Monday Mourning

I found her choice of topic unsettling.

“Why the morbid interest in death?”

“You sound like Annie Hall.”

“You’re acting like Woody Allen.”

Anne thought a moment.

“To move forward it is often necessary to change.”

“Move toward what and change how?”

“In substance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Cycles.”

As I pondered that enigmatic comment, the phone rang. It was Katy.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Where are you?”

“Charlottesville, but I’m heading home tomorrow.”

“Exams went well?”

“Of course. I’m checking to make sure you’ll be in Charlotte on the twenty-second.

The twenty-second?

“Hannah’s shower? You promised you’d help me?”

What demented moron would plan a wedding at Christmas?

“Of course I’ll be there.”

“I’m counting on your years and years of experience.”

“Cute.”

“I sent you a couple of e-mails. Ho! Ho! Ho! ’Tis the season, and all that. I especially crave that sweater from Anthropologie. And the tranquillity fountain would help me chill.”

“What do you need to chill about?”

“Help me study, I mean.

“Um. Hm.”

“Love you, ma mère. Gotta go.” Katy’s voice sounded strung with mistletoe and holly.

“What are you so bubbly about?”

“’Tis the season.”

“Ho. Ho. Ho.”

“Hold on to that thought.”

When we’d disconnected I went looking for Anne. She’d already retired. No further explanation of fulfillment or substance. I had the sense she’d used the phone call as an escape opportunity.

I undressed, washed my face, brushed and flossed, all the time worrying over my promise to Katy.

Could I resolve the case in a week, or would I be forced to put my lost girls on hold for the holidays?

Back in my room, I reached to set the alarm, stopped. Had Ryan given me a pickup time? I remembered asking, but couldn’t recall his reply.

Ten-thirty. He’d probably be at home.

I hit Ryan’s button on my speed dial.

“Yes?” The voice was female.

Something hot-wired through my stomach and lungs.

“Andrew Ryan, please.”

“Who’s calling?” Young and female.

“Dr. Brennan.”

“You.” Young and female and edged like a saw. “Why don’t you leave him alone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Quit screwing with his head.”

“Is this Danielle?”

Long silence.

My mind raced. Was that the right name?

“Is this Detective Ryan’s niece?”

The woman snorted.