Bones on Ice: A Novella Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Kathy Reichs
her.”
Did the woman cradle the delusion that her daughter was incapable of error? Or was she implying something else? Something more sinister?
Hallis misread my look as one of disdain. “Please don’t judge me, Dr. Brennan. I’m no fool. I don’t believe my daughter was faultless. But climbing was her passion. Shespared no expense on training and equipment. No one was more aware of and prepared for the risks. I simply need to know how she died.”
I was confused. Was that the real ask? Point a finger elsewhere so her daughter’s image remains unblemished?
“I can’t make any promises,” I said.
“All I desire is a thorough examination. If there’s any indication this accident was caused by faulty equipment or poor instruction, I want to know.”
Bingo. Lawsuit. How the wealthy deal with loss. My budding sympathy began to ebb.
“I promise we will do our best.” I stood, slung my purse over one shoulder, and tucked the envelope under my arm. “My findings will be in my report.”
Hallis rose, the Chanel showing not a hint of a wrinkle.
“I’ve arranged for you to interview Brighton’s climbing team. Dara Steele, Cash Reynolds, and Damon James will meet you at Leroy Fox tomorrow at noon. I left venue selection to them.” Her tone apologized for the lowbrow choice of one of my favorite gastropubs. “The bill will come to me, naturally. Feel free to ask them anything. In my experience, they won’t offer.”
Hallis’s smile was accustomed to being returned. I didn’t. The woman’s assumption of submission was astounding.
“I’ll check my schedule,” I said.
“My friends and I are grateful for your efforts.” No need to name the “friends.”
One manicured hand came forward. We shook, Hallis not contacting a molecule more of my skin than necessary.
Outside, the sky was pink streaked with yellow, aiming for night. I stood a moment, listening to the whisper of wind in the ancient oaks. Taking in the smell of crocus nudging through earth newly released from winter’s long grip. Enjoying the serenity of an early spring dusk.
Not knowing it was the last peaceful moment I’d have for some time.
Chapter 4
Sunday began with a white furry paw batting my nose. Birdie wanted breakfast. After a few ineffective elbow shoves, I gave up and hauled myself out of bed. Sleep hath no enemy like an unrelenting cat.
Bird’s penance was to dine solo. I took my bagel and coffee outside to the patio, ignoring a voicemail I knew to be from Ryan. Face buried in kibble, the cat bore the slight with aplomb. Or didn’t notice.
Around me, azaleas winked pink and white among the waxy green leaves of bushes planted years before I moved into Sharon Hall. The air was rich with the scent of spores and pollen, with the promise of life and allergies about to burst forth. Over the wall, a lone church bell called out to the faithful.
The sky was unblemished, the sun soft and warm on my shoulders and hair. It was a morning for hiking or biking, for gardening or reading a novel on a lounger. Not for mummified corpses and icy death.
The buzz of my mobile interrupted my thoughts. I answered and clicked off the ringtone silencer in one move.
“You missed a good time last night.” Anne and I had been invited to a dinner party at the home of a mutual friend. She’d gone, I’d bailed. After meeting with Blythe Hallis, I’d been too bummed.
“But I’m enjoying a great morning.” Garbled by cream cheese and dough.
“What are you eating?”
“Bagel.”
“How’s the corpsicle?” Never subtle, and not totally sober, Anne had phoned the previous evening demanding the whole story. Naming no names, I’d given her the bare bones.
“Frostier than a Greco-German economy summit,” I said.
“Good one.” Anne and I liked making up outlandish similes. It was a game we played.
“Strained,” I said.
“A bit.”
For a moment, empty air hummed across the line. I took another bite of bagel. Coffee. Anne spoke
Did the woman cradle the delusion that her daughter was incapable of error? Or was she implying something else? Something more sinister?
Hallis misread my look as one of disdain. “Please don’t judge me, Dr. Brennan. I’m no fool. I don’t believe my daughter was faultless. But climbing was her passion. Shespared no expense on training and equipment. No one was more aware of and prepared for the risks. I simply need to know how she died.”
I was confused. Was that the real ask? Point a finger elsewhere so her daughter’s image remains unblemished?
“I can’t make any promises,” I said.
“All I desire is a thorough examination. If there’s any indication this accident was caused by faulty equipment or poor instruction, I want to know.”
Bingo. Lawsuit. How the wealthy deal with loss. My budding sympathy began to ebb.
“I promise we will do our best.” I stood, slung my purse over one shoulder, and tucked the envelope under my arm. “My findings will be in my report.”
Hallis rose, the Chanel showing not a hint of a wrinkle.
“I’ve arranged for you to interview Brighton’s climbing team. Dara Steele, Cash Reynolds, and Damon James will meet you at Leroy Fox tomorrow at noon. I left venue selection to them.” Her tone apologized for the lowbrow choice of one of my favorite gastropubs. “The bill will come to me, naturally. Feel free to ask them anything. In my experience, they won’t offer.”
Hallis’s smile was accustomed to being returned. I didn’t. The woman’s assumption of submission was astounding.
“I’ll check my schedule,” I said.
“My friends and I are grateful for your efforts.” No need to name the “friends.”
One manicured hand came forward. We shook, Hallis not contacting a molecule more of my skin than necessary.
Outside, the sky was pink streaked with yellow, aiming for night. I stood a moment, listening to the whisper of wind in the ancient oaks. Taking in the smell of crocus nudging through earth newly released from winter’s long grip. Enjoying the serenity of an early spring dusk.
Not knowing it was the last peaceful moment I’d have for some time.
Chapter 4
Sunday began with a white furry paw batting my nose. Birdie wanted breakfast. After a few ineffective elbow shoves, I gave up and hauled myself out of bed. Sleep hath no enemy like an unrelenting cat.
Bird’s penance was to dine solo. I took my bagel and coffee outside to the patio, ignoring a voicemail I knew to be from Ryan. Face buried in kibble, the cat bore the slight with aplomb. Or didn’t notice.
Around me, azaleas winked pink and white among the waxy green leaves of bushes planted years before I moved into Sharon Hall. The air was rich with the scent of spores and pollen, with the promise of life and allergies about to burst forth. Over the wall, a lone church bell called out to the faithful.
The sky was unblemished, the sun soft and warm on my shoulders and hair. It was a morning for hiking or biking, for gardening or reading a novel on a lounger. Not for mummified corpses and icy death.
The buzz of my mobile interrupted my thoughts. I answered and clicked off the ringtone silencer in one move.
“You missed a good time last night.” Anne and I had been invited to a dinner party at the home of a mutual friend. She’d gone, I’d bailed. After meeting with Blythe Hallis, I’d been too bummed.
“But I’m enjoying a great morning.” Garbled by cream cheese and dough.
“What are you eating?”
“Bagel.”
“How’s the corpsicle?” Never subtle, and not totally sober, Anne had phoned the previous evening demanding the whole story. Naming no names, I’d given her the bare bones.
“Frostier than a Greco-German economy summit,” I said.
“Good one.” Anne and I liked making up outlandish similes. It was a game we played.
“Strained,” I said.
“A bit.”
For a moment, empty air hummed across the line. I took another bite of bagel. Coffee. Anne spoke