Silver's Bones Read Free

Department drops the Mayberry RFD’s mentality.” For a bright woman with masters degrees in both law enforcement and business adminis­tra­tion, that was a stupid thing to say. I hadn’t made up my mind about her yet. My wife, Shannon, liked her. She said women have to work harder to prove their authority. Maybe so, but Patrice made it worse by forcing changes too quickly.
    Adriana whispered to me, “What did she mean, ‘how large the scene will be’?”
    â€œWe make it bigger than we think it needs to be,” I said. “Hey, you don’t have to stick around.”
    â€œI couldn’t concentrate with all this going on. I called in.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    â€œI have to run an errand, though, but I’ll be back.”
    â€œSure, whatever.”
    She walked off toward her house and it wasn’t long before I got a text from Shannon. My wife worked patrol, days, seven to five.
    Shannon: “Miss me?”
    Me: “I do. And Honolulu 2.”
    Shannon: “LOL You’re a poet. Meet for lunch?”
    Me: “Can’t. Big case. Skeletal remains found at Emmaline.”
    Shannon: “OMG—where?”
    Me: “Ronson Development”
    Shannon: “Wow. Keep me posted. R u tired?”
    Me: “My butt’s dragging. You?”
    Shannon: “Same. Aloha XXOO”
    Me: “Aloha XXOO”
    Did I just do that? Text Xs and Os like a little girl? Next thing you know I’ll be drawing hearts and shit. I cleared the history. A second later I had to ask myself why I’d omitted whose property the remains were on. I’d tell her next chance I got.

 
    Chapter 2
    T he temperature had already climbed into the upper eighties, and the humidity was high. The black uniform made the skin on my back feel as if an iron was being held to it. Black uniforms—that was another sore spot Sheriff Clinton created. Her first order of business was to announce deputies had three months to change over from tan to the new black she’d selected—investigators included, and we’d always been allowed to wear civilian clothing. So, I sat back and watched the predictable pissin’ and moanin’, and refused to get sucked into the dogfight . . . because, hey, I picked my battles and tried to keep my mind open and my mouth shut—well, most of the time, anyway.
    After spraying on insect repellent, Troy and I worked together to mark off the large scene with the yellow crime scene tape. He slapped a mosquito on his arm. “My sweat’s washing off the bug spray, and I don’t give a shit, I’m putting on the white shirt in my car. Wearing black in summer is fucking stupid,” Troy muttered. Sweat had pooled in his cleft chin.
    â€œEspecially if you’re outside working in the fucking heat,” I said.
    He lifted his brows and nodded, surprised I’d agreed with him. Why wouldn’t I? We were raining sweat.
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    By the time we finished and returned to Adriana’s yard, our two Birch County Crime Lab technicians, Katherine Abbott and Les Ruper, had arrived. They had joined Sheriff Clinton by the gravesite.
    Adriana appeared out of the lower level patio door. She was a head turner in anything she wore, but she hit the sexy-as-hell mark with the white short-shorts and hot pink tank top she had on. As she walked over to the group, a breathy “wow” escaped Troy’s lips.
    She said, “I’ve made some refreshments for you. Go right through the patio doors in the lower level. There’s also a restroom for your use.”
    â€œThank you, Ms. Valero. We might as well get out of the heat while we wait for the big guns to get here,” Sheriff Clinton said.
    As I went in through the patio door into Adriana’s family room, the hit of cool air was a welcome relief. Unexpectedly, a snarling, growling, large animal bounded into the room. Jesus! Everyone froze. It was a young,