Cavanaugh Cold Case. Marie Ferrarella

went clear down to the bone.

      “So you’re not digging any more?” Malloy asked the CSI agents.

      “Nothing left to dig,” O’Shea replied. “Not unless we want our heads handed to us by that maniacal nursery owner, Harrison, because we’re burrowing under his greenhouses and destroying those butt-ugly plants that the guy’s got everywhere for no reason. We finished digging up the perimeter.”

      “You do realize that there might be more bodies on the property,” Malloy pointed out, turning toward the men. “It’s probably less likely,” he allowed, “but there is still that possibility.”

      “We realize, Detective,” Reynolds replied with a hint of annoyance. “We didn’t just start working crime scene investigations yesterday.”

      “Good to know,” Malloy replied matter-of-factly. “So, what’s the plan?”

      “Come morning,” O’Shea answered, “we’re going to use the GPR—the ground penetrating radar machine that X-rays what’s beneath the surface,” he explained for Malloy’s benefit, “so if there are any more bones buried somewhere on the property, we’ll know where to dig.”

      Malloy looked at the two men, surprised. He knew from conversations around Andrew’s table that department funds were tight. “When did CSI get that?”

      “It took a bit of juggling,” Sean Cavanaugh said, answering his nephew’s question as he walked into the morgue’s exam room, “but I managed to appropriate the funds for it six months ago.” He nodded at Kristin as he continued talking to Malloy. “The last annual fund-raiser we had, after the department finished funding its usual widows and orphans charities, the rest of the money was allotted for new materials for the crime scene investigation lab.” He looked rather pleased as he added, “I thought this was a good way to utilize the money. This way, manpower isn’t needlessly wasted.

      “Once the boys sweep the property,” he concluded, this time addressing his words to Kristin as O’Shea and Reynolds left the morgue, “we’ll know if there are any more bodies to put together and identify.” He looked at the different tables. “You’ve been busy.” There was admiration in his voice. “How are you doing?” Sean asked her.

      She smiled ruefully at the table she was next to. It contained the body she was presently trying to reconstruct. “Not exactly like the jigsaw puzzles I used to love putting together as a kid, but I think it’s coming along.”

      It was obvious that Sean was pleased with the progress her efforts were making.

      “If anyone can do this,” he told her, “you can.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the lab. Call me if you need anything,” he told her, then added, “Good job,” just before withdrawing.

      Kristin turned back to her work and saw that, unlike the others who had come in, Malloy was still in the room. “Wouldn’t that be your cue to leave, too?” she asked. By her count, he’d started to leave at least three times. Why was he still here?

      Something she’d said to his uncle had caught his attention, and he wanted to ask her about it. “You worked jigsaw puzzles as a kid, too?”

      Too.

      The word was a warning. She gazed at him warily, wondering where he was heading with this. Was he going to turn this around somehow and use this to his advantage?

      Instead of answering his question—a question she knew that he obviously had the answer to—she stated defensively, “That doesn’t bond us.”

      “No,” he agreed. “But it does give us something in common.” He moved closer to her, not to crowd her but to get a better view of the various bones that were spread out on the exam table in front of her. “Want any help?”

      Kristin scrutinized him, trying to determine if he was being serious. “You’re joking.”

      He raised his eyes to hers. “Not at the moment.”

      Rather than tell him outright what she thought of his offer, she pointed out the obvious. “You don’t have a medical degree.”

      His shrug was dismissive. “I have an excellent working knowledge of anatomy, and from what I’ve read, you actually don’t need a medical degree to do this kind of work. It’s preferred, of course, but smaller towns make do with laypeople as long as they’re familiar with that old song.”

      “Song?” she questioned. “What old song?” What the hell was this self-centered, conceited man going on about?

      “You know the one,” he told her, trying to coax the title out of her.

      She had no time for games. “No, I don’t,” she told him sharply. “If I did, I wouldn’t be wasting my breath, asking you, now would I?”

      Rather than tell her the name of the song, he took her totally by surprise and began to sing it. “The leg bone’s connected to the knee bone, the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone...”

      Was he crazy? If he wasn’t, he was a completely loose canon. Either way, she wanted him out of her morgue. He was just too utterly distracting.

      “Stop,” Kristin cried, holding up her hand to reinforce her point.

      Abruptly ending the song, he looked at her with complete innocence. “Something wrong?”

      “You’re actually going to sing that to me?” she asked incredulously.

      “Sounds better than just saying it,” he told her. “And anyway, it was written as a song, so I just thought I’d get the point across better if I sang it to you. I was told I have a decent singing voice,” he added as if that might make her reconsider letting him finish the tune.

      “Then go sing to whoever told you that.” She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together. “You’re giving me a headache, Cavanaugh, and I need peace and quiet to concentrate.”

      “What part of ‘peace and quiet’ does that country and western song fit into?” he asked, indicating the music that was being piped in. “The peace, or the quiet?” His expression was the face of innocence—annoyingly so.

      She blew out a breath and, with it, just possibly the last of her patience. “I just like listening to it. It reminds me of my dad—and why am I bothering to explain myself to you, anyway?” Kristin demanded, stunned as she realized what she was doing.

      “Because that’s how people get to know each other,” Malloy said simply.

      This was getting really out of hand now, and good-looking or not, this arrogant SOB was wasting far too much of her time.

      “We’re not supposed to get to know each other, Cavanaugh. We’re just supposed to work together on this case—for now,” she emphasized.

      “Friends work together better than strangers,” Malloy told her.

      That did it. Kristin glared at him, biting back choice phrases. Keep it professional, Kris. Keep it professional, she told herself.

      “I have enough friends.” The statement was delivered through gritted teeth.

      “I don’t,” Malloy countered, then added, “You can never get enough of a good thing, don’t you agree?”

      “Ordinarily, yes,” she replied icily. “But not in your case.”

      Rather than take the cue she was so blatantly giving him, Malloy grinned, humor sparkling in his eyes. “I’m wearing you down, aren’t I?”

      “What you’re doing,” she retorted, “is wearing me out.”

      His grin just grew broader. “Same difference in the long run,” he assured her. Then, before she could resort to anything drastic, he left the room, promising, “I’ll get back to you.”

      He heard her release a guttural sound that amounted to a stifled