Page 136 of Fire and Bones

“Why now what?” Ryan had lost me.

“Lipsey’s mother was killed eighty years ago. What set her off now?”

“According to Ronan—”

“The grandson.”

“Yes. According to him, Lipsey has held a lifelong grudge. He and his brother were raised on anti-Warring vitriol and he himself is convinced the Warrings had a vendetta against their family. Three weeks ago, he and Roy got an eviction notice because their landlord had sold the building that houses their business. Relocation meant they’d take a disastrous financial hit.”

“Let me guess. Lew Warring bought the property to add to his W-C portfolio.”

“Bingo. Roy or Ronan shared the bad news with Grandma, who is bipolar and had recently gone off her meds. She snapped. The twins had been brainwashed sufficiently and were angry enough about having to move that they went along with her scheme for revenge. But only in part. Thinking the Foggy Bottom buildings were empty, they agreed to set the fires, planning to cause only minor damage.”

“They killed Lew Warring?”

“Ronan says they meant to merely scare Warring and then lie to the old lady. Something went wrong, and their target ended up dead.”

“Do you think the Warrings actually did repeatedly harm Lipsey and her family? Did Lew actually buy that building specifically to evict the twins? Or was it all paranoia?”

“We’ll probably never know. But Lipsey believed it and managed to persuade her grandsons.”

Ryan asked if I was still in Washington. I told him that I was, and apologized because I had to stay until Ivy returned or the chinch was retrieved. The latter required some explanation.

I asked Ryan if he’d ever been to the bonsai museum. He replied in the negative. Saying that was a serious breach in his personal development, I suggested he meet me in DC.

I said I’d call Ivy for an update on her ETA as soon as we’d disconnected and offered to book us into a romantic hotel. He explained that he was committed to helping clean his share of the four-score fish but promised to fly to DC on Friday.

So.

First things first. Clearing my getaway date.

Ivy answered quickly.

“Tempe. Lucky girl.” In the background, the same grinding machinery and shouted commands.

“Why so?” I asked.

“You’re in the middle of the action and I’m stuck in West goddam Virginia.”

“Isn’t the rescue going well?”

The story was still national news. To date the kid had been down in the mine for four days. Packets of food and water were being lowered to him. Blankets. A first aid kit. A two-way radio that the kid was using to communicate with those up top.

“A team is drilling a parallel shaft, but one thing after another keeps going wrong.”

“The boy seems in good spirits.”

“He is. But his parents are in serious need of controlled substances. What’s up?”

“I’m wondering when Chuck’s owner will be coming to collect him.”

A long moment passed. A moment I guessed Ivy was using to structure an unpopular response.

“I was going to ring you about that.”

I waited, apprehensive.

“My friend’s father—the friend who owns Chuck—has taken a turn for the worse. The doctors think this could be it.”