isembarking the Charleston-Morris ferry, we raced to our homes to change. The temperature and humidity were cranking again, and I looked forward to sliding into a T-shirt and shorts. Besides, ties and blazers aren’t haute couture for digging up graves.

By the time the gang regrouped on the common, Mr. Blue’s ferry was fast disappearing across the harbor. Coast clear. We hopped into Sewee and headed to Loggerhead.

The tide was out, so we couldn’t take the shortcut through the sandbars. That added fifteen minutes, but Ben wouldn’t risk grounding the boat. Not after his mishap in Schooner Creek.

Today we anchored off Dead Cat Beach. Shelton’s idea. A western landing put us closer to Y-7’s clearing. Equally important, we avoided any potential encounter with Karsten at the main dock.

I waded ashore, canvas duffel balanced on my shoulders. My second gift from Aunt Tempe. Admittedly, excavation tools are a peculiar present to a newfound niece. But my aunt, by all accounts, is a peculiar woman.

The gift scored a direct hit with me. Tempe seemed to get me without even trying. Better than Kit, that’s for sure.

Once on land, we hunted for the main trail exiting Dead Cat. The boys were being helpful, carrying the buckets and other bulky gear. But I detected an undercurrent of impatience. They didn’t want to be on Loggerhead, were taking me largely on faith.

At school I’d laid out my theory, referencing the satellite photos. The guys granted that I wasn’t crazy, but I suspected they were mainly humoring me. Fair enough. They came. That’s what mattered.

“There,” was all Ben said before disappearing into the trees. We hurried to follow him onto the path.

Minutes later we located the smaller, north-bearing trail. We hiked in silence through dense forest until spotting the clearing. Y-7 and her troop were nowhere in sight.

From the field’s edge, the signs that had roused my suspicions were barely noticeable. The ground slump, visible as a subtle shadow in the center of the clearing, was no more than six feet in diameter. Small wonder it hadn’t registered on our first visit.

Moving close to the depression, I saw other indicators of decomposition. The vegetation was thicker and composed of multiple plant species. The rest of the clearing was nothing but grass. Some leaves appeared more waxy than normal.

“I wish we had a cadaver dog,” I said.

“A what?” Shelton asked.

“A dog trained to alert on the smell of human decomposition. Some body dogs are expert at locating skeletons, even really old ones.”

“Gross,” Ben said.

“While you’re at it, wish for ground penetrating radar, surface probes, and a metal detector,” said Hi. “Back order on those toys, too.”

“Then we do it old school.” Shelton flexed one twig arm. “Manpower!”

I examined the depression to determine how big our excavation needed to be. Then, after a visual scan, I removed all surface debris from a ten-foot square.

Next, I created a simple grid by pounding four wooden stakes into the ground and running string between them, forming an outer perimeter. After unfolding a portable sifting screen, I pulled collapsible shovels from my bag and handed them to my reluctant recruits.

“You macho men can offload topsoil into buckets,” I instructed. “I’ll screen. At the first sign of staining we’ll switch to trowels.”

“Staining?” asked Ben.

“Any change in soil color, texture, or composition could mean a body’s nearby. If you spot any discoloration, call out.”

Hi raised a hand.

“Yes?”

“This sucks.”

“Got it. Dig.”

We removed the first eighteen inches in roughly an hour. The guys scooped, I sifted through quarter-inch mesh screening, watching closely for bone fragments, bits of clothing, jewelry, anything not native to the earth.

The conversation went something like this:

“This blows.” Shelton.

“I said that.” Hi.

“You said it sucks.” Shelton.

“Same concept.” Hi. “When can I work the screen?”

I didn’t bother responding.

They shoveled.

I sifted.

Two more hours took us down another two feet. Nothing.

I started to feel foolish. The boys grew crankier.

The heat and humidity weren’t helping. Nor was the fact that a call had gone out to every biting insect native to the Lowcounty. Maybe some outsiders.

I was slapping a mosquito when I heard something odd: silence. Looking up, I confronted three grumpy faces. Interest in excavation had dropped to zero.

Hi spoke first. “I don’t want to bitch, but this isn’t working. Three and a half feet down and we’ve got zilch.”

“There’s nothing here,” Ben said.

“It was a good gamble.” Shelton braced to climb out of the pit. “No shame in that.”

“Fifteen more minutes?” I implored. “Please? I have this gut feeling. We could be close.”

“Fifteen. One-five.” Ben picked up his shovel.

Shrugging, Shelton followed suit.

Hi shot an are you kidding? look my way.

“Hi, switch with me,” I said. “You sift; I’ll dig.”

He nodded and we exchanged places.!!!We’ll go to four feet. That’s it.

As I dug, emotions kaleidoscoped inside me. Relief? Disappointment? Embarrassment?

While a part of me wanted to be right—to show the others I wasn’t insane—another part wasn’t totally unhappy that I’d struck out. Yes, I wanted to solve the mystery of Katherine Heaton. But I had no desire to unearth a murdered human being.

Then I saw it. A dark oval materializing in the soil by my feet.

Switching to a trowel, I dropped to my knees and began slicing thin layers of dirt. The oval darkened. Grew.

More slicing.

Sensing my excitement, Ben and Shelton stopped to watch.

Slice.

Slice.

Tick.

My trowel nicked something solid.

I grabbed a brush and, moving ever so gingerly, swept overlying dirt from the surface of the object.

A musty scent rose from the earth. Ancient. Organic.

A chill traveled my spine.

I brushed gently. Shapes emerged. Tiny cylinders arranged in a familiar pattern.

Heart hammering, I stared.

“Okay, that’s fifteen.” Hiram dropped the bucket he’d been sifting. “I’m bushed.”

Still I stared. So did Ben and Shelton.

“Tory?” Hi ventured. “You upset? No one’s blaming you or anything. If I’d read more about bodies, I might’ve thought the same thing.”

Still I was speechless.

“Hey, Victoria Brennan!” Hi shouted. “What’s what?”

A cloud crossed the sun, casting shadow over the small space in which I knelt. Crickets chirped from hidden places. Sweat glued my shirt to my back.

Nothing penetrated. My mind was locked onto the tiny brown objects before me.

I forced myself to acknowledge the truth.

I’d uncovered the delicate bones of a human hand.