“’Morning.” Dylan offered the chief his hand.
“Sorry to intrude.” Pumping Dylan’s hand with a firm grip, Fleming cast the flicker of an apology in Gracie’s direction. She blushed on command. He had the weathered complexion and sharp-eyed look of a man who preferred sailing to deskwork. “Nora told me I might find you here.”
“Were you at the cabin all night?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah.” Rubbing a knuckle into a red-rimmed eye, the exhausted man stifled a yawn. “We ran into a couple surprises after you left.”
“Have a seat while I get the coffee,” Gracie said. “How do you take it?”
“The blacker the better.” He dropped into an overstuffed chair in the corner and dwarfed it with his super-size.
The aroma of fresh coffee filled the room as she poured out three mugs. Gracie handed one to Fleming, then sat the other two mugs on a trunk-turned-coffee table where the he had placed his hat and package. She dumped a mound of throw pillows off the couch before taking the spot beside Dylan. MacDuff wiggled into place between them.
Instead of turning to business, the sheriff stared at his coffee and swirled it around in the cup. Otherwise, he remained so still Dylan expected to hear him snore. If he had more questions about the fire, he’d better get to the point. Dylan stroked the dog’s ears and tapped an erratic beat against the brassbound trunk with his foot. “You said you needed to see me?”
Slowly, Fleming set the cup down and raised his eyes. “Until you showed up earlier this week, how long had it been since you were at the cabin?”
“Since before my father died… at least twenty-five years.”
“Who else from your family has been there during that time?”
“I don’t know.” Grandfather always said, “One thing that Bradfords learned early in life was how to predict bad news.” Right now, he could smell it in the air. He kept his expression blank, but MacDuff picked up on his internal tension. The animal transferred his chin from Gracie’s leg to Dylan’s. “Why?”
“The arson team uncovered human remains in the cabin’s cellar.”
Dylan’s stomach lurched.
Gracie let out a gasp. “Remains? How could anyone else have died? We were the only ones there.” Her hand crept forward and closed around Dylan’s, a comforting gesture that surprised him almost as much as the chief’s announcement.
“We won’t have a positive ID until we check dental records.” Fleming cleared his throat. “There isn’t much to work with.”
“Charred?” Gracie asked in a thin voice.
The chief shook his head grimly. “Bones.” His tired but perceptive blue eyes focused on Dylan. “Been there awhile.”
“Wouldn’t they have reduced to ash in the fire?” Dylan asked.
“It takes intense, concentrated heat to incinerate a skeleton,” Gracie told him.
“Yeah, and this one was shielded in an air pocket and protected behind some vent work. Not much down there, but the cellar was destroyed by water and smoke, not flame.”
“Was there anything left to speed identification?”
“A bit.”
Damned closed-mouth Down Easterners. “Anything you can tell us about?”
“I can show you.” He opened the lumpy envelope he’d carried in and emptied three clear plastic evidence bags onto the trunk.
One contained a tarnished silver charm bracelet. Another contained a gold cuff link. The remaining one held some kind of carpentry tool. The hair on the back of Dylan’s neck stood up as his gaze flicked over all three items before returning to the sickeningly familiar cuff link.
“The bracelet would have belonged to a woman,” Gracie mused. “I guess the cuff link could have, too, but a chisel?” Lifting the bag containing the bracelet, she fingered the charms through the plastic. Her face drained white before voicing the name Dylan dreaded hearing. She reached for his hand, and her grip cut off the circulation in his fingers. “This is Lana Harris’s bracelet, isn’t it?”
“It’s shaping up that way.”
“Oh, my God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Has anyone told Clay?”
“The M.E. will as soon as the remains are removed from the scene.”
“I’ve got to go to him.” She jumped up as if ready to leave at that very moment. “He’ll be devastated.”
Relieved to have her attention focused elsewhere, Dylan tore his gaze away from the evidence and forced himself to look at Gracie. He didn’t want to upset her with his problems until he was sure what they were. For all he knew, his suspicions were way off base. “You’re right. You should find Clayton.”
Fleming held up a hand up. “Not so fast. Is there anything else either one of you recognizes here?”
Dylan moved his gaze across the bags again, but Gracie reseated herself and leaned forward.
“The cuff link is engraved with the letter B,” Fleming pointed out.
Dylan’s heart contracted in his chest. “Is it?”
“Does it belong to someone in your family? Would you know if your dad or uncle had a set like this?”
“My dad, my uncles, my cousin. We all do. My grandmother gave them to all the Bradford males—hell, maybe to everyone she knew—when they graduated from prep school.”
“Does everyone in your family have both of theirs?”
“How would I know?” Dylan asked more belligerently than he meant to.
He took the police chief’s gruff “See if you can find out,” as an order rather than a suggestion.
Gracie picked up the bag with the rusty chisel. Initials were carved into the handle.
“CRL.” Through the plastic, she traced the letters with a little choking sound. Indignantly she sat up straighter and glared at the chief. “Is this Granddad’s?”
“I haven’t confirmed that.” Fleming scratched his ear as if the items before them presented nothing more than an intricate riddle rather than clues from a probable murder scene. Dylan couldn’t imagine that a similar crime had ever happened in East Langden before. “Nora said Chester gets out of the hospital today. I’ll stop by and ask him about it.”
Gracie bristled. “You know he doesn’t know anything about Lana’s disappearance.”
“I don’t know who knows what right now.” With short quick motions, he gathered the bags and returned them to the envelope. “But it should be interesting to find out.”
Not to me. Dylan watched Gracie escort Fleming to the door. He already knew a damn sight more about the cuff link than he wanted to.
As the patrol car disappeared down the drive, Gracie raced to the bedroom to throw on some clothes. “I’m sorry to leave, but I have to go find Clay.”
“I understand.”
Dylan must be as unsettled as she was by the morning’s news. How he could stand in the doorway and look so nonchalant, she didn’t know.
And then, instead of letting her say good-bye at the door and being done with it, he followed her to her grandfather’s truck.
He hooked his arm around her shoulders. “If you aren’t back by the time I leave, I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.” She cautioned herself to keep it light. Keep it simple. Keep it quick.
He opened and closed the door for her, waiting while she lowered the window and adjusted the mirror, seat, and steering wheel. She turned to give him a fluttery wave, but he put his hand under her chin and kissed her, drawing his fingers over her cheek in a brief caress. “You have my number. Call or text if you learn anything about the fire or Clayton’s mother while I’m gone.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Call me if you need me.”
The suggestion that she might need him for any reason, and even more amazing, that he would respond if she did, stunned her into speechlessness. She gaped at him and groped blindly for the gearshift, refraining from comment.