Read Online Hold of the Bone by Baxter Clare Trautman - Free Book Online Page B

pasty girl waiting on a woman who hovers in the gloom like an apparition. “Hey, Sal. How are ya?”
    Frank steps around Gomez for a better look at the woman. Eyesthat seem to hold the entire summer sky stare back, appearing disembodied in a face as dusky as the light.
    â€œI’m fine, Angie, thank you.”
    As Frank’s vision adjusts, the rest of Diana Saladino becomes corporeal—the ethereal body only a man’s bleached shirt worn over faded jeans; the halo around her skull just silver hair gathered loosely in a braid. The sky-blue gaze rivets Frank.
    â€œThis is Lieutenant Franco. LAPD.”
    Frank dips her head in a brief nod. “Miss Saladino.”
    Sal mirrors the gesture. No one speaks. Sal won’t take her eyes off Frank, and Frank won’t look away first.
    â€œI need to ask you some questions. Could we go outside?”
    â€œQuestions about what?”
    â€œIt’s stuffy in here,” Gomez says. “Let’s go out.”
    She herds the women to the door. Sal’s boots echo off the dusty floor. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and squints into the sun. Frank lowers her sunglasses, pleased to have a slight advantage. But Sal turns and the mountains rise behind her like protective brothers. Frank makes the mistake of glancing at them.
    A faint trail winds snakelike from the dusty foothills up through cool, dark canyons to a pass on the ridge, where wind fresh from the ocean sings in a stunted pine. Plank-winged birds soar beneath the bald ridge. A horse tied nearby jangles its bridle.
    Gomez coughs. Frank blinks. Sal and the cop are staring at her. Frank darts a look over Sal’s shoulder, not surprised that the trail is gone.
    Gomez prods, “You said you had some questions for Sal?”
    â€œUh, yeah. Your father. Is he Domenic Saladino?”
    Sal nods.
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw him?”
    â€œ1968.”
    â€œAnd where was that?”
    â€œAt home.”
    â€œWhich was where?”
    She dips her head to the mountains. “Here. The ranch.”
    â€œAnd the circumstances?”
    â€œCircumstances? It was our home. The normal circumstances.”
    â€œMorning, night, afternoon?”
    Sal re-crosses her arms, shifts her weight.
    â€œIt was morning. At breakfast he said he was going down to LA, to work with his uncle. He went down there when things were slow.”
    â€œWhat kind of work?”
    â€œConstruction. The uncle owned his own business.”
    â€œWhat was the name of the business?”
    â€œSaladino Construction.”
    â€œDo you remember the date he left?”
    The woman thinks briefly. “December 16.”
    Frank thinks her answer’s too quick. Innocent people questioned about dates or events rarely have accurate recall, but liars practice their stories over and over—usually with enough minutiae to hang themselves. “You’re pretty sure about that.”
    â€œIt’s a hard date to forget. My mother died two days later.”
    Frank nods, remembering something like that from Lewis’ notes. “Was she ill?”
    â€œShe had a stroke. A blood clot.”
    â€œAnd your father didn’t come home after that?”
    â€œNo. Officer, what exactly is this about?”
    Next of kin are unpredictable. It’s good to get information from them before notification, but Frank feels she has gotten enough. For now. “It’s ‘Lieutenant.’ We think we’ve found your father’s remains. Positive ID is pending his dental records.”
    Saladino finally looks away. Frank wants to touch her, to see if the blue denim is solid or if her finger will pass right through it, if the brown skin is warm flesh or artfully crafted mud. Even in the white light, Saladino seems unreal, a golem crafted from bedrock and wind and silver-running streams.
    â€œWhere did you find him?”
    â€œNear Culver City.”
    â€œWhere in Culver