Page 130 of The Bone Code
“We wish only a few moments of your time.” So honeyed that I feared an onslaught of cavities.
“I’m naked in here.”
“We’re happy to wait.” Ryan didn’t miss a beat. I admired that.
Immediately, a bolt turned, followed by another.
I cast a bemused glance at Ryan. He shrugged.
The door opened.
In her youth, F. Sorg’s height may have been equal to mine, but postural kyphosis had bent her spine, lowering her sight line to mid-chest on me. Thus, the ladder at her side.
“Thank you so much for talking with us.” Despite his nonchalance, Ryan appeared relieved to see the old woman’s piss-yellow housecoat. To seeanyattire, I suspected.
“You gotta speak loud. My ears are shit.”
Ryan pumped up the volume. “Thank you so much f—”
“Christ almighty. I’m hard of hearing, not deaf.”
Sorg twisted her head sideways in order to take in our faces. Lingered on Ryan. “Aren’t you a good-looking stud.”
“Madam Sorg—”
“Name’s Florence.”
I observed as Ryan smooth-talked Florence. The old woman had astonishingly wrinkled skin and blue-tinted white hair that allowed a good view of her scalp. But the intensity of her gaze suggested a scalpel-sharp mind.
“You checking me out, handsome?”
“We’d like to discuss Mélanie Chalamet.” Ryan stayed on topic. “I believe you are her aunt?”
“Who told you that?”
“Dora Eisenberg.”
“Don’t miss seeing that cow waddling up my walk.”
“Twenty years ago, Mélanie was working at InovoVax, is that correct?”
“Might be.”
“She and her children lived in this building?”
“Maybe.”
“They left suddenly in the summer of 2002?”
“Mon esti de tabarnac, are you stupid?” Sorg’s head swiveled while maintaining its sixty-degree angle as she shifted her focus from Ryan to me and back. Made me think of a turtle.
“I don’t understand,” Ryan said.
“That girl didn’t leave.”
“She didn’t?”
“Of course not.”
