Page 105 of Fire and Bones

After disconnecting, I tapped on a number listed among my recent outgoing calls.

Archie Baxter was still manning his desk. Made me wonder about the man’s home situation.

Baxter listened to my update without interrupting.

“What is it you want now?”

“Might the parking permit have been issued to Willie Pope but for a vehicle belonging to her contractor?”

“That’s possible.”

“Would the contractor’s name be in your records?”

“You’re thinking he or one of his employees could be the owner of the yellow Camry.”

“Or was.”

“Hold on,” he said, sighing. I’m sure he thought I was a bit around the bend for so doggedly trying to thank a stranger.

Seconds later he was back.

“I have it,” he said, a plaintive note in his voice suggesting hope that this would be my last request.

Jotting the name, I thanked Baxter, disconnected, and thumbed another number.

Deery didn’t pick up.

Did the man ever answer his phone?

Burgos was equally unavailable.

It’s Saturday night, Brennan. Other people have lives.

Peeved, I left a voice mail for each.

CHAPTER 24

I was on a church pew beside an elderly woman wearing enough bracelets to stock a Macy’s jewelry counter. Rhinestone-studded glasses. A red wig.

The woman leaned close to whisper to me. Her breath felt hot and moist on my ear.

I didn’t like it and shushed her.

When the woman drew back, a tiny stained-glass window shimmered off each of her bejeweled lenses. The wig hitched sideways revealing a hairless pink scalp.

The woman raised a blue-veined hand. In apology? Disapproval? Supplication?

The bangles clinked loudly.

The minister, an Asian woman, whipped around and pointed at me.

“She is not what she seems.”

I tried to ask what that meant. My mouth wouldn’t work.

In a gallery above, an organ began a litany composed of a single repetitive note.

Shrill. Too shrill.