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“I’ll obviously do my due diligence, but I don’t think we’re going to come up with anything unless the bones miraculously turn up or?—”
“I can offer a reward,” Constance says quickly, gripping the guest book to her chest. “It won’t be much, but maybe that would get whoever took the bones to, you know, come clean and be honest.”
I shrug. “Sure, if that’s something you’d like to do.”
Constance doesn’t respond right away. She lifts her head and tosses her auburn hair over her shoulders, her bangs getting a little kerfuffled in the process. She tries to right them with a dance of her fingers across her forehead. Adorable. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”
She probably wouldn’t like me thinking she’s adorable then. “That’s not at all my intention, Dr. Chaplin.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter if that wasn’t your intention. That’s what you’re doing.”
I bite down on my lower lip. My bedside manner could use some work.
“You don’t seem to realize the gravity of this situation, Sheriff McEvoy,” she says. “These aren’t just some bones. And please, suspend your laughter if only for a moment, I know there isn’t possibly anything funnier thanthis.”
Not my best move, I’ll admit it. “I’m sorry, I haven’t dealt with a case like this before.” Because the alternative has been… I don’t want to think about it.
“This skeleton is what keeps the museum afloat. It’s our claim to fame. And it’s not just what gets people visiting the museum, it gets people from all over to visitHorace.”
“You’re saying this skeleton is singlehandedly responsible for tourism in Horace?”
She tsks her tongue. “Notsinglehandedly. But it’s been a draw.”
“A draw,” I say.
“Yes.A draw.”
We stare at each other. It is intense and makes me uneasy. Not necessarily in a bad way. Not good either.
“And not to mention the Bicentennial,” Constance says.
“The Bicentennial?”
“Of Horace Township. In a few weeks, we’re having a huge festival, and that means the museum has to be in tiptop shape, which means these bones need to be returned. You understand that, don’t you?”
I let out a longer sigh than I mean to. “Ms. Chaplin?—”
“Doctor!” she snaps.
I internally curse at myself. “Dr.Chaplin. That was an error on my part, please?—”
“I won’t.”
Talking to this woman is like whiplash. Each time I think I know where I’m going, she manages to snap me in a different direction. “Uh… what?”
“I won’t forgive you. You should get it right. It’s not hard.”
I blink. Holy cow, she is…
Something else.
And I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.
“I expect you to take this issue seriously,Mr.McEvoy.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Well played.”
Constance doesn’t move. Stares me down. Waiting for an answer.
