The Bones She Buried

Forty-Nine

Josie drove as fast as she legally could to Fairfield. It was in Lenore County which was south of Denton. It mostly consisted of farm and gameland with gentle rolling hills and lots of wooded areas. The narrow roads were like black ribbons snaking through the largely deserted area. Earl Butler’s home was along a rural route where the houses were several acres apart and set back from the road. It was a one-story modular home with tan siding and a brown roof. Three wooden steps led to the front door. There were no flower beds or garden, but the lawn was neatly kept. An old Ford sedan sat in the short gravel driveway. Josie parked behind it and got out, momentarily resting a hand on its hood. It was cold.

She walked up to the door and knocked, ears strained for any noise inside. There was nothing. Her eyes tracked the door frame. No doorbell. She knocked again. She waited several minutes before circling the house and peeking in the windows. Most were covered by heavy curtains or miniblinds. She could see into the kitchen but it was empty. A small table with two chairs sat to one side. On the table was a plate with half a sandwich on it. From where she stood, she thought it looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. The back door was only one step up from a small concrete patio. Josie knocked on that as well and listened. She thought she heard a faint voice, but she couldn’t be sure.

She walked around the house again, and this time called out Earl Butler’s name. “Mr. Butler? You in there? You okay, sir?” Every few steps she would stop and listen. Only once more did she think she heard a faint sound, but she couldn’t make out exactly what it was. A feeling of dread, heavy and cloying, had settled over her shoulders. Her gut churned, signaling to her that something wasn’t right. But her head reasoned that she was just being paranoid because of everything that had happened in the last two weeks. She circled the house once more, trying both the front and back doors but they were locked. The windows were locked as well though she could probably easily break in if she smashed the glass in one of them. But then what? What if the house was empty and Earl Butler came home to find that a strange woman had broken into his home? Josie knew that even her status as a police officer couldn’t protect her from having charges pressed against her. She’d need a warrant to get in without a key, and she was in a county that was not her own. That could take a day or more to get and that was if a judge would even allow it. She could try to track down people who knew Earl Butler to find out when he’d last been seen and if anyone had a spare key.

A spare key.

Josie looked around but didn’t see anywhere that Earl might have hidden a key. There were no plants or porch furniture outside. She walked again around the house, checking the perimeter for stones. She then checked the wheel wells of his car to see if he had a magnetic case where he might hide a key, but there was nothing. She was about to give up, was in fact walking to her car, when she spotted a sprinkler head in the middle of the front yard. It was green and blended in with the grass which was why she hadn’t noticed it before. She zigzagged across the lawn, looking for additional sprinkler heads but there was only that one. It was a long shot, but on the job, she’d seen secret key compartments in just about every design she could think of—including sprinkler heads. Dropping to her knees, she used both hands to gently probe the sprinkler. If it was attached to an underground system, it wasn’t going to come out of the ground—certainly not without her breaking it. But it pulled right out. It wasn’t attached to anything. The bottom part of it was a hollow compartment shaped like a spike. A minute later she managed to twist the thing open, and a key fell into her palm.

She put the sprinkler head back where she’d gotten it and sprinted toward the door, using the key to unlock it. The house was dim and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Her heart raced as she took in the scene before her. Immediately to the right was what Josie assumed was a living room although now it looked like a tornado had blown through. Furniture was upended; lamps broken and tossed to the floor; magazines and mail torn and discarded; a television with a cracked screen lay on the living room carpet. Beyond that was a dining room, judging by the table and chairs, although the table was askew, two of the chairs had been overturned and what looked like a large china cabinet had fallen on its face.

The faint sound Josie thought she had heard outside came again, making her jump. Her service weapon was in her hand, her eyes searching everywhere. “Mr. Butler,” she called.

This time, she registered it as a man’s raspy voice, trying to call out. Her feet carried her deeper into the dining room and that was when she saw a pair of feet covered in tan moccasin slippers protruding from beneath the china cabinet. “Mr. Butler!” she cried.

Holstering her gun she bent at the knees and cupped her palms beneath the edge of one side. It was heavy, far heavier than she had anticipated. Josie was sure she wouldn’t be able to lift it by herself. But then came the sound of that pitiful gasping voice, begging her for help. Adrenaline shot through her, and a cry tore from her throat as she lifted the china cabinet from the ground. The sound of glass breaking shattered the silence of the house as Earl’s dinnerware scattered across the floor. Once Josie righted the large piece of furniture, she looked down to see him on his back, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a flannel shirt. His hair was gray and thinning and white stubble dotted his ashen face. His lips were almost blue. Josie knelt beside him and felt his pulse while she took out her phone and dialed 911.

“Mr. Butler,” she said. “My name is Josie Quinn. I’m a detective from Denton. I’m going to get you help. Just hang in there.”