Read Online Buttons and Bones by Monica Ferris - Free Book Online

broke in, it’s possible she killed him in a fight.”
    Jill said, “Maybe she knew him. Maybe he was a neighbor.” It was surprising how often that was true.
    “How awful to think that! I suppose he came by thinking to find a lonely woman looking for adventure. She had to disabuse him of the notion, and he got angry, and during the fight she whacked him on the head with a . . . a frying pan. You know, one of those big cast-iron ones. I’ve always thought one of those things would make a terrific weapon.”
    Betsy and her imagination! Still, “That would explain the skull injuries,” said Jill, nodding.
    Betsy smiled. “Of course, it could’ve been a baseball bat or a hammer—but a frying pan is more interesting, if you know what I mean. We’re just letting our imaginations run free, right? I can see it happening at dinnertime, when she was in the kitchen cooking a meal.”
    “So why didn’t she call the cops on him after she laid him out?”
    Betsy sobered. “Because back in those days rape was a shameful thing, and in court they put the woman on trial as much as the man. Maybe she had seen him in town or while out on a walk and flirted with him.”
    “If what you’re thinking is what happened, it would be more likely he was a stranger, don’t you think? You couldn’t just put a neighbor down in the cellar. He’d be missed.”
    Betsy said, “Yes, you’re right, of course. It was a passing tramp, say, dirty and smelly. She put the body down the cellar, and the next day she ordered a roll of linoleum and sealed the floor. When her husband came home, she told him, and he ordered a second roll of linoleum and nailed it down along the wall with—what did Lars call that piece of wood around the base of the walls? Quarter round. Then they sold the place. Moved far away and left no forwarding address.”
    “That makes sense, I guess.”
    “Sure. That’s why the linoleum was fastened down, to discourage the new owners from pulling it up.”
    “It’s possible Helga never told Matthew, you know, if it was such a shameful thing. Maybe she wrote him a letter saying she just couldn’t bear living out in the woods alone and was selling the place.”
    “Yes. In fact, that sounds more likely. Maybe she knew about quarter round edging on a floor. Or she hired someone to lay it professionally.”
    “Just to show that we’re not speculating too wildly,” noted Jill dryly, “how could we prove any of this?”
    “I don’t think anything can be proved. That’s why we’re letting our imaginations run free. It’s what you do when you don’t have any facts. When you have nothing but a skeleton in the cellar, and two layers of linoleum when the first one didn’t look worn at all.”
    Jill looked thoughtful. “You’re right about the linoleum. Though I thought the bottom pattern was ugly and it’s possible she did, too, after she saw it laid. I painted our bedroom dark blue right after I married Lars, then went out the next day and bought another, lighter, less depressing color. So it’s possible she got buyer’s remorse and bought another pattern and didn’t feel like tearing out the old one before laying the new one.”
    Betsy nodded. The lower layer of linoleum was a too-busy “moderne” pattern of muddy brown and dull green squares, ovals, and circles, while the upper one was a cheerful pattern of pink pebbles and gray stones. Of course, that first pattern might have been fashionable back then. Or were they wrong about when the linoleum was installed?
    “Anyway, it’s not just bones,” said Jill. “There were the buttons. Buttons and bones.”
    “And a badge and a few jars of beans. Could the buttons be significant?”
    Jill shrugged. “Lars said they looked like buttons in a jar his grandmother had.
    Betsy asked, “Did you ever do any canning?”
    “No, but I had an aunt who did. It seemed like an awful lot of work when canned or frozen peas were so cheap. She did it because her mother and