The Bone House

'Good.'

'It's really, really good wine.'

'I know.'

'I've had a lot of it.'

'That's why it's there.'

'I suppose you want to talk about the case,' she said, drawing out the word with a snarl.

He did, but he didn't. He needed her help, and he didn't know how long his cell signal would last before it evaporated into the sky. Even so, he simply liked hearing her voice out here, in the middle of nowhere. 'What else did you want to talk about?' he asked.

'I did something bad,' she said.

'I doubt that.'

'No, no, I did. I went through your nightstand drawer. I told myself I was looking for a rubber band for my hair, but I was just snooping.'

'What did you find?' he asked.

'A picture.'

Cab knew which one. 'OK.'

'She's pretty.'

'Was.'

'Was. Sorry.'

'Her name was Vivian,' he said.

'You want to tell me about her?'

Cab took a long time to reply, and Lala let him off the hook.

'Never mind, you don't owe me your life story. I like the idea that some woman was able to get to you. I sure couldn't.'

'Not true,' he said.

This time Lala was the one who was slow to answer. 'Did she break your heart, Catch-a-Cab?' 'Something like that.'

'And now all of us have to pay, huh?'

'Something like that,' he repeated.

'That's pretty screwed up.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm saying things I shouldn't,' she said. 'I'm sorry. It's the wine. I better shut up.'

'Don't.'

Lala hesitated anyway. 'There's something I never told you.' 'What?'

'Shit, what am I doing?' she murmured.

'Tell me.'

'I don't hook up,' she said.

Cab tensed. 'I don't understand.'

'I don't do it. Some women do. Not me.'

'I'm still not sure—'

'Couldn't you tell?' she interrupted him. 'I've made love to three men in ten years. I was engaged to one. I thought I was in love with another. And then there's you.'

She'd been right. He wasn't ready for this. 'Lala.'

'You don't have to say anything.'

That was a lie. She wanted him to say something. He needed to say something. He kept looking for a door. Looking for a key. That was the irony, because he had a key in his pocket, and he needed a lock to go with it. Say something. But he didn't, and he waited too long.

'I'm going to press the reset button on this conversation,' Lala told him, sounding more sober and sad. 'OK? Reset. Beep. This is Mosqueda. Is that Detective Bolton? What can I do for you, Detective Bolton?'

'Lala,' he repeated lamely.

'A report? You want a report? Because I have information for you.'

Cab sighed and played the game. 'What did you find out?'

'Enough to think that something's not adding up. Enough to think we have a problem.'

'Go on. Tell me.'

'I started thinking about Glory on Friday night,' Lala continued. 'When she ran into our bartender friend, Ronnie Trask. I tried to nail down the exact time it happened. Trask said he took his break before stopping at the hotel restaurant to stock up on wine for the bar. Then he went straight from his near-collision with Glory back to the pool bar. He figures he served a drink within two or three minutes of getting back. I checked the invoices and was able to calculate what I think was his first sale. Based on that, I have a window of about five minutes or so when Glory came running from the event center.'

'Good work, but I'm not sure where you're going with this,' Cab told her.

'Hang on. I called the woman who coordinated the entire dance competition and had her check that time against the performance schedules. Here's what I found. Tresa Fischer would have been in the line-up immediately before that time window. Makes sense, huh? Glory would have been in the arena to watch her sister.'

'Sure. Mark Bradley was there, too, so Glory could have bumped into him during the break.'

'Yes, but the next scheduled performance after Tresa's team was the team from Green Bay. So there were a lot of people with Wisconsin connections hanging around the event center. I started calling people from Green Bay who were staying in the hotel to see if anyone remembered Glory freaking out. I talked to a parent of one of the dancers, and damned if she didn't tell me she remembered a girl losing it outside the event center and go running off.'

'Did she know why?'

'No. She said that Glory was standing in front of a window in the corridor and suddenly she screamed and bolted.'

'What's on the other side of the window?'

'A patio.'

'I don't suppose we have any idea who was out on the patio.'

'Actually, we do. This woman's daughter was out there, along with the whole Green Bay team. They were getting a pep talk from their coach, who happens to be Gary Jensen. Ring a bell?'

'Oh, shit,' Cab said. 'Our witness?'

'That's him. Call me cynical, but I don't like the coincidence.'

Cab didn't like it either. 'Are you digging into Jensen's background?'

'I'm doing that right now.'

'Could there be a connection between Jensen and Glory?' Cab asked.

'That's the million-dollar question.'

'Could Gary Jensen be this missing fugitive from Door County? Harris Bone?' 'That was my first thought, too,' Lala said, 'but no. Unless Bone managed one hell of a sophisticated identity theft, Jensen's got a paper trail that goes back for years. Of course, there could be some other connection between him and Harris that we haven't found yet.'

'Keep at it,' Cab said, 'and keep me posted. That's great work.'

'Thanks.'

'You've earned the wine,' he said.

'I thought so.'

'Listen, about what you said,' he began. 'Before.'

'Forget it.'

'Lala, you took me by surprise. It's not that I don't—'

'Forget it,' she insisted. She added, 'Why did you call, Cab? You obviously wanted something.'

I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to bear your voice. He didn't tell her that; instead, he explained where he was and what he was doing. The map. The key. The roads that led nowhere. What