Bones in Her Pocket: A Tempe Brennan E-Short Read Online Free PDF Page A

regurgitates.”
    “You’re showing me bird barf.”
    “I found two owl pellets in Edith Blankenship’s pelvic cavity, below where her front jeans pocket would have been.”
    Slidell said nothing.
    “She had four more pellets in a back pocket. I suspect she was researching owls.”
    “And hit this raptor center.”
    I nodded.
    “You know where the place is?”
    “Mountain Island Lake.”
    “Oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at your crib.”
    •   •   •
    Slidell was twenty minutes early. I left my unfinished Cheerios and took my coffee in a travel mug.
    Full-body latex is as appropriate for Skinny’s car as it is for autopsy room four. Fast-food cartons. Cigarette butts. Remnants of old bagged lunches. I perched gingerly, minimizing contact with the seat and floor.
    We drove north out of town on Route 16. Soon the high-rise condo and office buildings gave way to suburban homes and strip malls, then to fields and the occasional muffler shop, church, or barbecue joint.
    Forty-five minutes out, Slidell turned from the highway onto a narrow two-lane. Nothing but shoreline, woods, and pasture. Here and there a startled equine, a boat access ramp.
    Soon we saw an arrow pointing to our destination. Slidell hooked left into a gravel parking area and cut the engine. A sign warned PROTECTED BY ALARMS, CAMERAS, AND SHARP TALONS.
    The Carolina Raptor Center was bright and airy, festive with photos and avian carvings. Eagle replicas hung from the ceiling. Baskets overflowed with tourist goodies—stuffed peregrines, owl key chains, T-shirts proclaiming BIRD NERD and GIVE A HOOT. On one wall a verdant mural depicted the life cycle of the red-tailed hawk.
    “Hello!” chirped a septuagenarian with an astonishingly hot pink smile. “I’m Doris. May I help ya’ll?”
    Doris looked like a character straight from The Far Side . Cat-eye glasses, bouffant gray hair, cable-knit cardigan with more pills than a Walgreens. Small but stocky. Fit.
    Slidell flashed his badge.
    “Oh my!” The woman pressed a liver-spotted hand to her heart, eyes darting left and right as if fearful of a SWAT team hit. “Is there a problem?”
    “That would be Doris . . . ?” Slidell dipped his chin in question.
    “Kramer. Doris Kramer.”
    Slidell pulled a photo from an inside jacket pocket. “Do you recognize this woman?”
    “Of course. That’s Edith.” Doris frowned. “Such a puzzle. I’d never have believed she’d just leave us like that.”
    “She was a frequent visitor here?” I asked.
    “Many of Professor Olsen’s students do projects at the center. He brings a group every Tuesday afternoon. Edith loved our birds so much she stayed on as a hospital volunteer.”
    “Hospital?”
    “More than seven hundred injured and orphaned raptors come to our facility every year. We’re one of the few centers in the southeast that rehabilitates the American bald eagle.” If people really can beam, Doris was doing it. Then her face collapsed. “It’s horrible that so many of these majestic creatures are hit by cars and electrocuted by power lines.”
    “Power lines?” I said
    “Electrocuted?” Slidell said.
    Doris nodded solemnly. “Because their wing span is so broad they can touch two lines at once. It near broke Edith’s heart. She’d sit hours in the ER with injured birds. She was on our ambulance team, too, responded to calls about feathered friends in trouble. But mostly she tended our residents.”
    “Residents?” Slidell’s tone suggested fast-dwindling patience.
    “We house over a hundred raptors that can’t be released due to injury, amputation, or human imprinting. Visitors can observe twenty-three different species by walking our raptor trail.”
    “What did Edith do?” I asked.
    “She cleaned cages, filled feeders, performed routine health checks.” Doris laughed, a sound halfway between a hiccup and a cough. “I swear that girl liked birds more than people. Especially owls. They were her