Page 86 of Cold, Cold Bones

With slowly numbing fingers, I dialed Katy. Slidell. Ryan.

I tried Charlie’s number again. Same result.

Why did no one answer my goddam calls?!

At six-fifteen, I went inside. The staff was tidying up to close. No, a very tall black man had not been into the shop earlier.

Instead of his mobile, I dialed Charlie’s office number. Got an after-hours switchboard operator named Vickie. Vickie had no idea of Mr. Hunt’s whereabouts. And refused to divulge such classified intel.

Had something come up at the last minute? A client emergency? Car trouble? Surely Charlie would have phoned to let me know.

Had something happened to him? A mugging? An accident? A heart attack?

The spectrum of possibilities ran from dark to horrible.

Charlie had seemed concerned about Katy. Had some tragedy actually befallen her?

Nope. Not going there.

Suppressing all distressing lines of thought, I tossed my cup and its jellies and walked to my car.

Still committed to not dwelling on unsettling notions, I decided to watch a movie. Birdie and I enjoy old classic films. I like comedies. He prefers Westerns.

After much surfing, I choseChinatown. The cat was good with it.

Nicholson was having his nose reconfigured when my mobile rang.

Ryan.

I grabbed the remote and hit pause.

“Comment ça va, ma chèr…?”Ryan’s greeting was truncated by a loud hissing sound.

“I’m good. This connection is terrible. Where are you?”

“… outer island. It has coconuts.”

“Don’t they all?”

“But no cell towers.”

“How are you able to call?”

“An old lady is cranking a handle behind me.”

“Funny.”

“She definitely is. You don’t sound good.”

“Yes, I do.”

“There. See?”

“Birdie and I are watching a movie.”

“Cool Hand Luke?” Ryan named the cat’s favorite.

I answered after another long burst of static. Ryan responded by impersonating Nicholson’s closing line.