KATHY REICHS - 206 BONES

Edward Allen Jurmain. What sleaze had filled the old man’s ear with tales of my incompetence? My corruption? Why?

My grip tightened on the wheel.

How would I persuade Jurmain to share what he knew of his mysterious informant? Should I phone? Drive up to Winnetka? Could I manage to wangle my way into Jurmain’s presence?

I thought about Pete and his melon-breasted, twenty-something fiancée, Summer. Were their wedding plans still on track? Did I give a rat’s ass?

Katy. I knew my daughter wasn’t enjoying her job at the Mecklenburg County Public Defenders Office. Had she quit? If so, to do what?

Ryan. I wondered if his flight had gone smoothly. If I missed him. I was heading home to Charlotte on Sunday. Would I want him to come for a visit? Would things ever be as they once were? Could they?

My head hurt. It had been a long day.

I pictured Vecamamma, busy at her ancient Tappan range. Today she was cooking lamb with carrots and cabbage. I wondered if she’d gone ahead and baked the cookies herself.

I smiled, happy someone was making me dinner. I didn’t know who the other diners would be, or how numerous, but I was glad I wasn’t returning to an empty house.

Yessiree. Family was just what I needed. Artery-clogging potatoes and gravy, bread and butter, rhubarb pie and ice cream. Throw-away conversation. Freedom from worries about Pete, Ryan, Katy, Jurmain. Distance from former husbands, old lovers, restless daughters, and back-stabbing tipsters.

Most importantly, distance from violent death.

ARRIVING AT THE HOUSE, I DID TWENTY MINUTES OF YOGA, THEN took a very hot bath.

While immersed in bubbles up to my chin, I pondered a plan for Cukura Kundze and Mr. Tot. I decided to call only after I’d finished with the bones and determined positively that 287JUL05 was Lassie. Hopefully, at that point I’d also be able to explain what had killed him.

I also considered my strategy for dealing with Jurmain. After some thought I settled on a home visit. I’d go directly from the CCME. Suppertime. I might take the old coot by surprise. What the hell? All he could do was have the butler throw me out.

The water was lukewarm when the doorbell started bonging.

Emerging from the tub, I pulled on jeans and a long red sweater. No blow-dryer. No makeup. Ain’t family grand?

Between the stretching and the soaking, the knot in my stomach had eased and the headache had yielded.

Or maybe it was the aspirin. Whatever. I was feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. No corpses tonight. No accusations of professional misconduct. No double-edged teasing from Ryan.

Happily, this evening’s gathering would be small. Perhaps that, too, was contributing to my newfound serenity.

Andrejs and Brigita were coming, though their parents would be absent for reasons of health. According to Vecamamma, Emilija’s hemorrhoids had gained a quick fifteen pounds overnight. Gordie’s ailment remained undisclosed.

Regina and Terry were committed to Thursday-night bingo at St. Ignatius. Ted was on duty at his night job. Bea had a paper due. Allie had a class. I’d not been looped in on other excuses.

Uncle Juris and Aunt Klara would, of course, be present. She was bringing pineapple Cool Whip Jell-O salad.

While tubbing, I’d also weighed the pros and cons of phoning Ryan. The cons won. Ryan was home now. My number was on his speed dial.

Muffled chimes continued, announcing the arrival of diners. I recognized voices by cadence and volume.

Following the fourth bong, Aunt Klara’s alto bellowed up through the floorboards.

All present or accounted for. Time to socialize.

I was on the top step when, surprisingly, the bell sounded again. I heard the door open, then Gordie’s voice.

“ Sveiki , Vecamamma.”

“ Vai tev iet labak? ” Was Vecamamma flustered? Gordie was about as bilingual as George Bush. Why query his health in Latvian?

“Couldn’t miss your roast lamb,” Gordie replied.

Vecamamma said something I didn’t catch. Gordie answered. Laughter was followed by a second male voice.

“ Sveiki , Vecamamma.”

No.

“ Sveiki, monsieur. ”

“ Tabarnac , something smells good.”

“ Tabarnac, monsieur. ” Now Vecamamma sounded flirtatious.

Sighing theatrically, I trudged downstairs. Ryan and Gordie were coming up the hall, each wearing a mile-wide smile.

Gordie pistol-pointed two fingers at me. “Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.”

“George Carlin.”

Ryan and Gordie smacked raised palms.

“Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?” Gordie.

“Carlin again,” Ryan said. “Damn, I was bummed when he died.” Pause. “If God didn’t intend for us to eat animals, why did he make them out of meat?”

“Woody Allen?” Gordie guessed.

“John Cleese.”

“Andy, my man. You know your comedy.”

“You two spent the day playing Guess the Comic?” I was the only one not cracking up.

“Billy Goat!”

“Billy Goat!”

Tipsy high five.

“Lower, not upper!”

Palm smack.

When public road development began in Chicago in 1910, city planners came up with the idea of double- and triple-deck streets. Sound nuts? Not really. The arrangement was dictated by geography and traffic flow. This was the deal.

Many Loop streets crossed the river as bascule bridges, movable spans operated by complex counterweight systems. Bascule bridges accommodate boats nicely but require height clearance at their approaches to and over the river.

Railroad tracks were another complicating factor. Some ran along, others dead-ended at the water. Tracks also need clearance.

Thus, at points of closely spaced river crossings, a clearance zone was created. Many multilevel streets came into being as a result of falling within that zone. The idea was that local traffic would use the upper deck, while commercial vehicles and through traffic would travel below.

The longest and most famous multidecker is Wacker Drive, running along the south side of the main branch and the east side of the south branch of the Chicago River. Michigan Avenue is another.

The Billy Goat Tavern is located on Michigan’s lower level. Apparently, Bud and Lou had experienced some confusion in navigating to their chosen watering hole. But they’d definitely found it.

“Did you know the Billy Goat inspired Belushi’s ‘Cheez-borger-Pepsi’ sketch on Saturday Night Live ?” Ryan asked me.

“Yes.” Fake smile. “May I speak to you alone?”

“Sure.”

“Please excuse us,” I said to Gordie.

Without waiting for an answer, I turned and walked into the living room. Footsteps assured me that Ryan was following.

“What are you doing here?” Church-voice fortissimo.

“Gordie and I played racquetball. Then we had a few beers. The guy’s a hoot, by the way.”

“Why aren’t you in Montreal?”

“Because I’m in Chicago.”

“You know what I mean. I’m trying to spend quality time with Pete’s family.”

“They’re great. Vecamamma’s a-”

“I know. A hoot. You were supposed to go home today.”

“The only flight I could get was at eight p.m. Vecamamma said I was welcome to stay for as long as I needed. Gordie offered racquetball, then a tour of the Loop. Ever been to Navy Pier?”

“Yes.” My molars weren’t clamped, but they were close.

Ryan shrugged. “Sounded good so I decided to hang for a while.”

“A while?”

“I’ll check with headquarters again tonight. See if anything’s come up since I called in this morning. Otherwise, what the hell? I’m off duty until Monday.”