Brightening to her question, he turned to her and away from Tim. “Look at these striations here, the way the knob is worn as an old croquet ball. Course I can’t tell simply by eyeballing it, but I’d say that bone has been here for years, decades even. What I can do is send it off to the crime lab in Augusta—they might be able to say for certainty.”
“That’s it?” Tim asked. “You don’t want to investigate? Call in the CSI?”
Pollock jammed the bone back into the sand pile. “I could, if you insist. We could run some tape around this hole and call the state police, but they might want to bring in a backhoe, chew up this whole waterfront. This being Christmas Day, I’d be loath to disturb those boys. Ruin the rest of your holiday, all for an old bone. But if you insist, Mr. Keenan, I could radio in. Or I could write up my report, send this upstate, and, turns out I’m wrong, we can always come back. Bring a big crew. If there’s more bones, likely they’re not moving out on their own.”
Slipping her hand under Tim’s arm, Holly pulled herself closer. “It is Christmas.”
“Could you at least see if there are any other bones in the hole?”
His leather holster rubbed and squeaked as Pollock hopped down into the hole. He looked like a gravedigger halfway done with the job, chest deep in the earth. When he bent to investigate the bottom, he was swallowed whole. “The sand’s packed solid here. You can see the marks from whatever made this. Sure no shovel.”
“Any signs of other bones?” Tim shouted from the edge as though speaking to a man in a deep well.
Pollock popped up and brushed the sand from his jacket. Laying the bone on the edge, he waited for Tim to offer a hand and then climbed back to the top. “There’s no one else down there.”
“What’ll we do about the hole?” Tim asked.
“Get yourself a couple of shovels, and you could fill it in no time. You wouldn’t want someone to stumble into it and hurt himself. Maybe you and the boy could do the job.” With his thumb, he pointed to the second-story window. Jip had been watching their every move.
“Not going to happen,” Holly said. “He doesn’t ever leave the house.”
“Never?”
Tim answered quickly. “Agoraphobia. He’s afraid of the outside.”
“It’s not a phobia,” Holly said. “It’s not like he’s just afraid of the dark or scared of heights. It’s all part of his illness, a condition of the mind. He’s much worse than that.”
Her words hung in the air like an executioner’s verdict. Pollock reached for the bone at his feet, and in the distance one of the ravens on the beach screeched at a thief. Wrapping his coat more tightly, Tim shivered and pondered their life together. He wished she would not be so free with her opinions in public and be so adamant in her analysis. Jip was getting better day by day. Once upon a time, he would have no more stayed in the light of the window than venture onto the beach. But he was up there now, watching them from on high.
“Would you like to meet him?” Holly asked. “Our son, Jack. He doesn’t get many visitors, as you might imagine, and I’m not sure he’s ever met a real live policeman. He would be thrilled.”
Tim put his hand on the trooper’s shoulder. “Come inside and warm up a little before you go on your way. There’s a pot of coffee on, and nobody can resist my wife’s Christmas cookies.”
“I’ll make you a hot chocolate,” Holly said. “You seem more of a cocoa kind of guy. Oh, it will be all right. You’re worried about missing a crime. Nothing ever happens on Christmas, especially around here, and you won’t be missed. We’ll never tell.” She hooked her arm in the crook of his and had him lead her to the house.
Inside, they made another fire in the fireplace and warmed the milk on the stove, fussing over the policeman like a prodigal son. Their own Jack Peter lingered in the stairwell, listening to their conversation from the shadows while the adults gathered round the kitchen table. Tim held his chin in one hand and stared at the bone, now wrapped in an old kitchen towel. Steam from the mugs curled and vanished.
“I’ve got another mystery for you,” she said. “Last night after Mass, I was driving home, and the fog was so thick I thought I’d never make it. In fact, I had to stop, and this was about one, one thirty a.m., and it was the most curious thing. First some kind of creature crossed the road ahead of me, not near enough for me to make out what it was but near enough to be something. And Tim has been seeing things in the shadows, and we were wondering if the police have come across an unusual amount of weirdness lately.”
Pollock brushed cookie crumbs from the corners of his lips. “Can’t say that there’s been anything unusual. Same amount of weirdness.”
“Thing is,” Holly went on, “I heard voices, too. People in trouble. Or fighting, screaming out in the dark. And I was wondering if the police took any calls last night, if you can tell me, for a domestic disturbance.”
“Last night? No. Quietest Christmas in ages.”