Page 110 of Evil Bones
Slinging her purse strap over one shoulder, she stormed off in the direction of the park entrance.
CHAPTER 25
Was Ruthie out of line? Or just being a normal, temperamental teen?
Was her response to Meloy’s admission justified? Or an overreaction triggered by hormones and worry?
Worry about what?
Those were my thoughts as I drove to work the next morning.
When I’d left the Annex, the temperature was already nudging into the eighties, and the humidity was thick enough to float small boats. But the radio meteorologist had tiptoed around the possibility of rain. Dark shadowing along the horizon hinted that the odds could be better than she’d implied.
Mrs. Flowers was at her effervescent best. I endured a brief chat about her nephew’s role in his high school play before I managed to escape.
Entering my office, I dropped my case on the desk and shrugged into the sweater I keep in one of its drawers. Though it was Tropic of Cancer outside, Nguyen could be counted on to keep the facility in a state of arctic freeze.
I’d barely settled in my chair when my mobile rang.
After checking caller ID, I answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Adina said, echoing my greeting. “What’s up in the world of corpses?”
“Maggots and decomp.”
“How is it you always have all the fun?”
“Not to mention the glamour.” I smiled for the first time that day.
“Nothing says elegant like blood spatter on a lab coat.”
“Amen to that,” I agreed.
“Listen, I’m calling to ask if you want to go to a concert week after next.”
“To see who?”Whom, Ryan might have corrected. I smiled more broadly, thinking of him.
“Dirt Monkey.”
“I’m not familiar with the group. What are they—heavy metal? Doesn’t sound like a jazz quartet.”
“Or a trio of harpists. Actually, my younger colleague who gave me his tickets seemed totally bummed that he’d developed a conflict and couldn’t make it. Apparently, they’ve got quite the following.”
“Can I get back to you on that?” I asked, thinking about the last concert I’d attended a couple years prior. A seventies band on their third “farewell tour.” An older couple in front of Ryan and me had seemed determined to smoke up the bountiful supply of weed they’d brought along. By the band’s second set the fumes they’d created were so pungent that Ryan and I decided to pack it in.
“Sure.”
Sudden thought.
“While I have you on the phone, may I pick your psychologist brain?”
“Sparse pickings, but shoot.”
“My niece is acting moody.”
“Ruthie, right?”
