Free Bone Deep by Randy Wayne White Page B

New England. When Lewis and Clark crossed the Rockies, more than one unsuspecting Skin greeted those white bastards with a Masonic handshake. So it only makes sense that’s where Dunk would go.”
    This was said to reassure me about the fate of our Crow or Apache friend from Montana—or was it Arizona?
    I gave up. “Let’s review here. The house you broke into was robbed. You do understand that?”
    “Robbed?”
he asked.
    “Shots were fired. Judges don’t like it when firearms are used during the commission of a felony. Valuable property was stolen, so it’s grand theft. Someone saw you leave that house—the guy in the ski mask, if no one else. If police find fingerprints, they’ll match them on a computer. If they . . . no,
when
they question Mick, the magic tour guide, he’ll tell them about you and Duncan. See why I’m concerned?”
    Tomlinson appeared confounded until his eyes found the duffel bag, then they zoomed in on me. “Jesus Christ, Doc. You hijacked the robber and took his swag.
Then y
ou killed him. I was right from the start.”
    No . . . I had struck a deal with Deon Killip and dropped him afew miles north on Turner Key, where his stripper girlfriend had relatives.
    “Call the Masonic lodge in Venice,” I said. “I’ll explain on the way.”
    No answer at the lodge, but Tomlinson’s phone buzzed an hour later off Stump Pass, south of Englewood Beach.
    “What’s your twenty, Magic Man?” he asked, grinning. It was Fallsdown. I slowed, preparing to turn around, but Tomlinson waved me onward.
    “Let me guess,” I said. “He’s in Key West, not Atlanta.”
    Tomlinson covered the phone. “Dinkin’s Bay—Dunk had to stop at the 7-Eleven to buy more phone minutes. Should I tell him what we have?”
    By then, I had unboxed the owl charmstone but hadn’t shared all the information with my pal—nor would I until I decided on a next move.
    “Let’s surprise him,” I said.
    •   •   •
    I SPENT THE NEXT DAY, Saturday, expecting a knock on the door and a refresher on my Miranda rights. I had hidden the bag, minus the charmstone, deep in the mangroves on the western fringe of Dinkin’s Bay, but was still uneasy.
    A close inspection of the duffel bag’s contents would have to wait until I deemed it safe.
    Tomlinson and Fallsdown didn’t know what I’d done but must have shared my uneasiness. They had avoided the lab and kept a low profile.
    In the afternoon, my cousin, Ransom Gatrell, stopped to sayhello. With her cinnamon skin and Bahamian accent, we are an unlikely family, but Ransom is my closest relative and among my most trusted friends. She was leaving for Key West that night. We had a good talk. She offered some insights into Hannah’s behavior, then shared a few details about her own love life that caused me some brotherly uneasiness, the woman was so succinctly graphic.
    “Never seen a man so fast to embarrass,” she said more than once, although her intonation varied with her laughter.
    I shared a few secrets with her, too, but of a less intimate nature.
    Leland Albright called as Ransom was leaving and hinted again at his offer of a consulting job. “Don’t tell me you’re not qualified,” he said. “I did some research on you. Tomorrow, I’ll show you what an old phosphate mine looks like if you’re willing to discuss a business proposition.”
    In the morning, he wanted me to come to his home in Sarasota and we would drive to his mining property together.
    I told Albright, “Let me think about it,” and walked Ransom to her car.
    His offer was tempting. Tomlinson and Fallsdown were going to a Lakeland gun show in the morning to search for more relics dealers. Duncan was delighted to see the little stone owl but was pressing ahead with his search for the second carving. I had been dreading the trip to Lakeland. In a building full of right-leaning gun advocates, Tomlinson would require careful monitoring—or a gag. Leland’s invitation would spare