Free The Bones Will Speak by Carrie Stuart Parks Page A

wood chips.
    She couldn’t move. No!
    â€œThey tell me your real name is Mattie.”
    His voice. Soft, caressing her, so gentle, so deadly.
    â€œI know you can hear me.”
    She was rigid, unable to move. Black edges encircled her vision.
    â€œDespite your disgusting flaws, you did exactly right and everything went as planned.” The whisper of fabric, his voice now closer. “I could kill you now. But I’m not done.”
    Her bladder released. The acrid smell of urine flooded the room. She tugged the restraints. If she could just reach the Call button. Get help. Move away. Do something .
    â€œI have one more task for you. I know you’ll do it, but just to be sure you remember how easily I can reach you, I’m leaving a gift.” His voice was inches from her ear, his breath stirring her hair.
    The blackness grew, filling her mind.
    â€œRemember.”
    The blackness won.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I RESTED MY CASE ON THE GROUND AND FOLDED my arms. This looked ugly.
    Dave’s face paled, his umber-brown mustache standing out in stark contrast and his brows knit together. “My cell was on the front seat of my truck. Someone deliberately removed it and threw it into those bushes.”
    â€œAre you saying”—Jeannie flushed and her lips compressed as she moved closer—“you think one of my people—”
    â€œSomebody did. And I’m going to find out who.” Dave glared at each officer individually. “And when I do, someone’s going to walk.” He finally looked back to Jeannie. “We can’t afford to compromise this case. I’m not going to let a greasy defense attorney throw the whole thing out on a technicality. I’ve already called in the state guys. I’m turning jurisdiction over to you for now .”
    Jeannie nodded, stepped away, and crossed her arms.
    The deputies closed rank around Dave. I pulled out my pad of paper and wrote each person’s name on a clean sheet of paper. I’d find the skunk that tried to frame Dave. I could do statement analysis on each one, determining through their written language who was lying. No one was going to smear my friend.
    A skiff of wind passed over the grave and rammed the odor of rotting flesh against my nose. I held my breath. I’d forgotten to throw something in my kit for smell. The breeze drifted past the officers. Two of Dave’s deputies turned away and gagged. Jeannie covered her nose.
    Dave frowned. “Keep me informed.” He turned and stomped to his truck, slamming the door so hard, I thought the window would break.
    Jeannie strolled to her car and pulled out the handset of her radio. “Yeah, this is a 10–36 . . .”
    Dave backed up, then drove off. Two patrol cars followed. The meadow seemed suddenly empty.
    Wes sauntered over to me.
    â€œWell, that was awkward,” I said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œUh . . .” I plucked some Pyrenees fur off my jeans. “So . . . where’d you get the Forest Service pickup?”
    â€œThey auction them off up in Missoula.”
    I didn’t want to tell him that the hue reminded me of his favorite palette: abnormal colors not found in nature. More importantly, a Forest Service truck would pass unnoticed by the locals. “So they’re pretty easy to buy?”
    â€œSure. Why?”
    â€œJust wondering.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’m sorry about all this. Tough break.”
    â€œDave will figure out how his phone got there. And I wouldn’t want to be the person responsible.”
    â€œI meant a tough break for you.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œSure. I’m the forensic artist for Missoula. I have a contract with them to do all the work. Full-time. Paid.”
    My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Contract! I’d never thought to ask for a contract. My hands formed fists, nails digging into my palms. No wonder I wasn’t getting any work or