The doctor looked up from her crouched position. “Less than ten years, and these markings on the rib cage—” she pointed at the tiny lines “—are lacerations made by a knifelike instrument. It would appear a crime has occurred on your island, Sheriff Grant. And my assessment says it’s murder.”
TWO
“Dr. Webber, I’m certain these bones are less than ten years old.” Lydia spoke quietly into her cell phone from the back porch of Deputy Matthews’s home, where he and his wife had generously offered to put Lydia up for the night.
Stepping Stones didn’t have a hotel or a motel or any type of boardinghouse really. If it weren’t for their offer, Lydia would have been sleeping in one of the two cells at the sheriff’s station. This huge captain’s house perched on the top of a ledge overlooking the sea, capped with its own widow’s walk and porches, was much better digs. Mrs. Matthews even offered her a lovely room with an ocean view, and Lydia knew come daylight when she could see it, she would love it even more.
Lydia faced the black sea and continued her conversation. “I also see evidence of multiple lacerations on the rib cage. This looks like a murder, and I’m recommending a full investigation.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” Simon Webber grumbled nasally. “Your job was to assess the situation and report back to me. I will determine if an investigation is in order. You have not been authorized, Miss Muir.”
“It’s Doctor Muir, and you authorized me to make this call when you sent me here.”
“My mistake. It won’t happen again. Unfortunately, I am still detained with museum business. Tag and categorize the remains and bring them back to me. I’ll determine if the coroner needs to be called in. You are not to call him.”
“Sir, I am not an intern any longer. I—”
“Bring the remains to me, Miss Muir. Or you will regret it.”
The phone went dead, and Lydia heaved a sigh. She leaned forward against the railing and blew out her frustration. Waves roared over and over in the dark night. The sound lulled her as she angled her head over her shoulder and eyed Deputy Matthews and Sheriff Grant through the doorway to the kitchen.
They stood around the breakfast island conversing in their own hushed tones and using sign language for the benefit of the deputy’s deaf wife, also leaning against the yellow Formica countertop. Lydia pulled her coat tighter around her to ward off the slicing air and pocketed the phone.
Her lips pressed tight to regain her composure before facing the officers with the change of plans. As it turned out, this wasn’t her big break after all. It wasn’t her time to shine. God had not prepared her way here as she’d thought. Today would end no differently than any other. More than anything Lydia wanted to fade out of Deputy Matthews’s home. She didn’t want to have to tell them she’d been trumped. Again.
But she couldn’t let them see her failure. Professionalism through and through. That’s the way it had to be. Always, and under every circumstance. She would not let Dr. Webber break her down. She’d come this far with all his comparisons, pitting her against her father. As if she’d ever win that prize. She’d accepted a long time ago that she would never be as brilliant as the great scientist, her father, Dr. Gerard Muir. Apparently Dr. Webber thought she would be when he hired her.
If only she could show him what she was capable of with this case. She may not be her father, but if he would give her a chance, he would see she was a good forensic anthropologist. He would see she was a good candidate for the directorship position. If only.
Lydia breathed deep and exhaled a condensed cloud of air into the cold night, accepting the position wasn’t to be so for her.
“Problem?”
Lydia whipped around to find Sheriff Grant standing there. How long had he been there?
“Everything’s fine,” she blurted out and averted her eyes to look at the lit hurricane lantern hanging on the doorframe adjacent to his head.
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?” Lydia stepped back into the porch railing, reaching for anything to separate her from this too-good-looking bulldog. She settled for her hands on her abdomen. She knew his kind. He was probably a jock in high school who steered clear of the brainy girls—if he noticed them at all.
“You look beaten.” Through his long strands of hair, he eyed her fidgeting hands, and she stilled them. “Did Boss Man change your plans?”
Lydia raised her chin a bit, but then chose truth over bravado. “You’ll be happy to know I won’t be digging on your precious island tomorrow. Dr. Webber has requested I take the skeleton back to the lab for a consult to determine age in the lab with the right equipment. However, I would like the area to be protected until the report is finished. Just in case.”
“Why isn’t he coming?”
“He’s consulting for a museum.”
“Museum consulting.” The sheriff’s jaw ticked. The man was going to grind down his molars if he didn’t learn to relax a little. “Look, Doc, I don’t see how some pharaoh’s tomb, or whatever is keeping him, is more important than this. I need to assure the islanders their home is safe. It would appear Dr. Webber doesn’t think Stepping Stones is worth the trip, so I would like for you to identify this skeleton before you leave.”
“I have to decline.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because...because I’ll lose my job.”
“How about off the record, then? You know you can’t leave us here in good conscience with no answers.”
Lydia bit her lower lip. Returning to her lab would mean handing this case over to Webber or, worse, one of the others to solve. But staying on Stepping Stones could kill her career completely.
And why should she trust this man anyway? He didn’t trust her. She had to be crazy to even be considering this. “I’ll lose my job,” she whispered more to herself, and wondered if she already hadn’t. What would her father say then?
“I’m sure that’s a possibility, Doc,” Sheriff Grant stated quietly, and pushed his mussed-up hair out of his eyes. She noticed his intense blues soften in the lantern light. She also noticed the way her fingers twitched when he cleared away his hair. Shock smacked her in the chest as she realized she’d wanted to reach up and do the same.
But then Sheriff Grant’s words stopped any thoughts of touching his hair. He understood the risk she would be taking by staying to help him. Lydia pressed her lips. Her decision would determine the path for the rest of her career, even life. And following this man whom she didn’t know in the least might lead her to never work again.
Or maybe this was the path God had prepared for her all along. Maybe this skeleton was God’s way of boosting her career. Maybe this was her chance to prove she was capable. Prove it to Webber, and prove it to her father.
She prayed silently for God’s direction, but she also knew she could only stay and work with Wesley Grant if he was a believer. “Are you a Christian?” she asked him straight out.
Sheriff Grant hesitated, and she thought he would say no. The words practically molded to his lips, but something stopped him from voicing them. His bullishness faded a bit, and he said, “I used to be. Why?”
Lydia breathed a little easier at his answer. It wasn’t an outright no. This really could be her ticket for an upgrade, after all. “Before I decide to team up with you, I want to make sure we have the same guide.”
“And if we don’t?”
“But we do. Even if you’ve given