Page 94 of Fire and Bones

“The office is closed for the weekend.” The voice sounded as if it came from a country where people sheared a lot of sheep. “Please try again on Monday,” said the Maybe-from-Down-Under man.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Baxter. I’m sure you’re terribly busy. Probably using the weekend to catch up on paperwork. I do that myself.”

Baxter said nothing. I heard familiar music in the background.

“Oh, my God. Are you a fan of The Oak Ridge Boys?”

“I am.” A minuscule thaw in Baxter’s tone?

“The ‘Y’all Come Back Saloon’ is my absolute favorite.” Faux gushy.

“?‘American Made.’?”

It took me a second. “Yes! Great acoustic.”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Dr. Temperance Brennan. I’m visiting DC from North Carolina.”

“That explains it.”

I had no idea what that meant. “Might I ask you a few questions about parking stickers?”

“That’s an odd request.”

“I’m wondering if it’s possible to trace the holder of an old decal.”

“How old?”

“Twenty nineteen.”

“It’s undoubtedly expired.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Why?”

Not expecting my call to be answered, I hadn’t prepared a spiel.

I was hesitant to share information on the fire victims. And I feared Baxter might claim confidentiality issues if I mentioned the police or ME.

My mind went into hyperdrive.

“It’s a silly story, really.” Silly-me chuckle. “Not to bore you with details, I’ll just say that a lady helped me out of a jam involving my car and my cat. I want—”

“You have a cat?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Birdie. Anyway, I want to give the lady a thank-you gift. I failed to get her name or license plate, but I have a picture that shows a parking decal on her back window.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in looking up an old, elapsed sticker. Email me what you’ve got.”

Baxter provided an address at the Montgomery County DOT and I sent him the image.

“Hold on.”