Page 130 of Fire and Bones

“What happened to your guardians?”

I was certain Deery had researched the couple. Assumed he was trying to push Lipsey toward some edge.

“Dead when I was sixteen.”

“Your sister, Sally?”

“Dead.”

“Your daughter, Marilyn?”

“Bad heart. Never made it to forty.”

“Your husband?”

“Roger?” Lipsey laughed, a wet, braying sound. Until the laugh turned into a coughing fit. Digging a tissue from her pocket, she blew her nose loudly.

“That peckerhead reached his high-water mark when he learned not to shit his diapers.”

“Where’s Roger now?”

“No freakin’ clue.”

“You have your grandsons.”

“Don’t you dare talk about my grandsons.” Suddenly cold and tire-iron hard. “And, for the record, Ma didn’t just up and die. She was murdered.”

“Doris ran with a rough crowd.”

“The world’s a rough place.”

“Not everyone chooses to hang with gangsters.”

The withered lips compressed so tightly their edges blanched. A flush spread over the pale cheeks.

“My mother didn’t deserve to die.” Lipsey’s glare—aimed at Deery—had gone fierce enough to break bones.

Deery responded with his favorite. Silence.

Unlike most interviewees, Lipsey didn’t fall for the ploy.

Tic.

Tic.

Tic.

Other than the slow cascade of drops, the only sound was Lipsey’s breathing, wheezy through nostrils thick with white hairs.

Tic

Tic.

Tic.

I risked an oblique glance toward Deery.

His eyes never let go of Lipsey.