Fire and Bones (Temperance Brennan #23)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

Zanetti smiled at me from the doorway, all Hollywood hair and amber eyes.

“Tempe. What an awesome surprise. Though I knew you were stuck here on chinch duty.”

“Hey, Ben.” Voice totally neutral.

“I was on my way home but thought you might want a break from the little guy.”

“Aren’t you allergic?”

“I am. But what’s a little sneezing and itching if I can score points with my sweetie. Also, my Wi-Fi’s out and I need to use Ivy’s computer for some work stuff.”

Zanetti crossed the kitchen, placed a bag on the island, and perched on the stool next to mine. Legs outstretched in faded extra-long jeans, he leaned back, elbows on the marble or quartzite or whatever the stone was.

“You are in luck, Madame.” Nodding solemnly at the bag. “I am the bearer of treasure from the Old Line State.”

I just looked at him, face blank, brain racing through a memory-based facial comparison. Nose. Ears. Cheekbones. Jawline. Was this the same man I’d seen at the Petco?

“That bag contains nothing less than steamed blue crabs from Cantler’s,” he declared.

I raised questioning brows.

“Jimmy Cantler’s Riverside Inn?” He waited for recognition to leap across my face, but I wasn’t cooperating. The brows stayed up.

“You know not of these delicacies?” he asked, feigning shocked disbelief.

I wagged my head no.

“You are in for a treat. I did my usual and bought far too much for one person.”

“Sorry, but I just made myself—”

“One never refuses bounty from Cantler’s.”

“What if one is allergic to seafood?”

“Is one?”

“No.”

“Excellent.” Crow’s-feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Would you like a beer?”

“Water, please.”

“Evian?”

“Tap. I’m opposed to the concept of single-use plastic bottles.”

“I admire such conviction.”

Zanetti went to the fridge to get a Sam Adams for himself. To the sink to fill a tumbler for me.

The kitchen was slowly yielding to an irresistible aroma. The scent of seaweed and salt water and the things that live in it was sending an olfactory cue straight to the appetite center deep in my gray matter.

What the hell. The guy had blue crabs. I’d eat with him, figure out the Petco sighting later.

Returning to the island, Zanetti said, “I drove these bad boys all the way down from Annapolis. My Rover’s going to smell like a fish market for months. Do you know if Ivy has shell crackers and picks?”

As I searched drawers, Zanetti pulled items from the bag. Paper plates and napkins. Lidded pots containing butter and vinegar. A grease-stained brown paper bundle.

I lay tools beside each plate. Unwrapping the bundle, he centered a crustacean on mine.

For a moment we focused on cracking and digging.

Sweet Christ on a pickle. Cantler’s knew how to do crab.

Zanetti chatted as we ate, relaxed and self-assured. Not the demeanor of a man whose dinner partner had just caught him cheating on his fiancée.

Was I wrong? Did Zanetti have a doppelg?nger who frequented strip malls with tattooed bimbos? Or had I been right, but escaped detection among the parked cars?

Zanetti wasn’t the brightest squirrel climbing the tree. I knew that. But would he go all alpha gorilla if I let on that I’d seen him? If he guessed that I was probing to confirm my suspicion?

What the flip. I owed it to Ivy.

“These came from Annapolis?” I asked, casual as hell.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ivy said you’d be out of town this week. You were in Maryland?”

Zanetti nodded.

“Someplace nice?”

Zanetti snorted. “Flintstone, a toad’s turd of a place crapped between the Tussey and Warrior Mountains.”

“You must have finished earlier than you expected.” Hoping the fine citizens of Flintstone never learned of Zanetti’s crude remark.

“Yeah.”

“A big sale?”

“Big enough.”

“Good for you.”

Blotting butter from his lips, Zanetti switched the focus to me. “I hear there were developments in your case while I was incommunicado in Hooterville.”

“Sorry?” I hadn’t a clue what he meant.

“More arson in Foggy Bottom.”

“Right.” Surprised. Thacker said there was a blackout on coverage until the DOA’s next of kin had been notified. Had some go-getter journalist ignored the agreement and reported on the blaze anyway? Or had word spread via the net? It was impossible to keep a gag on social media.

“Super-weird MO like that. All three blazes have to be linked.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just a crazy-ass way to start a fire. Anyone die in this new one?”

“I can’t discuss an open investigation.” Cool as frost in February.

Zanetti gave me a vaguely offended look, like maybe I’d failed to reciprocate in the sharing of confidences.

When we’d devoured the last crab, I helped clean up the mess. Zanetti watched as I made myself a mug of chamomile tea and walked from the room, fervently hoping he’d complete his online business quickly and leave.

Upstairs, I cleaned Chuck’s cage, then filled his water and food dispensers. Thinking he might like to bathe, I filled a shallow tray with chinchilla dust, a product recommended to me by a clerk at the Petco.

The chinch regarded me with what I took to be appreciation.

“You’re on your own with the bath, little guy,” I said. “I’m not going to groom you.” The packaging stated that brushing was recommended post- toilette .

Three-fifty-five.

Feeling jittery and trapped, I debated what to do with the rest of the afternoon.

Rain was falling with gusto now, and the sky had darkened to an even more pessimistic gray. Unable to bear the thought of my already damp boots, and not wanting to slog through the downpour in sneakers or sandals, I decided to hunker in and spend more time with Ivy’s photocopies.

Not a sound drifted in from elsewhere in the house.

Still, I couldn’t concentrate.

It wasn’t just the feeling of being corralled. Something else was bugging me. What? Why were my nerves on edge? Thacker’s call? The third fire? The Zanetti-bimbo sighting? Maybe Zanetti. The two anonymous texts? My failure to tell Derry about them?

Focus, Brennan. Find some crumb that will shed light on the subcellar lady.

A couple of hours later I was taking a break from skimming newsprint, checking email, when the sound of movement caused me to look up. Not really a sound, more a change in the air.

Zanetti was standing at my open door, a steaming mug in his right hand, tea bag label hanging over one side.

“I’m an asshole,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“Asking about a case. That was way out of line.”

I didn’t disagree.

“I brought a peace offering.” He raised the mug. “Figured your tea would be gone by now. Or stone cold. Seems like a chamomile kind of day.”

I uncrossed my ankles and stood. Again, my legs tingled from the sudden change in orientation, from the new responsibility of holding me upright.

Zanetti crossed to me and offered the mug. I accepted it, slid the string along the rim, and took a small sip.

“Brewed with a little help from Twinings,” he said, smiling.

I smiled back.

Wondered.

Again.

Could this man really be a player and ten yards deep in denial?

Zanetti tipped his head to read the headline topping the story I’d just laid down. “You’re interested in the Warrings?” he asked.

“Mm.”

“Bad dudes in their day. No surprise they made enemies.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing at all.” Giving a nothing-at-all shrug. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

With that he was gone.

I took up the article I’d set aside but found my concentration had grown even poorer than earlier. My conversation with Zanetti kept looping like software at an ATM.

Why? What was I uneasy about? The man was a successful realtor. Ivy’s boyfriend. Ivy was no dummy. Surely, she’d vetted the guy.

Still.

Was it because Zanetti knew about the most recent fire? About the way it was set? Because he questioned my interest in the Warrings? Because he was in DC and not away as he’d told Ivy?

Because he was a goddam cheater?

I pictured Zanetti with his pierced and tattooed companion.

Inexplicably, a comment made by Jada Thacker channeled into my thoughts.

Ping.

Impossible.

Still.

I hesitated, then dialed DC’s chief medical examiner.

Thacker took my call and provided the information I sought, never questioning my reason for needing it.

No way, Brennan. You’re overreaching because you don’t like the guy.

Then why the red flags from my id?

I booted my laptop and opened a series of case files. Logging over to Zillow.com , I entered an address. Then another. And another.

Lightbulb moment.

Bloody hell!

Body details. Kitty litter. A man at a Petco. A real-estate listing.

I sat back, heart pumping fast and hard.

To calm myself, I drank more tea, now meltwater cold.

Still, I was thirsty. Desperately thirsty.

What’s going on? I don’t feel right.

Craving something cold and fizzy, I took the mug and descended to the kitchen. Was at the fridge when a noise at my back startled me.

I whipped around.

Something deep in my brain gave a sideways lurch.