“It’s not illegal,” Timothy said.
“No, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t going to judge. The other women in the department are going to have a field day with it,” she sighed.
“Let them,” he said. “Let them say whatever they want. It’s not up to them. We’re both adults, right?”
She looked into his eyes and gave a short laugh. “Yes. You can say that.”
“Then they can’t say anything about it. But maybe we won’t have to get to that point,” he said. “Maybe she’ll take it well, and we’ll be able to keep going exactly the way we are and figure this out on our own time. She graduates at the end of next semester. Maybe she’ll be willing to just accept it and not cause any trouble.”
“You are endlessly optimistic,” she said.
“It hasn’t failed me so far,” he said.
“Speaking of which,” Eleanor said, “you didn’t come to that study session I set up. You’re the one who asked me to open up a study group. I expected you to be a part of it.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I got bogged down with end of semester papers, and by the time I came up for air, it was already too late. I won’t miss the next one.”
“Make sure you don’t,” she said.
They dropped each other’s hands and jumped at the sound of the door opening at the top of the lecture hall. Timothy looked up, something close to nervousness coming over him. He hoped it wasn’t Julia coming back into the classroom. He was relieved when a shock of bright blue hair came down the steps.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
Eleanor shook her head and gave a bright smile. “Not interrupting at all. Just discussing end-of-term stuff. What can I do to help you, Tracie?”
“I just had a question about the final. I think I did well on it, but now I started second-guessing myself on an entire section and I’m worried,” the girl said.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ve earned exemplary grades the entire semester. You know this stuff. You were tutoring some of your classmates,” Eleanor said.
Timothy gathered a stack of papers from the podium and tucked them down into his messenger bag.
“I’m going to go ahead and go,” he said. “I need to get to my next class.”
“Absolutely,” Eleanor said. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
He nodded and started up the steps. Behind him, he could hear the student continuing to plead for validation and reassurance.
“Alright,” Eleanor finally said. “I can tell this is really going to bother you, so let’s talk about it. Tell me what section is getting to you, and we’ll go over it together.”
Tracie let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Professor Murillo.”
Chapter Fifteen Now
“Nope, nothing that indicates any of these people died within the last century, much less the last few years,” I say.
I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I gather up the papers strewn across my desk and try to collate them into something sensible enough to fit into a manila envelope.
“Seriously?” Eric asks. “They’re all that old?”
“Yep,” I say. “So, I looked into his claims a bit more. The property he owns in North Carolina has changed hands a bunch of times, and there is no indication there has ever been a burial there that would fit in with this timeline. Unless, of course, there are a bunch of unmarked graves, and then that’s a whole other situation. But I looked a little further. He was hired to clear some trees off a property a few months ago and was told not to disturb any old buildings or cemeteries.”
“Why would somebody put that in an agreement with a tree service?” Eric asks.
“Well, the property was actually a combination of several pieces of land. Some of them were developed farmland and others were just stretches of woods. Apparently, there are some remnants of very old houses on some of the far corners of the land. The owner hadn’t been out there in a long time but remembered as a child being told that there were some graves from people who had a farm out there a couple hundred years ago. She wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be damaged when the land was cleared,” I say.
“Unfortunately for her, she didn’t take into account the percentage of the lumber sales the man caught for actually chopping the trees down. He didn’t want to take time to avoid the graves and miss out on the trees around them, so he just leveled it down, scooped up the bones he found, and called it a day. Essentially, he’s guilty of desecration and being an asshole, but not of murdering anybody.”
“Why would he carry the bones around with him? He moved to a different state and still had the bones,” Eric says.
I slip the file into a drawer beside me and stand. Heading into the front of my house, I look for my keys. It’s a less-than-simple undertaking, considering Sam was the last one who had them.
“I don’t know. People do strange things when they either feel guilty about something or are trying to save their asses. Remember that woman who suffocated her baby after it was born, wrapped it up, put it in a suitcase, and carried it around with her for the next thirty years? She even added a second one somewhere along the line.”
My keys aren’t on the side table in the living room. Or on the kitchen table. Or hanging from the little hook at the side of the door that was installed precisely for the purpose of holding them. I let out an exasperated sigh. “Where the hell are they?”
“Did the woman lose them?” Eric asks. “Was that a dramatic reenactment?”
“No,” I tell him. “I can’t find my keys. Sam decided my car needed an oil change and the tires rotated after driving around so much, so he took it and now I can’t
