The Bones Will Speak Read Online Free Page B

spiders?”
    â€œYeah. They’re coming from over there.” She pointed to the cupboard under the studio sink, then shuffled from the room.
    I thought I’d fixed that . I opened the cupboard. Sure enough, the temporary plywood shelf was still there from when a leak under the sink rotted the cabinet bottom. A line of ants paraded from the crawl space under the house. If ants could get in, so could spiders. Resisting the urge to slap at my clothing, I found a can of insect spray and emptied it under and around the cabinet.
    Fumes from the spray filled the room. Time to leave and find a body . The thought cheered me up. Dave was right; I really did have a sick mind.
    Reaching through the security bars on the windows, I opened a few to let the room air out. After placing the skull in a fresh grocery bag, I folded the top closed and stapled it shut, this time adding two strips of tape to keep it closed.
    Any walk in the woods required some kind of weapon. Chances were slim that an irate black bear or cougar would see me as a potential meal, but a startled moose could be in need of shooing off with a loud noise. Hopefully. As for a grizzly, well, I’d just have to pray I didn’t have that problem. I debated between my SIG Sauer pistol and the .223 rifle, settling on the .223. The bullets were cheaper.
    My Remington Model 700 North American Custom rifle stood in solitary glory in the ten-rifle display case by the front door. Robert, although he never fired a gun, took all the other rifles. I’d purchased this gun as a gift to myself for completing cancer treatment, then ordered it in pink camouflage. My choice of finish probably broke the heart of the gunsmith, but I was pretty much guaranteed that no self-respecting man would take it or try to steal it. Besides, I think pink’s a killer color.
    Slinging the rifle over my shoulder with its matching pink camo strap, I snatched the camera and stuck it in my pocket, then picked up my drawing kit. I passed Aynslee in the living room making a lackluster attempt to dust. “Don’t forget to unload the dishwasher.”
    â€œSlave labor,” Aynslee mumbled. “Mail came. It’s on the kitchen table.”
    After placing a small pad and mechanical pencil from my forensic kit into my pocket, I left the rest of the supplies by the kitchen door. Winston raced out of the house in front of me. The clean morning air smelled of cedar and wet grass. I turned toward the trees, but jerked to a stop. Would Dave have planted bones to have an excuse to hire me? After the Utah case, I’d gone from reserve deputy to a paid position as forensic artist, then the bean counters told Dave to lay off all nonessential personnel, and I was shifted to being paid on an as-needed basis. The interagency forensic art position I’d applied for was on hold, and for some reason, law enforcement agencies weren’t calling. Dave knew I was having trouble making ends meet.
    Nah. That wasn’t ethical, and Dave was by-the-book honest.
    But he hadn’t sounded surprised by my call last night. No. I really couldn’t see Dave doing anything the least bit shady.
    Winston stood at the edge of the lawn, dancing with impatience.
    â€œDid Dave give you that skull?” I approached the dog. He blinked at me and wagged his tail. “Never mind. Where did you find her?” Now I was talking to a dog and waiting for an answer.
    Winston spun toward a point where the trees and underbrush formed a dense wall and pushed through on a barely discernible game trail. I followed, plunging into an eerie twilight.
    A hawk shrieked. Small branches bent and snapped like a cap gun. The strange dusk made color seem muted and gray.
    Something landed in my hair and skittered across my head. I screamed and did a whooping spider-in-the-hair dance.
    I shook my head, ending with a shudder, then calmed my breathing. A quick pivot assured me that no human had watched me do the insect