The Bone Man

by Vicki Stiefel

“I’ve been drifting.”

  She glanced at me. “I thought you were hunting a killer.”

  “Yes. But that’s not what I mean. I’m talking personally. Ever since my foster mother died, I’ve felt adrift, not knowing how to get on or what my place is in the world.”

  She slowed the Jeep, pulled to a stop beside the tall canyon wall. “Maybe you don’t want to let her go, huh?”

  I chuckled. “Oh, I definitely don’t want that. I miss her madly.”

  Gimp removed her hat and wiped her forehead. “My pops died fifteen years ago now. Long time. But it’s not. It’s yesterday. He’s here.” She pressed her palm to her heart. “But I’ve let him go. I’ve found my place. I suspect you’ve found yours. You just don’t know it yet.”

  Her eyes were clear. What I saw was depth and purpose. Chaco was her life. Perhaps MGAP was mine.

  “Yes,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “We’d better hustle,” she said. “I go on duty soon.”

  “This drifting . . .” I powered down the window, let the wind scour my face. “Now I understand the place to go.”

  “New Mexico?” She put the Jeep in gear and gunned it.

  I liked her takeoff. “I thought maybe. But no. I think my place, at least for now, is back in Boston. Back where I used to be. It’s home. Back at MGAP.”

  “What the hell’s that?”

  I looked out at the beauty of Chaco and talked, telling her about my work with the families of homicide victims, how my dad had been murdered, how I’d met and fallen in love with Hank. And about Veda. Beloved Veda.

  She nodded. “Whew. Lotta stuff.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You gotta be half crazy to do what you do.”

  I grinned. My heart lightened for the first time in months. “Yeah, you noticed. But first, I’ve got to find out how two friends were murdered and why. I’m closer, but not there yet. I’ll get there.”

  The Jeep lurched down a pothole and up. “Ugh!” she said. “Sorry. Paulie and Dumb Dick were a part of that.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Unfortunately that’s true. But so are you. I wouldn’t have missed that.”

  “There’s Casa Rinconada.” We approached the top of the canyon, near the museum and visitor center. But before she rounded the curve, she stopped the Jeep.

  She pointed. “Just one more thing.”

  An incredible table-top mesa sprouted like a jagged, giant pillar from the ground.

  “Fahaja butte,” she said.

  “It looks like the place in Close Encounters of the Third Kind!”

  “It’s not, but it sure could be. Didn’t a guy build a mashed potato mountain or something in that movie?”

  We laughed and took off, and a fullness filled me right up.

  Hank and Aric stood by the Land Rover in front of the visitor center.

  “You ready?” Aric hollered.

  “In a sec.” It was hard, but I unwound my hand to return the fetish. “This belongs here.”

  Gimp looked at my hand. “You mean that rock?”

  I looked down. A rock, smooth and egg shaped and blushed with red, rested on the palm of my hand. “Um, did you give this to me?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think so, but . . .”

  “It’s illegal for me to bring it from here, isn’t it?”

  She hugged me. “For you and your journey? I think you must bring it. You need a bit of Chaco with you. Return it when the time is right.”

  “Thank you, Gimp,” I said. “For everything.”

  When I climbed into the Aric’s Land Rover, Hank asked what I was holding.

  “Oh, just a mountain lion.” I laughed. “I really need a bath.”

  He wiggled his auburn eyebrows. “How ’bout a shower, honey bunch. With me!”

  “You betcha. And then we go to Salem.”

  Albuquerque. I got my next rabies shot. Two more to go, day fourteen and twenty-eight. Then I’d be done. I had my cuts and bruises looked after. Gave the FBI a deposition about Paulie and Dumb Dick. I took a shower with Hank—great fun—and a bath alone. I apologized to New Mexico’s Chief Medical Investigator, declined the alluring position he’d offered, and said a temporary farewell to the state.

  Aric would meet us in Boston in a few days. Hank and I planned to steal a little R&R before diving back into the case. I intended to see how the land lay at MGAP regarding my return. But not until we’d found Didi and Delphine’s killer, the Pot Thief.

  I suspected we’d also find The Bone Man’s book.

  The flight was long, and I dozed. I was still exhausted from being chased around Chaco by two killers. Each time I awoke, I found Hank holding my hand. We still hadn’t discussed his moving from Winsworth to Boston.

  I awakened slowly from the mud of dreamless sleep. “Hey.”

  Hank smiled down at me, sleepy eyed himself. “Hey, yourself.”

  A paperback lay open in his lap. “What are you reading?”

  He held up the book. The Lost Constitution by William Martin, a popular writer from New England. “Thought I’d get some background on my new state. Plus the book’s got some baseball. Can’t go wrong with that.”

  I simmered, tried to keep my lips zipped. I looked out the window at clouds, down the aisle to the flight attendant marching forward with his cart, to the woman across the aisle, mouth open, snoring away.

  Up front, some new film with Hugh Grant played on the screen. I smiled at Hank, slipped on the earphones. Smiled again.

  Tally? he mouthed.

  Smiled broader, turned my eyes to the screen.

  He slipped the earphones off my head.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “What’s bugging you?”

  “Nothing.” I reached for the earphones.

  “Tal?”

  “Okay,” I said. “You, Hank Cunningham. You’re bugging me. You should have told me you’d applied for a position with the state PD, that you wanted to move down here. I don’t understand why you’d keep such a life-changing move secret. I don’t. It sure looks like you don’t trust me or our relationship.”

  He nodded, lower lip out. “You could say that.”

  Now I was pissed. “I just did, smartass.”

  “See how you get?”

  “What?”

  “All defensive,” he said. “Panicked.”

  I turned in the seat. “I’m not—”

  “Yeah, you are.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I love you, babe. But I didn’t want to tell you because you’d have thought up a million objections why I shouldn’t do it. I didn’t want to hear ’em. I’ve loved you forever, and I couldn’t stand being away from you, especially when you were near that guy.”

  Kranak. That was justified. I’d hurt Hank. I’d hurt Kranak, too. “You know, that night in the canyon, when I heard your screams and that woman’s laughter, her orders to hurt you, I . . . well, I almost died. I swear.”

  “What are you talking about, Tal?”

  I sighed. Sometimes men could be so hard to deal with. Hank’s macho was emerging. Geesh. “Hank, I heard your whimpers, your screams. That woman’s voice. Then men’s laughter. I heard it all.”

  He tilted his head, his eyebrows scrunched. “Um, we were never tortured. Those two idiots were too busy looking for you. And there was no woman. None at all.”

  I was losing my mind. “I heard it, Hank. Her. You. Aric.”

  He shook his head, kissed my lips long and deep. “It wasn’t. There was no woman. And how, my dear, did you climb those stairs?”

  I turned away from him to the window, pulled the thin airline blanket to my shoulders, and closed my eyes.

  Like Scarlett, I’d think about it tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Home. It felt great. I unlocked the door to the front hall of my apartment. Penny leaped upon my chest, and I hugged her madly. I buried my face in her soft fur and relished her yips of joy.

  “Hey, girl!”

  I couldn’t seem to stop huggin
g her, and when I finally let her down, I realized I was crying. I wiped the tears away as I knelt in front of her. She instantly flopped on her back for her favorite—a belly scratch.

  “Pens. Oh, Pens. I am so happy to see you.”

  She woofed a reply, and I laughed.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  I looked up the stairs. It was Jake, my long-ago lover, my friend. We had history, and it felt good. “How’s my favorite landlord?” I said.

  “Worried about you.” He trotted down the stairs wearing a grin. We shared a big hug, Penny nosing her way in, of course. When we broke apart, his handsome mug was marred by a frown.

  “You’ve had a tough time,” he said.

  I had trouble holding his eyes, so I hugged him again. “Yes. It’s not over yet, Jake.”

  He snorted. “Penny missed you a lot.”

  “Me, too. Oh, boy, me too.”

  He stretched, so I was at arms length. “I know. It’s good to see you, Tal, especially since you’re in one piece. But I confess I’m glad we’re not together anymore.”

  My turn to snort. “Thanks a lot, buddy.”

  Beaming smile. “My pleasure.”

  I reached for the door to my apartment, the one that led to my bedroom. “Boy, do I need a bath. See ya for dinner, huh?”

  “Love it. Takeout sushi?”

  “For you, only the finest. Later.” I leaned into the old door that perpetually stuck.

  “Tal? Wait a sec, huh? I, uh, found some girl trying to buzz into your apartment.”

  “Really? Most people knew I was away. What’d she look like.” I reached down and petted Penny’s head.

  “Pretty. Young. Milky-white complexion. Incredibly long blond braids. Tons of them. Right to her nicely packed ass.”

  That made me think of only one person—Zoe. “Good thing you’re a sculptor. I’ll chalk up your revolting words to that.”

  He grinned. “You know sculpting has nothing to do with it.”

  “So what did you tell her?”

  “Nada.” He walked toward me. “That’s why I didn’t like it. She scurried out of here pretty fast. Then, a couple days later, Penny started barking like crazy. The girl was back.”

  I sure wasn’t liking the sound of this.

  “This time, I watched from upstairs. She stood in the hall.” He tilted his head. “She’d broken into the building, Tal, and was working on the lock of your door. I stepped forward, and she saw me and took off. You know her?”

  I nodded. “Zoe. The dead woman, Delphine’s, assistant. Thank God she didn’t break in. She disappeared weeks ago. I’m thinking she’s involved in this ring of pot thieves.”

  He moved past me toward my half-opened door. “That’s the problem. She did.” He pushed the door wide.

  I stared at my bedroom. Chaos. I raced into the living room, which was neat and tidy, except . . .

  I walked to the fireplace, where, on its mantel, I’d placed my favorite Zuni fetishes from my collection. Just dust remained, and the outline of the carvings. I turned, found the Inuit sculpture, the tiny Pangnark that looked like nothing more than a little square piece of gray rock, and next to it, the red rock given to me by the governor. At least they were safe.

  I went back to the bedroom and stared at the damage. The bedroom mess was all about anger, and since I understood it, I should have accepted it. But all I could see was the broken glass vase Veda had given me years earlier. “Damn her.”

  I gathered the shards, and Jake gently took them from my hands. “I can fix it.”

  I saw Delphine’s head and Didi’s blood and the dead old trader and . . .

  Jake couldn’t fix it, but I intended to.

  I breezed into The Grief Shop. How bizarre for a morgue to feel like home. I waved at Sarge behind the desk and beelined it to MGAP. I’d been gone a couple weeks. It felt like forever.

  I reminded myself I didn’t work there anymore.

  As I walked into MGAP’s central office, I glanced at the white board. One new case that day. Not bad.

  “Hey, Donna!”

  The pretty young woman looked up from her paperwork and smiled.

  “How do you still look like twenty after all these years?” I said.

  She blushed and grinned. “Great genes.”

  “Is Gert in her office?”

  She peered at her paperwork. “Um, I don’t think so. Not today.”

  I walked over to her desk. “Really? How come?”

  Donna wouldn’t look at me straight on. “She’s been in a really bad mood lately, Tally. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m worried. Maybe she’s decided to hate me.”

  I hugged her. “Now that’s just plain impossible. Nobody could hate you. Gert’s crazy about you. So you think she’s home?”

  She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I . . . I guess. I really don’t know. She’s changed. Just this week, she’s gotten all weird. I wish you’d come back.”

  “Hey, hey, hey. Gert’s the best. Maybe she’s just having a rough patch. You know how that can be.”

  “Maybe.” She blew her nose. “And maybe she’s just decided to hate me.”

  Oh, dear.

  Gert’s office door was locked, so I returned to MGAP’s main office, headed for the giant fern that hung from the ceiling in the corner.

  “Forgot something,” I said to Donna. “Gotta water her. For luck!”

  I lifted the yellow plastic watering can, filled it with water in the bathroom, and returned to the fern. The thing was huge, half brown, and hideous, but someone’s superstition insisted we keep it alive and in place. It was a legacy from when Crime Scene Services occupied our suite of offices. Some police sergeant before Kranak had macraméd the fern’s equally awful hanger.

  As I lifted the watering can, I looked over my shoulder. Donna was deep in her paperwork. I pushed the jute rope with the yellow bead aside and removed the key to my former—and Gert’s current—office. I finished watering the fern and left, shutting the main office door behind me.

  I swiftly unlocked Gert’s office door and slipped inside. I locked the door and turned, prepared to hunt for the two remaining Anasazi potsherds I knew were in the office.

  “What the hell are you doin’ here!” Gert shouted as she swung the chair around to face me.

  I jumped. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “What’re ya doin’ here?” she repeated. “Get out!”

  Whoa. Gert clung to the arm of her leather desk chair, as if it were a life raft. Her legs were spread, her face flushed and dripping with sweat. Spiderwebs of red crisscrossed her eyes, and snot ran down her nose.

  I walked over to her and kneeled. “What’s wrong, Gertie?”

  “Get out. I hate that name.”

  I took her left hand in mine. It felt clammy and limp. At least she didn’t remove it. “You never used to hate the nickname. C’mon, sweetie, what’s up? Let me help.”

  “Get outta my office. That’ll help.”

  It wasn’t the time to have a heart to heart. That was obvious. “Whatever you want, Gert. Where are the pot-sherds you borrowed for the carbon dating? The Anasazi ones.”

  “Right there. What’s left of ’em.” She pointed to a plastic bag. “That’s all you wanted, isn’t it? So get out.”

  “I wanted them. Yes.” I picked up the bag with the two shards. “But I care more about you than some pots. Can we talk?”

  Her bloodshot eyes blazed. “Get the fuck out, Tally, and don’t bother coming back.”

  That night, I sat on my living room couch. On the redwood coffee table, Hank had spread plastic, then clean moving paper. He’d brought over five or six potsherds he’d taken from the open box in the Chetro Ketl tunnel. Aric was to have opened and forensically examined the sealed box bound for Salem. He then would have the box re-sealed and sent on its way to Salem, Massachusetts.

  The Chaco potsherds sat on the paper on the table. The ones from Didi’s office that once held the skull sat in t
heir plastic evidence bag beside them.

  I hadn’t mentioned my disastrous meeting with Gert. I didn’t know what to say, who to tell. Something was deeply wrong with my good friend, but I couldn’t imagine what.

  I’d called the Chief Medical Examiner, but Addy was away for the week at a conference.

  Gert’s reaction had scared me, but at that moment, I didn’t know what to do. “Hell.”

  Hank returned from the kitchen bearing our bourbons on the rocks and a bottle of Rebel Yell.

  “What’s up?” he said. He placed the drinks on the table and sat beside me on the couch. He wove his fingers through my hair. “Hon?”

  “Nothing.” I leaned forward, poked a pencil at the sherds in the baggie. “These are real, Hank. Real. Around A.D. 1100. Anasazi. From the pot that was broken at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem. The one with the skull.”

  I poked at the loose shards that we’d brought back from Chaco. “These are real, too. We know that, since you had them tested yesterday, just to confirm. But they’re just that—shards. Dime a dozen. I exaggerate, but it’s the whole pots that are rare and valuable, although not too many have skulls of twenty-first-century women inside them.”

  “Tally, the reconstruction could simply have looked like your friend,” he said. “Which makes a lot more sense, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t.” I reached for my drink, leaned back on the couch and sipped. “She hasn’t been seen for weeks and weeks. Hasn’t communicated or returned my calls. She’s abandoned her shop. She’s gone. She’s dead, Hank. Dead. With her skill found in . . .”

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go with it.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “You love my sarcasm.”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “You’ve got to take the good with the bad, hon.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder, and I leaned into him. It was swell to have someone to lean against. Not just someone, but Hank. He was a good man. And he made me burn with lust. I chuckled.

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Nothing, sweetie.” I kissed his cheek. “I’m just horny. You need a shave, by the way. Look, even the whole pots aren’t insanely valuable. Not enough for so many lost lives.”