The Bones Will Speak (24 page)

Mattie's face grew warm.

“We can sneak into the hospital,” Aynslee continued, “and find you some scrubs, then at least you'll look like a nurse or something.”

“What about these?” Mattie held up her splinted fingers.

“I don't know yet. We'll think of something.” They peered over the wall. “Follow me,” Aynslee said. They scurried left around the wall, then to the employee entrance and plastered themselves against the wall.

Mattie licked her dry lips and nodded. Aynslee eased the door ajar. They shot to the supply room and ducked inside just in time.

Footsteps and voices echoed down the hall, getting closer.

Aynslee yanked down several sets of small scrubs from the shelf, then pulled Mattie behind a row of gray metal shelves.

Mattie sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs, and found an opening between boxes of gauze where she could see the room.

The voices paused and the door creaked open.

“Did you hear what happened?” someone asked. A chunky woman entered.

“How could I miss it?” A straw-haired, middle-aged woman followed. “There's still a bunch of cops in the front parking lot. Did you see the one cop? The tall one that looked like, I don't know, a movie star? Yum. He can search my body anytime.”

“Julia, you hussy! Remember, you're married.”

“Yeah, but I can look, can't I? Do I have time to dash outside for a quick smoke?”

“You shouldn't smoke. Neither should I. We'll make it fast.” The women left, letting the door swing shut behind them.

Aynslee and Mattie waited a moment before standing. Aynslee helped Mattie tug off the nightgown, then stuffed it behind a box marked
Admissions Kits
. The scrubs were huge. “Why'd they call these small?” Mattie asked. “They'd fit a hippo.”

“They'll do,” Aynslee said. “Shoes next.” Both girls circled the room, but all they found were some slipper-like paper things and socks with rubber strips on the bottom.

“Let's get out of here,” Mattie said. She ran for the door, but stopped. One of the women had left her purse on a box near the door. Pulse racing, Mattie prodded the purse open and dumped the contents.

“What are you doing?” Aynslee hissed.

“I'll pay her back. We need money.” A red leather wallet landed on top. Mattie stuck the edge of the wallet in her mouth, shoved the purse and contents behind the box, opened the door,
and jogged left. Aynslee followed. Voices echoed behind them.
Move it.
They sprinted around a corner.

More voices, this time in front, and the rasp of an approaching gurney.

Mattie felt like a rat in the bottom of a Dumpster as she frantically looked around. The door beside her was locked. Aynslee tried the next one. Locked. The sounds were getting louder.

The third door was marked
Morgue
.

Aynslee reached for the knob.

“Morgue? Isn't that dead people?” Mattie whispered.

“Yeah. But at least they won't yell for help.” Aynslee opened the door and they dodged through.

Mattie leaned against the wall. She didn't want to turn around. The room smelled like a chemical plant and felt cool.

“Come on. Move away from the door.” Aynslee gripped her arm and dragged her from the wall.

A quick glance assured Mattie that the two steel tables were empty of bodies. Ahead, a metal desk overflowing with papers faced the room. To their left, a narrow table held a microscope, slides, racks of tubes, and other instruments Mattie didn't recognize. They hid behind the desk until the voices passed.

Aynslee started searching, opening and closing drawers. “Mom told me these old doctors sometimes keep—ah ha!” She held up running shoes. “Give me your foot.”

Mattie spit the wallet out of her mouth, sat in the chair, and held up a foot. Aynslee slipped on the shoe. “Too big.” She reached for a box of tissues on the desk and stuffed them into the toe, then tried it on again. This time it fit a little better. Swiftly she stuffed the second shoe.

“What about my hands?” Mattie asked.

Aynslee slowly circled the room, arriving at an old bamboo coatrack. A red plaid jacket hung on one side, an umbrella on the other. She lifted the coat. “Drape this over your hands. You'll be a tired technician just getting off work and heading home.”

Mattie nudged the stolen wallet into the pocket.

Aynslee picked up the phone on the desk, started to dial, then quickly hung up. “This goes through a switchboard or something.”

“Who were you going to call?”

“My dad. We can meet him somewhere. We'll be safe with him, and he can help Mom. So can Dave. He's the sheriff.”

After easing the door open, Aynslee checked the hall, then jerked her head that the coast was temporarily clear. They fled to the exit.

Mattie's heart pounded. What if the two women were still smoking outside? What if they knew she was here and were waiting for her? For both of them? What if—

Aynslee opened the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I TRIED TO REASON WITH THE OFFICER, EXPLAIN
that I wasn't a reporter, point out that I was in law enforcement. He wasn't buying any of it. With my feet barely touching the ground, he marched me down the hall past curious doctors and nurses. I spotted Beth and managed to mouth,
Get Aynslee
, before he hustled me out to a parked patrol car and shoved me into the back. A few visitors to the hospital paused to watch the show. My face flamed with a hot flash, leaving me uncomfortably damp.

The backseat of a patrol car isn't made for human comfort. The officer left me to cool my heels for what seemed like hours. He finally returned, leaned against the side, and placed a call. I could hear his side of the phone conversation. “Yeah, hi, Jeannie. This is Ken. Say, I caught a reporter that sneaked into the room with the girl. Yeah. Yeah. I don't know.” He looked at me. “Do you have ID?”

“In a canvas bag. In Mattie's room. Who—”

“Nah, no ID. Okay.” He looked back at me. “What's your name?”

“Gwen Marcey.”

“She says her name is Gwen Marcey.” He listened for a moment. “You're kidding. Really? Not as far as I could see. Will do.” He hung up and opened the door. “Jeannie said to let you go, but if you ever do that again, she'll arrest you.” After unlocking the handcuffs, he paused to listen to his shoulder mic.

“Attention all units. There's a 10–80 at 1512 West Fir—”

I knew that 10-code. Explosion. And that address. The veterinary hospital. Where my dog was locked up in a cage.

Mattie let out a sigh of relief as soon as she made it outside. The sooner they got away from the hospital, the safer she'd be. While they'd been looking for the scrubs, someone had parked a white pickup truck with a cap over the bed and left the motor running. A sign lettered on the side read
Andersen Upholstery and Office Designs, Copper Creek–Missoula
.

A middle-aged man in a denim jacket and jeans came toward them from the rear of the truck. He carried several large rings with fabric samples attached. “Ah, just in time. Can you hold the door?”

She bit her lip, unable to move. Aynslee stepped aside and nodded. The man strolled past them and turned right.

It took a moment before Mattie's legs would move. She caught Aynslee's attention and nodded toward the truck. “Can you drive?”

“I'm not stealing a truck.”

Mattie dashed to the rear. Two chairs and numerous bolts of fabric jumbled together in the back, almost filling the space.

“What are you doing?” Aynslee asked.

“If you don't want to steal a truck, then let's steal a ride. He left the engine running, so he'll be right back. Come on.” She clambered up, shoved one chair aside, and slipped behind several colorful stacks of fabric samples. After a moment's hesitation, Aynslee followed, knocking over a chair. She reached over to straighten the chair, then ducked.

The man stood by the open tailgate.

Mattie held her breath.
Oh, please.

He slammed the tailgate up and pulled the door down.
Clank!
The vehicle rocked slightly, and the driver's door banged shut. The engine revved as they backed from the loading dock.

The two girls huddled together, keeping their heads below the window to the cab. Aynslee pulled the plaid jacket over their legs for warmth. The day had turned cool, and the truck bed was unheated.

Mattie's hands started to hurt. She hadn't thought about that. “Aynslee,” she whispered. “I gotta get some drugs.” She held up her splinted hands.

Aynslee chewed on a hangnail for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “We have to go to my house. I can call my mom and dad from there. And Mom still has some drugs from when she had cancer—”

“But the guy knows where you live! He said he was going to kill you.”

“No, it's okay. He can't get in. There're bars on the windows, and we'll lock all the doors. Mom has a cool pink rifle, and a gun too.”

Mattie stared at her. “I don't know.”

“We won't be there long. Just until we get ahold of my mom and dad.”

The throbbing pain in Mattie's hands grew by the minute. “You're sure about the drugs?”

“Yeah. Don't worry. We'll be safe.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

I RACED AROUND THE PARKING LOT, NARROWLY
missing being hit by a white truck, and found my car. As soon as I located a phone, I'd let Beth know what was happening. Aynslee would be safe with my friend.

Not pausing to check for oncoming traffic, I gunned toward the vet hospital. The explosion had leveled the lobby. Flames snapped out of the treatment-area window as I slammed my car to a halt behind Dave's sedan. Black smoke and the stench of burning plastic rolled over me as I raced through the parking lot. Dave had already corralled the milling neighbors into the far corner of the asphalt. “Get back!” he yelled. “There could be more explosions.” The crowd shifted farther from the building.

It seemed impossible that anything could survive the inferno.

I covered my mouth to keep from crying out. My legs felt like cooked pasta, my throat squeezed tight.

A fire truck stretched across the street, and the volunteer firefighters yanked a hose toward the building. More howling
emergency vehicles arrived by the minute, strobe lights glaring like a grim festival.

The rear door of the hospital flew open, belching inky smoke. A Schnauzer dodged out, followed by a lanky black Lab, a German shepherd, and finally a Bernese mountain dog, tail between its legs. The crowd surged forward to rescue the frantic canines.

I charged toward the door just as a figure materialized carrying a huge dog.

Winston.

I gasped.
Please let him be alive.

Wes, barely visible behind the dog, staggered forward, coughing. Dave and I reached his side just as he placed the dog on the ground, then collapsed next to him.

I knelt and lifted the dog's head.
Alive!
“Wes, you're crazy, but right now you're my hero!” I gave him a quick kiss, then hugged Winston.

“Did you see anyone inside?” Dave asked.

“I couldn't see.” Wes coughed. “Dark, couldn't get beyond the back section. Flames too hot . . .” He coughed again.

“Both of you are in serious trouble.” Pointing a finger at Wes, Dave said, “What were you doing—”

The screech of tires made us turn around. Dr. Hawkins jumped from his truck and shot toward the burning structure. “No! Oh no! Oh—”

Dave caught him before he got closer. “Pull yourself together! Who was working here today?”

Backing away from Dave, Hawkins's brow furrowed and his hand came up as if to ward off a blow. “Are you saying . . . you can't mean someone was in there?”

“Just answer me,” Dave said. “Names!”

“It's Sunday.” He looked at his watch. “It's a little after three. The weekend staff shouldn't arrive for another half hour. I don't know. If there was an emergency . . . I don't know.” He hunched his shoulders.

“Is there anyone I can call?” Dave asked.

“I don't know. I can't think.”

“What about the owners?”

“Yeah. Partners, but they're away. Left me in charge . . .”

I approached the veterinarian and touched him on the arm. “I'm so sorry.”

Wordlessly, Hawkins folded to the ground and covered his face.

A gust of heat and smoke blew in our direction. Even though the day had turned cooler, the heat was almost unbearable. I retreated to Winston's side.

Dave tugged Hawkins to his feet and shoved him from the flames. Hawkins staggered a few steps before a firefighter grabbed him and led him to the curb where he draped a blanket over his shoulders.

Two firefighters approached me. “We need to get you and your dog a safer distance away,” the first one said. “Can he walk, or do we need to carry him?”

“I don't know.” Winston's left leg was bent tight to his body and taped into place. “Help me get him up.” I pulled on the dog's ruff while the men hoisted him.

Standing on three legs, Winston swayed before gaining balance. With my urging, he hobbled forward until we reached my car. “Now I will need your help,” I said. Between the three of us, we lifted the dog to the backseat where he sprawled, panting.

Wes sat at the rear of an ambulance holding an oxygen mask over his face.

I strolled over to him. “Hey, Wes, I want to thank you again for saving Winston. What were you doing here? I understood the place was closed.”

Wes glanced at the hospital. “Why was I here? Good question.” He took a deep breath.

“Don't bother to answer,” I said. “You're getting ready to lie to me.”

Wes's eyes opened wider.

Crack! Whoosh!

I spun. A section of roof caved in, sending a heat wave outward. I stepped farther away and looked at Wes. “Well?”