Page 70 of Three Steps Behind

They arrived at the crematorium, and the owner, Daniel Paine, greeted them at the door. In his mid-forties, he possessed a calming voice and thoughtful gaze. Not what Harper expected, but she supposed it made sense. Deaths of loved ones required compassion.

“I’m Harper Grace. I’m a forensic botanist with the FBI, and this is Private Investigator Deckard MacLeod.”

“Well, color me intrigued,” Daniel said. “Never had that combination before.”

“We’re investigating a case that may involve one of your cremations,” Deck said, holding up his badge for confirmation.

“All right. Let’s step into my office.” Daniel led them down a dark hallway. The air was cold, but the smell of flames lingered. It was enough to snake a shiver down her spine.

Daniel’s office was dark navy with thick white trim and rich gray carpet, which lent an air of sophistication to the room. And given the blazer and dress pants the man wore, it appeared to suit him.

“Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two burgundy armchairs opposite the desk.

Harper rocked forward, barely containing herself in the seat. “Thank you for seeing us today.”

“You said this was about one of our cremations?”

“Yes, sir.” She handed over the coin in the evidence bag. “Could you tell us if you recognize it?”

“Of course. I do.”

“You do?” This was almost too easy.

“No offense,” Deck said, rubbing his thighs, “but how can you tell so quickly?”

“As you can see, or perhaps through the plastic bag you can’t, we use a special two-layer engraving. It separates ours from the rest. At least in our area of the world.”

“I’m hoping you can tell us whose it is by the numbers.” Harper nearly crossed her fingers.

“Let’s see,” he said, smoothing the bag out enough to make the digits readable. “I’ll just type this into our database and . . . there we go. CR980001002 belongs to Taylor Jackson.”

Harper slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. “So it was her.” Fury flared inside, but she kept it in check—as close as she could manage. “How could he do that? How could any human being do that?”

“May I ask what happened?” Daniel said. “I understand once the deceased leaves here they are no longer under my domain, but I can’t help but want to know. Where did you find this coin?”

Harper exhaled and briefly explained the situation while Deck stood and paced the back of the room.

“I’d file charges for desecration of remains, if it were me.”

Deck sat on the edge of the credenza. “Can they still be desecrated when the remains have been cremated?”

“Oh yes. Desecration refers to treating human remains with disrespect for the person and their family. That could be disposing of the remains improperly or mishandling them, either unintentionally or, worse, doing it on purpose, as sounds like the case in this situation.”

“Guess we should mention that when we head in to see the sheriff,” she said. Thankfully, he was their next stop.

Nick’s actions were looking far more like disrespect, anger, and guilt—not grief.

Twenty-Eight

BRISTOL ENTERED Spatina on Dalton’s arm. Phone lines rang at the hostess desk while a woman Bristol didn’t recognize led guests to their tables, handing them menus and introducing them to the servers.

Bristol frowned. “What happened to Beth?”

Dalton’s hand reached across her back, rubbing her shoulder. “She left with her boyfriend for another state. Montana . . . Missouri? One of the M states. But Holly is wonderful,” he added as the hostess returned to her station.

“Mr. Dalton, so good to see you again.”

The phones trilled on, but she didn’t take her gaze off Dalton. “Can I show you to your regular table?”