Chapter Seven: Skeleton in the Garden

CHAPTER SEVEN

Skeleton in the Garden

Lunch was set up on the brick courtyard next to the carriage house. Brad laid out a tray of chicken salad sandwiches, strawberry walnut salad, and a ceramic pot of herbal tea on the white iron patio table. Brad wasn’t exactly a culinary genius, but he thought everything looked good.

Neisha sat in one of the matching patio chairs, sipping the tea. Resplendent in white linen pants and a pink top, she closed her eyes and threw her head back to the sun. The day was cool but not cold, the full promise of spring on the breeze.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” she said. “I’ve been cooped up in the museum all morning, and it’s too nice a day not to get out and enjoy it a little.”

“Certainly a great day to be outside soaking up the fresh air,” Brad said, sitting across from her.

“Speaking of soaking up fresh air, who’s the cute white boy you got working in the yard.”

Brad glanced toward the wall that separated the courtyard from the side lawn as if he could see through it. “Oh, that’s Mathew Harm. He’s my new landscaper.”

“Well, he can come dig in my dirt anytime.”

Brad laughed. “I guess you’re comfortable enough around me now to let me see your randy side.”

“I’m just saying I don’t usually go for white boys, but for that one I may make an exception. Those lips are luscious. You gonna tell me you didn’t notice the high yummy quotient?”

“Can’t say that I did,” Brad said, which was the truth. Fact was, he’d found his mind preoccupied with Bias ever since the kiss. The kiss that still lingered on his lips days later. They’d spoken a few times on the phone since then, but hadn’t seen each other. Bias said he had a senior art project he had to complete.

After taking a bite of her sandwich, Neisha said, “This is good.”

“Well, I got it from Whole Foods.”

“Hey, that’s my kind of cooking. The kind where someone else does all the work.”

“I did put it on the bread myself.”

“Then you definitely get points for that.”

They shared a laugh and ate in silence.

“So, how has your first week in Savannah been?” Neisha asked.

“Good. I love it here. I will admit that the crowds get to me sometimes. It’s something you expect when you visit a place like New York, but here it’s almost like a medium-sized town with big city congestion problems.”

“It’s a tradeoff. I mean, the tourists can really jam up the streets here in the downtown area, but it’s also a stunningly beautiful area, which is what, of course, draws all the tourists. But give it a few months. The crowds tend to dwindle at the height of summer. That’s a tradeoff, too. It’ll be so hot you won’t want to leave your house.”

“You should be on the tourism board.”

Neisha, having just taken a sip of tea, laughed and snorted, and started coughing. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Savannah, I just don’t think I could live downtown.”

“So where do you live?”

“My grandmother and I have a place just off Highway 80, out toward Tybee Island.”

“Sounds nice. I keep meaning to get out to Tybee Island, maybe check out Fort Pulaski. Or now that I live here, would that be too touristy?”

“Honey, best thing about being a resident is surrounding yourself with tourists so you can look down your nose at them.”

Now it was Brad’s turn to almost spit tea out of his nose. “You must experience that joy a lot. I’m sure tourists are constantly flooding through the museum.”

“You’d think, but we don’t see anywhere near the volume that the historic homes and ghost tours do. We’d love to expand, but the funds aren’t there. That’s why I’ve spent all morning locked in my office writing grant proposals.”

“Yikes. I’m glad I could rescue you from that. At least for a while.”

Neisha nibbled at the salad then smiled. “Want to hear something funny? The Maverick Center actually put a bid down on this house before you came along and snatched it away from us.”

“So it was you guys. I’d heard a museum had tried to buy the property.”

“Yes, but our offer was admittedly a joke.”

“Why would the Maverick Center want this house anyway?”

“Like I said, we want to expand. And with the property being adjacent to the museum, it seemed to make sense. Plus, there’s the rich history associated with the land. And like I said, historic homes and ghost tours do well, and opening up a home as old as this one with the reputation it has . . . well, it could have been quite lucrative for us.”

“I guess that makes sense. Sorry I ruined it for you.”

“I doubt our offer would have been taken seriously regardless. Although . . . ”

“Although?” Brad prompted when she didn’t continue.

“Okay, don’t be mad, but my bosses would probably have my head on a platter if I didn’t at least broach the subject.”

“What subject?”

“Would you consider selling your house to the Maverick Heritage Center? I mean, we couldn’t offer you anything close to what you paid for the house, and that doesn’t even take into consideration everything you sunk into the renovations, but it’s not exactly like you need the money, right?”

Brad rummaged around in his salad with the fork as if rooting for nuggets of gold. He’d thought talking about money had made him uncomfortable when he had none to speak of, but now that he was financially secure beyond his wildest dreams, he found the subject even more awkward.

“Oh, I do understand why you guys would want this place, but I love this house too much to part with it. It’s not just the money I’ve invested; the house feels like home to me.”

“Say no more,” Neisha said, raising her hands as if in surrender. “I feel like an ass for even bringing it up. Just want to be able to say I tried and you shot me down. Still friends?”

“Of course.” Brad held up his mug and Neisha clinked hers against it.

Something behind Brad caught her eye. “I think the cute white boy wants something.”

Brad glanced over his shoulder to find the landscaper standing at the white lattice gate that led to the veranda. The man shifted from one foot to the other, his face pinched.

“Mathew, if you need the bathroom, just go on in the house. It’s fine, really.”

“No, sir, that’s not it. I, um . . . well, there’s something I think you need to take a look at.”

Brad pushed away from the table and headed over to the landscaper. “Is there a problem?”

Mathew continued to shift his weight and kept glancing back toward the lawn. He rubbed at the stubble on his pointed chin. “You could say that?”

Neisha walked up behind Brad. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I better just show you.”

The three of them walked down the veranda and out into the side yard. Several holes had been dug in the ground, bushes with bagged roots lined up next to three shovels.

“I was about to plant the gardenias,” Mathew said, biting on his plump bottom lip. “My shovel hit on something I thought was a rock at first, until I pried it up.”

Brad and Neisha exchanged a puzzled glance then Brad turned back to the landscaper. “What is it? Buried treasure?”

“No, it’s that.”

Mathew pointed toward an object next to one of the holes. It looked like a jagged stone, gray with clots of dirt still clinging to it. Brad stepped closer, bending over to get a better look . . .

He gasped and backpedaled away when he realized what he was looking at.

It wasn’t intact but rather partial; Brad could make out one eye socket and the nose hole, and on one side it curved down into part of the jaw bone.

A human skull.

U

The click-clack of Brad’s fingers striking the keys filled the office, the sound of a dozen pygmy horses galloping. Every so often, the horses would rest, and Brad would stare at the glowing screen, wringing his hands together and murmuring to himself. Then his hands would dive back down and the galloping recommence.

He’d been working for over two hours now, the story flowing out of him like sweat. Some kind of wall had been torn down, and he was on a real streak.

Ever since his lunch with Bias.

The man had really inspired Brad, reigniting his passion for Disappearing Act. He had lost sight of the fun he used to take in writing, getting bogged down by the stress and pressure of the business side of things. He took Bias’ advice and pushed all that aside, his only goal to entertain himself and have fun with it.

When his cell buzzed on the desktop, he grunted and glanced at the screen. The annoyed expression melted into a smile, however, when he saw Bias’ name.

“Hey stranger,” he said, answering the call even as he saved what he’d written and shut down the laptop.

“Hey yourself. What are you up to?”

“Doing a little writing.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t answer the phone when you were writing unless it was someone you urgently wanted to talk to.”

This rendered Brad momentarily speechless. “I was just finishing up actually. So what are you doing?”

“I’ll be heading out on a tour in a few minutes, just thought I’d give you a buzz.”

Brad pulled the phone away from his face to check the time. “It’s only eight. I thought you did the late night tours.”

“Usually, but one of the other guides got sick, so I’m filling in. The extra cash will be nice.”

“I hear ya,” Brad said, wondering if that made him sound like an ass.

“I should be by your house in about forty-five minutes if you want to stand at the front window and wave. Or better yet, throw a white sheet over yourself and stand there.”

“Sounds fun, but I think I’ll pass.” Brad left the office, heading down the stairs. “Anything eventful happen today?”

“Not really. You?”

“Actually yes. The landscaper dug up a human skull in the side yard.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Sorry, life in Savannah has made me jaded. This isn’t the first time something like that has happened. Actually, it’s not uncommon.”

“Yeah, that’s what the police officer who came by told me.”

“You called the police?”

“Yes. There were human remains on my property; it seemed like the proper thing to do.”

“I know. I’m not making fun of you. It’s probably some poor slave whose remains have worked their way up through the soil over the years.”

“Also the officer’s theory. It feels like I’ve moved to Twin Peaks the way everyone so casually treats a human skull. I mean, Mathew was a little unnerved, but still much more calm than me.”

“Mathew? Who’s that?”

Brad walked down the veranda and let himself out the gate onto the sidewalk, which ran in front of the house, land locked the gate behind him. “He’s the landscaper I hired.”

“Is he cute?”

“Neisha thinks so.”

“What about you? Do you agree with her?”

Letting himself in through the front door, Brad set the alarm. He thought he detected a tone of real jealousy beneath Bias’ joking veneer, and he had to admit that he liked it.

“He’s an attractive guy, but I managed to control my hormones enough that I didn’t rip his clothes off or anything.”

“That’s good to know. I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I wanted to ask if you were free Saturday night.”

Brad had come into the kitchen to make a sandwich, but he paused in front of the open refrigerator. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then it’s possible I’m free.”

“I was thinking we’d have dinner some place nice, maybe the Pink House off Reynolds Square, and then we’d catch a show.”

“What kind of show?” Brad asked. One thing he’d noticed about Savannah was that it had a surprising lack of live theater.

“Harold is performing at Club One.”

“I haven’t been to see a drag show in years,” Brad said, slathering mayo on two slices of wheat bread. “What time does he go on?”

“Around ten.”

“Ten? I’m usually in bed by then.”

“Okay, Grandpa, I promise I’ll have you tucked in bed before midnight. Think you can last that long?”

“I guarantee nothing, but I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask. Now before I go, I have one more question for you?”

“What’s that?”

“Did they let you keep the skull?”

Brad laughed. “No, the officer bagged it up and took it away.”

“Damn, it would have been a great conversation piece to put on the mantel.”

“You’re a sick man, Tobias Silver.”

“Guilty, and that’s why you like me. Now I’m off to scare some tourists. Friday night?”

“Friday night.”

Brad hung up and put the phone on the counter. His sandwich made, he turned back to the fridge to grab the milk when he heard the crash of shattering glass from the front of the house. He let out a startled squeak and jerked, sloshing milk onto the floor.

He stood still, kept silent, waiting to hear if there was any more noise, but the house was quiet. He considered getting a butcher knife out of the block but reminded himself that nine times out of ten when you heard a strange noise in the house, it was nothing.

But what about that tenth time? a voice whispered in his head.

Sometimes an overactive imagination could be a curse.

“Stop being silly,” he said to himself, pushing through into the dining room and out into the hall. He hesitated at the archway into the living room, scanning the area for anything out of place.

He spotted the glass almost right away. The vase that held the fresh daisies had fallen from the table and shattered, water soaking into the carpet. Brad stepped into the room, staring down at the mess. “What the hell could have caused that?” he murmured.

As if in direct answer to his question, Phantom shot out from beneath the sofa and started winding his way between Brad’s legs, rubbing his head against the man’s ankles, purring like the world’s smallest engine.

“You crazy cat, you’re wrecking the place.” Brad bent over to scratch the cat’s head, but Phantom hissed and ran out of the room and down the hall. The cat was getting more comfortable with Brad, but still wouldn’t allow itself to be petted. Trust between a human and an animal took time, of course, but Brad figured he’d soon need to get the animal to the vet for shots. It probably wasn’t the smartest move to allow a stray in the house like this, but he was a sucker for animals. Especially cats with their regal aloofness.

When Brad returned to the kitchen, he found Phantom lapping up the spilled milk. With a smile and a shake of his head, Brad went to pick up his sandwich from the counter and almost stepped on his cell phone, which was lying on the floor.