9ddba8405c712dc705f6095a3ea49417

Odelia was at the office of theGazette, talking to her editor. She’d flung herself down on the leather couch he kept in his office for visitors, and was staring up at the ceiling while Dan had gone in search of something in theGazette’s archives. The skeleton had carefully been exhumed by the county coroner’s people and shipped off to the lab for examination. As soon as they knew more they’d call Alec. Meanwhile Odelia, who wasn’t accustomed to waiting around, decided to dig a little deeper into the history of the house her parents inhabited, and come up with a clue to the dead person’s identity that way.

“Here we are,” said Dan as he returned, carrying a thick book with bundled old copies of the newspaper he’d founded.

“Shouldn’t you digitize the entire archive, Dan?” asked Odelia not for the first time.

“Yes, I probably should,” he said. “And maybe once I retire I will. But for now I have too much work putting out fresh copies each and every week and so do you, my dear.”

He placed the thick collection on top of the pile of papers on his desk.

Odelia had gotten up and frowned as she stared at what looked like a copy of theGazette from the stone ages, judging from the quality of the paper, yellowed and old.

“What am I looking at?” she asked, her eyes drawn to an article about the biggest pumpkin ever to be harvested in Hampton Cove history.

“This,” said Dan, tapping a finger on an article in the bottom right corner.

‘Local Man Missing,’ the headline read. As she scanned through the article, her excitement grew with leaps and bounds. “Boyd Baker—Harrington Street 46. That’s him!”

“I thought so,” said Dan with a grin. “I keep a list of Missing Persons, and there he was, our Mr. Boyd Baker, disappeared exactly fifty-five years ago.”

Odelia quickly read through the article. Boyd Baker had worked for Courtyard Living, a local landscaping company, and hadn’t returned home from work one day. His wife Phyllis had reported him missing, and the police vowed they’d do everything to find him.

“I remember Boyd Baker,” said Dan. “Even though I was only a kid back then.”

“A kid who published a newspaper.”

“Well, yes, I did,” he said modestly.

“So what was he like, this Boyd Baker?”

“A big man. Very impressive. Though I mainly remember his wife Phyllis. She worked at the pharmacy. Very sweet woman. And Rita, of course. She was quite the stunner. Too old for me, of course, but a boy can dream.” A little color had seeped into his cheeks.

“She used to babysit me,” said Odelia. “The ideal babysitter, too. I loved our evenings.”

“I wish she’d been my babysitter.”

Odelia smiled.“I take it nothing ever happened between you and Rita Baker?”

“Nope. That’s the way it goes with these boyhood crushes.”

“I wonder what happened to Phyllis Baker. When my parents bought the house it was because she was moving into a nursing home. She was eighty and this was twenty-five years ago. So she would now be…”

“Not among us anymore, I guess.”

“No, probably not. Though Rita will still be alive, and her brother. I bought the house on Harrington Street five years ago, and Rita even helped me with the move, so…”

“I still see Rita from time to time. She lives in one of those new apartments on Grover Street now. She’s your grandma’s age.”

“You’re no spring chicken yourself, Dan,” said Odelia with a grin.

“Don’t remind me, young lady. You know what they say: you’re only as old as you feel, and I still feel a fit fifteen most of the time, a dirty thirty on my bad days.”

“I didn’t know you had bad days.”

“I try to skip over them.”

She studied the picture of the man in whose house her parents now lived, and thought he looked bluff and hearty, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She didn’t remember Rita ever talking about her dad much. Time to have a little chat now.

“I think it’s him,” she said finally. “I think this is the man we found in the basement.”

“If that’s your first instinct, he’s your guy. You know what I’ve always told you.”

“Always to follow my hunches.” And to Dan’s credit, he was right. Odelia’s hunches often led her in the right direction, even if at first they seemed outrageous or even crazy.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Dan. “This story about the skeleton being your grandfather. Town gossip?”

“What? Of course town gossip. Grandpa died of a heart attack, and is buried in Saint-John’s cemetery.” She stared at her editor, who pursed his lips. “I don’t believe this.”

“Well, you know what this town is like, Odelia. Tongues are wagging so fast it’s a miracle no sprains have been reported yet.”

“So that’s the consensus? That because my grandmother lives in that house it has to be her late husband?”

“Whom she killed with an ax and then buried in the basement. Yeah, that seems to be the gist. Five people already stopped me in the street to tell me all about it.”