My phone buzzed. It was Diggery.
“I hope I’m not calling too early,” he said, “but Snacker and me thought of another shallow grave we knew about. We’ve got it dug up if you want to come take a look. The person in question is about the right size and he’s got a knife and a fork. We couldn’t find a spoon.”
I cut my eyes to Ranger and found him smiling.
“Sure,” I said to Diggery. “Where are you?”
“Snacker and me are in a patch of woods off Whitle Road. You’ll see my truck at the roadside and then you have to follow the path. The grave isn’t that far along. When you’re in a hurry to bury someone, you don’t want to carry the body any farther than necessary.”
“Where’s Whitle Road?”
“It’s right next to Greenhill Cemetery. There’s a number of shallow graves here, mostly for people who couldn’t afford the cemetery. Not especially good for my line of work, but once in a while you get lucky, and it’s a lot easier digging than in a legitimate burial ground.”
“I’m about forty minutes away.”
I put my phone down and stood. “Are you riding with me?” I asked Ranger.
“Wouldn’t want to miss this one. I haven’t seen a decayed body all week.”
I changed into jeans and a T-shirt and hooked Bob onto his leash, and we all went downstairs. Greenhill Cemetery was north of the city between Trenton-Mercer Airport and Washington Crossing State Park. It seemed like a long drive to make with a bleeding body in your trunk, but it was an impulsive shooting, and Plover probably didn’t have time to do a lot of research on shallow grave sites. Or hell, what do I know. Maybe he dumped all his dead bodies there. The woods on Whitle Road could have been filled with his disgruntled customers.
Ranger had no problem finding Whitle Road. It was a service road in a forested greenbelt that ran alongside the cemetery. No houses or businesses, just offshoots into the cemetery. We saw Diggery’s truck after a half mile.
Ranger parked and we followed a path of tramped-down grass and shrubs that I suspected was only used by clandestine burial parties and grave robbers. Bob gave a single bark when he saw Diggery.
“Howdy,” Diggery said. “I see Bob remembers me. I have a natural way with animals.”
I thought it might have something to do with the way he smelled, but I kept that to myself.
“This here’s the grave,” Diggery said. “Do you think this could be your man? As you can see there’s cutlery sticking out of his pocket. He might have had a cross necklace too, but it isn’t here now. There were signs that the deceased had been previously disturbed.”
“He looks short,” I said.
“I told you he was short,” Snacker said to Diggery.
“Sometimes it’s the way they go into the ground,” Diggery said. “Things get smushed together. Are you sure he’s not the one?”
“His hands are intact, and I don’t see a spider tattoo,” I said.
“I guess that could be a game changer,” Diggery said. “We had some time while we were waiting for you, so we dug up another body. We’ve gone high-tech. We’re using a metal detector, and we got a hit farther down the path.”
Oh boy.
Ranger, Bob, and I followed Diggery to the second grave.
“This looks like a woman,” I said, staring into the pit.
“You never know these days,” Diggery said. “She’s a big one. And she’s wearing a cross, so it might be worth considering.”
“How do you know about all these grave sites?” I asked Diggery.
“Word gets around,” Diggery said. “It’s a small community of us interested in relieving the dead of encumbrances they had in life.”
Snacker nodded. “Nicely put, cuz.”
“I’m afraid neither of these deceased are the one we’re looking for,” I said to Diggery.
“Yeah, I was worried about that,” Diggery said. “We’ll keep digging. We got some other possibilities. Some of the ones we got left we have to do at night. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”
“No problem for me,” I said.
We got back to the SUV and Ranger pulled me close and kissed me.
“What’s that about?” I asked him.
“If you have to ask, you don’t deserve to know,” Ranger said.
The man of mystery strikes again.
* * *
I dropped Ranger off at Rangeman, and I went to the office. Connie was working at her desk, and Lula was on the couch, looking depressed.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “The bakery run out of doughnuts?”
“I ate all the doughnuts,” Lula said. “In spite of my apartment-decorating responsibilities, I’m mildly depressed, so I’m eating to achieve happiness. If this keeps up, I’m not going to fit into any of my new clothes.”
“You never fit in your clothes,” Connie said.
“Yeah, but that’s by design,” Lula said. “It’s my persona. That’s different from being lumpy.” She looked over at me. “Anything new?”
“Diggery had a couple more bodies to look at. Neither of them were Stump.”
“Gee, sorry I missed that,” Lula said.
“I’m sure,” I said. “Did Grendel make any more appearances?”
“No,” Lula said. “The only zombie in your apartment is Nutsy. I’ve got a contractor coming to my place this morning to give me an estimate. My landlord is paying for repairs. She’s got insurance on the building, and I had insurance on my furnishings, so I should be okay. I just have to keep the rebuilding expenses down to something reasonable. Maybe you could come with me in case Grendel shows up.”
“Sure. What time?”
“Just about now. I was getting ready to leave when you walked in. He isn’t exactly a contractor. He’s more a handyman who works for people who can’t afford a contractor. He helped turn my bedroom into a closet.”
“Sounds like a good contact,” I said.
“You bet your behind,” Lula said.
* * *
The handyman was already on site when Lula and I arrived at her apartment house.
“There he is,” Lula said. “That’s Julio.”
Julio was built like a fireplug. He was in his fifties with weathered skin and a leather tool belt to match. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. His truck had seen better days.
“It’s important to check out a person’s truck before you hire them,” Lula said. “You never want to hire someone with a new truck. It’s a sign that they don’t need the job real bad, and they’re going to overcharge you. Julio’s truck has just the right amount of rust. Not so much that he looks like a failure, but enough to tell you he’s a hardworking man. Either that or he spends his money on beer and dope instead of getting a new truck, but I haven’t seen any evidence of that.”
We walked through Lula’s rooms and Julio took a couple pictures with his cell phone.
“The bad part is that everything on the surface is pretty much charred,” he said. “Kitchen gone. Closet gone. Bathroom gone. Living area gone. The good part is the structure seems okay. Like, it isn’t as if the house is falling down. And when we fix things up, we can do it better than it was. I can give you a little kitchen. There’s not a lot of room here, but maybe we can section things off to give you a space for a bed.”