Beastly Bones

  Lewis Lamb’s eyes flashed, and then he hurried around the farmhouse and up the rocky foothills toward his prize. Mr. Murphy stumbled and panted, trying to keep up, and the rest of us followed close behind.

  By the time we reached the opening in the canvas wall, there was already a noisy commotion coming from within. Charlie overtook Murphy and hurried in after Lamb, imploring the men to remain civil. The rest of us pushed through the flap just as Hank tossed aside the shroud that had concealed the beast’s wings. The skeleton stood naked to the sunlight, Hank at its neck and Lamb cursing at him from across the ribs.

  “Hah!” The trapper clapped his hands, beaming from ear to ear as he surveyed the whole creature.

  Bradley picked up the discarded cloth and looked to Lamb for instructions. Lamb sighed and shook his head. “Oh, don’t bother.”

  “This was one helluva big guy, wasn’t he?” Hudson’s voice broke through the moment. He gave an appreciative whistle. “I woulda loved to have a crack at him when he was alive. Not much trouble to track a dragon, I imagine—but the real trick woulda been bringin’ him down.” He surveyed the figure with an impressed nod as he pondered the notion.

  I tried to set aside my own disbelief as I looked at the complete form. Every scientific instinct in me resisted picturing the beast as a fire-breathing monster from mythology. Before I had met Jackaby, I might have been as leery as Professor Lamb—history and fairy tales lived in opposite ends of my mental library—but the longer I looked, the more the shelves slid into one another, and the more possible the impossible became.

  The figure was built a bit like a pterosaur or a modern bat, with wide wings in place of arms. The dragons in my storybooks had always had both, like angry lizards with wings tacked on for show. The bones before me were more biologically believable. The creature lay on its side with one wing spread out above its back, three long, thin arcs of bone reaching nearly to the tip of its tail. If the beast was fifty feet from end to end, it would have been at least a hundred from wingtip to wingtip. Given its sturdy hind legs and wicked talons, it was not hard to imagine the living creature scooping sheep from farms and doing battle with intrepid armor-clad knights.

  “Yes, that looks about right,” said Jackaby, casually. “And it looks as though your missing bones have found their way home as well, Mr. Lamb. Nice to have this whole business sorted out so promptly, isn’t it?”

  Lamb’s head whipped around, and I followed his eyes to a clumsy pile by the figure’s femur. “They’re back?” He hurried to the formerly missing fossils and began to meticulously lay them out again.

  “I was just going to tell you,” said Mr. Bradley, stepping out from behind Hank. “The canvas was pulled up over on that end while I was working. Someone tossed them in and then ran off. Never saw who it was. Nobody was there when I peeked under. I was heading out the front when this . . . um . . . gentleman came rushing in.” He nodded toward Hank Hudson. Next to the trapper, the slim fellow looked like a sapling beside a redwood.

  “The return of the bones changes nothing,” Lamb spat. “That degenerate Horner is obviously still to blame. He must have panicked once he saw that the police were sticking around. Not that you’ve been any help at all. If that criminal is not locked away by the morning, you’d better believe your superiors will be hearing from me.”

  “Mr. Lamb,” Charlie said evenly. “You know there is no proof . . .”

  “You have two damned detectives!” Lamb waved an arm in our general direction, faltering somewhat as he glanced between my employer and me. “Or what apparently pass for detectives in this backwater valley. Find some proof before he makes off with anything else. And while you’re at it, an invaluable artifact remains missing.” He was right. The dragon’s wicked jawline was still broken by a distinct gap.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The theft of the bones from under all of our noses had been bad enough, but their return was all the more vexing—they added a baffling layer to the mystery without solving anything. Were they connected to the murders at all? What could be worth killing for, but not worth keeping?

  Jackaby hiked back and forth between the footprints and the fossils, scowling at the earth and muttering to himself. With the last of the daylight fading, Nellie Fuller carried her camera up the rocky hill, and was already loading a plate into the slot before Lamb sent his goons to stop her. Mr. Murphy snatched up the tripod and tromped righteously down the slope with Nellie on his heels, while Mr. Bradley stood guard resolutely in the entrance.

  Charlie asked both paleontologists to consent to a search of their belongings, which nearly set Lamb off again, and which Horner simply refused out of spite. By dusk, nothing had been accomplished and everyone was exhausted.

  Hudson had quickly tired of all the drama, turning his attention to the surrounding wilderness instead. The massive prints might have been fakes, but he was not ready to rule out a real wild creature making off with the tooth. He had not returned by the time the sun began to dip low in the sky.

  Lamb’s crew set up cots directly on the dig site, and Brisbee invited Miss Fuller to stay the night in the spare room of the farmhouse.

  “When you promised me an unbelievable story,” she said, “I didn’t realize you meant it literally. I’ll be laughed out of the newsroom if I go back pitching ‘Dragon in the Dirt’ without the proof to back it up. This may be the scoop of the century, but I’ll sleep a lot easier once I’ve got a clean photograph to bring back with me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get some good pictures tomorrow,” he assured her. “Once everyone’s had a little time to sleep on it.”

  “I’m sure that I will, Mr. Brisbee,” she said. “I’ve been to the Arctic and the Orient and back again, and I never missed a deadline. Don’t think for a moment that a dirty tarp and a grumpy old man will stop me from snatching my story from the top of that hill.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He punctuated his enthusiasm with a clap. “I’ll go set you up some blankets and get your room all sorted. You come on up when you’re ready.”

  Owen Horner sidled up as Brisbee was bustling off into the house. “Let me get that for you, beautiful,” he said. Nellie allowed him to collect her suitcase and camera equipment.

  “Be careful with that,” she said as he scooped up a tall wooden box.

  “Your valuables are safe with me,” he promised.

  “I’m more worried about you being safe with them. Those are my spare tubes of flash powder in there. They’re basically explosives just waiting for a spark.”

  “Sounds downright romantic when you put it like that,” Horner said with a wink. “I’ll be careful, honey, don’t you worry. Your room is right down the hall from mine. You’re welcome to come visit if you get scared during the night.”

  “Oh, my dear Mr. Horner,” she said, giving him the tender look a nanny might give to a proud toddler showing off on the playground. “Whatever might you do to make me feel safe in the middle of the night?”

  “Try me. I think I could manage to put a smile on your face.”

  “You’ve got that going for you, I suppose—you do make a girl laugh.”

  “Aw, be honest now,” he said. “You’ve been all over the world—did you ever meet a guy as cute as this?” He flashed his most winsome grin. It was hard not to smile back. If nothing else, the man had confidence.

  She patted him on the cheek. “Just one, darling. I bought a monkey when I was in Singapore. He makes me laugh, too, but he chatters less.”

  Horner took the rebuff in stride, chuckling loudly and carrying her belongings into the house.

  “I do believe you’ve won the fellow’s heart, Miss Fuller,” I told her. We had found ourselves alone on the porch.

  “Men’s hearts are easy targets, Abbie. I’m much more interested in winning their respect.”

  “Oh, absolutely!” I found myself growing fonder of the brassy reporter by the moment. “Although, I must admit I wouldn’t mind a bit of both from certain par
ties . . .”

  “Like that policeman of yours?”

  “I didn’t say . . .”

  “Give me some credit. You don’t get far in my game with your eyes closed. I get it—who doesn’t like a man in uniform? But trust me, men are never worth it. Behind every great man is a woman who gave up on greatness and tied herself into an apron. Romance is for saps, Abbie. You’re sharp and you’ve got pluck. Don’t waste it.”

  I swallowed, digesting her advice. “What about you?” I said. “On all your wild adventures, you’ve never fallen for anyone?”

  She kept up a canny smile, but the ends of her mouth faltered. “The trick about falling is to catch yourself before you hit the dirt.”

  “You don’t strike me as the sort of woman who’s afraid of a little dirt.”

  She laughed. “Nor you. I dare say it might just be your element, from what I saw today. How’s a good girl from England wind up in the bone business?”

  “My father,” I said. “He was the expert.”

  “No kidding? And he wanted you to join the family business?”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted. “It’s a long story.”

  “Well then,” she chimed. “Now we’re into my element. I love a good story.” She slipped into an old rocking chair on the farmer’s porch and gestured to the one beside it. With a deep breath I settled in next to her.

  “All right, then, let’s see. My father’s career has always been sort of charmed,” I said. “Or at least I was charmed by it. I grew up wanting to strap on a pith helmet and follow him to adventures, but he never let me. I had to satisfy myself just reading about him or seeing his discoveries displayed in museums around Hampshire. Just before I left for university, he was appointed the head of what promised to be the most prestigious dig of his career. I begged him to bring me along, but he said it wasn’t ladies’ work.”

  “A familiar tune.” Nellie nodded.

  “That was bad enough, but the real blow came when I learned he had invited Tommy Bellows as a sort of intern.”

  “Tommy Bellows?”

  “Yes. Ugh—Tommy Bellows! A boy who went to the school across the road from mine. He made school prefect and cricket captain, and he always smiled in that thoroughly unpleasant way—as though he smelled something wretched but liked it. Tommy Bellows! The boy who ignored every very clear rejection I ever threw at him since primary school. The boy who smelled like too much aftershave and flirted incessantly with every girl he ever met, always with the same cocky grin he must have thought was dashing. Tommy Bellows!”

  “Sounds like a charmer.”

  “When I asked my father what possessed him to bring Tommy Bellows instead of his own daughter, he told me that the field was no place for a young lady. What I ought to do, he insisted, was finish my schooling and find a good husband with a reliable job. ‘Speaking of which,’ he added in his most knowing, fatherly voice, ‘this internship could help give that young Bellows boy a real leg up. He could have quite the career ahead of him.’ ”

  “He didn’t.” Nellie put a hand to her mouth.

  “He did. So that was that. The next day I ran away and found my own adventure.”

  “I’ll say you did! Good for you! My goodness, I knew I was going to like you, Abbie. I just didn’t realize how much. Your daddy is going to have to read about you for once. See what I mean? Leaving the boys behind was the best move you ever made. Never look back, darling!”

  “Thank you—that’s very kind. Really, though, there are some good men in the world, too. Charlie is nothing like Tommy Bellows.”

  She reached across to my chair and held my arm gently. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m sure he’s a sweetheart. He’d probably treat you real well and keep you safe and happy. But do you want to be safe and happy, or do you want to be great?”

  I didn’t know how to respond. She was affirming all the reasons I had freed myself of my old life and all that stifling stability, but her version didn’t exactly feel like freedom, either.

  “You could be really great, too,” she said. “I can tell. I don’t know if you noticed, but even that windbag, Lamb, started talking to you like a human being out there. He couldn’t help himself. You’ve just got a special sort of something about you when you aren’t busy giving Officer Cutie-pie the doe eyes.”

  I smiled weakly, and Nellie gave my shoulder a squeeze and stood. “Just something to think about, Abbie, darling. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I did think about it. I wished I could stop thinking about it as the sun began to rest on the tops of the trees, and I was thinking about it when Charlie came to ask if I would like a ride back to the cabin while Jackaby was finishing up.

  “It is a lovely time of night for a ride,” he said. “Sunset in the valley is always striking.”

  “I . . . No,” I said. “Thank you, but I really ought to stay and assist. I’ll head back with Mr. Jackaby when he’s ready.”

  “Of course. Would you like me to wait here with you?”

  I swallowed. “That’s all right. I think we’ll be fine, but thank you.”

  Charlie looked ready to speak again, but then he just nodded. He bade me good night, and I could hear Maryanne’s hooves clopping away as I walked around the farmhouse to find Jackaby examining the goat enclosure.

  The remaining kids had nestled in to rest in a corner of the pen beside their mother. I had never been much for livestock, but these were darling little things, all downy soft with fluffy little ears. They nuzzled one another sleepily, lying in a heap all together like puppies.

  “They look cozy, don’t they?” I said, pulling my own coat a little tighter against the crisp breeze.

  “Hmm?” Jackaby looked up. “Oh, they may seem like sweet siblings, but they’re terrible witnesses. Whatever snatched their little brother didn’t seem to faze them in the least. I’ve been unable to get anything useful out of them.”

  “Well, goats are known for their stubbornness,” I said. “Anything you’d like me to take down?” I pulled the notepad from my pocket.

  “Let’s see. What do we know . . . ?” Jackaby grimaced as he collected his thoughts. “Three victims with bruises on their necks, a pale man with a nasty aura, one stolen tooth, and one un-stolen foot.”

  “I’ve got all that already,” I said, flipping through the pages.

  “And something else. There’s something familiar here, but I can’t place it. There are just too many variables. For a countryside so seemingly devoid of productive peculiarities, there are a lot of traces of paranormal presences here — fading whispers of something sinister, and yet no solid leads. Everything is just out of reach. I imagine this is how Jenny feels all the time. It’s intolerably frustrating.”

  “We’ll make more progress in the daylight, sir, I’m sure. Come on, then. I’ll walk you back to the cabin. If we’re going to brood over fruitless frustrations and complicated casework, we might as well enjoy a sunset along the way. Charlie says they’re quite nice out here in the country.” I sighed. “Still—a dragon, Mr. Jackaby! I’m still having trouble believing it! A real dragon! That’s something!”

  “Electromagnetic radiation traveling through the atmosphere along an inconsistent wavelength,” said Jackaby, standing up. “And also magic. There’s a phoenix involved.”

  “Come again?”

  “The sunset. Of course, it also has a traditionally romantic connotation. You aren’t making any advances, are you, Miss Rook? I have strict parameters about that. Very unprofessional. It was never a problem with Douglas.”

  “What? Ugh! No! No, I most certainly am not making advances! For goodness’ sake—not making advances is exactly what I’m doing, in fact.”

  “Ah.” Jackaby nodded. We walked in silence for several seconds.

  “It’s just that Jenny told me I should . . .”

  “I really don’t need to know,” Jackaby said.

  “But then Miss Fuller said I shouldn’t . . .”

  “Please
don’t, Miss Rook.”

  “Oh, never mind.” I felt hot and embarrassed, and I wanted to hide. “Forget I said anything.”

  “I assure you, I will ardently try.” The black teeth of the tree line had swallowed the sun like a ripe grapefruit, and the seeping mess of red and orange had begun to spread across the sky. It might have been every bit as lovely as Charlie had said, but I was finding it difficult to appreciate.

  The crimson-tinted countryside passed by us in silence for a dozen paces. “So often,” Jackaby said, “people think that when we arrive at a crossroads, we can choose only one path, but—as I have often and articulately postulated—people are stupid. We’re not walking the path. We are the path. We are all of the roads and all of the intersections. Of course you can choose both.”

  I blinked.

  “Also, if I hear any more nonsense about your allowing other people to decide where you’re going in your own life, I will seriously reconsider your employment. You were hired for your mind, Miss Rook. I won’t have an assistant incapable of thinking for herself.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you, sir.” The sky reached its richest red, and then it slipped into a deep purple and finally the blackness of night just as we arrived. The stars blinked down on us, and the moon washed the cabin in gentle blues. It had, indeed, been a beautiful sunset.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was awoken some hours later by the sound of the bedroom door. I gathered together my senses and tried to remember my surroundings. The room smelled woody, and only starlight filtered in through the soft white curtains. Charlie stepped in quietly, padding to the side of the bed. He put a hand gently on my shoulder. “Miss Rook?” he whispered.