The Bones Will Speak by Carrie Stuart Parks Page B

nodded. Opening the front door, I dumped the dead cat in the garbage bag and tied the top. I’d have the vet dispose of it. Burying it in the yard or woods would just keep Winston happy digging it up sometime in the future. The piece of paper might yield something once it dried. Assuming the cat and paper were some kind of message. I scooped it into the paper sack, then placed both into the trunk of the car.
    Returning to the house, I yelled at Aynslee, “Let’s go.” The county paved the road for the first four miles out of town, leaving the rest as a washboard gravel lane meandering between the mountains, following the path of Copper Creek. Our home was two miles beyond the paved section. I deliberately turned my head when I came to the almost invisible McCandless turnoff, then continued slowly until I reached the asphalt. We soon reached the edge of town.
    The veterinary hospital was a single-story building on a wooded lot with a barn in the rear and high, frosted windows facing the parking lot. I entered and stepped to the counter.
    The technician spoke into a phone tucked under her chin. “. . . yeah, really; I heard it’s, like, a serial killer and they’ve found, like, a dozen bodies! No, I’m not kidding. Listen, I gotta go. Call me later.” She hung up, then wiggled her fingers at my daughter. “Hi, Aynslee.”
    â€œHi, Shelley,” Aynslee answered.
    â€œWhere did you hear about the serial killer?” I asked.
    â€œEverybody knows about it! My brother Ron was actually there. He said there were bodies everywhere. I called all my friends and told them to lock their houses up tight.” She gave a theatrical shiver.
    â€œUh. Okay. I’m here about Winston.”
    Shelley frowned. “What about Winston?”
    â€œDidn’t the sheriff’s department bring him here? I think he has a dislocated hip.”
    â€œNo.”
    The hot flash ripped up my face as I tugged out my phone and dialed.
    â€œRavalli County Sheriff. Dispatch.”
    â€œHi, this is Gwen Marcey. One of your deputies supposedly took my dog to the vet. He’s not here.”
    â€œJust a minute, Ms. Marcey. Uh . . . yeah . . . here. They took him to Mountain View Veterinary. That’s over on—”
    â€œI know where it is.” I nodded at the woman, then returned to my car. Mountain View was a new practice on the south end of town. I’d heard it was the most expensive animal hospital in Montana. And I was dead broke and out of a job.

CHAPTER NINE
    THE IMPOSING BRICK BUILDING FEATURED A two-story arched entrance, custom matching windows, landscaped grounds, and a huge boulder in the front with the name of the practice etched deeply in the rock. A sprinkling of new Mercedes SUVs and beamers gleamed in the asphalt parking lot. The door opened automatically at our approach and ushered us into an atrium-style lobby with a curved, wood-paneled reception desk. A young technician in starched scrubs looked up as we entered. “How may I help you?” she asked, then spotted my daughter. “Hi, Aynslee.”
    â€œHi, Megan.”
    â€œI believe some deputies brought my Great Pyrenees, Winston, here,” I said.
    â€œOh, sure.” Megan lifted the phone, pushed a button, and murmured a few words.
    I glanced around the room, then shoved my tattered purse out of sight and avoided checking my shirt for dirt stains.
    â€œPlease have a seat.” Megan pointed toward beige chairs at the side of the room. “You’re very lucky. Dr. Hawkins personally will handle your case.”
    Aynslee and I moved to the chairs. I didn’t want to admit to her that I’d never heard of Dr. Hawkins, personally or otherwise. Fortunately, a glossy, full-color brochure on the end table enlightened me.
    ABOUT OUR STAFF
    Tim Hawkins, DVM, graduated with honors from Cornell University and worked at several practices before joining the staff here. The author of