Free Bloody Bones by Laurell K. Hamilton Page B

the open places. It was so dark under the trees that I wished for a flashlight. When we stumbled to the road, and our waiting Jeep, it was only dusk.
    Larry looked up at the coming night, and said, “We can get back and walk the graveyard for Stirling.”
    â€œFirst let’s eat,” I said.
    He looked at me. “You wanting to stop for food, that’s a first. I usually have to beg for drive-up.”
    â€œI forgot to eat lunch,” I said.
    He grinned. “That I believe.” The smile faded slowly from his face. “The first time you offer me food voluntarily, and I don’t think I can eat.” He stared at me. There was enough light left for me to see him search my face. “Could you really eat after what we just saw?”
    I looked at him. I didn’t know what to say. Not so long ago, the answer would have been no. “Well, I wouldn’t want to face a plate of spaghetti, or steak tartare, but yeah, I could eat.”
    He shook his head. “What the heck is steak tartare?”
    â€œRaw beef, pretty much,” I said.
    He swallowed hard, looking just a little paler than he had a second ago. “How can you even think of stuff like that so soon after . . .” He let the words trail off. We’d both seen it; no words were needed.
    I shrugged. “I’ve been going to murder scenes for nearly three years, Larry. You learn to survive. Which means you learn to eat after seeing cut-up bodies.” I didn’t add that I’d seen worse. I’d seen human bodies reduced to a roomful of blood and gobbets of unrecognizable flesh. Not enough left to fill a gallon-size baggie. I hadn’t gone out for Big Macs after that one.
    â€œAre you up to at least trying to eat?”
    He was looking at me sort of suspiciously. “Where did you have in mind?”
    I untied the Nikes and stepped carefully on the gravel road. Didn’t want to snag the hose. I unzipped the coverall and stepped out of it. Larry did the same, but he tried to keep his shoes on. He managed to work his feet through, but it required some hopping on one leg.
    I folded my coverall carefully so the blood wouldn’t touch the Jeep’s immaculate interior. I tossed the Nikes into the back floorboard and got the high heels out.
    Larry was trying to brush wrinkles from his suit pants, but some things only a dry cleaner could fix.
    â€œHow would you like to go to Bloody Bones?” I asked.
    He looked up at me, hands still patting at the wrinkles. He frowned. “Where?”
    â€œIt’s the restaurant that Magnus Bouvier owns. Stirling mentioned it.”
    â€œDid he tell us where it was?” Larry said.
    â€œNo, but I asked one of the local cops for restaurants, and Bloody Bones isn’t that far from here.”
    Larry squinted suspiciously at me. “Why do you want to go there?”
    â€œI want to talk to Magnus Bouvier.”
    â€œWhy?” he asked.
    It was a good question. I wasn’t sure I had a good answer. I shrugged and climbed into the Jeep. Larry had no choice but to join me, unless he didn’t want to continue the conversation. When we were all settled in the Jeep, I still didn’t have a really good answer.
    â€œI don’t like Stirling. I don’t trust him.”
    â€œI got the impression you didn’t like him,” Larry said, his voice very dry. “But why not trust him?”
    â€œDo you trust him?” I asked.
    Larry frowned and thought about it. He shook his head. “Not as far as I could throw him.”
    â€œSee?” I said.
    â€œI guess so, but you think talking to Bouvier will help?”
    â€œI hope so. I don’t like raising the dead for people I don’t trust. Especially something this big.”
    â€œOkay, so we go eat dinner at Bouvier’s restaurant and talk to him; then what?”
    â€œIf we don’t learn anything new, we go see Stirling and walk the graveyard for