Page 42 of Seducing the Sheriff
That alone took over an hour. I needed to have some boards cut, and while I waited, I asked the manager who the best plumber in town was. Look, I can build, do electrical, and can even handle roofing when called upon. But plumbing has never been my thing. I’d always relied on the local talent when I fixed a place up.
Once I’d taken care of everything I needed to do, I’d worked up a pretty good appetite. I figured I could stop at the Bobcat diner on the way back and order something to go. Of course, that made me think of Cash. Clearly, he was living rent-free in my head, so I was compelled to drop by the station and check if he wanted to grab lunch.
I grumbled to myself as I rose to my feet. A beer was needed. Even though I wasn’t quite done for the day, it was after seven, and I’d already picked over the rest of my leftover sandwich from earlier. I opened the fridge with a sigh. Unfortunately, Cash had been out on a call when I dropped in.
When I left a message with Rosie, who was the only person in the station, seated behind a front counter, she seemed overly interested in why I wanted to see Cash. Not in an unfriendly way, but I’d been grilled as much as my diner sandwich was. I recall being warned about that.
A few hours later, I heard back from Cash. He pointed out that I could’ve called his cell. It sounded as though Rosie was giving him a good grilling too.
“True,” I said. “But I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.”
“You could never bother me, Greg.”
If I said his words didn’t send a little shiver down my spine, I’d be lying like a snake. We’d chatted for a bit, but he had to leave on another call. So, I dove back into work, and now here I was. I took a swig of my beer, then glanced over my shoulder. How terrible would it be to call it a night?
My shoulders dropped as I thought about every hour of work I’d have to put in to make the house somewhat presentable. Seeing as I was actually on the verge of becoming social, I might want to invite people over. I smiled and took another drink. Definitely inviting Cash. I wanted to invite him over as much as possible.
I side-eyed the pesky stairs. If they weren’t the first thing everyone saw when they walked through the front door, I’d focus my energies on the bedroom and kitchen instead. I snorted. Especially the bedroom.
After draining the rest of the beer, I rolled my shoulders and dropped the bottle in the recycling bin. I made a mental goal of at least getting the rest of the old wood torn out of the closet before I quit for the night.
I wasn’t particularly squeamish. Not when I’d been tearing into old houses for the past couple of decades. I’d had my fair share of mummified and recently dead critters surprising me in walls and crawl spaces. However, a dead person was a new one for me. Even I couldn’t help but be a tad put off by digging around in there.
With a big breath, I tightened my knee pads, then crawled into the closet. I’d already hung up a work light earlier from a hook I’d attached to the low ceiling. But now that the sun had set completely, the shadows it cast gave the small space an eerie vibe.
Soon enough, I’d shaken it off and was prying the old boards loose at the back of the closet. I’d attempted to banish from my mind that I was sitting in the exact spot the poor, dead woman had been in, but my thoughts kept darting into creepy territory.
I pressed my lips together, frustrated that I was letting the morbid topic get the best of me. What I should’ve done was put on some music. Nothing like some old school classic rock to put me in good spirits.
Spirits. Great. Why did I have to think of it that way? With a small growl, I jammed the crowbar into a particularly stubborn seam between the two last boards at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t understand why they were so much more difficult to pry loose than the others had been.
I set the tool down, then angled the light so it shone directly on the spot I was struggling with.
“Huh.” I drew my eyebrows together, running my finger on the grain of wood that was fighting me. “That’s weird.”
It was a much rougher—and much newer—wood than the rest of the interior. It wasn’t a soft pine, but badly hewn pieces of oak. There didn’t seem to be any finesse to the workmanship either. It was as if whoever had done the job had grabbed whatever was lying around to close off the back of the area beneath the stairs.
My curiosity was more than piqued. I needed the answer to whatever had gone on in this house, oh so many years ago. No longer interested in ending my workday, I renewed my efforts with more determination. I was going to see what was behind the makeshift wall and wouldn’t stop until I did.
With a splintering crack, a big chunk of wood came loose. I had my heavy suede gloves on, so I grabbed the broken board and gave it a hearty tug. After a few pulls, it split all the way, and I flew back from the momentum, banging my shoulder on the closet threshold.
“Ow.” I winced, rubbing my aching shoulder. That’s gonna leave a mark.
I’d also managed to knock the hanging light askew. I tossed the broken board aside and reached up to grab the light off the hook. I directed the beam into the dark space I’d opened up and gasped.
Holy guacamole.
My heart hammered from a mixture of shock and excitement. A black lacquer box, maybe for jewelry, was hidden there. Mother-of-pearl with what looked like bits of jade was inlaid on the top and sides. The design was primarily floral, but in the center of the design on the lid were two birds of some sort. I was not much of an expert when it comes to feathered creatures, but if I had to guess, I’d say they were cranes.
“Wow.” I reached for the intriguing item, then paused. “Dammit.”
Wouldn’t the box be considered evidence? After all, it was right next to where the body had been found. Sure, the boards had been between the box and the dead woman, but it had to be connected.
Beyond the box being covered with a thick coat of dust, the style wasn’t modern. The more I looked at it, the more it reminded me of a historical collection I’d seen in a cultural museum in San Francisco. I’d once taken a road trip along the west coast between houses, and there had been a display highlighting the contributions of early Japanese immigrants.
In display cases there were personal objects of renowned figures, and I’d seen plenty of lacquer items such as this. Large vases, vanity accessories, wall mirrors, and more—all done with the same beautiful detailing. From what I could remember, they were popular in the twenties and thirties all over the country. Which would mean it was during the same time period as when the woman was killed.
I wiggled my fingers. How was I going to get any sleep without taking a peek at the mysterious contents? Within my reach could be the answer to the entire mystery.
