Bare Bones

“But you already know that.” I scratched at a mosquito bite on my elbow. “I’ve got some bad news.”

Boyd shifted his chin to my knee.

“Remember the animal bones I mentioned?”

“I do.”

“Rin Tin Tin here actually discovered them. They were buried on farmland out in the county. I was pretty sure the stuff was animal, but I brought it in to the ME office just in case. I spent most of Sunday going through it.”

Lucy was on her bum. Ethel was trying to pull the coveralls over Lucy’s shoes.

“And?” Ryan coaxed.

“Today I found a pair of human hand bones.”

“Mixed in with Smokey.”

I nodded.

“So tomorrow’s going to be another special day.”

“Unfortunately. Look, I’m really sorry. You know I would much rather be with you.”

“And Hooch.” Ryan flicked his eyes to the dog, then back to me.

“And Hooch.” I patted Boyd’s head. “By the way, I really do appreciate you looking after him.”

Ryan raised palms and eyebrows in a gesture of c’est la vie.

“If Hooch has unearthed a homicide, you don’t want the perp relocating his vic.”

Boyd transferred back to Ryan.

“No,” I agreed, with an enthusiasm I reserve for Pap smears and rectals.

“You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Right.”

Ryan was, of course. Nevertheless I felt trapped, stuck in town like a moth on a pest strip.

I leaned forward, arched my back, and rotated my head. Things crunched in my neck.

Ryan sat up and scootched close.

“Turn.”

I did.

Ryan began kneading my shoulders with strong, circular movements.

I closed my eyes.

“Mmm.”

“Too hard?”

“Hm uhm.” I hadn’t realized how tense I was.

Ryan ran a thumb along the inner edge of each shoulder blade.

A tiny groan curled up from my throat. I cut it off.

Ryan’s thumbs moved to the base of my skull.

Ohgod.

Up the back of my head.

Ohmygod.

Back down, across my shoulders, and along the muscles to either side of my spine.

Full groan.

Seconds later the hands withdrew, and I felt the couch cushion change shape.

“Here’s a plan.”

I opened my eyes.

Ryan was leaning back, fingers laced behind his head. The chip bowl was empty. Boyd had crumbs on the side of his mouth.

“I’m buying you dinner.”

“No argument. Where?”

“Your town, your choice.”

An hour later Ryan and I were munching bruschetta at Toscana. The night was Hollywood-summertime perfect, the moon a full O overhead.

Toscana is an Italian eatery hidden in Specialty Shops on the Park, an enclave of cafes, spas, and boutiques at which Charlotte’s elite sip Silver Oak Cabernet, get wrapped in mud, and purchase bandannas for their dogs.

While the establishments are a bit too special for my budget, I do enjoy Toscana, especially in the outdoor dining months. It and Volare are my favorites of the Italian places, and are roughly equidistant from Sharon Hall. Tonight I chose Toscana.