Kathy Reichs - Bones to Ashes

Harry stood. “May I use the ladies’?”

I translated.

Obéline answered without raising her head. “Through the kitchen. Through the bedroom.”

I translated again, then cocked my chin at Obéline’s soft drink. Harry nodded, understanding my silent direction.

Arm-wrapping Obéline’s waist, I eased her to her feet. She allowed herself to be supported through the kitchen, over the deck, and across the yard. At the gazebo, she stepped away and said good-bye.

I was turning to go, when a sudden thought stopped me.

“May I ask one more question?”

Obéline gave a half nod, wary.

“Évangéline worked as a maid. Do you know where?”

Her response stunned me.

18

“D ROIT ICI .” RIGHT HERE.

“In Tracadie?”

“In this house.”

“In this house?” I was too shocked to do other than ape her words.

Obéline nodded.

“I don’t understand.”

“Évangéline worked for my husband’s father.”

“Hilaire Bastarache.”

Something flicked in her eyes. Surprise at the extent of my knowledge?

“The Landry and Bastarache families have been linked for generations. My father’s father and his brothers helped my husband’s grandfather, Siméon, build this house. When Mama got sick, my husband’s father offered Évangéline a job. Hilaire was a widower and knew nothing about laundry or cleaning. She needed work.”

“Ten years later you married his son.”

“David was generous, paid my support after Évangéline was gone. Visited me. His father died in 1980. He proposed. I accepted.”

“You were sixteen. He was thirty.”

“It was my only option.”

I found the answer peculiar but let it go.

“You’ve lived in this house ever since?”

“Yes.”

“Are you all right here?”

Beat. “This is where I want to be.”

I started to ask how she was supporting herself. Then didn’t. I felt tight bands compressing my chest. I swallowed. Took her hand.

“I promise you, Obéline. I will do everything to discover what happened to Évangéline.”

Her face remained impassive.

I gave her my card, hugged her.

“I’ll speak with you again.”

She didn’t say good-bye as I walked away. Rounding the house, I glanced back. She was entering the gazebo, scarf tails dancing in the breeze.

Harry was waiting in the Escalade. When I got in, she smiled and patted her purse.

“You didn’t touch the rim, right?”

“Any moron with a TV knows better than that.” Harry grinned a grin that hoisted warning flags in my brain.

“What?”

“You’ll be proud of your baby sister.”

Oh no. “Tell me.”

“I also bagged the tissues.”

Pleased, and relieved, I held up a palm. Harry high-fived it. We both grinned, the Brennan sisters sleuthing again.

“What now?” she asked.

“Once back in Montreal, I’ll ship the can and tissues and a skeletal sample to an independent lab. If they can extract DNA from the bone, and compare it to Obéline’s DNA, we’ll know if the skeleton is Évangéline.”

“Why send it out?”

“Our lab doesn’t do mitochondrial DNA.”

“And I’m sure that’s important.”

“With old bone, you’re much more likely to get mitochondrial than nuclear DNA. There are more copies in each cell.”

“It’s Évangéline,” Harry said.

“The chance is one in a billion.”

“Where do you get your odds?”

“OK. I made that up. But it’s highly improbable that Évangéline’s skeleton has just, out of the blue, landed in my lab.”

“Think what you want. That little voice in my heart is telling me it’s her.”

When Harry makes one of her extraordinary leaps of imagination, it’s pointless to argue. I started to do so anyway, stopped, remembering. Sometimes, illogically, my sister is right.

I looked at my watch. Eleven-ten. Our flight was leaving at six-something.

“Head toward Moncton?” I asked.

“How ’bout lunch?”

“We just ate five pounds of pancakes each.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I thought you were worried about your spreading derriere.”

“A girl gumshoe’s gotta keep up her strength.”

“You lifted two tissues and a soda can.”

“Mental exertion.”

“Fine. Then straight to the airport.”

Driving into town, my head reeled with images. Obéline’s dead eyes and disfigured face. Laurette on her deathbed. A blood-smeared wall and table. Bloody rags. Appalling visions of Évangéline’s last moments.

I was anxious to get to the lab to reassess the skeletal age of Hippo’s girl. To package and FedEx the DNA samples. I began formulating arguments to get my case bumped to the head of the line. I could think of only one that might work. Money.

Harry chose a brasserie on the Rue Principale. She liked the awning. The menu was uninspired. We both ordered burgers.

The conversation wavered between past and present. Obéline now. The four of us decades earlier on Pawleys Island. As we talked I saw flashes of Harry and myself, pillow fighting, cookie baking, school bus waiting, backpacks filled with our young lives and dreams.

Despite my sadness over Obéline, Ryan, and the dead and missing girls, I couldn’t help smiling. Harry’s enthusiasm for finding Évangéline surpassed even mine. Sitting in that booth, listening to her animated planning, I realized how very much I love my little sister. I was glad she had come.

Emerging from the restaurant, we saw two men lounging on the Escalade.

“Well, if it isn’t Cheech and Chong.”

“Sshh.”

“You gotta admit, those guys aren’t auditioning for the cover of GQ .”

Harry was right. The men were in total-body denim, boots, and black tees. Personal hygiene didn’t appear to be a priority. Though the day was overcast, both wore shades.

“Pretty buff, though.”

“Let me handle this.” I didn’t need Harry riling or seducing the indigenous folk.

“Bonjour.” I smiled and waggled the car keys.

Cheech and Chong remained butt-leaning on the Escalade.

“Sorry, but we need to motor.” Light, friendly.

“Nice wheels.”

“Thanks.” As I moved toward the driver’s side, Chong extended an arm, catching me at chest level.

“No fly zone, buddy.” Harry’s tone was a million light-years from friendly.

Stepping back, I frowned at Chong, then repeated what I’d said, this time in French. Still, the men didn’t budge.

“What the hell’s wrong with you boys?” Harry was glaring from Cheech to Chong, hands on her hips.

Chong smiled from behind his dark lenses. “ Eh, mon chouchou . Big truck for little girls.” Chiac -accented English.

Neither Harry or I answered.

“You pals with Obéline Landry?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.” Harry was in war mode.

“We were childhood friends,” I said, trying to defuse the situation.

“Shame what happened to her.” Chong’s shades were now pointing at me.

I didn’t reply.

“You two are going to hoist your bony arses from that vehicle right now so my sister and I can be on our way.”

I crimped my eyes in a “cool it” warning. Shooting a hip, Harry pursed her lips and folded her arms.

“Mrs. Landry in good health?”

“Yes.” Chilly.

“She claiming Bastarache is one sick bastard?”

I didn’t reply.

Cheech pushed from the hood. Chong followed.

“You ladies have a good trip back to Montreal.” Unlike his partner, Cheech was Anglophone.

Harry opened her mouth. I hushed her with a hand.