Page 50 of Fire and Bones

“This gage thingy. Is it accurate?”

“Very.” Out of habit, I’d included an ABFO ruler in the shot for scale.

“Oh, my stars,” Colt said.

“What?”

“This is an ultra-large sack. And a real beauty. What did you say your name was?”

“Brennan. Do you recognize the logo?”

“No. Well, maybe. I’ll have to do some digging to establish when and where this burly gal was made. This is truly exhilarating.”

“How long might that take?”

Colt ignored my question. Or missed it in his excitement over the burly gal.

“This is a marvelous specimen. May I phone you back on this number?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you so, so much for sharing your find with me.” Gushy.

“I appreciate your willingness to help.”

Colt lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I will be totally discreet.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you.”

By the time we disconnected I was sure Colt was planning to send me flowers and candy.

Instead, by day’s end I’d get a far less pleasant surprise.

CHAPTER 12

My eyes drifted to the top right corner of my screen.

12:15 p.m.

Monday, May 26.

Memorial Day.

I wasn’t within miles of Savannah.

Or Charlotte.

Or Ryan.

I’d made almost no progress identifying the tiny subcellar woman.

Restless, I swiveled, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. I could always count on my pals at CNN to be there for me.

Wildfires were raging in California. Six died in a plane crash off Cape Cod. Two white cops were relieved of duty for mistreating a Black prisoner in Baltimore. Fifteen were injured in a boat explosion at Lake of the Ozarks.

I’ve no idea why I’m such a news addict. Newscasts are like factory-produced clocks, each broadcast composed of interchangeable parts. On any given day, swap in different names, different places, different details, the main storylines remain predictable. With seasonal variations.