Dreaming of the Bones

as he knelt with the tray. He transferred plates and dishes from tray to tabletop, then arranged them with meticulous care. A platter of scones, a dish of strawberry jam, a dish of cream, a plate of thin sandwiches on brown bread, another with thick slices of raisin-studded cake—all apparently had to occupy a certain position, and Gemma knew better than to offer help.
    Sitting back on his heels as he surveyed his handiwork with a satisfied expression, Kit said, ”Mum’s bringing the tea.”
    ”I thought your mum couldn’t cook,” Kincaid said from his stance before the fire.
    ”She can’t, really,” Kit admitted. ”She only learned these special things for me. And anybody can make sandwiches.” Reaching towards a slice of cake, he glanced furtively up, then smoothly returned the offending hand to his knee when he saw them watching. ”I can cook.” he offered as a distraction. ”I can do scrambled eggs on toast, and sausages, and spaghetti.”
    ”Sounds a perfectly good repertoire to me,” Kincaid said, then he nodded towards the platter. ”Go on, have some cake.”
    Kit shook his head. ”She’ll kill me if I forget my manners. I’m not to touch anything until the tea’s served.”
    ”Then I’d not take the risk,” Kincaid said, grinning. ”It’s hardly worth the consequences.”
    Pushing himself up from the floor, Kit straddled the arm of the sofa and studied Kincaid curiously. ”You’re a cop, aren’t you?” he said after a moment. ”Mum told me. Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?”
    ”Well, it’s my day off, for one thing. And I’m an investigator, and investigators don’t usually wear uniforms.”
    Kit thought about this for a moment. ”Does that mean you can ask people things and they don’t know you’re a copper? Cool.”
    ”Whenever we question anyone we have to show them our identification,” Kincaid said a bit apologetically. ”Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.” When he saw Kit’s disappointed expression, he nodded towards Gemma and added, ”Gemma’s a police officer, too.”
    Kit’s eyes widened. ”No way. I thought that was just on the telly. The only copper I know is Harry, He’s the bobby here in the village, and he’s thick as two planks, you know—”
    ”Kit!” Vic had come in quietly, carrying a second tray. ”What a horrid thing to say.”
    ”You know it’s true.” Kit sounded more injured than abashed. ”You said so yourself.”
    ”I said no such thing. Harry’s very nice.” Vic looked daggers at her son.
    ”Nice is the first requirement for village bobbies,” Kincaid put in diplomatically. ”Except we call it community policing.”
    Gemma controlled a snicker and went to help Vic. ”Here, let me take the cups.”
    When the tea had been poured and handed round, Kincaid said, ”Kit’s shown great restraint over the cake, I think.”
    Vic laughed. ”Oh, all right, go ahead. Just save some for the rest of us.”
    Kit fell upon the cake with a whoop and slid the two largest slices onto his plate.
    ”I swear I don’t know where he puts it,” sighed Vic. ”It just disappears. And the cake won’t stop him stuffing himself with sandwiches and scones.” She took a sandwich and bit into it. ”I hope you both like cucumber.”
    Gemma took a sandwich for herself and sat back, nibbling and letting the talk, eddy round her. Listening to the easy banter between mother and son, she had to keep reminding herself that this slender woman with the pleasant smile was the cold and formidable ex-wife who had callously walked out on Kincaid. For the first time, she wondered if she might have distorted the few comments he’d made about Vic to suit her own ends. What had he actually said?
    Suddenly she wished she knew how Vic had seen things. Why did you leave him? she thought. And why did you leave him that way, without a word? But of course she couldn’t ask. Watching them, she tried to imagine them together, but she couldn’t separate Kincaid from her own experience of him.
    Vic had taken the armchair opposite, with Kit perched on its arm like a tawny-crested bird, while Kincaid sat beside Gemma on the sofa, tea plate balanced on his knee. She was as aware of the warm solidity of his presence as if he’d been touching her, and she wondered what had been more important to Vic than that.
    ”Another scone, Gemma?” asked Vic.
    Startled, Gemma thought she had better make an effort to pay attention. ”Oh, I couldn’t manage another bite, but