Free Speaking in Bones by Kathy Reichs Page A

To accept. My mother is as stable as a skink on a skittle.
    When Mama was in her late fifties and emerging from a particularly murky plunge, I bought her a computer. I held little hope she’d find the cyberworld attractive but was desperate for something to occupy her mind. Something other than me.
    I walked her through the basics—email, word processing, spreadsheets, the Internet. Explained about browsers and search engines. To my surprise, she was enthralled, took class after class at the Apple Store, then at the local community college. Eventually, as was typical, her proficiency far exceeded mine.

    I wouldn’t call my mother a hacker. She has no interest in stealing ATM or credit card numbers. Couldn’t care less about the workings of the Pentagon or NASA. But, when determined, there’s nothing she can’t tease from the World Wide Web.
    Mama is also an incurable insomniac.
    Given that combo, I wasn’t surprised she’d taken my tale of Gunner and Ramsey and run with it. But I was mildly unsettled by what she’d found.
    “What was recovered?”
    “The article doesn’t elaborate. Out of delicacy, I suppose. I applaud such discretion. The public is given entirely too much detail—”
    “What does it say?”
    “It simply reports the discovery of possible human body parts.” The last four words delivered with precision. “That is a direct quote.”
    “What paper is this?”
    “ The Avery Journal-Times . That’s Avery County.”
    “I know that.”
    “There is no call to be snippy, Temperance.” Very snippy.
    “Sorry, Mama. I’m half asleep.” Swinging my feet to the floor, I turned on the light and grabbed a pen and an old envelope from the bedside table. “When did the story appear?”
    “April 29, 2012.”
    “Does it say where the remains were found?”
    “Indeed it does.” A quick breath. “The find was made off the Blue Ridge Parkway, two miles north of the junction with Route 181. That would be mile marker 310. I checked with Google Earth.”
    Of course she had.
    “Are you aware what is at that location?” she asked.
    “I am not.”
    “The Lost Cove Cliffs Overlook.”
    I hadn’t a clue what she was getting at. Was struggling to unravel it when she spoke again.
    “Overlook?” Delivered as though deeply meaningful.

    Right. “Mama, do you know the number of overlooks in the Blue Ridge Mountains?”
    A cool silence followed. I knew an answer to my rhetorical question would be winging my way before morning.
    “And what does one view from this particular overlook?” Curt.
    “More mountains?” Again, I wasn’t following.
    “ Brown Mountain. Just like the Burke County overlook.”
    “That is an odd coincidence.”
    “I am having trouble seeing it as coincidence.”
    “Who found these body parts?”
    “Hikers.”
    “Has anyone established that the stuff was human?”
    “Stuff?” Sniff of disapproval. “Really, darling.”
    “Did you find any follow-up stories?”
    “I did not. And I searched very thoroughly. Keep in mind this was not headline news. The original piece was very brief.”
    “Did the journalist provide contact information?”
    Keys clicked. “Those having knowledge of the situation are asked to contact the Avery County Sheriff’s Department.” She read off a number. The same number that had appeared on caller ID when Zeb Ramsey phoned.
    “Can you forward the link to me?”
    “I can.”
    That night I dreamed of lights on a distant ridge.
    —
    Unsurprisingly, I woke late. A quick toilette, then I fed Birdie and headed to the MCME, anticipating Larabee’s sermon with as much relish as I had Mama’s fashion critique.
    Driving across uptown, I pictured Larabee sitting at his desk, pumped by an early morning run, ready to leap into action at the sound of my office door. He wasn’t there.
    After entering the new Burke County remains into the system, which assigned them case number ME122-15, I opened a file and made notes on the circumstances surrounding their