Page 82 of Cold, Cold Bones

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Back at my desk, I skimmed the pertinent information.Date. Time. Responding officer. Summary of facts.

The bucket was found by hikers in the Pisgah National Forest. Santoya caught the call. The next day she sent the bucket to us.

A few of the subliminal gang sat up.

I swiveled to the counter and unfolded the plastic sheeting for my first look. The bucket was blue plastic with a rusty metal handle. It was filled to its brim with concrete, not soil as I’d assumed.

The id gang was working itself into a dither when my mobile rang.

“It’s Charlie.” I knew that from caller ID. “Charlie Hunt.”

“Hey, Charlie. What’s up?” Desperately wanting to hear that he’d talked to Katy.

“I need to see you.” The urgency in his voice surprised me.

“Aren’t we on for coffee tomorr—”

“We need to meet today.” Need. Not want.

“OK.” Then, “Have you seen Katy?”

“No.”

A chill began building in my chest.

“Does this have to do with her?”

“I don’t know.” Clearly trying to sound calmer than he was.

The chill spread. Raised the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck.

“When?” I asked.

“Five tonight. The Caribou Coffee on Fairview Road. That’ll be closer for you.”

He didn’t wait for my assent.

“And be careful.”

Three beeps and he was gone.

WTF?

I sat picturing the kid I’d known in high school. The man I’d dated briefly a few years back. The kind eyes. The confident swagger. The ready flash of white teeth. This hadn’t sounded like the Charlie Hunt I knew. And why did I need to be careful?

I checked my watch.

Two-ten.

Chill, Brennan. In three hours, you’ll have answers.

I pulled on gloves. Challenging with unsteady hands. I was rotating the bucket when the landline rang.

Area code 828.

I figured Nguyen had been good to her word.

“Temperance Brennan.”

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