One Grave Too Many

said Diane.
    Whit grinned and led the way through the thick brush. The trail was interrupted by a large gully about fifteen feet deep with a stream flowing in the bottom.
    “There used to be a earth bridge and culvert here,” said Whit, “but it got washed away last spring.”
    “How do we get across?” asked the sheriff.
    “There’s an easier way down the bank down yonder.”
    As they were discussing the easiest way to descend to the bottom, Diane scrutinized the walls of the ravine. It was solid rock face with jagged cracks caused by roots and weather. She positioned her pack on her back, stooped down and eased herself over the side and climbed down using the cracks in the rock face for hand-and footholds. She was crossing the narrow creek when they noticed her. Frank and Whit looked at Diane then at each other with that “now we have to do what she did or look like a wimp” look.
    “Which way did you say is easier?” asked the sheriff.
    “Down the bank about a hundred yards. There’s a kind of path down to the bottom,” said Whit before he and Frank began climbing down the side.
    As they were descending, Diane started up the other side. This side wasn’t a rock face like the other, but there were large boulders and rocks weathering out of the surface. She climbed, testing each rock before she put her full weight on it, pulling herself up. On top she waited for Whit and Frank. When they reached the top she held out a hand to help each of them up on the bank.
    “You do that real well,” said Whit.
    “Thanks.” It was an easy climb, but from their panting, she decided not to mention it.
    “She explores caves and does some rock climbing,” said Frank, dusting off his hands.
    “A woman of adventure. You dating anyone?”
    “Yes, she is,” said Frank.
    Whit laughed. “I may give you some competition. By the way, why do you think there’s a body here?”
    Diane explained to him about the clavicle Frank got from George and her analysis of it.
    “And that led you here? Amazing.”
    “That and the item in the paper about your trespasser,” said Diane.
    “Adventurous and clever too. You’re definitely going to have some competition, Frank.” He slapped him on the shoulder.
    The sheriff made his way around to them, wheezing and breathing hard. “I sure hope we find a body. I’d hate to come all this way for nothing.”
    “It’s just a short ways now,” said Whit. He led them through more undergrowth to a depression that was once a small gully. It was now covered with leaves and detritus. Protruding from the ground here and there were the unmistakable shapes of bones.
    “Here it is,” said Whit. “Dad used to dump his carcasses here. He plugged up that narrow end with stumps and branches from where he’d cleared a pasture so the carcasses wouldn’t wash into the big creek. He was a little sloppy about covering them up, but hell, it’s out of the way.”
    “I can see where someone might have thought it would be a good place to hide a body,” said the sheriff. “But weren’t they taking a risk that your father would see a body when he threw more carcasses in?”
    “Sometimes Dad would throw a little dirt over them, especially in the summer. Maybe that’s what they did—if there’s a body here.”
    Diane stepped carefully around the depression, inspecting the ground as the men discussed the relative merits of hiding a body one place or another. Another mass grave. She’d vowed never to dig another one. The side of a deer skull showed partially through the dirt and leaves. Not human. This was not a mass grave for humans. Though she had a hard time understanding how anyone could shoot a beautiful, healthy animal. . . . On the other hand, she did enjoy fishing. Her brain was hopping from one thing to another—trying to deal with the prospect of excavating a mass grave.
    “What’s your opinion, Doc?” said the sheriff.
    Diane stood and looked over at them, surprised at how she had completely tuned out their conversation. “I’m sorry, what are you asking?”
    “Where do you think is the best place to get rid of a body? Whit thinks this place, Frank votes for the foundation of a building, I say a wood chipper.”
    “In a pigpen,” she said. “Pigs eat everything, including the bones.”

Chapter 23
    Diane stooped down and took a small crime-scene evidence flag from her pack and stuck it into the ground.
    The three men stood staring at the flag for a moment.
    “Mr.