Crowned and Moldering

“Abovestairs, huh?” He gri

“The outer frame can be anything you want it to be. You could get a sleek stainless-steel front or a nice blond Douglas fir to match the rest of the cabinetry. Whatever you decide, it’ll look fabulous.”

I unbolted the dumbwaiter’s vertical sliding door and lifted it. The old wood was stiff and heavy, but I managed to get it opened all the way. I stuck my head inside and looked up, but it was too dark to see anything, so I grabbed Wade’s flashlight and took another look. “I’m not sure the old pulley mechanism is still working. It looks like the platform is stuck upstairs somewhere.” I pulled my head out and glanced at Mac. “If you want to keep using it, I can install a new electric motor with an automatic control. The shaft runs from the attic all the way down to the basement, and it’s a good-sized space. At least two and a half feet square.”

He calculated the size with his hands. “That’s not bad.”

“I wonder if I can get it unjammed,” I said, and reached inside to tug at the pulley.

“Boss, wait,” Sean said. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

I frowned at him. Did he think I was afraid of getting dirty? I gave the ropes another yank and felt them go slack just as a loud cracking, splintering sound erupted from above and echoed through the shaft. I yanked my hand out of there just in time; the entire dumbwaiter platform shattered and fell three stories and crashed onto the basement floor.

The strong whoosh of air and dust coming from the shaft knocked me back a foot. Mac pulled me farther away from the opening. “Are you all right? What the hell was that?”

“The platform must’ve rotted out.” I let out an unsteady breath. “The whole thing broke apart and dropped straight down to the basement.”

“You could’ve been killed,” he muttered, and rubbed my shoulders while I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart. I didn’t want to admit how close to the truth his words were.

Once the dust had settled, I ventured over to the shaft and leaned inside to see what damage had been done. Shining the flashlight’s powerful beam downward, I caught a glimpse of the pile of splintered wood—and something else.

“What the—” I jerked my head out of that dark, empty space as fast as I could move. The flashlight fell from my hand, hitting the floor with a bang. I stared at my empty hands and watched them tremble uncontrollably. I shook my head back and forth. “Oh my God.”

Mac grabbed my arms. “Sha

“What’s wrong, boss?” Joh

I couldn’t believe I was still shaking, unable to tell what I’d just seen. Could I have been mistaken?

Sean grabbed the flashlight off the floor and leaned inside the dumbwaiter to see for himself what I was freaking out about.

“Holy moly,” Sean said, backing away from the space.

“What is it?” Mac said. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Sean’s cheeks puffed out and he exhaled heavily. “In the basement. There’s, like, bones down there.”

“Jeez, you guys, relax,” Wade said cynically. “It’s probably a dead raccoon.”

“No,” I said, my voice sounding scratchy and far away. “It’s more like a dead human.”

Chapter Two

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Police Chief Eric Jensen said at the sight of me standing on the porch with the others.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Just because I’d been on the scene of two previous murders didn’t mean I had something to do with any of them. But didn’t it just figure I’d be the one to spot the bones in the basement first? Which probably made me the number-one person the Chief would want to interrogate.

“Hello, Chief Jensen,” I said, deciding to keep the conversation as cordial as possible—and trying not to feel insulted or hurt that I was automatically seen as a suspect.

And it was too bad, because we’d been getting along so well lately. I liked Chief Jensen—Eric—a lot. He was gorgeous, for one thing. Like, Nordic-superhero gorgeous. Tall, blond, muscular, beautiful clear blue eyes. In my mind, I’d called him Thor since the first time I’d ever seen him. Which was, admittedly, at the scene of a grisly murder awhile back. One that he’d suspected me of committing. Not the best start to a friendship, but I thought we’d come a long way since then.

He’d gotten over his suspicions—or so I thought. On a good day, he was nice and friendly to me. He had a dry sense of humor that I found appealing. He cared about people. I sort of thought he liked me—not that we’d ever been out on a date or anything. And we never would if I kept showing up at crime scenes like this.

But, then, who was to say this was a crime scene? A skeleton didn’t necessarily mean someone had been murdered, right? Maybe whoever those bones belonged to had died of natural causes. Heck, maybe it was a suicide.

And maybe I’d win the lottery tomorrow. On both fronts I was living in a fantasy world. Because, seriously? There was a human skeleton in Mac’s basement! And until it could be determined that someone had lived a good, long life and had passed away peacefully in his sleep—while stuffed inside the dumbwaiter of Mac’s remote, empty mansion—this was very much a crime scene.

That hideous thought brought a whole new round of chills, and my shoulders commenced shaking again.

Eric glanced at Mac. The two men had become friends, so Eric knew that Mac was about to start the rehab on the house. “You know we’ll have to halt any renovations you were pla

“No problem,” Mac said, sounding strangely buoyant. Of course Mac would be happy. Could life get any better for a thriller writer than to find an actual skeleton in his new home? It had to be the coolest thing on earth. For him, anyway.

“Where are these bones?” Eric asked.

“In the basement,” Mac said. “You want me to show you how to get down there?”

“Yeah.” Eric glanced at the four of us. “Who found them?”

Mac gave me a contrite smile. “Sha

Eric let loose a sigh of sheer aggravation. I knew that sound. I’d heard him make it more than once.

“I found them when I looked through the dumbwaiter,” I explained. “None of us has actually been down to the basement.”

“Well, that’s something,” Eric muttered.

Another dark SUV bounded around the curve and came to a bouncing stop at the edge of the lawn. It was Tommy Gallagher, assistant chief of police and my old high school boyfriend. Tommy had been happily married for many years to my worst enemy, but I didn’t hold that against him most of the time. We were still good friends, although I couldn’t say the same for me and his wife, Whitney.

“Hey, guys,” Tommy shouted from the car before he slammed the door shut and jogged over to the house. With a broad grin, he said, “Hey, Sha

“Hi, Tommy.” No one had ever looked more jovial at a crime scene than Tommy Gallagher. He’d always been that way, cheerful and even-tempered, even after the times he was clobbered on the football field in high school. He was like an adorable golden retriever—always happy and friendly. The guy had a wonderful attitude, especially for a cop.

“Hey, Chief, I heard from the sheriff on my way over.” Tommy jogged up the stairs. “It’ll be at least two hours before one of his guys can get out here.”

In our area, the Mendocino County sheriff served as coroner and could declare somebody officially dead. But if the death was suspicious and necessitated a more elaborate CSI facility, our police chief would call on the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office, about a hundred miles away in Santa Rosa. And if he required even more detailed forensic or pathology services or other autopsy-related services, he would call the forensic medical group located in Fairfield over in Solano County, more than 150 miles southeast of Lighthouse Cove.