Boneyard by Michelle Gagnon Read Free Book Online

Just wanted to apologize to you first.”
    “Okay,” Kelly said, unsure how to respond. After a second she added, “Thanks.”
    “No problem. Now, let’s go see what a forensic anthropologist from the Smithsonian looks like. I’m ready to be impressed,” Monica chirped, throwing her car door open.
    Dr. Stuart barely looked up when they entered the room. He was bent over a laptop, tapping furiously. The morgue was located in the hospital basement. Clearly the casualty rate in Bennington was low, the room barely large enough to hold all three of them. Laid out on a stainless steel table behind him was a fragmented skeleton: a tibia and foot on one side, femur on the other, pelvic girdle above them. Then a few assorted ribs, vertebrae, a piece of sternum, sections of a right arm and hand, with a skull at the top that was missing the lower jawbone. Behind the table, three metal sliding drawers were set into the wall. The fluorescent bulb overhead needed to be changed; it buzzed intermittently.
    Kelly watched him for a moment, then said, “Dr. Stuart…”
    He whipped a finger up, silencing her. She raised her eyebrows.
    Monica nudged her, repressing a smile. “He’s kinda cute,” she muttered in Kelly’s ear. “Not what I was expecting.”
    Kelly glanced at her, surprised. Honestly, she couldn’t see it. He wasn’t unattractive in any obvious way—he reminded her of Bill Gates’s younger, dorkier brother. He did appear to have regained his confidence, which helped. Dr. Stuart continued typing, unaware of being appraised. Clearly the man was now in his element, no trace of the bundle of nerves he’d been on the chopper. A lock of brown hair fell forward as he hunched over the keyboard. Finally straightening, he removed his wire-rimmed glasses and began urgently polishing them on a corner of his untucked shirt.
    “So sorry, Agent Jones, but I really wanted to finish inputting the numbers before I lost my train of thought.” His eyes widened at the sight of Monica. “Oh, and you’ve brought someone else along….”
    Kelly said, “Monica, this is Dr. Howard Stuart from the Smithsonian.”
    Dr. Stuart carefully perched the glasses back across the bridge of his nose and smiled faintly. “Hello…”
    Monica thrust out her hand, shaking his vigorously. Dr. Stuart winced. “Lieutenant Monica Lauer, Homicide Division, Vermont State Police. Wow, the Smithsonian. I took my kid there a few years back.”
    “Oh, really?” Dr. Stuart had regained his expression of slight dismay tinged with fear.
    “Yep. Love those ruby slippers, and Lincoln’s hat. Didn’t see any skeletons there, though.”
    “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “We’re housed in a different building. The Smithsonian has a long and storied tradition of consulting with the FBI on forensic anthropology.”
    “Haven’t had many cases dealing with bones myself, we usually find our victims before the critters get to them.” Monica gazed down at the bones splayed across the table and rapped her knuckle against the surface. “Any word on our guy here?”
    “Word? Um, yes, I suppose there is. I just finished running the numbers, and I can say for certain that he’s Caucasian.”
    “Yeah? Computer told you that, huh?” Monica peered at the laptop.
    Dr. Stuart pointed at the upper jaw. “It was difficult without a complete set of dental features, but the program compared what we did have to measurements gleaned from known populations, Asian versus Caucasian, for example. And I can state with ninety-percent certainty that we’re dealing with a white male.”
    He straightened again, looking pleased with himself. Monica cocked her head to the side. “Well, Professor, I’m afraid that in this neck of the woods, you’re looking at ninety-five percent.”
    “Really? Based on what?”
    “Based on that’s how many white people we got here, ninety-five percent of the region. You got anything else? ’Cause I went to a lot of trouble to get