Roots of Murder by R. Jean Reid

snake-catching equipment.
    Nell dutifully wrote down his answers and promised that she would be outside the courthouse, with camera, at precisely noon.
    Then she decided that this shouldn’t be a one-sided visit. “Any thoughts about the bones found in the woods?”
    He paused for a moment, then answered. “Damn fool hunter.”
    â€œTwo damn fools?” Nell asked. “One with chains on the wrists?”
    The sheriff gave her a sharp look. “Where’d you get that?”
    â€œFrom the ground. I went out with Kate Ryan the day she found the bones.”
    â€œDon’t put nothin’ like that in the paper,” he lectured her.
    â€œWhy not?” Nell guessed it was the usual police thing—keep details out only the killer knew—but she still wanted to hear it from Sheriff Hickson.
    â€œYou want to panic the town? All we need is rumors of chained killin’ in the woods.”
    â€œDo you really think Pelican Bay will fall into a frenzy at the idea of two murders that happened decades ago?” Nell shot back at him.
    â€œYou still don’t need to go puttin’ it in the paper,” he insisted.
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œHow long what?”
    â€œHow long do I keep it out of the paper?” Nell repeated. “Do you really think that no one else is going to pick up this story?”
    â€œLook, I know it’s sad and too bad ’bout whatever happened to them, but those people are history. We’ll dig ’em up only to then bury them again.”
    â€œEven if they were murdered?” Nell answered.
    â€œMiz McGraw, be real. They been in that ground long enough for a big tree to grow over ’em. What evidence we gonna find? And even if we find something, what are the chances whoever did it isn’t also already in the ground?”
    â€œIf that’s the case, then what’s the harm with telling the story?”
    The sheriff let out a long sigh. Nell gathered he didn’t appreciate logical women. He sighed again before answering. “Okay, Miz McGraw, you can write your story, but you might just give us enough time to make sure nothing comes out of the ground that’s gonna bite us in the butt.”
    Nell didn’t let on that she was still debating whether to hold the story for next week’s paper. It might depend on what else was discovered. And if the sheriff thought that she was genteel enough to be thrown off by the word “butt,” he was much mistaken. Nell had learned to curse at a Catholic girls’ school and there was nothing like a plaid polyester skirt and a nun with a ruler to expand the vocabulary. “I’ll think about it. I plan to be there when the forensic anthropologist continues the dig. With camera ready, just in case there is any butt-biting .”
    The sheriff didn’t see any humor in her comment. He shook his head and said, “Just don’t forget the story about my long-lost cousin.” With that he turned to go.
    Nell decided he wasn’t going to get off so easily. “Oh, Sheriff? Tanya Jones called Mrs. Thomas, Sr. and ‘suggested’ the Jones boys aren’t happy about their brother being in jail. And if that didn’t change, they might do something about it.”
    The sheriff turned back to face her. “They threatened Mrs. Thomas?”
    â€œUsed her as a messenger. The threat was aimed at me.”
    He seemed to be mulling this over, as if a threat to Mrs. Thomas was serious but Nell had fallen into the “looking to be bitten in the butt” category. “Tanya say just what they planned?” he finally asked.
    â€œNo, the opposite, she didn’t know what they might do. And she wouldn’t want to be me.”
    The sheriff mulled this additional information for a moment, then said, “You gonna go after Junior, aren’t you?”
    â€œAre you saying that I should capitulate to his brothers’