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Authors: Charlaine Harris
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comes.”
Just then, thank goodness, a car pulled up behind the van and some men piled out. I recognized them as police pals of Arthur’s and Lynn’s; they’d come to help unload the van.
Then I realized the man driving the car, the burly man about ten years older than Arthur, was Jack Burns, a detective sergeant, and one of the few people in the world I truly feared.
Here were at least seven policemen, including Jack Burns, and here I was with . . . I was scared to even think it with Jack Burns around. His zeal for dealing ~ 71 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
out punishment to wrongdoers was so sharp, his inner rage burned with such a flame, I felt he could smell concealment and falsehood. My legs began shaking. I was afraid someone would notice. How on earth did his two teenagers manage a private life? “Good to have seen you,” I said abruptly. “I hope your moving day goes as well as they ever do.” They were relieved the encounter was over, too. Arthur gave me a casual wave as a shout from one of his buddies who had opened the back of the van sum- moned him to work.
“Come see us when we get settled in,” Lynn told me insincerely as I said good-bye and turned to leave. “Take it easy, Lynn,” I called over my shoulder, as I crossed the street to my car on rubbery legs. I put the bags carefully in the front seat and slid in myself. I wanted to sit and shake for a while, but I also wanted to get the hell out of there, so I turned the key in the ignition, turned on the air-conditioning full blast, and occupied a few moments buckling my seat belt, patting my face (which was streaming with sweat) with my handkerchief, anything to give me a little time to calm down before I had to drive. I backed out with great care, the unfamiliar driveway, the moving van parked right across the street, and the people milling around it making the process even more hazardous. ~ 72 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
I managed to throw a casual wave in the direction of the moving crew, and some of them waved back. Jack Burns just stared; I wondered again about his wife and children, living with that burning stare that seemed to see all your secrets. Maybe he could switch it off at home? Sometimes even the men under his command seemed leery of him, I’d learned while I was dating Arthur.
I drove around aimlessly for a while, wondering what to do with the skull. I hated to take it to my own home; there was no good hiding place. I couldn’t throw it away until I’d decided what to do with it. My safe deposit box at the bank wasn’t big enough, and probably Jane’s wasn’t either: otherwise, surely she would have put the skull there originally. Anyway, the thought of carrying the paper bag into the bank was enough to make me giggle hysterically. I sure couldn’t keep it in the trunk of my car. I checked with a glance to make sure my inspection sticker was up-to-date; yes, thank God. But I could be stopped for some traf- fic violation at any time; I never had been before, but, the way things were going today, it seemed likely. I had a key to my mother’s house, and she was gone.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I turned at the next corner to head there. I wasn’t ~ 73 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
happy about using Mother’s house for such a pur- pose, but it seemed the best thing to do at the time. The air was dead and hot inside Mother’s big home on Plantation Drive. I dashed up the stairs to my old room without thinking, then stood panting in the doorway trying to think of a good hiding place. I kept almost nothing here anymore, and this was really an- other guest bedroom now, but there might be some- thing up in the closet.
There was: a zippered, pink plastic blanket bag in which Mother always stored the blue blankets for the twin beds in this room. No one would need to get blankets down in this weather. I pulled over the stool from the vanity table, climbed up on it, and unzipped the plastic bag. I took my Kroger bag, with its grue-
Just then, thank goodness, a car pulled up behind the van and some men piled out. I recognized them as police pals of Arthur’s and Lynn’s; they’d come to help unload the van.
Then I realized the man driving the car, the burly man about ten years older than Arthur, was Jack Burns, a detective sergeant, and one of the few people in the world I truly feared.
Here were at least seven policemen, including Jack Burns, and here I was with . . . I was scared to even think it with Jack Burns around. His zeal for dealing ~ 71 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
out punishment to wrongdoers was so sharp, his inner rage burned with such a flame, I felt he could smell concealment and falsehood. My legs began shaking. I was afraid someone would notice. How on earth did his two teenagers manage a private life? “Good to have seen you,” I said abruptly. “I hope your moving day goes as well as they ever do.” They were relieved the encounter was over, too. Arthur gave me a casual wave as a shout from one of his buddies who had opened the back of the van sum- moned him to work.
“Come see us when we get settled in,” Lynn told me insincerely as I said good-bye and turned to leave. “Take it easy, Lynn,” I called over my shoulder, as I crossed the street to my car on rubbery legs. I put the bags carefully in the front seat and slid in myself. I wanted to sit and shake for a while, but I also wanted to get the hell out of there, so I turned the key in the ignition, turned on the air-conditioning full blast, and occupied a few moments buckling my seat belt, patting my face (which was streaming with sweat) with my handkerchief, anything to give me a little time to calm down before I had to drive. I backed out with great care, the unfamiliar driveway, the moving van parked right across the street, and the people milling around it making the process even more hazardous. ~ 72 ~
~ A Bone to Pick ~
I managed to throw a casual wave in the direction of the moving crew, and some of them waved back. Jack Burns just stared; I wondered again about his wife and children, living with that burning stare that seemed to see all your secrets. Maybe he could switch it off at home? Sometimes even the men under his command seemed leery of him, I’d learned while I was dating Arthur.
I drove around aimlessly for a while, wondering what to do with the skull. I hated to take it to my own home; there was no good hiding place. I couldn’t throw it away until I’d decided what to do with it. My safe deposit box at the bank wasn’t big enough, and probably Jane’s wasn’t either: otherwise, surely she would have put the skull there originally. Anyway, the thought of carrying the paper bag into the bank was enough to make me giggle hysterically. I sure couldn’t keep it in the trunk of my car. I checked with a glance to make sure my inspection sticker was up-to-date; yes, thank God. But I could be stopped for some traf- fic violation at any time; I never had been before, but, the way things were going today, it seemed likely. I had a key to my mother’s house, and she was gone.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I turned at the next corner to head there. I wasn’t ~ 73 ~
~ Charlaine Harris ~
happy about using Mother’s house for such a pur- pose, but it seemed the best thing to do at the time. The air was dead and hot inside Mother’s big home on Plantation Drive. I dashed up the stairs to my old room without thinking, then stood panting in the doorway trying to think of a good hiding place. I kept almost nothing here anymore, and this was really an- other guest bedroom now, but there might be some- thing up in the closet.
There was: a zippered, pink plastic blanket bag in which Mother always stored the blue blankets for the twin beds in this room. No one would need to get blankets down in this weather. I pulled over the stool from the vanity table, climbed up on it, and unzipped the plastic bag. I took my Kroger bag, with its grue-
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