The Bones Will Speak

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  “I told you I didn’t see any dog or bumper sticker.” She glanced out the window. “I had a dog once, but not anymore.”

  “Uh, never mind. Just tell me what you did see.”

  She paused, looked away, then said, “You’re asking me what I did see? I didn’t see his face.”

  My heart sank. She was lying. “You can tell me—”

  “But he came here. He called me. He said you’d come.”

  The sketchpad dropped from my suddenly numb hands. “What?”

  “He said I had to tell you something. He said . . . he said you were a traitor. And you owed him three.”

  “Three?”

  “Lives.” She looked at me and her lips trembled. “Your dog. Your daughter. And you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  DAVE STEPPED OUT OF CHURCH AND TURNED on his phone. Three missed calls, two from his department and one from Gwen. He hit Redial.

  “Dave,” Louise said. “This is Louise.”

  “I know your voice,” Dave said dryly. He handed the car keys to his wife and waved her on.

  “Oh, well, yes. I stopped by the office to drop off some rhubarb for you. I know your lovely wife makes pies—”

  “You called me two times about rhubarb?”

  “No. I was getting to that. Anyway, I found a man in your office.”

  Dave clenched the phone tighter. “Who was it?”

  “I didn’t recognize him, but one of the fellows said he was that artist fellow from Missoula.”

  “Wes Bailor? What was he doing in my office?”

  “That’s just what I asked him. He said he was looking for you, then he left.”

  “How did he get in?” Several people leaving church stopped talking and looked at him. He made an effort to lower his voice. “How could he get past the front desk?”

  “I guess he told them he had a critical report on the Mattie Banks case to drop off. They buzzed him in, he gave them a big envelope, then they thought he left.”

  A vein pounded in Dave’s forehead. “What was he looking at on my desk?”

  “Oh. I didn’t look. Give me a minute.”

  Dave paced.

  “I’m back,” Louise said. “Your desk was a mess—”

  “Not now, Louise.”

  “Well, ah . . . I think he was looking at a copy of the toxicology screen on Mattie Banks.”

  “What does it say?”

  “She had Ketamine in her system. What’s Ketamine?”

  “An animal tranquilizer. Where is Wes now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who’s on duty?”

  “Uh . . . Dre—”

  “Get him to start looking for Wes. I’m grabbing some lunch with my wife, dropping her off, then I’m coming to the department. Heads are going to roll on this one.”

  The hospital door slammed open.

  Mattie jumped.

  A young cop charged into the room, grabbed Gwen, wrenched her from the chair, and cuffed her. “Out!”

  Gwen twisted in his grip. “But—”

  “You press won’t stop at anything.” He dragged her from the room and firmly shut the door. They could hear his voice in the hall. “You, there. Stand here until I get back. No one goes in or out. Understand?”

  Aynslee jumped to her feet. “Did that guy just arrest my mom?”

  Mattie was already sitting up. “Yeah. He didn’t see you down there on the other side of the bed. Hurry. We don’t have much time. You have to help me.”

  Aynslee crossed to the door, but paused before opening it. “Like, how?”

  “First we gotta get this thing out of my arm. Help me. My fingers are broken. We can escape through that window. You’re small, like me, so we’ll fit. And it’s on the ground floor. We gotta do it now!”

  “But—”

  “Never mind. Forget it.” Using her teeth, Mattie tore the white tape around the needle, then pulled the IV out. Blood dribbled from a tiny catheter still in her wrist. She tugged at the remaining tape holding the tube. Blood smeared on her face.

  “Here, let me help.” Aynslee returned to the bed and eased the catheter from her wrist. She grabbed a tissue and placed it on the IV site. “Hold this for a few minutes to stop the bleeding.”

  Mattie held up her splinted hand.

  “Sorry.” Aynslee gently pressed the tissue in place.

  A cart squeaked outside the door, stopped, then voices, speaking softly.

  They froze.

  The cart squealed again, fainter, then gone.

  Mattie stood. Her legs were rubber. She fell, slamming into the hard floor.

  She gasped and curled into a ball, holding her broken hands close to her stomach. Tears leaked from her eyes.

  A soft hand touched her shoulder. “You’re really scared. Look, it’ll be okay. Mom will be back and get us out of here.”

  “Didn’t you hear me when I told your mom that the guy was going to kill you, your mom, and your dog?”

  “I heard, but it’s safer in here, with a cop at the door and all.”

  Gulping, Mattie used her elbows to right herself and shoved against the floor until she was sitting. “Listen to me. See those flowers? He brought them. He can get in here anytime he wants.”

  Aynslee bit her lip, then looked at the bouquet. “Okay. So. Where are your clothes?”

  “Look in that closet.”

  Aynslee stood and disappeared around the bed. “Empty.” She returned and helped Mattie stand.

  “Never mind. Let’s go.” Leaning against Aynslee, she made it to the window. “Pull down the handle.” Aynslee complied. A small pane opened inward.

  Using her foot, Mattie shoved a chair to the window and stepped up on it. The world twirled for a moment, and she held on to the chair until the dizziness stopped. She stuck her foot through the opening to a brick ledge. Slowly lowering her body, she wiggled through, the latch on the top of the window gouging her back before she was free. She fell.

  Pain shot up her arm and she moaned. Get up! Get up! She rolled over to her knees. The hospital was on her right, the windows safely above her head. The ground fell slightly in front of her before ending in a short cement retaining wall. A line of trees and hillside were on her left.

  She stood and peeked back into the room. Aynslee was on the far side of the bed. She snatched the flowers out of the vase, dropped them into a trash container, and grinned at Mattie.

  Mattie pumped her arms.

  Aynslee soon wiggled out the window and dropped to the ground. “Ouch!”

  “Come on,” Mattie said. “We can go hide in the forest. Live off the land. I saw a television show—”

  “Do you like the woods?”

  “No.”

  “I have a better idea,” Aynslee said. “Follow me.” They crept to the wall. “You’ll be caught in two seconds wearing that nightgown. And I can see your naked rear.”

  Mattie’s face grew warm.

  “We can sneak into the hospital,” Aynslee continued, “and find you some scrubs, then at least you’ll look like a nurse or something.”

  “What about these?” Mattie held up her splinted fingers.

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll think of something.” They peered over the wall. “Follow me,” Aynslee said. They scurried left around the wall, then to the employee entrance and plastered themselves against the wall.

  Mattie licked her dry lips and nodded. Aynslee eased the door ajar. They shot to the supply room and ducked inside just in time.

  Footsteps and voices echoed down the hall, getting closer.

  Aynslee yanked down several sets of small scrubs from the shelf, then pulled Mattie behind a row of gray metal shelves.

  Mattie sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs, and found an opening between boxes of gauze where she could see the room.

  The voices paused and the door creaked open.

  “Did you hear what happened?” someone asked. A chunky woman entered.

  “How coul
d I miss it?” A straw-haired, middle-aged woman followed. “There’s still a bunch of cops in the front parking lot. Did you see the one cop? The tall one that looked like, I don’t know, a movie star? Yum. He can search my body anytime.”

  “Julia, you hussy! Remember, you’re married.”

  “Yeah, but I can look, can’t I? Do I have time to dash outside for a quick smoke?”

  “You shouldn’t smoke. Neither should I. We’ll make it fast.” The women left, letting the door swing shut behind them.

  Aynslee and Mattie waited a moment before standing. Aynslee helped Mattie tug off the nightgown, then stuffed it behind a box marked Admissions Kits. The scrubs were huge. “Why’d they call these small?” Mattie asked. “They’d fit a hippo.”

  “They’ll do,” Aynslee said. “Shoes next.” Both girls circled the room, but all they found were some slipper-like paper things and socks with rubber strips on the bottom.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Mattie said. She ran for the door, but stopped. One of the women had left her purse on a box near the door. Pulse racing, Mattie prodded the purse open and dumped the contents.

  “What are you doing?” Aynslee hissed.

  “I’ll pay her back. We need money.” A red leather wallet landed on top. Mattie stuck the edge of the wallet in her mouth, shoved the purse and contents behind the box, opened the door, and jogged left. Aynslee followed. Voices echoed behind them. Move it. They sprinted around a corner.

  More voices, this time in front, and the rasp of an approaching gurney.

  Mattie felt like a rat in the bottom of a Dumpster as she frantically looked around. The door beside her was locked. Aynslee tried the next one. Locked. The sounds were getting louder.

  The third door was marked Morgue.

  Aynslee reached for the knob.

  “Morgue? Isn’t that dead people?” Mattie whispered.

  “Yeah. But at least they won’t yell for help.” Aynslee opened the door and they dodged through.

  Mattie leaned against the wall. She didn’t want to turn around. The room smelled like a chemical plant and felt cool.

  “Come on. Move away from the door.” Aynslee gripped her arm and dragged her from the wall.

  A quick glance assured Mattie that the two steel tables were empty of bodies. Ahead, a metal desk overflowing with papers faced the room. To their left, a narrow table held a microscope, slides, racks of tubes, and other instruments Mattie didn’t recognize. They hid behind the desk until the voices passed.

  Aynslee started searching, opening and closing drawers. “Mom told me these old doctors sometimes keep—ah ha!” She held up running shoes. “Give me your foot.”

  Mattie spit the wallet out of her mouth, sat in the chair, and held up a foot. Aynslee slipped on the shoe. “Too big.” She reached for a box of tissues on the desk and stuffed them into the toe, then tried it on again. This time it fit a little better. Swiftly she stuffed the second shoe.

  “What about my hands?” Mattie asked.

  Aynslee slowly circled the room, arriving at an old bamboo coatrack. A red plaid jacket hung on one side, an umbrella on the other. She lifted the coat. “Drape this over your hands. You’ll be a tired technician just getting off work and heading home.”

  Mattie nudged the stolen wallet into the pocket.

  Aynslee picked up the phone on the desk, started to dial, then quickly hung up. “This goes through a switchboard or something.”

  “Who were you going to call?”

  “My dad. We can meet him somewhere. We’ll be safe with him, and he can help Mom. So can Dave. He’s the sheriff.”

  After easing the door open, Aynslee checked the hall, then jerked her head that the coast was temporarily clear. They fled to the exit.

  Mattie’s heart pounded. What if the two women were still smoking outside? What if they knew she was here and were waiting for her? For both of them? What if—

  Aynslee opened the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I TRIED TO REASON WITH THE OFFICER, EXPLAIN that I wasn’t a reporter, point out that I was in law enforcement. He wasn’t buying any of it. With my feet barely touching the ground, he marched me down the hall past curious doctors and nurses. I spotted Beth and managed to mouth, Get Aynslee, before he hustled me out to a parked patrol car and shoved me into the back. A few visitors to the hospital paused to watch the show. My face flamed with a hot flash, leaving me uncomfortably damp.

  The backseat of a patrol car isn’t made for human comfort. The officer left me to cool my heels for what seemed like hours. He finally returned, leaned against the side, and placed a call. I could hear his side of the phone conversation. “Yeah, hi, Jeannie. This is Ken. Say, I caught a reporter that sneaked into the room with the girl. Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know.” He looked at me. “Do you have ID?”

  “In a canvas bag. In Mattie’s room. Who—”

  “Nah, no ID. Okay.” He looked back at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Gwen Marcey.”

  “She says her name is Gwen Marcey.” He listened for a moment. “You’re kidding. Really? Not as far as I could see. Will do.” He hung up and opened the door. “Jeannie said to let you go, but if you ever do that again, she’ll arrest you.” After unlocking the handcuffs, he paused to listen to his shoulder mic.

  “Attention all units. There’s a 10–80 at 1512 West Fir—”

  I knew that 10-code. Explosion. And that address. The veterinary hospital. Where my dog was locked up in a cage.

  Mattie let out a sigh of relief as soon as she made it outside. The sooner they got away from the hospital, the safer she’d be. While they’d been looking for the scrubs, someone had parked a white pickup truck with a cap over the bed and left the motor running. A sign lettered on the side read Andersen Upholstery and Office Designs, Copper Creek–Missoula.

  A middle-aged man in a denim jacket and jeans came toward them from the rear of the truck. He carried several large rings with fabric samples attached. “Ah, just in time. Can you hold the door?”

  She bit her lip, unable to move. Aynslee stepped aside and nodded. The man strolled past them and turned right.

  It took a moment before Mattie’s legs would move. She caught Aynslee’s attention and nodded toward the truck. “Can you drive?”

  “I’m not stealing a truck.”

  Mattie dashed to the rear. Two chairs and numerous bolts of fabric jumbled together in the back, almost filling the space.

  “What are you doing?” Aynslee asked.

  “If you don’t want to steal a truck, then let’s steal a ride. He left the engine running, so he’ll be right back. Come on.” She clambered up, shoved one chair aside, and slipped behind several colorful stacks of fabric samples. After a moment’s hesitation, Aynslee followed, knocking over a chair. She reached over to straighten the chair, then ducked.

  The man stood by the open tailgate.

  Mattie held her breath. Oh, please.

  He slammed the tailgate up and pulled the door down. Clank! The vehicle rocked slightly, and the driver’s door banged shut. The engine revved as they backed from the loading dock.

  The two girls huddled together, keeping their heads below the window to the cab. Aynslee pulled the plaid jacket over their legs for warmth. The day had turned cool, and the truck bed was unheated.

  Mattie’s hands started to hurt. She hadn’t thought about that. “Aynslee,” she whispered. “I gotta get some drugs.” She held up her splinted hands.

  Aynslee chewed on a hangnail for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “We have to go to my house. I can call my mom and dad from there. And Mom still has some drugs from when she had cancer—”

  “But the guy knows where you live! He said he was going to kill you.”

  “No, it’s okay. He can’t get in. There’re bars on the windows, and we’ll lock all the doors. Mom has a cool pink rifle, and a gun too.”

  Mattie stared at her. “I don’t know.”

  “We won’t be there long. Jus
t until we get ahold of my mom and dad.”

  The throbbing pain in Mattie’s hands grew by the minute. “You’re sure about the drugs?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I RACED AROUND THE PARKING LOT, NARROWLY missing being hit by a white truck, and found my car. As soon as I located a phone, I’d let Beth know what was happening. Aynslee would be safe with my friend.

  Not pausing to check for oncoming traffic, I gunned toward the vet hospital. The explosion had leveled the lobby. Flames snapped out of the treatment-area window as I slammed my car to a halt behind Dave’s sedan. Black smoke and the stench of burning plastic rolled over me as I raced through the parking lot. Dave had already corralled the milling neighbors into the far corner of the asphalt. “Get back!” he yelled. “There could be more explosions.” The crowd shifted farther from the building.

  It seemed impossible that anything could survive the inferno.

  I covered my mouth to keep from crying out. My legs felt like cooked pasta, my throat squeezed tight.

  A fire truck stretched across the street, and the volunteer firefighters yanked a hose toward the building. More howling emergency vehicles arrived by the minute, strobe lights glaring like a grim festival.

  The rear door of the hospital flew open, belching inky smoke. A Schnauzer dodged out, followed by a lanky black Lab, a German shepherd, and finally a Bernese mountain dog, tail between its legs. The crowd surged forward to rescue the frantic canines.

  I charged toward the door just as a figure materialized carrying a huge dog.

  Winston.

  I gasped. Please let him be alive.

  Wes, barely visible behind the dog, staggered forward, coughing. Dave and I reached his side just as he placed the dog on the ground, then collapsed next to him.

  I knelt and lifted the dog’s head. Alive! “Wes, you’re crazy, but right now you’re my hero!” I gave him a quick kiss, then hugged Winston.

  “Did you see anyone inside?” Dave asked.

  “I couldn’t see.” Wes coughed. “Dark, couldn’t get beyond the back section. Flames too hot . . .” He coughed again.