Page 45 of Chaos has a Name
Now, she was standing over a semi-fleshy arm that her dog had found.
Oh, how her day went South.
Fast.
“Is that an arm?” Forest asked. “Did your dog just find an unattached arm in the dirt? Where’s the flesh? Shouldn’t there be person still on the bone if the hand was meaty?”
Well, you’d think it would.
This was all kinds of gross.
This was just her luck.
It appeared she’d found where Thomas had been placed, after he made it ten miles from his cabin, arterially bleeding, and then folded up his clothes, neatly.
This was going to be bad.
She.
Could.
Tell.
None of that made sense.
Getting down, her deputies followed suit, and they all began digging in the dirt to see if the man who had bled out was the owner of that arm.
Because this was nefarious if nothing else. There was no way he buried himself—in pieces.
Granted, bones were common on the rez.
Deer bones.
Bear bones.
Elk bones.
Just not human bones.
That hand had been flopping around, and there was no way it wasn’t human.
Someone had buried a body at the hunting site, and she was willing to bet the victim was Thomas Adsila, or they had someone else missing now too.
Could her day get worse?
What started as paperwork was now a hot mess.
Together, they kept digging, and when she found another arm, disarticulated by something, she pulled it from the ground.
“Found another forearm,” she stated, picking it up in her hands.
As she held it, carefully, Forest held up the one that Beau had found.
“Uh, Chief?” he asked.
She looked over, after brushing off the knees of her pants.
“Yes?”
