Harry’s eyes rolled so high I thought they might stick.
“Not just stuff, Tempe. Memorabilia. And you don’t just slap it in mishmash. Each page is an artfully crafted montage.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Temperance Daessee Brennan.” Harry’s voice was Ralph Edwards dramatic. “This is your life.” She opened the scrapbook. “But you can peruse the early years at a future time of your choosing.”
Flipping several pages, Harry slid her opus onto my lap.
And there we were, tan and barefoot, squinting into the sun.
Harry had penned
“I love it, Harry.” I threw my arms around her. “Really, I love it. Thank you.”
“Don’t go all slobbery.” Harry stood. “Get some sleep. Even if he is a two-timing peckerwood, Ryan’s still a biscuit. You need to look perky on the morrow.”
My eye roll made Harry’s look amateur.
Before turning out the light, I spent a long time studying Evangeline’s features. Dark, curly hair. Strong, slightly humped nose. Delicate lips, tight around an impishly protruding tongue.
I had no idea how soon I’d see that face again.
21
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I EXPECTED.
Other than evidence of disease, I found nothing in Hippo’s girl’s bones to alter my original age estimate, and nothing to exclude the possibility that she was sixteen. The nature of the skeletal pathology still baffled me.
At nine, I phoned a private DNA lab in Virginia. Bad news: prices had skyrocketed since I’d last used their services. Good news: I was permitted to submit samples as a private citizen.
After downloading and completing the proper forms, I packaged the Sprite can, the tissues, a molar, and a plug from the girl’s right femur. Then I went in search of LaManche.
The chief listened, fingers steepled below his chin. Evangeline. Obeline. Agent Tiquet. The Whalen brothers. Jerry O’Driscoll’s pawnshop. Tom Jouns.
LaManche raised some points for clarification. I answered. Then he called the coroner.
Hippo was right. No way, Jose.
I leveled with LaManche about my personal agenda. Reluctantly, he granted my request to pay for the tests out of pocket.
LaManche informed me I had one new case. Nothing urgent. Long bones had been found near Jonquiere. Probably old cemetery remains.
He updated me on the Doucet situation. The psychiatrist had concluded that Theodore was mentally incompetent. Since no cause of death could be established for Dorothee or Genevieve, charges were not being laid.
I outlined the cold cases Hippo and Ryan were working, and described my involvement in them. The MP’s, Kelly Sicard, Claudine Cloquet, and Anne Girardin. The DOA’s from the Riviere des Mille Iles, Dorval, and Lac des Deux Montagnes. The phone rang as I was explaining the possible link to Phoebe Jane Quincy.
LaManche raised two palms in apology. What can one do?
Back in my lab, I directed Denis to send the DNA samples by Federal Express. Then I phoned the lab and begged for expedition. The man said he’d do what he could.
I was grabbing my purse when I remembered one of LaManche’s questions.
“
Where was it, indeed? I’d been unable to find the island anywhere in the New Brunswick atlas.
And what did the name mean? Island of what? Perhaps the maps I’d consulted used an English translation.
I pulled out my Harrap’s French-English dictionary.
I knew
Lots of choices. Beak. Bill. Snout. Mouth. Nose (of tool). Nozzle (of tube). Lip (of jug). Spout (of coffeepot). Peak (of bicycle saddle). Mouthpiece (of clarinet).
Who can explain the French mind?
I checked for alternate meanings of
Nope. Saw was pretty much it. Radial, wood, circular, hack, power, jig, turning, chain, scroll. Distinctions were handled with modifiers.
Island of Beaks Saws. Island of Snouts Saws. Island of Peaks of Bicycle Saddles Saws.
