Bet Your Bones Read Online Free PDF

fallen into a steam vent near Ocean View on the Big Island still had not been identified and no one had come forward to report a missing person. The police were now calling it a homicide. Due to extreme decomposition of the body, fingerprints had not yet been obtained, but with advanced forensic techniques, the police expected the identity question to be resolved within the week.
    The telephone rang. Dinah picked it up and listened as Claude Ann delivered her dinner-time instructions. Dress to the hilt; wear the new earrings; don’t tell any Needmore stories no matter how hard you’re pressed; and be in the Paliuli restaurant downstairs at 9:00 sharp.
    Dinah stubbed out her cigarette, her first in nearly a month. Even the Philippine government had jumped on the health bandwagon to stamp out smoking. Once cigarettes made men look macho and women look sexy. They had bolstered men in times of war and pacified them in times of boredom, and they went so perfectly with martinis and mood music. A cigarette had once been the finale at the end of lovemaking and the final solace of men brought before a firing squad. Now smoking was just one more discredited myth. Like burning witches to prevent sorcery or taking calcium supplements to prevent osteoporosis. While she was thinking about it, she pitched her Calci-tabs, which had apparently been shown to cause heart attacks.
    She slipped into her only dress, a sleeveless black sheath with a jewel neckline and a side slit, combed her hair, and assessed her reflection in the mirror. It had been months since she spruced up to go out for a social occasion. She’d almost forgotten what she looked like in a dress. When her fieldwork on Mindanao ended, she would return to the States and rejoin civilization. Maybe she’d return to Emory and complete her graduate degree. In the meantime, this was as close to the hilt as it got. She added a tinge of lipstick, stepped into a pair of sling-back heels, and headed for the elevators.
    The Paliuli was two floors down, tucked away on the mezzanine. As she entered, torch ginger and red anthuriums and birds of paradise blazed from every nook and cranny. Xander and Claude Ann were already seated. The maitre d’ ushered her past a mural of an Edenic island scene to her host’s booth.
    Xander stood to greet her. “Dinah, mahalo for coming so far to celebrate with us. I’m delighted to meet you.”
    He was six-three at least, broad-shouldered, with a wide, rather sensual mouth and penetrating brown eyes. There was a stippling of gray at his temples, but a forelock of still-dark hair fell across his forehead, and he had been blessed with a strong, clean jaw line. He wore a brown turtleneck and a tan cashmere jacket and seemed casually at ease with himself and his place in the world. Whatever his reasons for not wanting to cross swords with the protesters, he didn’t look like a man accustomed to tiptoeing.
    Claude Ann said, “We’re expectin’ Xander’s daughter, Lyssa, and her husband, Raif, to join us in a little while so scooch in close. Marywave’s with the sitter so we can drink and cuss to our hearts’ content.”
    Dinah settled herself next to Claude Ann, who wore an asymmetrical, one-shoulder blue cocktail dress and a radiant smile.
    Xander sat back down and held up his hand to summon their server. “Claude Ann refuses to tell me a thing about Needmore, Dinah. I’m counting on you to enlighten me.”
    Dinah wanted to talk about the protesters, but she tried to contain her curiosity until after the initial pleasantries. “Needmore in the nutshell…”
    “It better be an itty-bitty nut,” warned Claude Ann.
    Dinah held up her hand. “Needmore is best known for its killingly high humidity, its speed trap, and the captivating aroma of its onion processing plant.”
    Claude Ann laughed. “Don’t forget the captivatin’ quicksand.”
    “The quicksand is metaphorical,” said Dinah.
    Xander grinned a winningly boyish grin. “I’m