Grave Secrets

“Got a summer job yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Good luck.”

Gagne called as I was turning into my driveway.

“We’ve got a match.”

His words made no sense.

“What are you talking about?”

I dived toward the underground garage.

“We’re just bringing our mitochondrial technology online, so I decided to play around with that. Thought we might have better luck if the septic tank sample was badly degraded.”

I depressed the button on my remote. The door rattled, rose. As I pulled into the garage, Gagne’s voice grew distant, began cutting in and out.

“Two of your samples match.”

“But I only gave you one.”

“There were four samples in the package.” I heard paper rustle.

“Paraiso, Specter, Eduardo, Gerardi.”

Minos must have misunderstood my request. When I’d asked for hair, I meant that taken from the septic tank jeans. He’d included samples from all four cats.

I could hardly get the question out.

“Which samples match, M. Gagne?”

Behind me, the garage door clicked, began chugging downward.

Gagne’s answer was garbled. I strained to make out his words. My handset gave a series of beeps.

I was listening to silence.

19

SLINGING MY LAPTOP AND BRIEFCASE OVER MY SHOULDERS, I grabbed the package containing Susanne’s cast and hurried to the elevator. The doors were barely open when I shot out.

And slammed into Andrew Ryan.

“Whoa, whoa. Where’s the fire?”

As usual, my first reaction was irritation.

“Nice cliche.”

“I do my best. What’s in the box?”

I moved to circle him, but he stepped left, blocking my path. At that moment, a neighbor entered the lobby through the front door.

“Bonjour.” The old man touched cane to cap, nodded to Ryan, then to me.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Gravel,” I said.

M. Gravel shuffled to the mailboxes.

I stepped left. Ryan stepped right. Susanne’s box filled the space between our chests.

I heard a mailbox open, shut, then a walking stick tap across marble.

“I have to make a phone call, Ryan.”

“What’s in the carton?”

“The head from the septic tank.”

The walking stick stopped dead.

Ryan laid both hands on the box.

“Please, please don’t do this,” he pleaded in a loud, warbly voice.

M. Gravel inhaled so sharply it sounded like a backfire.

I glared at Ryan.

Ryan smiled at me, his back to my neighbor.

“Follow me,” I said, lips barely moving.

Heading toward my hallway, I heard Ryan turn, and knew he was winking at M. Gravel. The irritation escalated.

Inside my condo, I set everything on the table and picked up the portable.