Dance of the Bones

Dance of the Bones Read Free Page B

Book: Dance of the Bones Read Free
Author: J. A. Jance
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prowling his surroundings in search of treasure. He knew the desert flatlands like he knew the backs of his own hands, and he knew the mountains too, the rugged ranges that marched across the lower-­lying desert floor like so many towering chess pieces scattered across a vast flat board—­the Rincons and the Catalinas, the Tortolitas, the Huachucas, the Whetstones, the Dragoons, the Peloncillos, and the Chiricahuas.
    Now, though, with the benefit of his store of prison-­gained knowledge, Amos was far more educated about what he found. He was able to locate plenty of takers for those items without the need for someone like Mr. Yee to act as middleman. He earned a decent if modest living and was content with his solitary life. Then John Lassiter got into trouble and was sent to juvie. Amos, claiming to be the kid’s most recent stepfather, had bailed him out and taken him home. From then on, that’s where John had lived—­in the extra room at Amos’s house rather than next door with his mother.
    By then Amos could see that the die was cast. John wasn’t going to go to college. If he was ever going to amount to anything, Amos would have to show him how. From then on, Amos set out to teach John what he knew. Every weekend and during the long broiling summers, John went along with Amos on his desert scavenger hunts. Most of the time John made himself useful by carrying whatever Amos found. Nevertheless, he was an apt pupil. Over time he became almost as good at finding stuff as Amos was, and between them their unofficial partnership made a reasonably good living.
    Not wanting to attract attention to any of his special hunting grounds, Amos usually parked his jeep a mile at least from any intended target. This time, he had left the vehicle hidden in a grove of mesquite well outside the mouth of the canyon. Approaching the spot where he’d left the truck, Amos caught a tiny whiff of cigarette smoke floating in the air.
    John was a chain smoker—­something else the two men argued about constantly, bickering like an old married ­couple. This time, however, Amos’s spirits lifted slightly as soon as his nostrils caught wind of the smoke. This out-­of-­the-­way spot was a place he and John visited often. Maybe the kid had come to his senses after all and followed him here. Maybe it was time to apologize and let bygones be bygones, and if John wanted Ava Martin in his life, so be it.
    Once inside the grove, Amos looked around and saw no sign of John or of his vehicle, either. That was hardly surprising. Maybe he had chosen some other place to park. There was always a chance John had gone out to do some scavenging of his own.
    Amos turned his attention to the pack, unshouldering it carefully and settling it into the bed of the truck. He reached inside the pack, and his searching fingers located the bundle of wadded-­up shirttail. Feeling through the thin fabric, he was relieved to find that the pot was still in one piece.
    A new puff of smoke wafted past him. That was when he sensed something else, something incongruous underlying the smell of burning cigarette—­a hint of perfume. He turned and was dismayed to see Ava standing a mere five feet away, holding a gun pointed at Amos’s chest.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where’s John?”
    â€œDon’t move,” she warned. “I know how to use this thing.”
    â€œWhere’s John?” Amos repeated. “How did you even know to come here?”
    â€œJohn brought me here several times. You know, for picnics and such. He told me this was where you’d be today.”
    Outrage boiled in Amos’s heart. John had brought Ava to this very special hunting ground, one Amos had shared with no one other than John?
    The depth of John’s betrayal was breathtaking. Amos took a step forward. “Why, you little bitch . . . ,” he began, but he never had

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