Free Spider Bones by Kathy Reichs

vacation?”
    “Christmas.”
    “Look, Tempe. We both know the guy you dug up today is not John Lowery.”
    “He went by Spider.”
    “Why?”
    “Long story.”
    “This thing’s going to skewer old Plato. Do it for him. And for Notter and Merkel. You may need a favor from us sometime.”
    I pictured tormented eyes beneath a Korean vet’s cap.
    A plastic-wrapped corpse.
    A mold-crusted skeleton.
    I had no urgent cases in North Carolina or Quebec. Maybe Danny was right. Maybe a trip to Hawaii would be therapeutic for Katy, and Danny’s point about my perhaps needing them in the future wasn’t said entirely in jest. But would Katy go?
    “When will action kick off at the CIL?” I asked.
    “The remains are being transported on Friday. Lowery insists you travel with them.”
    “Adamantly.”
    “Adamantly.”
    “I’ll ask Katy.”
    “Good girl.”
    “That’s not a promise, Danny. Katy needs me right now. It’s her call.”
    “I imagine she’s pretty torn up.”
    “Very.”
    “Will she attend the kid’s funeral?”
    “The service will be open to close family only.”
    Silence hummed from the South Pacific to the southeastern seaboard. Danny broke it.
    “I’ll send flight information as soon as I have it.”

I ROSE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, BLITZED THE HARRIS TEETER floral department, then returned home to download and print photos from the net. Armed and ready, I made a tippy-toe visit to my study-turned-guest-room.
    Katy awoke to orchids and plumeria, a handmade lei, and a thumbtacked Hawaiian panorama.
    She appeared in the kitchen shortly after ten, tousled and confused, holding a particularly dazzling shot of Maui’s Kamaole I beach.
    I asked how she felt. She shrugged, poured herself coffee.
    I conveyed Danny Tandler’s condolences. She slurped.
    I launched my pitch. Snorkeling. Diving. Maybe a surfing lesson or two.
    Katy listened, eyes on steam rising from her mug.
    Interpreting shrugless silence as interest, I continued. Diamond Head. Waikiki. Lanikai Beach.
    “So. What do you think, sweetie? Aloha?” I pantomimed a little hula.
    “I guess.”
    Not exactly “Yippee!” But she was willing to go.
    By noon, thanks to Charlie Hunt’s intervention, the public defender’s office had granted a “compassionate leave” for its very junior first-year researcher. Two weeks. Unpaid.
    Fair enough.
    After a lunch of tomato soup and tuna sandwiches, Katy and I dug out and organized scuba and snorkeling gear. At least I did. She mostly watched.
    I made calls when Katy went home to pack. LaManche had no objection to my two-week absence from the LSJML in Montreal, provided I was reachable by phone. Pete agreed to take Birdie. My neighbor agreed to look after the town house. Tim Larabee, the Mecklenburg County medical examiner, asked that prior to my departure I examine a skull found off Sam Furr Road just north of Charlotte. I promised to do the analysis the following day.
    Danny rang around six with flight information. Convinced of the righteousness of his plan, he’d gone ahead and booked a reservation for Katy.
    Danny said he’d meet our plane, warned teasingly of a surprise. No amount of cajoling could wangle further information from him. Slightly uneasy, I disconnected.
    Thursday night, after wrapping up with the Sam Furr skull, I treated Charlie Hunt to dinner. Partly because I missed him. Partly to thank him for scoring Katy her unearned vacation.
    We met at Barrington’s, a tiny bistro buried in a southeast Charlotte retail complex. Unlikely location. Pricey tab. Kick-ass food.
    I had the tagliatelle. Charlie had the grouper. For dessert, we shared an order of bread pudding with white chocolate ice cream.
    Afterward, leaning on my Mazda, I said mahalo to Charlie in a very big way. His response indicated eagerness to continue the thank-you at his place.
    I was tempted. Very tempted.
    But not yet.
    To Charlie’s dismay, we both went home solo.
    Getting to Hawaii from North Carolina is easier now