“One of the victims broke a femur and has a steel plate. It will be numbered, and I can search the medical database. I can get you an ID on that one. But that’s the exception, not the rule. To be honest, I think it’s time to call in the calvary,” Dr. Stowe blew out a breath. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be present when he brings back the souls.”
“I don’t mind as long as Boone’s okay with it.” I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t be. Boone wasn’t a carnival act and didn’t necessarily like a looky-loo audience, but Dr. Stowe hardly qualified as that type of spectator.
Digging out my phone, I brought up Boone’s number and hit the send button. My fiancé answered after the first ring.
“Did you bring enough candy?” My question drew an exasperated huff from Boone.
“If I didn’t, I’m sure you’ve got plenty stashed around here somewhere.”
Boone wasn’t wrong. “Hmm, perhaps. I still like to know you’re packing sugar along with your pops’s charms.” Boone’s multiple pockets bulged with both.
“Jolly Ranchers, second pocket, right side of my vest.” Boone patted said pocket. “Peanut M&M’s loaded in the left.” Peeking around my side, Boone eyed a nearby desk. “And I see you’ve got a couple of cans of soda on standby as well. I believe any blood sugar concerns have been anticipated and well planned for.”
Boone could fuss at me all he liked. That wouldn’t stop me from trying to take care of him. When it came right down to it, there wasn’t a lot I could really do to support him. Making certain Boone didn’t have a blood sugar crash—or at least had the remedy ready at hand—was the least I could do. Sometimes it was the only thing I could do.
“I won’t apologize for taking care of you.”
My defensive words earned me a goofy grin and a chaste kiss on the lips. “I never asked you to. And for the record, I like you looking out for me. It’s very charming.”
My cheeks heated, probably matching my skin to my hair color. “Charming, huh?”
Boone kissed me again. “Very charming. So much so it’s difficult for me to believe you didn’t grow up in the South.”
“Us northern guys can be gallant.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to defend my north-of-the-Mason–Dixon-Line heritage.
“Hmm, a fact I am now very much aware of and grateful for as well.”
Boone and I both missed the morgue door opening and closing. Neither of us missed Captain Loretta Cicely’s pointed throat-clearing.
“Oops.” Boone grinned, his palm lingering on my chest as he turned his head and said, “Sorry, not sorry.”
Captain Cicely’s answering smile was genuinely fond. “It’s fine. I can handle PG-rated PDA. Just make certain it stays in that category while under my roof.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Boone answered seriously. A little two-fingered salute added that special something.
With a roll of her eyes, Captain Cicely moved further into the room. “Thanks for coming in today, Necromancer Boone.”
“Erasmus,” Boone answered. “You asked me to call you Loretta, so fair is fair.” Thumping my chest, Boone said, “Only this guy calls others by their last names.”
“Fair enough. Thank you for coming in today, Erasmus.”
“No problem.” Boone waved her off. “One of my private cases, also a police issue but in a different county, is currently bogged down in legal shenanigans. I’ve got the time and necromancer juice.” Boone’s eyes briefly flared emerald before settling down into their typical shimmering green.
Captain Cicely inhaled deeply, letting loose an equally deep sigh as her eyes tracked the room, now filled with six nearly intact specimens of skeletal remains. “How did we miss this, O’Hare?”
Guilt punched me in the gut. “I wish I knew. I’ve gone through missing persons, and to be perfectly frank, we don’t have nearly enough that fit the preliminary victimology to account for the graves we found. These women are either from other states or were never reported missing.”
Hands on hips, Captain Cicely hung her head. “Can’t say that either of those scenarios sound appealing.”
“You’ll get no disagreement from me. I—”
“Found one!” Dr. Stowe plowed through the door of her office, the swinging door flying back and hitting the wall. “I got a positive hit on the bone plate.” Walking to a set of remains laid out on a table along the far wall, Dr. Stowe used her pen to point to a gleaming section of metal. “May I introduce Anna Garvey. Twenty-three, unmarried with no children and hailing from Alabama. Anna broke her femur at the tender age of seventeen. Medical records simply say it was during a sporting event in high school.”
“Hello, Anna,” Boone greeted.
“Did you bring her back?” Dr. Stowe asked.
“No. Just thought it was polite to greet her bones.”
