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

coughed. It was her mom! She cursed under her breath, suddenly aware that she was holding a joint in one hand. Just one more fight for her brain to wrestle with.

Constance put a finger to her lips, shushing the giggling girls, and worked hard to calm her breathing. There was nothing to worry about. Her mother was hundreds of miles away. At least she hadn’t tried to FaceTime.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Are you all right?” her mom said. “You sound odd.”

It was a test – and Constance wasn’t falling for it.

“I’m fine,” she said. She started to ask how things were going, but decided she shouldn’t sound too interested. That would arouse her mother’s suspicions for sure. “What’s up?”

“Your Uncle Arliss has gotten busy with his work. I’m bringing the boys home.”

“Tonight?” Constance said, wondering if she sounded like a terrified rabbit.

“We get in a little before midnight. You go ahead and spend the night with Audrey, but I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“Mom—”

“Gotta go,” her mother said, leaving no room for argument. “Be ready in the morning. I’ll be there by nine o’clock.”

Constance stuffed the phone in the pocket of her pajama pants, then fished it out again to make sure it was locked and not about to butt dial her mother back.

In some small way, she was glad her mom was coming home. It gave her a good excuse not to try the tab acid. Someday maybe, but not yet. She’d made plans for weed, though. Audrey had loaned her a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt. Her own clothes were in a plastic garbage bag. She’d shower in the morning and then put on her fresh clothes right before she left.

Evelyn reached the end of the story about her uncle. Audrey curled her nose and called him a perv. Imelda nodded slowly, her face passive, as if such gross behavior was commonplace.

Sitting on the floor, Constance bounced the back of her head against the couch cushion, dizzy from the marijuana. Mulling over her secret.

Arliss had wasted no time in moving to Alaska after her dad died. Constance had seen the way he looked at her mother, knew the stories about when they were kids. The more she was around him, the more Constance saw certain resemblances, mannerisms – things she couldn’t ignore.

The thought of it made her sick.

She desperately wanted to fit in with these girls, but this wasn’t the kind of secret you just threw out there – or maybe you did and that’s what made you cool.

She stared at the smoldering remnants of her joint on the saucer beside her and leaned back to stare at the ceiling, blocking out Audrey and Evelyn’s goading.

She’d have to make something up. Up to now, it had only been a suspicion, but the weed made everything so much clearer. The evidence was all there in living color. Still, there was no way she was going to tell her new friends that her uncle Arliss was her real father.

Chapter 25

Skip Warneke divided the ad hoc task force into squads, all but one of them led by an FBI agent. Charles Beason was subdued if not contrite. Still acting as Warneke’s field commander, he put Cutter in charge of a small team that included Lola, Detective Van Dyke from JPD, and Forest Service LEO Tarrant.

This investigation was likely to be a marathon, not a sprint. They would eventually work in shifts, but the first few hours were crucial, so everyone expected to pull an all-nighter. Most of them wouldn’t have had it any other way. Warneke began to rotate squads out to grab a quick meal a little after ten p.m.

Cutter’s squad was one of the first to go.

The Hangar restaurant was normally closed at that hour, but Rockie Van Dyke knew the manager. Under the circumstances, he’d agreed to stay open until midnight. Three squads would have time to walk over and eat in-house. He’d make to-go boxes for everyone else.

Cutter wasn’t hungry, but he’d learned long ago that food, sleep, and bathroom breaks should be taken whenever and wherever they were offered.

A hostess with smudged mascara around drooping eyes waved them in with a stack of menus. She stared at the floor as she moped her way to a corner table. The large influx of clients was a windfall to the restaurant, but the mostly to-go orders meant the staff would lose out on tips. Rockie reminded the hostess that most of the task force was from out of town, on government per diem, and she would personally ensure that they sent over a large tip envelope to thank the staff for their extra effort. The girl brightened, some, but still slogged back to her station.

A waiter came over next – long beard, man bun, skinny jeans, and checkered flannel shirt. To each his own, Cutter thought, but he’d work hard to make sure that if the twins decided to grow beards and wear flannel, they’d have calloused hands from an axe. Soft hands or not, Fake Lumberjack was much more chipper than the hostess.

Lola and Officer Tarrant went with Detective Van Dyke’s recommendation and got halibut and chips. Cutter ordered a bowl of clam chowder and twice the normal amount of oyster crackers. Mixing crackers into his soup until it was more cracker than soup was his guilty pleasure. It had driven Grumpy crazy.

Van Dyke, Tarrant, and Lola chatted quietly, discussing investigative theories and performing the crucial initial steps of any ad hoc team by testing the water and getting to know one another’s personalities. Cutter let Lola carry the water on the butt-sniffing stage and let his eyes drift around the restaurant. The two-story blue Wharf building that housed the Hangar restaurant and a few other shops was located directly on the water. Floor-to-ceiling windows along the seaward wall looked out over the Gastineau Channel and the twinkling lights of Douglas Island to the west. Cutter was sure there would have been a killer view of