I nodded. “That’s it.”
“Do you take me for a fool?”
I wanted to say yes. “Of course not.”
“Does this look like a ruby to you? Or a carving? Or both?”
“It’s the blood fetish,” I said with as much certainty as I could muster. And for a moment, I believed it as truth, knew it to be so. It was the blood fetish.
“Now, you die.” She aimed the gun and reached for the stone at the same time.
I held my breath, and the world ended. But not as I’d imagined.
Delphine dropped the gun, shrieking, “It burns!”
All I could do was watch as she tried to release the stone, shrieking and screaming and fighting the pain that began to consume her. Fire arched her back as it flew up her arm to engulf her. I leaped to help her, tripped and fell, with the chair on my back. I was still bound by the ankles.
I began to crawl to her as she writhed on the floor, her body a mass of flame, screaming and screaming for help and forgiveness, hollering, “Oh, God” over and over and over, slapping her hands at herself, as if trying to put out the flames consuming her.
And in one hand, I saw it. The blood fetish. Nothing like the rock I’d brought home, but instead, Mountain Lion—Guardian of the North, Chief of All the Directions, the Greatest of All Hunters.
An angry roar came from mountain lion’s mouth, its fiery tail flicking back and forth, its arrowhead and turquoise bundle strung around its neck, like an adornment, the arrowhead stabbing Delphine’s heart.
I had almost reached her when a roar, more suffocating than all the others, filled the room with sound and blinding light. Delphine was being ripped apart.
I snapped my eyes closed, covered my ears.
And then silence. Absolute.
I opened my eyes. My egg-shaped stone rocked back and forth on the floor. No fire. No heat. No anything. Just Delphine. On the floor, as if asleep.
I didn’t believe she was asleep.
Still on my belly, I swiveled around. There were Amélie and Penny, both snoring on the couch. I gingerly touched my lip. Split, now swollen. There was Didi’s reconstruction that looked nothing like Delphine.
I hadn’t imagined it. Not any of it.
I reached for the stone, touching it first with only the tips of my fingers. It welcomed them, and I wrapped my hand around the stone, Delphine’s obsession—the blood fetish.
I retrieved the knife and cut the bonds around my ankles. I ran over to Penny and Amélie. Both were fine and sleeping soundly. I ran over to Delphine.
She was gray as death, eyes open, milky white. For a moment I couldn’t look at her. Then I turned back and pressed two fingers to her neck. No pulse. Icy cold, not a sign of blood anywhere.
I didn’t understand any of it. But that didn’t matter. I went in search of Delphine’s phone, called, and waited for the troops to arrive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Days later, I still failed to comprehend what had happened in Delphine’s workshop. But I had learned a few things that settled at least part of my mind.
Aric, Hank, and I sat around the fireplace one evening, doing a wrap-up for Aric’s FBI files and Hank’s state police records. It was incredibly tedious, but it had to be done. So both men wrote while I yapped, and we all sipped some Vino Verde from Portugal.
“Delphine’s workshop.” I shivered. “One of the all-time creepy places.”
Hank chuckled. “What do you expect, it used to be the Salem Jail, babe. Lots of ghost stories about that place.”
I made a gagging sound. “I know. You told me. Too ironic. Still creeps me out.”
“I guess it creeped Gerard out, too,” Hank said. “He spilled his guts fast as I’ve seen anyone in trade for his life. He confirmed what you said about the skull belonging to one of the former curators at the museum.”
“Massachusetts doesn’t have a death penalty,” I said.
“No,” Hank said. “But there’s a federal one, and that’s how we threatened to prosecute. He’s done forever.”
Aric looked up from his paperwork. “You were dead on, Tal, about how they were reconstituting pots. They were making nice money at it. They should have stuck with that.”
I leaned back on the sofa and watched Aric and Hank write. Hank was hunched over on the new red leather club chair he’d given me that he’d somehow appropriated for his own.
I shook my head. Hank and I seemed to be one cozy couple. Oh, dear.
The phone rang, and I grabbed it. I sighed. “It’s for you.” I handed it to Hank. He nodded several times, smiled, said, “Thank you,” and, “Great news,” and hung up.
He looked at me, all serious, yet smiling. “I thought you’d want to know, so I placed a call.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
“Coyote’s doing well. They doubt he’s rabid, even though, yes, you must complete your shots. And he’s got months more of quarantine. But the vet’s become attached to him, and so Coyote’s found a home.”
I laughed, maybe for the first time in what felt like forever. “That’s great. And I know I have to finish the shots, just in case.”
He went back to writing. I’d told the two men exactly what I’d seen happen to Delphine. Much grunting went on during my recitation, but I doubted they believed me.
Addy had supervised the autopsy, and unless the blood tests changed things, Delphine had apparently died from a heart attack.
I knew better.
Amélie was doing well in the care of an aunt who lived on the Vineyard. She’d inherited the shop, and no one saw any reason to tell her about her mother’s horrible doings.
Penny, curled up next to me on the sofa, hadn’t suffered, either. We were all lucky.
Too soon, it was time for Aric to leave. Hank went into the kitchen to get him a snack for the plane.
A light shined in Aric’s eyes, one that I hadn’t seen there before. A joy.
“You’re returning to her, aren’t you, Aric?” I said.
He nodded. “Yes. I never talk of her while I’m on a case.”
“I understand.” I hugged him. “I’m happy for you, but sad that you’re leaving. I have a question.”
“Yes.”
I leaned toward him. “Why me, Aric? Why did I see Delphine’s face on Didi’s reconstruction? The ancient man and woman in Chaco? The stairway? The blood fetish? Why me?”
He looked at me for a long time. Then he shrugged. “Why not?”
“Aric!” I stood. “That is not an answer.”
Aric chuckled. “You’re always so easy to get going, Tally. My father entrusted you with more than a piece of red rock.”
Hank walked back in the room. He looked from Aric to me. “You two having a powwow?”
I looked from one man to the other. I laughed. “I guess we are.”
I walked to the mantel where all my precious fetish carvings sat once again. I reached for the oval rock, the blood fetish, I’d brought home from Chaco. I hated parting with it, but I felt I should return it to its people.
I lifted the simple oval rock from the mantel. As always, it warmed my hand. “Here, Aric. The blood fetish.”
He stared at the rock, shook his head. “You’re really willing to give it up?”
“Of course.”
“But, you see, Tally, that’s not the blood fetish. This is.” He pointed to the red rock given to me by Governor Bowannie.
“That is the blood fetish.” I held my Chaco rock in one hand and, in my other hand, lifted the red rock. “I feel . . . nothing but two lovely rocks.”
He nodded, smiled. “As it should be.”
“Here.” I handed him the blood fetish, the real one. “Delphine thought it was a ruby.”
Aric shook his head. “Foolish.” He closed his hand around the blood fetish, and I was suddenly in Chaco with the young couple as the young man promised to return. And he had, of course, and married the young girl and had many children and grandchildren. He’d become a s
haman, like his descendent, Governor Bowannie, and he had written the manuscript.
He was The Bone Man, and his face was Aric’s and Aric’s was his.
I shook my head and all was normal again. Thank heavens.
We said our good-byes, and I knew I’d see Aric again, and that felt good. After he left, I cuddled with Hank on the sofa.
“So what are you going to do about MGAP,” Hank said.
“Oh, not tonight, Hank. I don’t even want to think about that place. I don’t want to think about anything.”
He’d switched to beer, and took a long pull on his Bud. “Well and good, but you better decide soon, especially with Gert pregnant.”
I sat up fast. “What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know, dammit.”
“It gets worse,” he said. “She told me it’s Fogarty’s kid.”
“Oh, hell.”
INTERACT WITH
DORCHESTER
ONLINE!
Want to learn more about your favorite books and authors?
Want to talk with other readers that like to read the same books as you?
Want to see up-to-the-minute Dorchester news?
VISIT DORCHESTER AT:
DorchesterPub.com
Twitter.com/Dorchester Pub
Facebook.com (Search Pages)
DISCUSS DORCHESTER’S NOVELS AT:
Dorchester Forums at DorchesterPub.com
GoodReads.com
LibraryThing.com
Myspace.com/books
Shelfari.com
WeRead.com
The Bone Man Page 31
