Bones on Ice: A Novella Read Online Free PDF

first.
    “My view? Jumping out of planes or scrabbling up precipices is batshit crazy.”
    Amen to that.
    “It’s still sad,” I said. “Life shouldn’t end at twenty-four. But I agree. I don’t see the point of deliberately endangering yourself for a rush. Hang gliding. Crocodile bungeeing. BASE jumping. Ice climbing.”
    “Buying sushi from a street vendor in Tijuana.”
    “Why do it?”
    “Costs less.”
    “I mean extreme sport.” Eyes rolling. Which she couldn’t see.
    “The thrill of the chase? The chase of the thrill?”
    “More like a subliminal death wish. Did you know that the odds of dying in a random accident are three percent? The odds of dying on Everest are more than double that. This kid had everything. Now she’s lying in a cooler with a tag on her toe.” Close enough.
    “Aren’t you being a teeny bit hypocritical?” Anne needled.
    “What?”
    “You’re always all clappety-clap for women who put it all out there.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Amelia Earhart? Sally Ride? Diana Nyad?”
    “That’s totally different.”
    “Is it?”
    The conversational twists and turns were making me dizzy. An effect not uncommon when talking to Anne. I switched tack.
    “The mother claims all the daredevil antics were for Daddy’s approval.”
    “Well blow me down. Do I hear shades of connection to young Tempe and her elusive mother?”
    “Why is it you called again?” Mock annoyed.
    Anne launched into a tale of a morning adventure involving a hose, a raccoon, and a badly bruised knee. I half-listened, chewing and inserting comforting sounds at appropriate points. Following a particularly long pause, I said, “Good for you.”
    “It was his ass or mine.”
    “Gotta run.”
    “Seeyalaterbye.” I always appreciate Anne’s speedy disconnects.
    I raised my chin, eyes closed, to let the fast-warming rays bathe my face. In my mind I saw Blythe Hallis in her chic couture and designer makeup. Recalled her arrogance. Also remembered that moment when the mask slipped. Whatever her faults, the woman had lost a daughter.
    I rose, massaging the waffle ironwork pattern imprinted on the backs of my thighs. There was little point in going to the lab. No way ME215-15 could be thawed yet. Butwhat the hell? I’d give it a shot.
    I stopped mid-step, mug and plate half off the table. Was that where Anne had been going? Was I driven? Was I like Brighton Hallis after all?
    —
    The MCME facility was deserted save for a minimal weekend crew, and humming with such absence of activity that every sound seemed to crack like gunfire. A puff of HVAC air hitting a vent. A door clicking shut. A phone ringing out of sight down a hall. I geared up, went to autopsy room five, and rolled Brighton Hallis from her chilly overnight resting place.
    The porcelain skin had grown pallid and lost its gleam. I pressed a thumb into the flesh of one shoulder. Noted some softening. Encouraged, I tried flexing the right elbow. While far from supple, there was some give. Mimicking therapy Gran had undergone following knee replacement surgery, I massaged each limb, slowly, methodically, in my mind easing the body toward prone. Ninety minutes later, my headway could have been measured in fractions of microns.
    “It’s a start. You’ll do better tomorrow.” Rewrapping the girl on the table in plastic sheeting. “Soon we’ll have you flat enough for Victorian sex.”
    Jesus! Did I really say that? Time to go.
    Stripping off gloves, mask, and apron, I washed up and headed to Leroy Fox, a spot with several things in its favor: Good food. Easy parking. Proximity to home. Not part of the ladies-who-lunch set, I was pleased Blythe Hallis had left venue selection to others.
    Bingo. A spot right at the door. Inside, the décor was industrial chic meets locker-room manly. All around, balls of various sizes and shapes were dribbled and arced and pitched and scratched on screens sharp enough to beam satellite images from Mars. The