. They followed the old lady around the clutter and into the kitchen.

Celia placed the pot on the stovetop, setting the temperature to warm. Keith took the cake out of its cardboard box and licked a bit of errant frosting off his finger, grinning when Celia glared at him. As soon as he walked away, Tom leaped onto a stool and then the counter, swishing his tail as he circled the cake suspiciously. Oh no, you don’t. Celia shooed him away from the dessert.

Oh, that rascal Tom, Lucille said. Say hello, Tom, and then get back down here. No cake for you. She tried to grab him, but he meowed in protest, jumped back down, and fled down the hall. He’s going to pout now. Can I help you, dear?

Just point me toward your dishes, Celia answered. I’ll serve us here, and Keith can take the bowls to the table.

Can your boyfriend turn the news on that little television? Lucille pointed to an older set on a stand by the table. I like to watch that handsome weatherman. Do you know he wears funny socks every Wednesday?

Keith raised his head and wiggled his eyebrows behind Lucille’s back. Celia had given up trying to explain to the old woman that she and Keith were only friends. Yes ma’am. What channel is he on?

By the time Celia filled their bowls, Lucille had settled into the chair at the end of the Formica table and was watching the news. Keith eagerly dug into the soup. He rubbed his stomach and rolled his eyes back, and Celia shook her head.

Oh, I don’t like that man, Lucille scowled at a politician when his face appeared on the screen. He looks shifty. Don’t you think he looks shifty?

I think they all look shifty, Keith answered.

You’re a smart young man.

Celia coughed into her napkin, amused. Partly because the old woman was so frank, and partly because she was right. The politician on the screen was a weasel of the first order; Celia was working on a story about him. She continued to eat in silence as Keith and Lucille complained about politicians.

I’m getting seconds, Keith picked up his bowl and headed to the kitchen. Want anything?

Celia shook her head and watched the news. A rural scene appeared. White-clad technicians meandered in the background, and a headline read, Bones found in Rural Alabama. Why would that be showing on our news? Intrigued, Celia reached over and turned up the volume.

And now a story that’s made national news. Early this morning, developers made a grisly discovery when they were razing an old barn in Lawrence County, Alabama. The bones of several unidentified people were uncovered underneath the abandoned structure, and several more sets of bones were underground just outside the barn. Forensic scientists estimate that as many as a dozen sets of remains may have been uncovered so far, and the search has been expanded to include more of the property, which was about to become part of the state park system. Investigators are not yet sure whether these people met with foul play or if this was an unofficial family burial plot.

Yeah, Keith snorted behind Celia, startling her. Because people buried under a creepy old barn probably died of natural causes.

Shh! Celia waved toward him as she continued to listen.

Law enforcement will be aided by state authorities as they search the land and the site of the home, which is said to have burned several decades ago. In other news... The anchor began reading a new story, and Celia lowered the volume.

You didn’t eat much, Lucille, Celia said. Would you like some cake?

Lucille smiled, and Celia took her half-eaten soup, pouring it into the garbage disposal before rinsing the dish. Keith asked for cake as well, so she cut three pieces and brought them into the dining area.

Here you go, Lucille.

God, this is so good. You should quit writing news and open a bakery. Keith licked his fork. Isn’t the cake great, Lucille?

Lucille was staring down at the cake, her hand curling toward her shoulder.

Lucille, are you okay?

The woman looked past Keith and Celia, her eyes glazed. Car...Car...

What? What about a car?

Ma...Ma car... Lucille seemed to go limp on one side, and Keith jumped up to keep her from falling out of the chair.

What's wrong with her? Celia stood.

Lucille, do you know where you are? Keith held her and looked into her eyes, which seemed to be trying to focus.

Lucille finally looked at him and shook her head. Oh dear, I don’t feel well.

Should we take her to the couch?

She’s disoriented, Keith replied. I’m thinking the ER.

Oh god, Celia tried to cover her annoyance with concern. I’ll turn off the stove.

We can’t go in my Jeep, Keith said, helping the old woman stand. Can you drive?

Okay.

Keith led Lucille toward the door as Celia covered the soup and put the cake into the box.

Such a gentleman, Lucille slurred as they walked to the door. He was a gentleman.

What is she saying? Celia opened the passenger door.

She’s calling me a gentleman.

No, Celia countered. "She said he was a gentleman. Was a gentleman."

I don’t know. Maybe she was talking to you? Why does it matter?

I guess it doesn’t. Celia pushed the speed limit as much as she dared, remembering that time was crucial if her neighbor was having a stroke. Thankfully, the traffic light gods seemed as concerned about Celia as Keith was.

Fifteen minutes later, Keith wheeled Lucille into the ER, and Celia rushed to the registration desk. We have a woman here in her seventies with a probable stroke. She needs to see someone immediately.

Wait just a moment, the nurse interrupted. "We need some information first. Has she been here before? What’s her