Free Devil Bones by Kathy Reichs

at my daughter.
    “She is one proud young lady.”

    The proud young lady gave an unbelievably staged laugh. “Mom and I were just talking about you, Charlie, and in you waltz. What a coincidence.”
    Like garlic and bad breath are coincidental, I thought.
    “Should my ears be burning?” Boyish grin. He did it wel.
    “It was al good,” Katy said.
    Charlie looked appropriately surprised and modest.
    “I should be moving on,” he said. “I was passing, saw Katy through the window, thought I’d pop in to tel you what a terrific job she’s doing for us.”
    “She’s certainly enjoying the chalenge,” I said. “Especialy the data entry. Katy loves logging info into computers. Always has.”
    This time it was Katy squinting at me.
    “Wel, we are certainly enjoying having her in the office.”
    I had to admit, with the emerald eyes and lashes to die for, Charlie Hunt was stil leading-man handsome. His hair was black, his skin a pleasant compromise between Africa and Italy. Though the coat masked his midsection, he appeared to carry little more poundage than he had in the Skylark.
    Charlie made a move to leave. Katy scrunched a “say something” face at me and upcurled her fingers.
    Tipping my head, I grinned at her. Mutely.
    “Mom’s working on that basement cauldron thing,” Katy said, way too brightly. “That’s why her hair is” — she flapped a hand in my direction — “wet.”
    “She’s just fine.” Charlie beamed at me.
    “She looks better with mascara and blusher.”
    My blushless cheeks burned.
    “Painting that face would be a sin. Like colorizing a Renoir. Y’al take care now.”
    Charlie turned, hesitated, turned back, Columbo-style.
    Here it comes, I thought.
    “I suppose we play on opposite teams.”
    My look must have revealed confusion.
    “You jail ’em, I bail ’em.”
    I floated a brow.
    “Might make for some interesting coffee conversation.”
    “You know I can’t discuss—”
    “’Course you can’t. No law against reminiscing.”
    The man actualy winked.
    By the time I got home it was almost ten. Katy had already left a message on my voice mail, a reiteration of the conversation we’d had post-Charlie. Don’t be mad. Give him a chance. He’s cool.
    Charlie Hunt might be a prince, but I wasn’t going to date him. A fix-up by my offspring was humiliation I didn’t need.
    There were two other messages. Pete. Phone me. A landscaping company. Buy our yard service.
    Disappointment. Then the usual mental sparring.
    You really thought Ryan would call?
    No.
    Right.
    Whatever.
    He’s living with another woman.
    They’re not married.
    He could have rung from his cell.
    Cel.
    Grabbing my purse, I puled out my mobile and checked for messages.
    Let him go.
    I miss talking with him.
    Talk to the cat.
    We’re still friends.
    Move on.
    Settling in bed, I clicked on the news.
    A fifty-seven-year-old teacher was suing the school district, aleging age discrimination as the reason for her firing. An unemployed trucker had won fifteen milion dolars in the Powerbal lottery.
    Bird hopped up and curled at my knee.
    “Good for the trucker,” I said, stroking his head.
    The cat looked at me.
    “The man has five kids and no job.”

    “The man has five kids and no job.”
    Stil no feline opinion.
    A couple had been arrested for stealing copper wiring from a Tuck-aseegee Road business. In addition to larceny, the resourceful pair were being charged with contributing to the delinquency of minors. Mom and Dad had brought the kids along on the break-ins.
    Authorities were investigating the shooting death of a sixty-four-year-old man in his Pinevile home. Though police had found no evidence of foul play, the death had been ruled suspicious. The medical examiner would be performing an autopsy.
    I drifted off.
    “—worship of Satan right here in the celars and back rooms of our city. Pagan idolatry. Sacrifice. Bloodletting.”
    The voice was baritone, the vowels thicker than sap.
    My eyes flew