Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

“I want that snitch dead,” Grimsson said, stabbing the air with the pipe. “Whoever he is, and I want that reporter lady dead.”

“I can make that happen,” Dollarhyde said. “At least with the source. But every death brings more law enforcement. There may be another way with the reporter.”

“Another way?” Grimsson said, still seething.

“Yes, sir,” Dollarhyde said, taking a drink of his ginger ale. The sleeve of his leather jacket came up, revealing a gold Rolex Submariner. Grimsson despised ostentatious watches – or any sort of jewelry on men for that matter. Rings and watches were a good way to get your hand ripped off in machinery. But then, Dollarhyde dealt in another side of the business.

“Her husband?” Grimsson asked.

“He died a few months ago.” Dollarhyde drained his glass and set it down beside his chair. “But she has a little boy.”

“You are one conniving, mean-ass son of a bitch. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told, sir,” Dollarhyde said.

Grimsson tapped the pipe against his front teeth in thought. “A little boy… That could work.”

Day Two

Chapter 10

Anchorage

The twins dragged their own suitcases from the rear of the minivan when Cutter dropped them off on the departure level at Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. He would leave the van in long-term parking and then walk back to the terminal.

“Want me to take your bag in so you don’t have to lug it?” Mim asked Cutter as she pulled her own suitcase to the sidewalk in the dim, early-morning haze.

Maui Jim sunglasses propped up on top of his head for later, Cutter craned his head around to look out the open hatch from the driver’s seat. He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “There’s some stuff in that bag that might get you in trouble in an airport.”

“Ah,” she said. “Of course.”

She shut the door and watched Arliss drive away in her Toyota, fighting the urge to wave since she’d see him again in ten minutes. The twins were already charging full speed toward the double doors to “look at the stuffed polar bear inside.” Mim extended the handle on her hard-sided case and trudged toward the terminal. The shell of the old suitcase was completely covered in a hodgepodge of stickers from Maui, New York, London, and dozens of other places she’d been or wanted to go. Miami Dolphins football, pink ribbons for breast cancer awareness, a sunset over Manasota Key, where she’d first met Ethan and Arliss – and dozens of other causes covered every square inch of the case. Some areas were two stickers deep.

Now, exotic travel meant helping with a school field trip to the Iditarod Museum near Wasilla, north of Anchorage. Until today, she hadn’t flown anywhere since she and Ethan took a trip to Maui the year before he died.

Juneau wasn’t exactly Maui, but it was somewhere different from the monotony of her everyday life.

She was still thinking about Constance’s little outburst when she walked inside the terminal and found Chief Deputy Jill Phillips standing by one of the Alaska Airlines’ ticket kiosks.

Looking at once practical and stylish in a light tan Arc’teryx rain shell and Zamberlan mountain boots, Phillips chatted amiably with a guy with a salt-and-pepper goatee. Mim didn’t recognize him, but suspected he was a deputy because of his tan Royal Robbins style khaki slacks and a loose-fitting button-up shirt he kept untucked to cover a sidearm. Arliss called it a shoot-me-first uniform, since it was pretty much ubiquitous to plainclothes law enforcement on all levels. Usually provided by the department or agency, it was free, durable, and tacticool. Arliss dressed that way for work because he didn’t mind being identified as part of the task force, but off duty, or when he wanted to, as he called it, “go in slick,” he stuck with jeans and an untucked mechanic’s shirt. If it was cold, he wore wool long johns under the shirt.

Phillips scanned the terminal as she chatted with the deputy, the way Arliss did when he was out in public. She smiled when she saw Mim, then raised her chin slightly, the universal gesture for hey. The guy in the shoot-me-first getup handed her some keys and then excused himself with a polite nod.

Mim caught a glimpse of the handgun on Phillips’s belt as she approached. She wondered what it must be like for an attractive woman who was not exceptionally large in stature to wrestle with felons and, probably worse, lead a district jam-packed with gun-toting type A deputy marshals.

“I guess Arliss is parking your rig?” Phillips asked, hands resting easily in the pockets of her “Dead Bird” jacket.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mim said. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

“That’s okay,” the chief said. “I’m happy to talk to you. This Juneau thing happened on the same day we hired a guy to change out all the winter tires. Government contracts are so complicated I don’t even want to try and reschedule. I’m here to help ferry vehicles back to the garage.”

Mim nodded. “Arliss dropped his SUV off this morning. We picked him up.”

Phillips gave a little nod, as if the last thing she wanted to think about was shuttling cars. “That helps. Glad you decided to make this trip.” Her eyes narrowed a little, the way Mim suspected they would during an interrogation. “I can’t promise anything, but the Marshals Service does hundreds of trials like this every year. Arliss is helping me supervise things until I get some more deputies up from other districts, but he should have some free time.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Mim said, as if trying to convince herself. Her mom instinct kicked in and she did a quick head-check for the twins, finding them leaning over the railing to peer down at the stuffed musk oxen on the floor below.

“I’m thinking Arliss could use a little break,” Phillips chuckled. “Lola wears him out with all her cheerful zippiness.”

“She’s so great,” Mim chuckled.

Phillips’s smile faded. “How is he?”

“Good,” Mim said. “I mean, he seems good.”

As far