Bones to Ashes by KATHY REICHS

Author:KATHY REICHS
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Mystery, Crime & mystery, Fiction
ISBN: 9780099492368
Publisher: Arrow
Published: 2008-05-15T13:17:32.961000+00:00

�Parfum was paid for by Marie-Jos�ine Devereaux. Fringe was paid for by Mary Anne Coffey. Each of those books was about fifty pages in length. Each print run was a hundred. Beecher and Devereaux had Moncton addresses. Coffey lived in St. John��

�Ob�ne?� It came out sharper than I intended.

Harry allowed me several moments of dead air.

�I�m sorry. I know you�re working hard on this. It�s just a little too much information for now.�

�Mm-hm.�

�What did you learn about Bones to Ashes?�

I opened a new file. Zucker. Three kids wearing plaid.

�Virginie LeBlanc.� Curt.

�LeBlanc placed the order?�

�Yes.�

�Did O�Connor have LeBlanc�s address?�

�Post office box.�

�Where?�

�Bathurst.�

�Any other contact information?�

�No.�

�Did you try tracing LeBlanc?�

�Yes.�

�And?�

Sulky silence.

I rolled my eyes. It hurt.

�Look, Harry. I�m sorry. I do appreciate what you�re doing.�

From across the room, I heard a phone, then Hippo�s voice.

�Gallant.�

�Can I buy you dinner tonight?� I asked Harry.

�Quand? O�taccato questions in the background. Where? When?

�I�ll be here,� Harry said.

�Bon Dieu!�

�You pick the restaurant,� I said.

I heard a soft grunt, then footsteps clumping my way.

�You can give me a full report on everything you�ve learned.�

Harry agreed. Coolly.

I clicked off.

Hippo was standing over me.

I looked up.

Something was dreadfully wrong.

23

HIPPO�S JAW WAS CLAMPED LIKE A SCREW PRESS.

�What?� I closed the Zucker file.

Hippo glowered silently.

�Tell me.�

�Just got a courtesy call from the RCMP in Tracadie. Ob�ne Bastarache is missing and presumed dead.�

I shot to my feet. The Zucker file flew across the floor. �Dead? How?�

Flicking a shirttail, Hippo pocket-jammed the phone and turned away.

�How?� I repeated, too shrill.

�Neighbor downriver from the Bastarache place found a shawl wrapping one of the pilings under his pier. Recognized it. Checked. Got suspicious that Ob�ne wasn�t home. Says the lady never goes out.�

�That hardly means Ob�ne drowned.�

�RCMP searched the property. Found blood on the breakwater.�

�That could��

Hippo continued as though I hadn�t spoken. �Clothes on the end of the breakwater. Folded. Shoes on top. Note d�adieu shoved into one toe.�

I felt the blood drain from my head. �A suicide note?�

Hippo didn�t square to face me.

Didn�t speak the words I knew were goading his tongue.

There was no need. Already, I felt the deadening weight of self-blame.

I swallowed. �When?�

�Yesterday.�

I�d visited Ob�ne on Tuesday. Wednesday she was dead.

�What did the note say?�

�Adieu. Life sucks.�

Shame boiled inside me.

And anger.

And something else.

Though far from happy, Ob�ne had seemed content. Had told me she was at the one place she wanted to be.

�I detected nothing to suggest she was suicidal.�

�Where was it you earned that psychology degree?�

My face flamed. Hippo was right. What did I know of this woman? Until two days ago, our last interactions had been as kids.

�No one is questioning that she�s dead? I mean, there�s no body. Are they dragging the river?�

�The river�s a freight train right there.� Hippo was squinting down the hall, into sunlight oozing through one of the living room�s dirt-caked windows. �Body�s probably in the Gulf of St. Lawrence by now.�

�Where was Bastarache?� Hearing agitated voices, Ryan had left Cormier�s office.

�Quebec City.�

�He alibi out?�

�That bastard always alibis out.�

With that, Hippo stomped from the room. In seconds, the studio door opened, slammed.

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