Disclaimer: Not mine.

Thanks, Jubilea as usual.

Hell Hath no Fury

Dean examined the picture of the Drumsfield's with ten other people in front of a large rose bush by a Jack and Jill fountain.

"And, here's a picture from the investigation on May 28th, 1927," Sam said pointing to the same fountain in the next picture.

"Where's the rosebush?" Dean asked.

"Maybe it died," Sam offered.

"Maybe, you found Margaret," Dean stated.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Two a.m. found the brothers back in the Impala headed to the Drumsfield mansion. The sky was dark and cloudy. The misty clouds on the foothills surrounding the town spoke of rain. Dean had the radio tuned classic rock. He glanced over at Sam who was lightly rubbing his chest. "You okay?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Sam replied. He was a little sore where Margaret had poked him. He'd noticed a small red spot similar to a burn on his chest when he was getting dressed.

Sam sipped his latte. His one request before heading out had been for a coffee, a real coffee, none of that cheap motel crap masquerading as coffee. He was afraid they would not be able to find an espresso shop in the small town, but the ubiquitous drive through kiosks were on virtually every corner. They were lucky enough to find one open.

"Ah," Sam sighed. "Nectar of the gods."

"Careful there, Tantalus," Dean remarked.

Sam threw a surprised look in Dean's direction. Sam knew Dean was intelligent. He had a way of figuring things out, of piecing together small clues and coming to the right conclusion. He could sift through the bullshit, and find the kernel of truth while others could not. Sam also knew he never gave Dean enough credit for his 'book smarts,' and it surprised him when Dean popped off with the reference.

"You've already banished me to the passenger seat for eternity," Sam retorted. "How much worse could it get?"

"Well now that question," Dean replied with a grin, "Is just begging for trouble."

As Dean pulled into the drive, the rain started. "You've got to be kidding me," Dean groaned.

Dean through the car into park, and killed the lights. He swiveled in his seat to look at Sam, and asked, "Ready to do a little digging?"

"Pfft," Sam puffed. "Even if we can dig down to her remains in this rain, we're going to have to use a gallon of lighter fluid to burn her bones."

"You say that, like it's a bad thing," Dean replied.

Sam rolled his eyes, and they both exited the car. Gathering up the industrial size tin of salt, and the lighter fluid Sam started off towards the area of the fountain.

Dean followed a ways behind Sam with the shovels, and the weapons bag. He was stopped short by the sight of a man in a dark raincoat exiting the mansion. The man turned towards the direction Sam had headed. Dean took a quick glance at the construction company sign before stashing the shovels nearby, and hurried to catch up to the man.

"Hey," Dean shouted. "What are you doing out here?"

The man turned slowly, and gave Dean an appraising look. "What're you doing here?" the man asked.

"J.B. asked me to come out here, and get some measurements before the crew comes back Monday," Dean answered. "He never mentioned you'd be out here."

"Maybe he didn't expect you to be here at 2:30 in the morning," the man replied. "J.B. you say?"

The man obviously was not buying Dean's story.

"Private joke between the boss and me," Dean smirked. "Long story, saved his ass once in a bar fight once."

The man smiled now, "As in his construction company, and his favorite drink. That's clever. My name's, Ed."

Ed was a big man, with wiry gray-brown hair and beard. He spit a wad of tobacco out near Dean's boots. Ed smelled a little of both tobacco and cheap beer. "I just finished my once through, and I was headed home," Ed stated. "I could stay, and help if you need a hand."

"Nah," Dean replied. "I have it covered."

"Maybe, I should stay," Ed insisted. There was still a glint of distrust in Ed's eyes.

Dean leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a hushed tone. "Truth is," Dean said, "I was supposed to get this done last night. I kind of headed out early to have some drinks with the guys. I'd rather J.B. didn't find out about this."

Ed laughed, and slapped Dean on the shoulder. "Good enough, kid," He said. "I'll see you around."

"That's if my wife lets me out of the house after tonight," Dean replied.

Ed laughed again heading for his truck, "Can't help you out there, buddy, but I won't tell 'J.B.' I saw you out here this morning unless he asks."

"Thanks, man," Dean replied giving him a small wave, "I owe you one."

Dean waited until the lights from Ed's truck were no longer visible between the trees before retrieving the shovels, and heading over to Sam. When he caught up to Sam, he could hear him muttering, and cursing.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up, and shot Dean a chilling glare. "Other than the rain, and the ground being torn up from the construction, and having to wade through this sticky clay they call soil around here?" He lifted his foot and waggled it in front of Dean. It was twice its normal size due to all the mud stuck to it. "I think my boots weigh ten pounds each."

Dean raised one eyebrow, and pointed at Sam's boots. "Dude, you are not getting back in my car with those things on," he reprimanded.

"Whatever, Dean," Sam snapped. "The real problem is the fountain is gone. We'll have to guess where it was."

Dean looked around at the large property. "Any guesses?" he asked.

Dean looked at Sam, who was again muttering quietly. Sam started walking back towards the back porch. Sam had that look on his face. The look of intense concentration he wore, when he was figuring out the puzzle. "Sam?" he asked.

Sam looked up at Dean as if he had forgotten Dean was even there. "Sorry," Sam said. "I think I can make a pretty good guess." Sam paced off the distance from the porch to a spot a little over thirty feet from the corner. "Right here," he said.

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "It's just a guess."

"Based on?" Dean asked handing Sam one of the shovels.

Sam deposited his burden on the ground, and took the proffered shovel. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have asked, if I didn't," Dean replied.

"The picture," Sam stated as if that explained it all. He grunted as he hefted a shovel full of heavy, wet clay, and dumped it on the ground to the left. He looked up at Dean when he realized Dean had not started digging yet. "What?" he asked.

"What about the picture?" Dean asked.

"Well, it must have been taken before the party," Sam explained adding another shovel full of mud to his growing pile. "The Drumsfield's hosted dinner parties." Another shovel of mud joined the pile. "So, since the shadows were long, and they were behind the guests, everyone was facing west." Sam elicited another grunt, as he scooped both clay and rock in the next shovel full. "I based the length of the shadows off Margaret's approximate height. From there, I could extrapolate how far the porch was using the shadows as a guide." Another scoop of mud was added to the pile. "Doing the math, I'd say it was just a little over thirty feet southwest off the back porch. Of course, it's all guesswork as I'm going from memory."

Sam looked up at Dean when he realized Dean had not even started to dig. "You are planning to help me, aren't you?" he asked a little annoyed.

Dean was just standing there, looking at Sam dumbfounded. His brother's attention to detail, memory, and analytical mind were truly amazing at times. "He would have made a great lawyer," Dean thought. However, what he said was, "Your level of geekness is truly amazing. You know that, Sammy?"

Sam huffed, and pushed his rain-slicked hair out of his eyes. "Geekness?" he asked. "Is that even a word?"

"Way to prove my point, little brother," Dean said with a smile, and started digging.

An hour later, both brothers were soaked despite the abatement of the rain. Each was exhausted from shoveling the water-logged clay mud, but neither would ever admit it to the other.

Sam's aching arm muscles were protesting. He was about to suggest his guess was wrong, when his shovel connected with something solid. He hit it twice more with his shovel, hearing the delightful sound of metal meeting wood.

Dean reached for his flashlight, and shined it at their feet. Sam cleared away some of the mud. It was definitely a wooden crate.

"Whoever killed her was thoughtful enough to put her in a box before burying her in the back yard," Dean said sarcastically.

A few more shovels full of dirt, and they were done. Dean shined his flashlight on the crate where Sam was wiping away some of the mud. He could barely make out the words that appeared on the box. "Infante lettino" was stamped in black letters on the wooden crate.

Dean jumped out of the hole to grab the salt and the lighter fluid. Sam stayed behind to pry the lid off the crate. Sam removed the lid, and peered inside. Although not white, Margaret had died in the same dress she had been wearing in the dining room. There was little left of the dress, and even less flesh left on her bones. Sam noticed some small bones partially inside Margaret's ribs. He shined the light over them, and bent down to inspect them more closely.

As recognition of what Sam was seeing registered his horror grew. "Dean!" he called his voice full with emotion. Sam scrambled backwards out of the makeshift grave.

Dean whirled around at the sound in Sam's voice to see him scrambling out of the grave. Dean rushed to his side in an instant. Sam was standing next to grave, his head hung low.

Dean hunkered down next to him trying to get a look at his brother's face. Sam's damnable long bangs hung down in wet ropes, hiding his eyes from Dean. "Sam?" Dean asked green eyes flashing in concern.

Sam looked up at Dean, his hazel-brown eyes filled with emotion. "I'm okay," he said. Sam shined his light in the box drawing Dean's attention to Margaret's remains.

Dean looked down into the grave, but he did not see what elicited such a strong response from Sam. He straightened up and looked over to Sam who was staring at the bones.

"Margaret was pregnant," Sam said quietly.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

AN: Sorry this took a little longer to update. I had an allergic reaction to some unknown thing on New Year's, and my eyes have literally been swollen shut for two days! I sent my family out of the house to quit pestering me, and laid on the sofa like a pathetic slug with an ice pack on my eyes, and listening to a Dukes of Hazzard marathon (because I AM old enough to remember that show in first run syndication. It was like listening to the old time radio programs ((and no, I'm not THAT old))). It did make me thankful for the 364 remaining days this year that I will be able to see.

The site has been on the fritz, so if you didn't get my response to your review, please know I really appreciate the feedback. And, if you reviewed anonymously, I appreciate it too!