Page 62 of Evil Bones
Slidell was wrong. The kiddidmind.
Ruthie was sitting on the front stoop, looking tense and on edge, thumbing the screen of her mobile with irritated jabs.
“You said you’d come as soon as I called,” she said, chucking her shoulder bag onto the floor and herself into the passenger seat of my car. “Uncle Pete left thirty minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry.” There it was again.
“I rang you four times.”
“I silence my phone while working.”
“I was about to call an Uber.”
Why didn’t you?
I didn’t say it.
“What would you like for dinner?” Big smile.
“Food.”
Easy, Brennan.
“Does Greek sound good?”
“Whatever.”
We rode the rest of the way in prickly non-conversation mode, Ruthie working her phone, me focusing on traffic.
A quick stop at the Mad Greek and we were home by seven.
I put the bag holding our gyros on the kitchen table, added plates, napkins, and utensils. Got two cans of LaCroix sparkling water from the fridge and set one at each place.
Ruthie’s hunger overrode her inclination to pout.
We were eating in relatively amiable silence when my iPhone rang. Retrieving the device form the counter, and noticing Slidell’s number displayed on the screen, I clicked on.
“You somewhere you can talk?”
“Hold on.”
Mouthing “sorry,” I pushed through the swinging door into the dining room.
Ruthie glanced up at me but didn’t respond.
“Okay,” I said.
“Timeless Peace,” Slidell said.
It took me a moment to make the mental bridge.
“The cemetery from which Godric’s body was snatched.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the one on Central Avenue?”
“Yeah.”
