“I don’t know—not deep, I was able to pull it up, wasn’t I? You don’t really think this is a real crime, do you? I mean a new one. It’s historical, not for the police, right? The house was constructed in 1927 but it could’ve even been there way before, the land used to be bean fields and grapevines, if you dug up the neighborhood—any neighborhood—who knows what you’d find.”

She placed a hand on her chest. Seemed to be fighting for oxygen.

Milo said, “Maybe you should sit down, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, I promise I’m okay.”

“How about we let the paramedics take a look at you—”

“I’ve already been looked at,” she said. “By a real doctor, yesterday, my ob-gyn, everything’s perfect.”

“How far along are you?”

“Five months.” Her smile was frigid. “What could possibly not be okay? I own a gorgeous house. Even though you’re processing it.” She hmmphed. “It’s their fault, all I wanted to do was have them get rid of the tree, if they hadn’t done it sloppy, this would never have happened.”

“The previous owners?”

“The Hannahs, Mark and Brenda, it was their mother’s, she died, they couldn’t wait to cash out … hey, here’s something for you, Detective … I’m sorry, what’d you say your name was?”

“Lieutenant Sturgis.”

“Here’s something, Lieutenant Sturgis: The old woman was ninety-three when she died, she lived here for a long time, the house still smells of her. So she could easily have … done that.”

“We’ll look into it, Ms. Ruche.”

“What exactly does processing mean?”

“Depends on what else we find.”

She reached into a jean pocket and drew out a phone that she jabbed angrily. “C’mon, answer already—oh, I got you. Finally. Listen, I need you to come over … to the house. You won’t believe what happened … what? No, I can’t—okay, soon as the meeting’s finished … no, don’t call, just come over.”

She hung up.

Milo said, “Your husband?”

“He’s an accountant.” As if that explained it. “So what’s processing?”

“Our first step will be bringing some dogs in to sniff around, depending upon what they come up with, maybe a below-ground sonar to see if anything else is buried down there.”

“Else?” said Holly Ruche. “Why would there be anything else?”

“No reason, but we need to be thorough.”

“You’re saying my home is a graveyard? That’s disgusting. All you’ve got is some old bones, there’s no reason to think there’s more.”

“I’m sure you’re right—”

“Of course I’m right, I own this place. The house and the land.”

A hand fluttered to her abdomen. She massaged. “My baby’s developing perfectly.”

“That’s great, Ms. Ruche.”