Free Dead Man's Bones by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

passionate love affair. All I could do was cross my fingers, hope for the best, and hang on for the ride, which was guaranteed to be bumpy.
    Without another word, I put my arms around her and held her very tight.

Chapter Five
    Comfrey ( Symphytum officinale ) is also known as “knit-bone.” The leaves and root of this perennial herb contain allantoin, a protein with hormone-like qualities that stimulates cell growth. As a poultice or a salve, the plant has a reputation for helping to heal broken bones and reduce the swelling associated with fractures. External use of comfrey is safe; internal use in large amounts is not recommended because the plant also contains potentially carcinogenic alkaloids that may damage the liver.

    Bean’s Bar & Grill takes up most of an old stone building with a tin roof, between Purley’s Tire Company and the railroad tracks. Every time a Missouri and Pacific train goes by, everything in the place shakes, rattles, or sways, from the dishes on the wooden tables to the cigar store Indian in the corner, the rusty iron wagon-wheel chandelier, the neon-lit jukebox, and the racks of pool cues in the back room.
    There are some things you should know about Bean’s. It’s not a good idea to go there if you want to be alone, for you’re bound to see three or four of your best friends, all of whom will want you to sit down at their table. Don’t go there with somebody you don’t want your partner to know about, for somebody else is bound to notice and carry tales; if not, your clothes, saturated with the unmistakable eau d’Bean’s blend of beer, tobacco smoke, and mesquite-stoked barbecue fires, will tattle on you. And don’t go for lunch or supper unless you’re willing to load up on carbs and fat grams, since Bob Godwin’s famous chicken-fried steak—smothered in cream gravy, with french fries, fried onion rings, and Texas toast on the side—is totally irresistable. Down-home comfort food, no doubt about it, soaked and swaddled in the sweet, down-home comfort of friends, fun, and familiar music.
    Down-home comfort, that’s what I was after tonight, having been rebuffed by Sheila and rejected by Ruby, both on account of love gone wrong. I went into Bean’s, stood for a moment while my eyes adjusted to the agreeable gloom, and looked around. Hark and several of his buddies, gathered around their usual table, motioned me to join them. Bubba Harris, Sheila’s predecessor, now retired to the more docile business of beekeeping, grinned at me from the bar. And at the back of the room, I saw Barry Hibbler, a local real estate broker and a member of the Community Theater board of directors, throwing darts at a poster of a man who had once been our governor and has since somewhat widened his sphere of influence. Barry was with his longtime gay partner, George, who is writing a mystery about an ex-lawyer who opens a florist shop. Both gave me a wave and a mouthed invitation to join their game. Tossing darts at ex-guvs is a favorite sport at Bean’s, and every now and then, somebody comes up with a new poster.
    But my eye had been caught by a woman seated in the back corner, with what was left of a margarita on the table in front of her. Alana Montoya looked tired, she looked lonely, and I was glad to see her. I didn’t have the patience for Hark’s horseplay tonight, a little bit of Bubba goes a long way, and George keeps pumping me for background information for his mystery. Anyway, I’ve wanted a chance to get better acquainted with Alana, and I was curious about the bones Brian had found in the cave. She might be able to bring me up to date.
    “Hi, Alana,” I said, approaching the table. “I’m China Bayles. We met at Mistletoe Springs Cave—remember? My son Brian found a skeleton out there last week.”
    “Oh, sure, I remember,” Alana said with a half-smile, perhaps not altogether welcoming. She was wearing khaki pants and a plain white shirt with the neck open and the sleeves