The Bone Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

happened today.”
    He chuckled. “Tal, with you, I expect strange.”
    “Very funny. Now listen.” I told him about the smashed pot and the skull and my thinking it was shop owner Delphine. “At first, I was sure. Now? Not so much.”
    He grew quiet on the other end. I heard his breathing, then a hiss. “You know, Tal, I usually tell you to go with your gut.”
    “I know. I agree. But it makes no sense.”
    “No, it doesn’t. It sounds highly unlikely, in fact. So why don’t we go to the Peabody this weekend, if I’m still invited for the overnight. We’ll find out just where those pots came from.”
    “Of course you’re invited.” Just the thought of Hank here, in my bed, made me lust. “But we won’t need to go to the Peabody. I’ll be talking to Delphine, at the latest, tomorrow.”
    “Plan on a field trip, hon.”
    “But, Hank, I . . .”
    “I know you,” he said. “I doubt talking to the woman on the phone will satisfy you.”
    My gut tightened, and I gnawed a nail. “I hope you’re wrong.”
    “Gotta run,” he said. “See you Friday, sweet cheeks.”
    “Um, Hank?”
    “Right here.”
    I sat on the couch and dragged the afghan onto my bare goose-bumped legs. “Sure. Of course. I, um, I heard a rumor today. Pretty interesting one.”
    “Ayuh,” he said, sliding into the Maine-ese he used to muddy a situation.
    “Aren’t you curious what it was?” Here he went again.
    “Nope-suh. You know how I feel about rumahs.”
    “God, you’re a frustrating man,” I said.
    He chuckled. “Yup-suh.”
    “Cut the Maine crap, Hank. It was about you.”
    “Like I said, gotta run, Tal.”
    “Don’t you dare—”
    Click.
    The bastard had rung off.
    That night I watched a BBC mystery. I clutched a pillow to my gut, was lazily scratching Penny, and failed to find distraction in a most compelling
Waking the Dead
.
    Every so often, I stared at the phone, willing it to ring, urging it to have Delphine’s voice on the other end.
    No such luck.
    Before I tucked myself in for the night, I checked my cell phone and made sure it was charging. I dropped a pair of special glasses and a wig I’d used on a years-ago dance with death into a L.L. Bean bag, so I’d be all set for the morning. I gave the night sky one last look, then slid into bed.
    That night I dreamt of Delphine and saw her face melt from her skull. I snapped awake, smelling of sweat and fear, and decided that a dreamless five-thirty was better than a sleeping alternative.
    “Didi, just give it a try.” I stood in Didi’s office beside the uncovered bust of the mystery woman. In less than thirty minutes, retired Zuni tribal governor Ben Bowannie was to arrive and give the real skull, along with Didi’s construct, a cleansing ceremony. I needed to be done before then.
    Didi ruffled her hands through her wild gray hair, making it even wilder than usual. “I cannot put that old ratty wig on this head. Nope. Can’t do it. Can’t slip on those ridiculous glasses, either.”
    I held the glasses up to the reconstruction’s face. “C’mon. Delphine wears reading glasses similar to these!”
    “I don’t care if she wears Fig Newtons on her eyes,” Didi said. “I promised the governor the head would be untaintedwith Anglo anything. It must be pure, according to him. I’m trying to accommodate. Get it?”
    “I respect that,” I said. “I do. But I told you, she looks so much like this woman I know. The wig will help. It’s how she sometimes wears her hair. And the glasses will—”
    “No.” She pursed her lips as she sat at her desk. “No. I
am
sorry, Tally. Perhaps after the governor leaves. Yes, that might work. Believe me, this guy’s sharp. He’d know if we put something like that on her. Whether the skull is American Indian or not, I feel it’s appropriate to go along with this guy for now. Have to, Tally. They say he’s high in the Bow priesthood, the most secret and sacred of Zuni clans, or whatever they call them. I