“Child, you’re supposed to be digging up those potatoes, not staring at them.  We need to get these potatoes dug up before they turn into a potato graveyard.”

“Nanny, are potatoes supposed to look like fingers?”

“Some, yes, but these should be bigger than that.”

“Nanny, this potato doesn’t look ok.”

Nanny placed her hands on her hips and turned to scold her grandson, but stopped the moment she saw what he had in his hands. “Oh my goodness, put that down!”

“Why Nanny?”

“Just drop it now and come over here.”

James didn’t understand his grandmother’s irritation. He’d been digging up the potatoes as she requested; even more confusing to him was the skeleton hand in the dirt.

 “But Nanny, why is it here?”

 “I don’t know, let’s….  we need to get someone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. Just…  we need to get someone.”

Nanny half-dragged James back into the house.  She’d never seen a skeleton before, not in real life anyway, and had no idea who she was supposed to contact. Pulling the boy along with her, she ran to the neighbour. They were a ten-minute walk away and were the only people in the community with an extra horse and buggy. Most were used by the husbands who had gone off to work that morning. 

Nanny stayed at the house while she waited for her neighbour’s son to return with a constable. She then promptly took him to her garden. Along the way, she tried to explain what they had found,

“I…  I…”

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know who we’re supposed to talk to. My grandson just dug up a…  I guess a body?”

“A body? The boy who came to the station wasn’t sure what was going on; he just said there was a hyst…. upset woman.”

“Well… It’s been there for a while; it’s mostly bones now. At least I think it’s a human; it looked like a human hand.”

Okay, ma’am, we’ll take a look. It’s likely just an animal.

There wasn’t a need for a fire. April had come in hotter than it had in any of his sixty-two years, yet Superintendent Sir Windemere insisted that one be lit each morning. He insisted that it was necessary as the weather would turn again.

“How dreadful”, he spat as he sipped his morning tea. “How utterly dreadful.” 

He folded the morning newspaper and tossed it in the armchair next to him, causing it to bounce to the floor. 

Hildy clucked her tongue at his behaviour.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“These newspapers. The things they print. We haven’t even shared any of the information from yesterday’s findings, yet…” he paused before speaking his next thoughts, internally editing, as he was taught. An officer of the law speaks intentionally. “What they printed will only cause hysteria. We don’t really know anything yet.”

Sir Windemere mumbled under his breath. “The potato graveyard,” then speaking louder. “The potato graveyard!”

He leaned back in his chair, took another long sip of his tea, placing the cup noisily onto the saucer, causing Hildy to cluck her tongue once again. 

“Shall I fetch your breakfast, sir?”

“Needn’t bother. I’ll get something at the cafe beside the station.”

Hildy grabbed her skirts and twirled away, ensuring the heavy wool of the fabric hit his chair, huffing as she did. She knew he wouldn’t see her annoyance, but needed the dramatics all the same. It was his food to waste. He could afford it. It would sit just fine in her belly; he wouldn’t know either way. Many mornings, she was spared the porridge she was expected to eat and would devour the eggs and meats she prepared daily for him.

Clack, clack, clack.

Clack, clack, clack, clack.

“Must you do that now, dear?”

“It’s well past breakfast; you should be out the door to work anyhow.” 

“Oh, but can’t I have one morning’s peace?”

“I need to finish this column before 10 am. It’s to be in tomorrow’s edition, and the typesetter needs it today.”

“Alright, alright, Beatrice, if you must! But my dear, could it wait for fifteen more minutes while I finish my coffee and the morning newspaper?” 

Beatrice’s husband, Edgar, snapped the newspaper open again. As he did, she spied the morning headline and chuckled.

Edgar lowered the paper, showing his annoyance. 

“What’s so funny?” 

The headline. The Potato Graveyard. A funny thing to call a murder scene. 

“Alleged murder. I’m certain the Superintendent wouldn’t appreciate your assumptions.” 

“Oh, of course, dear Edgar. We wouldn’t want to upset your dear old Superintendent,” Beatrice snickered again and returned to the pile of paper she had already typed. If she had to wait to type, she could at least proofread what she had already written. 

Edgar let out a deep sigh, then returned to his paper. He knew this would be the only peace he’d have all day. Once he got to the station, all hell would have already started. The mayor was on the Superintendent like ants to sweetwater, and in turn, the Superintendent was riding him. It was the third murder in less than six months, and they still weren’t any further ahead. It seems this one was more violent, the victim dying from a possible blow to the head with a hatchet. He wondered if they would also find poison in the report. He shook the paper once again, then turned to the weather. At least a prediction of decent weather would cheer him up.

Beatrice began to stir impatiently in her writing chair, its wheels squeaking each time she moved. Edgar put the paper down on his lap and sighed again. 

“Alright, dear, you can continue typing. I’d better make my way to the station. Get ahead of the new game that I’m sure I will find myself in charge of.”

“Maybe you will get a little closer to solving it today. I wonder if the skeleton is part of it all?”

“Possibly. What is the recipe you are working on for the column?”

“Blood pudding. It’s been requested a lot of late.”

“An odd thing to request.”

“Is it, considering the news of late?”

“Oh my Beatrice darling, your sense of humour is quite dark sometimes.” 

“But my dear, isn’t it why you married me?”

“Hmm, blood pudding. Such an odd request.”

“Where are my constables? I need my updated reports now!” Superintendent Sir Windemere was barely through the threshold when he had already started barking out orders. “Where is Inspector McTavish. Who’s seen him? I need him in my office now!”

Constables scattered as he parted them like water. Some are afraid to make eye contact with him.

Inspector McTavish walked through the main doors of the station, saw the back of Superintendent Sir Windemere, and snuck to the back hall and quietly made his way to the Superintendent’s office. He proceeded to make himself comfortable in one of the high-back wooden chairs in front of the large oak desk. He pulled out his notebook and pretended to make notes, forcibly keeping his composure as the thundering of the Superintendent’s steps drew closer.

“GET THE INSPECTOR FOR ME NOW!”

The Superintendent swung his office door open, then stopped dead in his tracks. Inspector McTavish slowly turned in his chair to greet him. “Good morning, Sir.”

The Superintendent grunted and made his way around to the other side of his desk and sat down. 

“Did you see this morning’s edition?”

“I did,”

“I want you on this case.”

“Wouldn’t…”

“Not today, McTavish. I won’t be putting a different Inspector on this; I need your experience.”
“Sir…”

“Do NOT try my patience. All we need is a fourth murder added to the others. I want you to investigate this, and it had better be a separate murder.”
“Sir, wouldn’t that, in fact, make it sound worse that we have a new murder separate from the three we are already investigating?”

The Superintendent waved for the Inspector to leave his office.

“Sir. I’ve left a written update in the folder on your desk.”

“Just go. Find out who that bag of bones belongs to.”

The Inspector made haste to get to the potato field. He grumbled under his breath, catching himself when he thought one of the constables might have heard him. He was already overwhelmed with the current murders. How was he going to achieve a successful outcome if the Superintendent continued to assign him more duties and even more confusing cases? 

He stood over the area where the hand had been found. It doesn’t make sense to him. How did the body get there? The land where the potatoes were growing had not been disturbed until that morning. It was also a shallow grave. Would they not have disturbed it when they were tilling the soil? He called one of the constables over and asked if there was a graveyard nearby. There had recently been quite a bit of rain, causing flooding, and he had wondered if maybe some of the graves had shifted. The constable looked at him, wondering if he’d been joking. “Sir, I doubt it. He’d still be in a coffin, wouldn’t he?” Shaking his head in puzzlement, the constable returned to his post.

Deep in his thoughts, the Inspector was slightly jolted when someone loudly cleared their throat behind him. He slowly turned around to be greeted by the city’s coroner and two men with shovels. 

“What have we here?” asked Doctor Lewis.

“Sir. I’ve only just arrived on the scene. The discovery is a hand that is missing its flesh. Otherwise, we were waiting for you to arrive.”

“Good, very good. If you could clear your men away. We are going to exhume the remains.”

“Of course.”

Inspector McTavish began to walk back towards the grassy area when the doctor interrupted.

“Ah, yes. I have one of my men taking notes from your constables and… the boy. Where can we find him?”

“He and his grandmother should be back at the house.”

“His parents?” 

“Deceased, sir. Quite a while ago. The grandmother raises him.”

“I see. An interesting situation for the young lad.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Coroner stands like a statue, observing the men as they diligently do their work. They slowly dig, clearing only a bit of dirt at a time. They use a framed piece of mesh to shift each pile of dirt as they do. Inspector McTavish felt as if he was observing an archaeological dig, rather than the removal of a dead body. This wasn’t his first, and he feared not the last time that he would experience this. 

The coroner kept looking to the sky, as if prognosticating the weather. The Inspector knew they were likely expecting more rain, and it would be detrimental to preserving the evidence if they could remove the body before the skies opened up. 

One of the men stood up, looking skywards as well. 

“Sir, we could send for Mr. Kent. He still has that tent. If it rains, it would at least buy us some time.”

The Coroner made a low growling noise, as one does when they are unwillingly considering their options. “It would be too dark inside, and I don’t trust that it is very clean. Full of dust, dirt, and bugs, I am sure. Let’s work as swiftly as possible.”

The man shook his head, clearly not agreeing, yet did not argue back. 

Inspector McTavish walked towards the area being dug up, only to stop when the coroner raised his hand. 

“You can talk to me from there.”

“How much more do you think is left to be revealed?”

One of the men clucked their tongue, and the Coroner let out a sigh. 

One of the coroner’s assistants intervened, “Sir, we only have the legs left. Other than the hand, most of the body is intact. Decomposing, but intact.”

The Inspector queried about the hand and was told that animals likely cleared the flesh from the bones. As if anticipating his next question, they told him that they wouldn’t know how long the body had been there until they took a better look. They would do that at their office.

Once they moved the body onto a stretcher, the Inspector listed what the body was wearing, right down to the cufflinks that were on his shirt. It clearly hadn’t been a grave robbery, as they would have taken his jewelry. 

Boris fidgets, unable to calm his nerves. He wasn’t sure how to pose himself, or whether he should be smiling or have an expressionless look. Most of the nervousness was because he’d never responded to an advertisement for a companion before. He’d only lived in the city for two short years, and since leaving his home country, he’d had a hard time meeting the right woman. He desperately wanted to meet someone who would be suitable. When he saw the ad in the classifieds, he couldn’t resist responding. He wasn’t certain if anyone would write back to him, and was incredibly happy when he received a very lovely letter from a prospective woman of interest.

His eyes darted back and forth from the bench that was just outside the light from the overhead gas lamp. He considered sitting there, but thought it should be more formal if he was standing when he was to greet his possible companion. It felt unusual to meet at this time of the evening. It was not late yet, but the autumn darkness fell upon the evening quicker than ever. However, he was willing to meet this mystery woman at any time of the day.

He heard rustling behind him and turned around, finding nothing there. He’d wondered if maybe it was the woman sneaking up behind him. That, however, would be very unladylike.  He glanced at his watch for the fifth time. She was now ten minutes tardy. It was one thing he really couldn’t stand for. He expected everyone to be on time. He himself would always arrive slightly earlier than expected.

It was a moonless night, and it was hard to see anything more than ten feet in front of you. Things became hazy, and a fine mist had begun to rise from the ground. The day had been cooler, and that evening had begun to warm up again. Then he could hear the clacking of heels, and from within the darkness emerged one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She was dressed head to toe in a suit that was an inky dark purple; it flowed into the darkness of that night. It was a perfectly tailored jacket with a collar that came just below her chin. It’s a type of suit that a woman of financial means would wear. She wore a large hat upon her head with a veil covering the top half of her face. It excited him that she seemed to be a little reserved. Most of the women that he was able to meet did not have their faces covered. The closer she got, the more excited he became. The anticipation was causing a thin layer of perspiration to form on his forehead. He didn’t dare give this away, and he didn’t want to reach into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat. He began to breathe deeply, attempting to calm the feelings that were burning from within.

The woman walked directly up to him, her expression never changing. He wonders if she was, in fact, there for him. As she moves closer to him, she extends her arm out. He notices her gloved hand. Beautiful black lace gloves. The lace itself was open enough that he could see her rings. He reciprocates, reaching his hand out and grasping hers. He did this to show dominance and squeezed tightly. He suddenly felt a sharp pinch in his hand. He assumed it was from one of her rings. That was until the darkness suddenly grew around him.