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“Cool.”
I wasn’t sure Neil was listening, and I stroked his back. “It would mean hanging around here for a home base. Annoying you. Getting in your way. Y’know, the usual.”
“I could probably handle that.”
That was the best endorsement I was going to get for now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
NEIL
I woketo the insistent buzzing of my phone on the nightstand, the sound pulling me from the heavy, dreamless sleep I’d fallen into. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, and I couldn’t remember where I was for a moment. Then I felt the warmth beneath me, Connor’s solid, comforting presence, and everything came rushing back.
I’d been wrapped around him, our legs tangled together, my arm draped over his chest. The heat from his body had lulled me into a deeper sleep than I’d had in years. I extricated myself, careful not to wake him. As I sat up, the sheet slid down my body, exposing my skin to the cool air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed.
My phone buzzed again, and I grabbed it, squinting at the screen—nearly eight in the morning. Jesus, I’d never slept this late in my life. That was what staying up late ‘talking’ did for me.
I swiped to answer, my voice still rough from sleep. “Sheriff Windham.”
On the other end, someone was speaking, but my mind was still half-focused on the man lying next to me. I glanced back at Connor, his face relaxed, his short hair tousled against the pillow. The sight made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
The voice on the other end of the line continued, pulling me back to the present. I shook off the lingering haze of sleep and tried to focus. Whatever this was, it was time to get back to reality, even if a part of me wanted to stay in that bed, wrapped up with Connor for a bit longer.
“Sheriff? Are you there?” the voice said, and I realized I had the ME on the line.
“Sorry, yes, here. Go ahead.”
“Good news or bad news,” Xavier started his usual spiel, and I wondered when they’d invent phones where you could reach through and strangle people. If ever there was a moment, it was now.
“Bad news,” I replied, bracing myself for the worst.
“The bones are from at least two separate sets of remains,” he said. I could almost hear him taking a deep breath on the other end. “The oldest burial is likely from the Arapaho tribe, dating back centuries.”
My mind reeled. “Centuries?”
“Yes, so, the good news is, you don’t have a murder on your hands where those bones are concerned,” he continued. “I’ve contacted the Northern Arapaho Tribe and the Wyoming State Historic Preservation Office. They’ll handle the reburial process.”
“Wait, slow down,” I said, rubbing my temples. “You’re telling me we’ve got ancient remains, and they belong to the Arapaho?”
“That’s right,” Xavier confirmed. “It’s not uncommon to find such burials in this region, especially with the history of the tribes in Wyoming. This significantly changes the scope of your investigation with just the one set of remains causing concern.”
I took a deep breath, trying to wrap my head around this new development. “But the other skeleton is?—”
“Female,” Xavier confirmed, his voice steady on the other end of the line. “After nearly thirty years down a well, getting an ID is challenging, but it’s not impossible. We’ll start with the basics—osteological analysis. The bones can tell us a lot more than you’d think. We can confirm her sex, estimate her age at death, and maybe even get an idea of her ancestry.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay, so we know she’s female, but what about identifying her? Is there any hope of getting DNA after all this time?”
“There’s a chance,” Xavier replied, his tone thoughtful. “DNA can be tricky after so long, especially in a wet environment like a well, but we might still be able to extract some, particularly from her teeth or the denser parts of her bones. If we get a DNA profile, we can compare it against missing person databases or, if we get lucky, with any living relatives.”
“That’s assuming we have someone to compare it to,” I said, feeling the frustration building. “What if we can’t get any DNA?”
“Then we look at other options,” Xavier continued, unfazed. “Dental records are a big one where we can examine them for any dental work or unique patterns. Those could match with existing records. Teeth are also agood source of DNA, so we’ll focus on them heavily. Then there’s the chemical composition of her bones and teeth, which can give us clues about where she lived, what she ate, and other details that might narrow down her identity. It’s not as specific as a DNA match, but it’s something. But do you want the good news?”
I thought the fact he’d discounted one set of bones was good news, but I could always use more. “Please.”
“Well, here is where I hand you to Tally.”
Tally didn’t waste a second and didn’t ask if I wanted good or bad news. “Neil, we have a name connected to the luggage, which could be a potential first ID on the remains. We have a library card and old passport wrapped in a purse, other things that belonged to her, personal possessions, and many more photos, some of which we might salvage. I will keep digging—literally and figuratively—but the name we have on the ID is … Rebecca Lennox. Does that name mean anything to you?”
