Make No Bones

Gideon flicked the blender on and off a couple of times.

'Yes, he died right there in Oregon, as a matter of fact. Never got to enjoy his retirement.'

'He died at his own retirement party?'

'Well, not exactly at, but right after. He was killed in a bus crash on the way to the Portland Airport.'

'And now,” she said reflectively, “he has an annual weenie roast and chugalug contest named after him. I wonder how he'd feel about that.'

'Oh, he was an eccentric old bird. From what I know about him I think he'd have gotten a kick out of it.” He dipped a wooden spoon into the basil-garlic mixture, tasted it, and added a few more shavings of Parmesan. “What do you say, Julie? Will you come? It'd be something different for you.'

'Gideon, I'd like to, but that third week in June is a real stinker for me. I already have four meetings set up.'

'Couldn't you put them off a week? Move them up a week?'

'Impossible, it's quarterly review time.'

'What about asking Don to take them for you? You could use some time to relax.'

'Would you want me to do that? Slough off my responsibilities?'

Julie was a supervising park ranger at Olympic National Park headquarters, there in Port Angeles. As Gideon well knew, she took her increasingly pressure-laden job seriously.

'No. Yes.'

'Thanks, that's helpful.'

'Ah, Julie, it's just that—well, I hate being away from you if I can help it. Nine days...'

She softened instantly, leaning forward to put her hand on the back of his. Her black eyes shone. “Well, why didn't you put it like that in the first place, dopey? What was all that stuff about relaxation and sunshine?'

He hunched his shoulders. “I was embarrassed. Mature people aren't supposed to be so damn dependent on other people.'

'I couldn't agree more.” She tilted her head, smiled. “So do you want to make the flight reservations, or should I?” Gideon laughed. “I'll do it.'

He started spooning the basil mixture into the hot olive oil. “You know what I was thinking?” he said over his shoulder.

'What? My God, that smells good.'

'I was thinking of asking John if he'd like to do that session on crime-scene do's and don'ts. It'd be fun to have him along, don't you think?'

'John Lau? Our John? You're kidding.'

'What's wrong with the idea? He's a bona fide FBI agent, isn't he? He's a first-rate cop, and he knows crime- scene procedure—he's sure given me hell when I've messed things up. I think he'd love the chance to tell an audience of professors to watch where they put their feet.'

'I think he'd hate it. He can't stand giving lectures. Not that it wouldn't be nice to have him there.'

'Oh, I bet I can bring him around.'

* * * *

'What are you, kidding me? You think I'm gonna stand up and give a speech to a bunch of Ph.D. professors with long gray beards? You're out of your mind.'

Gideon smiled into the telephone. “What is it with beards? I'm a Ph.D. professor. Do I have a beard?'

'I'm not doing it, Doc. Find somebody else.'

'I'm doing you a favor, John. You're always complaining that forensic types don't understand police work. This is your big chance. You'll have a captive audience.'

'No way.'

'You can have four hours if you want it.'

'Thanks a heap.'

'The meeting's not far from Bend.'

'Bend?'

'Bend, Oregon.'

'What's in Bend, Oregon?'

'Sunshine.'

Silence. Gideon waited.

'People ski in Bend, Oregon.'

'Only in the winter, John. The climate's high desert. Yesterday's temperature was almost seventy, humidity eighteen percent. Sunny. I checked it in the paper.'

What hadn't worked for Julie, Gideon knew, was likely to do the trick for John, a native Hawaiian whose idea of