Carol O'Connell - Bone by Bone

Oren stopped on the sidewalk outside the drugstore. Down the street, Alice Friday stood on the verandah of the Straub Hotel. The psychic was keeping watch on the judge's Mercedes. Well, if she wanted a word with him, the feeling was mutual. He had read her old interview with the sheriff and memorized every line:

Alice Friday: I know that boy is dead. Only the dead speak to me.

Sheriff Babitt: Josh went missing a year ago. So that's hardly a revelation from the great beyond. Did the Ouija board tell you where to look for his body?

Alice Friday: The dead don't care about such things. I can tell you he's not at peace. Josh's death was violent.

Sheriff Babitt: Lady if you know something about that kid, you-

Alice Friday: He's my spirit guide. Now I came here today because I have a question for you. Josh keeps asking me all the time. What about the other one? Josh says you'd know about that. Now what does he mean?

Sheriff Babitt: If you were a real psychic, you'd know I'm planning to boot your bony ass out of my office.

Oren walked toward the Mercedes. He was about to open the door when the psychic noticed him and waved. Evelyn Straub came outside as Alice Friday ran down the steps and crossed the street, yelling, "Young man!" When she had closed the distance, she stood before him, thin arms folded, her stance resolute. "You shouldn't have walked out in the middle of my séance. You have to come back. Your brother isn't done with you."

He was distracted by the speeding car, a standout in the crawl of Coventry traffic, and now Alice Friday also stared at this unusual sight. A redhead sat behind the wheel and aimed her automobile at Oren. He pushed the psychic into a space between parked vehicles, and then he rolled onto the trunk of the Mercedes. The nose of the black sports car almost kissed his rear bumper.

Isabelle Winston had looked right through him as if he were not there, as if-

"That woman tried to kill us." Alice Friday's words were hushed. Her eyes were startled and wide.

"No," said Oren. "She tried to kill me."

This distinction was lost on the stick-thin woman. She reached into her purse to produce a small notebook and a pen. "Not to worry. I got a good look at the license plate." After jotting down the numbers, she saw the stout hotelier crossing the street, and she yelled, "Evelyn, go call the sheriff!"

"Not a good idea." Evelyn Straub walked up to the smaller woman. "Cable's got enough to deal with this morning."

Alice Friday grabbed Oren's arm. "That woman tried to murder him with her car."

"No," said Evelyn, "that's just how they say hello."

The glazier's truck was gone, and the cleaning lady's car had also departed. Oren was surprised to see the yellow stray standing at attention in front of William Swahn's door. The animal must have followed the judge down the road to Paulson Lane.

Addison Winston sat on the hood of his Porsche, dangling his legs as he engaged in a staring contest with the wary stray, trying to win over a dog with his professional smile. The lawyer shrugged and turned to Oren. "I've got a great lawsuit to pitch to my client. Did you see those news broadcasts? He can get millions from the TV station and the California Bureau. But Hannah won't let me inside."

"The CBI agent had nothing to do with what happened last night."

"Sally's interview incited the-"

"That was no interview. That was an ambush."

"Why let the truth get in the way of a tasty lawsuit?"

Oren climbed the steps to the front door and leaned down to pet the yellow stray. "Don't press your luck with any more cops. That bogus settlement in LA might come back to bite you."

"We had a deal, Oren."

"Your client is the wild card. I think he's putting it together all by himself. When Hannah barred the door, she probably did you a favor."

News of attempted vehicular homicide traveled fast.

The judge and Hannah were sitting at the table when Oren entered William Swahn's kitchen. Their conversation suddenly stopped.

That was a clue.

His father winked at the housekeeper, and then looked up with a pretense of shock. "I heard Belle Winston tried to run you down."

Hannah smiled. "Never dull, is it? I love this town." She rose from the table to fetch another cup and pour him some coffee.

Oren thanked her when she set it down in front of him, and then he let the two of them sit and wait. The judge was foiled by his own policy of never asking an obvious question, such as why would the Winston girl try to kill him? Oren sipped his coffee-slowly-and slowly he set down his cup to gaze out the window and watch the clouds roll by-while listening to his father's tapping foot beneath the table.

Finally, he said to no one in particular, " Alice Friday moved to Coventry a year after Josh disappeared. She knows Mrs. Winston, but she didn't recognize the daughter."

"Well, Belle's only been back for a few months," said Hannah. "I guess she's never been to one of Alice 's séances."

"But over all these years…" He splayed his hands to ask how this lack of recognition was possible in a town the size of a postage stamp.

Hannah countered by holding up three fingers. "In all that time, Belle's only made three visits home that I know of. And I don't think the girl ever stayed a whole day."

So Isabelle Winston had been another exile. Had she also been sent away after Josh vanished? Or had she run away?

Cable Babitt's jeep rounded the last curve on the way to his house. He spotted the CBI agent's Taurus parked in the turnout just beyond his driveway. Her black sedan slowly pulled into the road and drove off.

That bitch! She had waited for him. She wanted him to see her.

He left the jeep's door hanging open and ran to the back of his garage. The cordwood was still neatly stacked against the rear wall, and there were no signs of disturbance among the individual logs. But he had to know for certain if the knapsack was still there, or he would get no sleep tonight. One by one, he pulled down the logs and flung them away. At last, he uncovered the bright green canvas wadded up inside the plastic bag. Perhaps it had been a mistake to move it from his former hiding place in the toolshed.

The cellar would be better, safer from Sally Polk. She'd never get in there without the proper paperwork, and that woman had burned her bridges with warrants in this county.

Half an hour later, he opened the storm doors that led him up to the light of his backyard, and he emerged from the cellar a satisfied man. Josh's knapsack was safe in its new resting place under piles of storage cartons and suitcases.

"Oh, goddamn."

He caught sight of the wind-whipped hem of a flowery dress, just a flash of material from behind the back wall of his garage. That bitch!

He rounded the corner and there was Sally Polk, standing in the middle of his cast-off firewood. The logs he had strewn all about the yard now advertised something once hidden in the woodpile and removed with great haste-and fear.

But the damn woman only made cheerful small talk while he sweated on a cool morning.

The judge sat in a wooden armchair beside Hannah's empty porch rocker, and the yellow stray stretched out at his feet. The man and the dog had been napping in the sun. But now the animal raised his floppy ears, and his eyes opened. Henry Hobbs also heard the sound of a car's engine.

The CBI agent parked her black Taurus in front of the house. She stepped out of the car with a wave of hello. The dog pronounced her harmless when he laid his head down on his front paws and closed his eyes. The judge was not so charitable in his view of this woman.