“Not bad, Ryan.”
“But, since you ask, Ramsey’s parents get my vote.”
I floated a brow.
“Who names a kid Zebulon?”
I bunched and tossed my napkin. Ryan batted the incoming down with one hand. “Here’s one that’s been bothering me,” he said. “What does create the lights on Brown Mountain?”
I raised both brows and palms in a “Who knows?” gesture.
“Still an unsolved mystery,” he said.
“It is,” I agreed.
Then Ryan’s face went solemn. Reaching across the table, he took my hand in his.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Tempe. It must have been terrifying in that kennel. Cora. Hoke. Owen Lee. The dogs.”
“Slidell and Ramsey did just fine.”
“It should have been me.”
“No, Ryan. It’s much better that it wasn’t you rushing in to save me.”
“I like to rush in to save you.”
“I’m serious. I think—” I stopped. What did I think? “The possibility of imbalance was part of my hesitation in committing to”—I sought the perfect word, settled—“a relationship.”
“To us.”
“Yes. To us. I guess I botched my explanation the day you came to Charlotte.”
“Your meaning was clear.”
“I have to be my own person, Ryan. To fight my own battles, win or lose. I can’t play damsel in distress to your Galahad.”
“Message received, then and now. Just remember the next time you get a flat tire.”
My eye roll was epic.
“So. What about it?” Ryan did one of his famous fast segues. “Can we afford Shylock’s condo?”
I looked into the astoundingly blue eyes. Into the face that I’d loved for so many years.
“What the hell.” I smiled. “A fat tax refund is coming my way.”
I raised a palm. A beaming Ryan high-fived it.
When I think back about Hazel “Lucky” Strike—nights when I can’t sleep, days when I catch a glimpse of outrageously dyed carrot hair—there is one bright spot that I recall. Until then, I hadn’t shared that detail with Ryan.
“Slidell found a folder in Strike’s house containing a funeral plan.”
“Her own?”
“She was getting on in years and had no family.” And was painfully aware of the fate of the unmourned dead. The last didn’t need saying.
Ryan waited.
“Skinny told me he dropped by the cemetery.”
“Without you?”
“He claimed I was still busy licking my wounds.”
“That was a very kind gesture.”
“He thought turnout would be low.” Saying it hit me with a new wave of melancholy. “He was wrong. By Skinny’s count there were roughly fifty people there.”
“Fellow websleuths?”
I nodded. “Wendell Clyde bought her a headstone.”
“Seriously?”
“Engraved under Strike’s name were the words ‘Lucky to have known you.’ ”
For
Cooper Eldridge Mixon, born July 14, 2014
Most view writing as a solitary pursuit. Not so. I get a whole lot of help from a whole lot of people. Thus, as usual, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to those who contributed to Speaking in Bones.
I want to thank Avery County Sheriff Kevin Frye for welcoming inquiries on the workings of his office. Dr. Bruce Goldberger gave advice on trace element analysis. Dr. William Rodriguez answered bone questions beyond my ken. Judy Jasper provided input on the Hungarian culture and language.
I appreciate the continued support of Chancellor Philip L. Dubois of the University of North Carolina at Charlotte.
I offer deepest thanks to my agent, Jennifer Rudolph-Walsh, and to my endlessly patient and skillful editors, Jennifer Hershey and Susan Sandon.
I also want to acknowledge all those who work so very hard on my behalf. At home in the United States, Gina Centrello, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Scott Shannon, Susan Corcoran, Cindy Murray, Kristin Fassler, Cynthia Lasky, and Anne Speyer. On the other side of the pond, Aslan Byrne, Glenn O’Neill, Georgina Hawtrey Woore, and Jen Doyle. North of the forty-ninth, Kevin Hanson and Amy Cormier. At William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, Caitlin Moore, Maggie Shapiro, Tracy Fisher, Cathryn Summerhayes, and Raffaella De Angelis.
I appreciate Paul Reichs’s unpaid editorial input. And Melissa Fish’s tireless attention to every problem I throw her way.
As always, I send a great big hug to all my readers. It is heartwarming that you are so loyal to Tempe. I love that you find me at my signings and appearances, visit my website (kathyreichs.com), like me on Facebook (kathyreichsbooks), and follow me on Twitter (@KathyReichs), Pinterest (kathyreichs), and Instagram (kathyreichs). You guys are what it’s all about!
If I failed to thank someone I should have, I apologize. And owe you a beer. If the book contains errors, they are my fault.
BY KATHY REICHS
Bones on Ice (novella)
Speaking in Bones
Swamp Bones (novella)
Bones Never Lie
Bones of the Lost
Bones Are Forever
Flash and Bones
Spider Bones
206 Bones
Devil Bones
Bones to Ashes
Break No Bones
Cross Bones
Monday Mourning
Bare Bones
Grave Secrets
Fatal Voyage
Deadly Decisions
Death du Jour
Déjà Dead
Bones in Her Pocket (short story)
YOUNG ADULT FICTION (WITH BRENDAN REICHS)
Terminal
Exposure
Code
Seizure
Virals
Shock (novella)
Swipe (novella)
Shift (novella)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K
ATHY
R
EICHS
is the author of seventeen
New York Times
bestselling novels featuring forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan. Like her protagonist, Reichs is a forensic anthropologist—one of fewer than one hundred ever certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology. A professor in the Department of Anthropology at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, she is a former vice president of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences and serves on the National Police Services Advisory Council in Canada. Reichs’s own life, as much as her novels, is the basis for the TV show
Bones,
one of the longest-running series in the history of the FOX network.
kathyreichs.com
Facebook.com/kathyreichsbooks
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