Bones to Pick Read Online Free PDF Page A

breeches and muddy boots to know I needed a little feminine care.
    "Perfect. I'll pick you up in forty-five minutes?" He waited for me to calculate the time allotment for cleaning up.
    I nodded. "Where are we going?"
    "It's going to be a surprise."
    3
    Highway 1, which topped the thirty-foot levee on the
Mississippi River
, was the perfect place to open up the Porsche. The road was one of my favorites. On the west side were the river breaks, small sloughs, and swamps, where wildlife flourished. On the east side were pastures filled with grazing cattle. Sometimes the pastures included part of the road. Harold left a whirlwind of leaves behind as we flew through the night. It was perfect November weather, cold with a hint of ice in the crackle of the leaves. With the top down, the wind was freezing, but also invigorating. It brought the first flush of color to Harold's pale cheeks. As we left the levee and hit the interstate to
Memphis
, I watched Harold's profile. He had begun to relax. I was glad, because I'd never seen him so tense.
    "What's wrong, Harold? Did you have to evict some little old lady on a Sunday?"
    He smiled. "You give me too much credit, Sarah Booth. You think I might worry about someone else's plight. It's my own neck I'm concerned about."
    For all his bravado, Harold was a kind man. There were several elderly matrons around town who owed their homes to his gentle intervention in banking rules. "Right, Harold, I know how hard-hearted you are."
    He slowed the car enough so that he could really look at me. "Why didn't we make a couple, Sarah Booth?"
    It was a hard question to answer. When I'd first met Harold, with his plan to raze Dahlia House and build a shopping mall, I had good reason to dislike him. Then, things had changed. Antipathy had turned into attraction. Yet we'd never followed through. Why? I still couldn't say.
    "You're just hurting over Rachel," I said, touching his arm gently. "And you know what a muddle I made of my romantic life. I have no answers for either of us."
    "Coleman Peters." He said the name as if it were the title of a book.
    I wisely said nothing as he pressed the accelerator and sped us through the night to a small, expensive
Memphis
restaurant called The French Connection.
    The food was good, the wine excellent, and the creme brulee to die for. Throughout the meal, we talked about my past cases, Oscar's reaction to Tinkie's involvement in the private investigation business, and the passing of the year.
    "Will you be making fruitcakes this year?" he asked.
    "Tradition, Harold. It rules my life." I'd had enough wine to believe I was witty, and I was rewarded with his bold laugh. Several patrons of the restaurant turned to look at us, and not without envy.
    We ordered coffee, and I watched his face change. "I need your help, Sarah Booth."
    "Harold, you know that Humphrey Tatum has already hired us to help Allison. Besides, you don't have a thing to worry about. Gordon would never seriously consider you a killer."
    He frowned. "I'm not so certain. I don't think Tinkie conveyed the full scene to you. Because I didn't convey it to her."
    Looking into his dark eyes, I could see he was genuinely worried. Though I might not take his predicament seriously, he did. To belittle his concern was not the action of a friend. "Tell me what happened."
    He leaned closer, glancing left and right as if he were about to reveal a state secret. "I was in the bar at The Club. Rachel and I had had a terrible row in the dining room. It was"--he grimaced--"tasteless and regrettable."
    "You really care for her, don't you?"
    He dropped his gaze, and I could read nothing on his face. When he looked up again, he was composed. "Rachel has such a gift for life. To be with her makes me feel more fully alive than I've ever felt. But it isn't fair for me to hold her back. She wants to travel, to live in
Europe
, to experience life. I'm happy here in Zinnia, living my dull life with the people I've grown to care