Free Cross Bones by Kathy Reichs Page A

thought of something.

    “Old ladies like cookies.”

    “They’re known for it.”

    I reached into my purse and pul ed out the shortbreads.

    “Mama might warm to us, feel chatty.”

    “Damn.” Ryan turned. “We’re good at this.”

    Only, Dora didn’t answer the door. Miriam did. She wore black slacks, a black silk blouse, a black cardigan, and pearls.

    As on our first meeting, I was struck by Miriam’s eyes. There were dark hol ows beneath them now, but it didn’t matter. Those lavender irises were showstoppers.

    Miriam was not unaware of the effect her eyes had on men. After flicking a glance at me, she shifted to Ryan and leaned forward slightly, one hand wrapping her waist, the other gathering the cardigan at her throat.

    “Detective.” Soft. A little breathy.

    “Good morning, Mrs. Ferris,” Ryan said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

    “Thank you.”

    Miriam’s skin was ghostly. She looked thinner than I remembered.

    “There are a few points I’d like to clear up,” Ryan said.

    Miriam’s focus shifted to a point between and beyond us. The old woman’s cart cranked up.

    Miriam reengaged on Ryan, and her head tipped slightly.

    “Can’t this wait?”

    Ryan let the question hang in the triangle of space between us.

    “Who is it?” A quavery voice floated from inside the house.

    Miriam turned and said something in Yiddish or Hebrew, then reoriented to us.

    “My mother-in-law is unwel .”

    “Your husband is dead,” Ryan said, not too gently. “I can’t delay a murder investigation for the comfort of the bereaved.”

    “I live with that thought every moment of the day. So you believe it’s murder, then?”

    “As do you, I think. Are you avoiding me, Mrs. Ferris?”

    “No.”

    Lavender and blue met head-on. Neither gave way.

    “I’d like to ask you again about a man named Kessler.”

    “I’m going to tel you again. I don’t know him.”

    “Might your mother-in-law?”

    “No.”

    “How do you know that, Mrs. Ferris? Kessler claimed to know your husband. Have you discussed Kessler with your mother-in-law?”

    “No, but she has never mentioned that name. My husband’s business brought him into contact with many people.”

    “One of whom may have pumped two rounds into his head.”

    “Are you trying to shock me, Detective?”

    “Are you aware that your husband dealt in antiquities?”

    Miriam’s brows dipped almost imperceptibly. Then, “Who told you that?”

    “Courtney Purviance.”

    “I see.”

    “Is that statement untrue?”

    “Ms. Purviance has a tendency to exaggerate her role in my husband’s affairs.” Miriam’s voice was edged like a scythe.

    “Are you suggesting she’d lie?”

    “I’m suggesting the woman has little in her life but her job.”

    “Ms. Purviance suggested your husband’s demeanor had changed prior to his death.”

    “That’s ridiculous. If Avram had been troubled, surely I’d have noticed.”

    Ryan circled back to his point.

    “Is it not true that your husband dealt in antiquities?”

    “Antiques formed a very smal part of Avram’s trade.”

    “You know that?”

    “I know that.”

    “You’ve told me you know little about the business.”

    “That much I know.”

    The day was clear with a temperature just above freezing.

    “Might those antiquities have included human remains?” Ryan asked.

    The violet eyes widened. “Dear God, no.”

    Most people are uncomfortable with gaps in conversation. When faced with silence, they feel compel ed to fil it. Ryan uses this impulse. He did so now.
    He waited. It worked.

    “That would bechet, ” Miriam elaborated.

    Ryan stil waited.

    Miriam was opening her mouth to say more, when the voice again warbled behind her. She swiveled and spoke over her shoulder.

    When she turned back, sunlight glinted off moisture on her upper lip.

    “I must help my mother-in-law prepare for Shabbat.”

    Ryan handed Miriam a card.

    “If I think of