Flash and Bones - Kathy Reichs [69]
“Which is your favorite?”
“They’re all very nice.”
As Summer pointed out the minutiae that set each frame apart, I noted that she took longer with one than the others.
“I like the dotted border,” I said.
“So do I! Tempe, we are so much alike, we could be sisters!”
Behind his fiancée’s back, Petey winced.
Summer was gathering her samples when my mobile sounded. Excusing myself, I stepped into the kitchen.
Area code 704. Charlotte. I didn’t recognize the number.
Preferring a sales pitch for funeral plans to further interaction with Bridezilla, I clicked on.
“Temperance Brennan?”
I heard a car horn in the background, suggesting the caller was outside.
“Yes.”
“The coroner?”
I felt my scalp tighten. “Who is this, please?”
“You got Eli Hand at the morgue.”
The voice was muffled, as though coming through a filter. I couldn’t tell if it was the same one that had uttered the menacing two-word voice mail.
“Who is this?”
I heard a click, then three beeps.
“Damn!”
“Everything OK?”
I whipped around.
Pete was watching me, his face tight with concern. I was so freaked I hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen.
“I”—I what?—“got an unexpected call.”
“Not bad news, I hope.”
“No. Just—” Adrenaline made it feel like crickets were trapped in my chest.
“Unexpected,” he finished for me.
“Yes.”
“You can remove the phone from your ear.”
“Right.”
“I want to thank you for”—Pete jabbed a thumb over one shoulder toward the dining room door—“that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“She’s really very bright.”
“You’ve got to have a penis to hold that view.”
Pete raised his brows.
I responded in kind.
“How’s Boyd?” I asked.
“Talks about you constantly.”
“I miss him.”
“And the Chow feels likewise. He’s crazy about you.”
“That dog is an excellent judge of character.”
“Recognizes rare qualities that others fail to appreciate.”
I’d no idea what to respond. So I said nothing.
Pete studied my face for so long, the moment grew awkward.
“Guess you should be moving along,” I said.
“Guess so.”
“I doubt you’ll be enjoying a chatty evening.” I smiled.
“Perhaps not a bad thing.” Pete didn’t.
Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise? I knew Pete. And he sounded unhappy.
Back in the dining room, Summer had been joined by Birdie. The cat was on a chair, batting at a napkin she was dangling above him.
I narrowed my eyes at the little turncoat.
He gave me the cat equivalent of an innocent look.
“Good luck,” I said as they made their way down the front steps.
I meant it.
As soon as they’d gone, I phoned Larabee. He’d just returned home from a ten-mile run.
“Do we have someone at the morgue named Eli Hand?”
“Not to my knowledge. Who is he?”
I told him about the call.
For a full thirty seconds no one spoke.
“You don’t suppose—”
Larabee finished my sentence. “—it could be a tip about the landfill John Doe.”
“That was my first thought.”
“How do we find out about Hand?”
“Do you have contact information for Special Agent Williams?”
“Hold on.”
I heard a thunk. After a brief pause, Larabee returned and read off a number.
“You think Williams will know something?” he asked.
“I think he’ll know a lot.” “Keep me looped in.”
Williams answered on the second ring.
I identified myself.
If my call surprised him, he didn’t let on.
“Eli Hand,” I said.
The silence went on for so long, I thought we’d been disconnected.
“What are you asking me?” Williams’s tone was flinty.
“Was Eli Hand John-Doeing it at our morgue?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“Why not?”
“Why are you asking about Eli Hand?”
“I got an anonymous tip.”
“From what source?”
“See, that’s the anonymous part.”
“How did you receive this tip?” Terse.
“On my mobile.”
“Was the phone able to capture the number?”
I gave it to him.
“Who is Eli Hand?”
“I’m not at liberty—”
“With or without any of that famous FBI cooperation, Dr. Larabee and I will find out who Eli Hand is. Or was. And we will find out if Hand turned up dead in a barrel of asphalt in the Morehead Road landfill. Should that prove to be the case, Detective Slidell will find out why.”
“Back the attitude down a notch.”
“Then