Agent Bellamy.”
“Call me Nick. After all, since you have my private number, we might as well be on a first-name basis,” he grumbled.
“All right, Nick . Now, let me explain, and please don’t interrupt till I’m finished. I might forget an important detail if you do.”
“Is this going to take long? Because if it is, I’m going to shower and make my pot of coffee before you get started.”
“Dammit, Nick, I’m serious!” she shouted.
“I guess so,” he said, his demeanor softening. “Sorry. Fire away when ready.”
“Thank you.” Lisa described Blossom’s discovery on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, Blossom’s kidnapping, and her own theory of the kidnapping motive.”
“You’ve got my attention,” he said solemnly.
Next, Lisa related the Warnke workers’ discovery of a boneyard on their construction site, the mysterious shadow on the company’s thermal scans, and Crow’s grandfather’s ominous warning about the contents of the gold chest.
“You certainly had a busy day. Anything else?” He was peeved that neither Crow nor Neo reported in yesterday. He had to learn the facts from a stranger.
“I know the identity of the chest’s owner and what might have been inside it,” she responded.
“It’s too early for twenty questions, so just tell me who the owner was.”
She heard him yawn again.
“Ponce de Leon.”
“The famous fountain of youth guy, right?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“So what was inside the box? Water from the fountain of youth?” He laughed despite the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh my God !” Lisa slammed her foot on the brake pedal as the construction site came into view.
“What is it?” Nick demanded.
“I . . . arrived at the construction site where they found the bones, and now the construction trailer’s gone.”
“Gone as in towed away?”
“No, can’t you see?”
“No, actually I can’t.”
“Will you stop being a wiseass and listen for once? The trailer’s in a hundred pieces.”
“Bombed?”
“That’d be my guess. Oh! ”
“Now what?”
“The big mechanical shovels are damaged, too. Their crane arms are all twisted and bent. And the yellow’s all black.”
“Anything else?”
“I see two ambulances, a sheriff’s car, the county medical examiner’s Explorer, Russ’s Jeep. . . I’ll call you right back as soon as I know more.”
Nick listened helplessly to the dial tone, and then headed for the shower. He had a hunch that today was going to be anything but ordinary.
Lisa leaped from her car and sloshed through the muddy debris to where a familiar group of men were huddled.
Russ McKutchen stood and grimly hailed her.
“Bad news here, I’m afraid,” he said.
She looked down and saw a mutilated corpse of what looked to be a black teenager. His body parts and head had been gathered and assembled in a body bag by the EMTs and George Patrick. It lay open on the muddy ground behind one of the ambulances.
Bile rose in her throat, and she looked away. “What happened to him?” she asked Russ, attempting to slow her breathing.
“Damned if we know. It looks like these two blew up the equipment and the trailer, and that’s the extent of our knowledge at the moment.”
Lisa pointed at the boy’s remains. “You think dynamite did that to the boy?”
“C-4 actually,” the sheriff interjected. “Sheriff Berger.” He extended his hand.
She shook it. Weak and flabby. Not the handshake of a sheriff she’d want protecting her from criminals. “Lisa Anders, archeology professor at Florida State. I’m here at the request of Mr. McKutchen’s company to examine the bones they discovered.”
“There’s a few new ones here that I’ll be examining.” George Patrick nodded at the body bag.
“It looks like the boy was literally ripped apart,” she observed.
“No, it was the C-4,” Berger contradicted.
“Then why weren’t the wounds cauterized by the heat of the explosions? Look what it did to those
“Call me Nick. After all, since you have my private number, we might as well be on a first-name basis,” he grumbled.
“All right, Nick . Now, let me explain, and please don’t interrupt till I’m finished. I might forget an important detail if you do.”
“Is this going to take long? Because if it is, I’m going to shower and make my pot of coffee before you get started.”
“Dammit, Nick, I’m serious!” she shouted.
“I guess so,” he said, his demeanor softening. “Sorry. Fire away when ready.”
“Thank you.” Lisa described Blossom’s discovery on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, Blossom’s kidnapping, and her own theory of the kidnapping motive.”
“You’ve got my attention,” he said solemnly.
Next, Lisa related the Warnke workers’ discovery of a boneyard on their construction site, the mysterious shadow on the company’s thermal scans, and Crow’s grandfather’s ominous warning about the contents of the gold chest.
“You certainly had a busy day. Anything else?” He was peeved that neither Crow nor Neo reported in yesterday. He had to learn the facts from a stranger.
“I know the identity of the chest’s owner and what might have been inside it,” she responded.
“It’s too early for twenty questions, so just tell me who the owner was.”
She heard him yawn again.
“Ponce de Leon.”
“The famous fountain of youth guy, right?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“So what was inside the box? Water from the fountain of youth?” He laughed despite the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh my God !” Lisa slammed her foot on the brake pedal as the construction site came into view.
“What is it?” Nick demanded.
“I . . . arrived at the construction site where they found the bones, and now the construction trailer’s gone.”
“Gone as in towed away?”
“No, can’t you see?”
“No, actually I can’t.”
“Will you stop being a wiseass and listen for once? The trailer’s in a hundred pieces.”
“Bombed?”
“That’d be my guess. Oh! ”
“Now what?”
“The big mechanical shovels are damaged, too. Their crane arms are all twisted and bent. And the yellow’s all black.”
“Anything else?”
“I see two ambulances, a sheriff’s car, the county medical examiner’s Explorer, Russ’s Jeep. . . I’ll call you right back as soon as I know more.”
Nick listened helplessly to the dial tone, and then headed for the shower. He had a hunch that today was going to be anything but ordinary.
Lisa leaped from her car and sloshed through the muddy debris to where a familiar group of men were huddled.
Russ McKutchen stood and grimly hailed her.
“Bad news here, I’m afraid,” he said.
She looked down and saw a mutilated corpse of what looked to be a black teenager. His body parts and head had been gathered and assembled in a body bag by the EMTs and George Patrick. It lay open on the muddy ground behind one of the ambulances.
Bile rose in her throat, and she looked away. “What happened to him?” she asked Russ, attempting to slow her breathing.
“Damned if we know. It looks like these two blew up the equipment and the trailer, and that’s the extent of our knowledge at the moment.”
Lisa pointed at the boy’s remains. “You think dynamite did that to the boy?”
“C-4 actually,” the sheriff interjected. “Sheriff Berger.” He extended his hand.
She shook it. Weak and flabby. Not the handshake of a sheriff she’d want protecting her from criminals. “Lisa Anders, archeology professor at Florida State. I’m here at the request of Mr. McKutchen’s company to examine the bones they discovered.”
“There’s a few new ones here that I’ll be examining.” George Patrick nodded at the body bag.
“It looks like the boy was literally ripped apart,” she observed.
“No, it was the C-4,” Berger contradicted.
“Then why weren’t the wounds cauterized by the heat of the explosions? Look what it did to those
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