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“I don’t know,” Beaux said. “We’d only loaded one box with melons when I started looking for a bell to ring.”
Gerard laughed with the rest of the men, remembering how many of his fellow trainees had rung the bell, signaling the end of their training, having given up. Even at his worst, he’d never considered quitting. He’d suffered worse at the hands of his father. Delta Force training had been a walk in the park.
Dusk was settling on the farm when the crime scene investigators wrapped up their work in the pig enclosure and made their way back to their vehicles parked in the barnyard.
While the investigators loaded into their cars and drove away, Sheriff Bergeron stepped onto the porch.
Bernie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the sides of her jeans. “Well? Did they find anything else?”
The sheriff sighed. “Not much. Definitely no more body parts.” He pulled out his cell phone and brought up a photo. “They used a metal detector and found a men’s silver ring in the muck.” He passed his cell phone to Bernie. “Do you recognize this ring?”
Bernie studied the image, her brow furrowing. “It’s not mine. I doubt it was my husband’s. He never wore any kind of jewelry. He refused to wear a wedding band because he worked around so much farm machinery, and he didn’t want to get one caught in anything and lose a finger.” She tipped her head, her frown deepening. “The symbol is a fleur-de-lis.”
“It was inscribed on the inside.” The sheriff scrolled to another photo.
“I can barely make out the letters,” Bernie said.
Gerard leaned over Bernie’s shoulder. After a second or two, he read it out loud. “Je t’taime. It’s French for I love you.” As he realized just how close he was to Bernie, Gerard’s pulse beat faster. Heat burned through his body that had nothing to do with the oppressive humidity and air temperature.
Bernie turned her head, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes flared, and her cheeks pinkened,
Gerard’s breath lodged in his chest. He took a quick step backward, putting a safe distance between himself and his client.
“I’ve seen those words before...” Bernie whispered. “And that symbol.” She covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. “But where?” A moment later, her eyes popped open, and she dove for the door, disappearing into the farmhouse.
Gerard assumed she’d just remembered that she had food on the stove and had gone inside to check on it.
“How was the watermelon picking?” the sheriff asked.
A collective groan rose from the men on the porch.
Sheriff Bergeron chuckled. “You made good progress, considering you got a late start this afternoon. I remember working one summer for a farmer who grew watermelons and cantaloupes. That’s why I chose to go into law enforcement.”
“I have a whole new respect for the men and women who do this for a living,” Remy said.
The sheriff grinned. “I’ll bet you do.”
Bernie stepped out onto the porch. “I thought I’d seen that symbol and inscription before. It finally dawned on me where.” She held out her hand and dropped a necklace into the sheriff’s palm. “This was my mother’s necklace. She wore it all the time. She gave it to me before she died.”
The necklace was a simple silver chain with a pendant bearing the fleur-de-lis symbol on one side.
When the sheriff turned it over, Gerard could see the same inscription on the back of the pendant as was on the inside of the ring.
The sheriff held the necklace next to the image on his phone. “Was your mother ever near the pigpen?”
Bernie shook her head. “I didn’t marry Ray until after my mother passed due to cancer. As far as I know, she never visited Bellamy Farm.”
“Hmm.” Sheriff Bergeron’s lips pressed together. “Do you mind if I take this into evidence? I promise you’ll get it back. This is too much of a coincidence.”
“Of course,” Bernie said. “And yes, it’s too much of a coincidence. Why would a ring matching the necklace my mother wore end up in a pigpen she’d never come near?”
“Good question.” The sheriff pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket, deposited the necklace inside and nodded at Bernie. “I’m sorry this is all coming at a bad time, with harvest and all.”
Bernie’s lips twisted. “Is there ever a good time to find a foot in your pigpen?”
“No,” the sheriff said. “If I hear anything useful, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, lock your doors and carry a gun.”
“Yes, sir,” Bernie said.
