Bones of the Lost

nothing about the girl with the pink purse and barrette lying in the morgue cooler.

PART TWO

SATURDAY I WOKE with bed linens wrapping me like a constrictor. If I’d been thrashing in my dreams, I remembered nothing.
    Birdie was nowhere to be seen.
    I pulled the clock into bleary view. 8:45.
    When breakfast is late, my cat either chews my hair or rattles a silk plant I keep on the dresser. He’s good. Either ploy annoys me enough to get up.
    Weird that Bird hadn’t tortured me into consciousness. Too heavy-handed with the oatmeal and eggs?
    But I’d bought his favorite on my way home the previous night. Iams. He didn’t know I fed him the weight-control formula.
    I rose on one elbow and looked around.
    No cat.
    Then I smelled coffee.
    And heard muted music. “Good Day Sunshine”?
    Puzzled, I pulled on sweats and headed for the stairs.
    A box of donuts sat on the dining room table. Napkins. Plates and utensils. Butter and jam.
    In the study, the Beatles were singing about needing to laugh.
    I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.
    Pete was at the counter, pouring juice from a carton.
    “Sugarbritches.” Big Pete grin. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    Is there a nonsarcastic answer to that question? My brain conjured none.
    “What are you doing here?”
    Then, panic.
    Which must have shown on my face.
    “Don’t worry.” Pete raised a calming hand. “Katy’s fine.”
    “You’ve talked to her?”
    “She’s fine.”
    “That’s not an answer.”
    Pete stowed the carton in the fridge and turned back to me. A smile twitched his lips as he took in my attire and disheveled hair. Probably a bed crease denting one cheek.
    “Don’t start.” I gave him my squinty-eye warning.
    “What?” Boyish innocence.
    “It’s much too early for a fashion critique.”
    “You look terrific, sugarbritches.”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “Here.” Pete thrust a glass toward me. “It’s loaded with vitamins.”
    “You sound like Anita Bryant.” Accepting the OJ.
    “She was right.” Pete took a sip. Clarified. “About oranges. Cheers.”
    Pete tapped his brim to mine. We both knocked back our juice.
    “Where’s Bird?” I set my glass in the sink.
    “Sleeping off the pâté.”
    “You gave him pâté?”
    “Relax. It was chicken liver, not goose.”
    “The vet has him on a diet.”
    “He didn’t mention that.”
    My eyes were still rolling when the cat strolled in. Pete picked him up.
    Birdie purred like a Ducati cruising at eighty. He likes my ex. Always has.
    “Did you know you’ve been robbed?”
    “What?” My eyes flew around the kitchen.
    “Your refrigerator’s been stripped.”
    “You’re hilarious.”
    “Seriously. It’s empty.”
    “I’ve had a busy couple of days.”
    “The hit and run?”
    “Mm. That why you’re here? To make sure I’m eating?”
    “Madam.” Sweeping an arm toward the door. “Shall we adjourn for coffee and tarts?”
    “I will not get sucked into your wedding drama.”
    “That’s not why I’m here.”
    We both filled mugs, added cream, then moved to the dining room. Pete took the chair opposite mine at the table.
    “Butter and jam?” I cocked a questioning brow.
    “You never know.”
    “Yes. With donuts, you do.”
    I helped myself to a chocolate glazed with sprinkles.
    Pete took no pastry. Didn’t touch his coffee.
    “Snooze you lose,” I said brightly. “Should have bought more chocolate.”
    “They’re all for you.”
    “What, no flowers?”
    It was an old joke between us. Pete didn’t laugh.
    Alrighty, then.
    As I waited for my ex to get to the point, another possibility entered my mind.
    “Is there a problem with the divorce? Did I do something wrong on one of the form—”
    “Everything’s in order.”
    “Have you filed—”
    “I will.”
    “The wedding is still on track?”
    Jesus, Brennan. Why bring it up?
    “There are some glitches. Nothing Summer can’t handle.”
    Summer can’t handle stirring yogurt without instruction. I didn’t say it.
    Birdie jumped onto the chair beside Pete. He ran a hand down the cat’s back. Stared at the motion, distracted. Avoiding?
    My gut clenched.
    “You’re not lying to me, are you? This isn’t about Katy, right?”
    “Only peripherally.”
    Heat flamed my cheeks.
    “You said—”
    “She’s fine.”
    “Have you heard from her today?”
    “No.”
    “Then you have no idea how fine she is.” Sharp.
    Pete continued stroking the cat. Continued watching his hand do