Fire and Bones (Temperance Brennan #23)

Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

O NE WEEK LATER

M IDDLEBURG , V IRGINIA

It was another warm and balmy southern night.

The distant woods had gone a deep wooly gray. Closer in, wooden fences threw looping shadows around acres of paddock and lawn.

Now and then, an owl hooted, a horse whinnied. Otherwise, the only sound was the industrious chirping of crickets.

Ryan and I were relaxing on the balcony of our suite. Sipping café au laits and watching the last rays of a butterscotch sunset yield to night.

“Recovering” might be a more accurate term than relaxing. Tennis. Horseback riding. Hiking. Swimming. Winery touring. Except for the three spa sessions, our schedule had not been leisurely.

Katy had nailed it. Given the stress of the previous weeks, the Salamander Resort was exactly what Ryan and I needed.

We’d talked frequently about the events in DC. Especially as new intel trickled in. We’d be doing something unrelated—croquet, chess, dining, reading—when one of us would make a comment or ask a question.

That happened now.

“I’ve forgotten,” Ryan said. “Who was the last DOA?”

“Raelynn Krassle.”

“Zanetti’s pierced and inked twenty-something?”

“Yes.”

“He killed her because—?”

“Krassle wanted to be more than just a sometime diversion,” I replied. “When Zanetti refused to make a bigger commitment, she threatened to phone Ivy.”

“Getting busted cheating hardly seems like a motive for murder. On the other hand, preserving the chance to marry into a fortune would be strong incentive.”

“Zanetti claims Krassle’s death was accidental. That she did it to herself.”

“How’s that work, her weighing at least a hundred pounds less than him?”

“Zanetti says they argued, and Krassle got physical. To avoid a full-out battle, he pried loose from her grip, shoved her against a wall, and stormed off. When he returned, Krassle was still lying where she’d fallen, cold and not breathing.”

“So, conscientious citizen that he is, Zanetti bundled her body off to an empty Foggy Bottom property that he’d listed, dumped it inside, and lit the place up.”

“Mistakenly thinking the kitty litter and gasoline MO would point to whoever had torched the other two houses. And unaware that Susan Lipsey had already taken the fall for those arsons.”

“Sacrebleu.” I heard Ryan wag his head in disbelief. As he had upon first learning of Zanetti’s confession.

“I got a call from Deery while you were recovering from your little mishap with Trigger,” I said, offering a small grin.

Ryan’s lounger creaked as he shifted to face me.

“I did not fall off that horse.”

“You could have fooled me. And Trigger.”

“Her name was Baby Doll.”

I bit back every witty quip that suggested itself.

“How’s your hip?”

“The sauna helped,” he said sheepishly.

“And the Advil.”

“And that. Have you heard from any next of kin of the four upstairs fire vics?”

“Skylar Hill’s husband phoned Thacker.”

“Alvon Finrock.”

I nodded. “To Thacker’s surprise, Finrock was reasonably polite. He grudgingly thanked her for expediting the transfer of Skylar’s remains to Canada for burial.”

“What was the deal with Jawaad el-Aman’s old man claiming to have a rendezvous that didn’t exist?”

“Turned out the bank was wrong. Or at least uninformed. El-Aman senior was, in fact, scheduled for a sit-down with two of his financial planners. Wanting confidentiality, he’d requested that the meeting be off the books.”

“Nice job hitting that panic button, champ,” Ryan said.

“Thank God Ivy had briefed me on those.”

“I’m surprised Zanetti wasn’t watching for that.”

“Ivy hadn’t told him about the security system.”

“Why not?” Ryan sounded surprised.

“When I asked her she said she wasn’t sure.”

We fell silent, watching night snap down like a lid on a trunk. The chirping had gone fortissimo, the ensemble working toward the evening’s crescendo.

“Crickets make noise by rubbing their wings together,” I said. “The males have a scraper on one wing which they draw across little pegs on the other.”

“Why?”

“To attract females.”

“And you know this how?”

“I googled cricket behavior.”

“Of course, you did.” Ryan was now a disembodied voice in the dark. “And the cricket ladies just sit back and enjoy the performance?”

“Presumably.”

“Zanetti should have stuck to a similar approach with Ivy,” Ryan said.

“Instead, he killed Krassle. He couldn’t risk losing the meal ticket that Ivy represented.”

“Wasn’t Zanetti a hotshot realtor raking in big bucks?”

“That’s what Ivy thought. But Deery interviewed several of Zanetti’s colleagues. According to them, the guy wasn’t earning enough to cover the rent on his office.”

“How’s Ivy doing?” I heard Ryan reach out to take a sip of his coffee. Return the delicate cup to its delicate saucer with a soft clink .

“She’s devastated, but tough. Her podcast and a never-ending chain of breaking news will keep her busy for now.”

“And she has Chuck.”

“Apparently that’s become a permanent arrangement.”

“I like Chuck,” Ryan said. “The chinch is ambitious.”

“Ditto Ivy.”

“They’ll definitely go places,” Ryan agreed.

“As will Zanetti. For a very long time. He’s been charged with first-degree murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, arson, mayhem, I forget everything the DA listed.”

“Was it Zanetti who sent you the two threatening texts?”

“You ready for this?” I couldn’t help but smile. “It was Halsey Banks.”

“Who?”

“Halsey Banks is Norbert Mirek’s nephew.”

“The guy whose bones you dug out of the animal poop?”

“Very good, sir. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Why did Banks try to intimidate you?”

“He didn’t. He just wanted me to stop working on his uncle’s case because he feared an exorbitant bill for my services.”

We were quiet for maybe four or five minutes. Like mine, Ryan’s thoughts drifted. But in a different direction.

“Have you learned the identity of your no-show caller?”

It took a moment to unfold the question.

“The woman who ghosted me at the Einstein Memorial? Deery cracked that nut. Her name is Georgia Daughtler.”

“Why did she phone you?”

“Daughtler is Roy Stoll’s former wife, and feels less than kindly toward her ex. She hoped to cause him trouble but got cold feet and decided to back off.”

“How did Daughtler get your name and contact information?”

“She works as a secretary in the law office that represents the W-C Commerce holding company. When Ivy called there, doing her journalist on the prowl thing, somehow my name came up.”

More of the buoyant wing-scraping sonata. Another soft clink of china. Then Ryan asked,

“What’s happening with Susan Lipsey?”

“When discharged from the hospital, she’ll face four counts of first-degree murder, two counts of attempted murder, two counts of arson, and a slew of others charges I don’t recall.”

“Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee?”

I shot Ryan a look of faux disapproval. “The Stoll twins may be the most curious aspect of all this. Clearly, Lipsey is not well, but that a pair of forty-something men would carry out their grandmother’s felonious plans seems a stretch. Roy is apparently the badder apple—lucky for me since it was Ronan who showed up when Lipsey was on the verge of putting a bullet in my chest. We’re only just discovering all the ways the Warrings seem to have preyed on Lipsey and her brood over the decades, but there’s quite a history there that’s coming to light.”

“You’d think that eighty years would have been long enough for the feud to burn out,” Ryan said.

“Weirdly, it seemed to burn brighter every year. From the Foggy Bottom Gang, via Amon Clock and his ill-fated girlfriend, Doris Gardner, through Gardner’s daughter, Susan Lipsey, right down to her grandsons, Roy and Ronan.”

Ryan shook his head, let the silence linger for a moment, then asked: “Have you managed to ID the little subcellar gal?”

“Sadly, no. And prospects don’t look good. Lizzie’s lab couldn’t extract usable DNA.”

Ryan reached over and took my hand. “You’ll figure it out.”

Maybe , I thought.

Just maybe.