Page 76 of Evil Bones
Ryan was the night’s third caller. He rang at seven-fifty.
“Bonsoir, ma chérie. How goeth your day?”
“I doubt that’s a word.”
“It’s Old Saxon.”
“Since when are you familiar with Old Saxon?
“I had to play one in junior high. I wanted slide trombone, but the kid with the pimples grabbed the last one.”
“Did therapy help in overcoming your grief?”
“Mostly it was soccer. And dropping out of band. What’s new?”
I briefed Ryan on developments since we’d last spoken. The identification of the stolen cemetery corpse as that of Eleanor Godric. Slidell’s and my visit with Godric’s grandnephew, Harvard Boynton. The interviews with Jeremy Dahmer, Jordan Bright, and Hugh Norwitz. The man and dog incised with the lettersPEdiscovered in Cordelia Park. Sister Adelbert’s description of the person she’d seen there.
“Bright and Norwitz are registered sex offenders,” I added in closing.
“Slidell’s still convinced the displays are erotic in nature?”
“Yes. I have to admit, Norwitz was one weird dude. The guy specializes in provocative taxidermy.”
I described some of the items in Norwitz’s collection.
“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Ryan said. “I’ll bet if you google sexy taxidermy, a zillion links will come up.”
“I’ll pass. Are you still planning to arrive on Sunday?” I asked.
“If the good lord’s willing and the creeks don’t flood.”
“Rise,” I corrected.
“What?”
“The saying goes, if the creeks don’t rise.”
“Like, unite to start a revolution?”
“Never mind,” I said. “By the way, my niece may still be bunking in at the Annex.”
“Awesome sauce.”
“Your teen-ageese is worse than your Old Saxon.”
“I’ll work on it.”
I debated mentioning the black Honda Accord. Decided against it. I had no proof that the driver had actually followed me.
“A word of warning, Tempe,” Ryan said in closing.
“Yes?”
“Don’t be offended if these taxidermists tell you to get stuffed.”
We’d just disconnected when Ruthie arrived, clutching a flat, white box two-handed.
“Hey, girl,” I said, probably sounding dorkier than Ryan ever would.
