“I know you, cowboy.”
Ryan made a pistol with his hand and pointed it at me.
“Ready for another field trip tomorrow?”
“Hee-haw.”
This time the finger made a lasso.
We were passing Mrs. Flowers’s desk when the phone rang. She answered, then flapped a hand in my direction.
I waited while she spoke, then placed the call on hold.
“It’s Detective Slidell.”
I felt a sigh elbowing up my chest, but resisted the impulse toward melodramatics.
Mrs. Flowers smiled at me, then at Ryan. When he grinned back, a pink spot blossomed on each of her cheeks.
“He sounds like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“Not a pretty picture.” Ryan winked.
Mrs. Flowers giggled, and her cheeks went raspberry.
“Do you want to take it?”
Like I wanted Ebola.
I reached for the receiver.
17
“LANCASTER.”
“Lancaster who?”
“South Carolina.”
I heard cellophane crinkle, then the sound of chewing.
“That’s about forty minutes south of Charlotte.”
“Uh-huh. Straight down five twenty-one.”
Pause.
“What
“Skeleton.” Garbled through what sounded like caramel and peanuts.
“Three”—crinkle—“years back.”
Slidell was in Snickers mode. My grip tightened on the receiver.
“Hikers.”
A lot of crinkling, and a comment I couldn’t make out.
“Park.”
“Hikers found a headless, handless skeleton in a park near Lancaster?” I prompted.
“Yep.”
A click, as though Slidell were picking a tooth with a thumbnail.
“Were the remains ID’ed?”
“Nope.”
“What happened to them?”
“Packed up and shipped to Columbia.”
“To Wally Cagle?”
“He the anthropologist down there?”
“Yes.”
“Stubby little fruit fly, goatee looks like a mallard’s arse?”
“Walter Cagle is a highly qualified, board-certified forensic anthropologist.” It took an effort to keep my voice level. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Probably.”
“What does that mean?”
“Fine citizens of Lancaster County elected themselves a new coroner two years back. New kid claims his predecessor didn’t keep real good records.”
