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“The Bexar M.E.’s office? Or Travis?” Adams County is a small county, and can’t afford its own medical examiner’s office. Blackie sends his work to either Bexar or Travis County, whichever has the shortest waiting list.
    “Neither,” Blackie replied. “Both are stacked up from here to Christmas, and since this is obviously a cold case, it’ll go to the bottom of the list.” He reached for the curry dish and took a second helping. “On this one, I’m getting some help from CTSU.”
    “Oh, yeah?” McQuaid said, with interest. “Who?”
    “Alana Montoya,” Blackie said.
    “Oh, sure,” Brian said eagerly. “You know, Dad. Alana. The woman who’s working at the cave dig. She’s good.” He grinned. “She’s got a Ph.D. in bones. People call her the bone doc.”
    Blackie nodded. “She’s agreed to do a forensic analysis of the skeleton.” He looked quizzically at McQuaid. “You probably know her, McQuaid. The Anthropology department hired her last year to set up the new forensic anthropology program. Some of the courses must be cross-listed with Criminal Justice.”
    “I’ve met her,” McQuaid said, in a curiously guarded tone. He added, slowly, “In fact, I was on the search committee that hired her.”
    “Then you know that she’s got first-rate credentials.” To me, Blackie said, “Edited a big textbook or something like that. She was on the research staff at Louisiana State University before she came here, in the FACES laboratory—that’s Forensic Anthropology and Computer Enhancement Services,” he added, for Brian’s benefit. “One of the top forensic labs in the country. I figure Alana will get the work done a lot faster than the folks at Bexar or Travis, and cheaper, too.” He grinned. “She’s one smart gal, if you ask me.”
    “Oh, she’s smart enough,” McQuaid said, and pushed his plate away. “And experienced.”
    I looked at McQuaid, hearing something caustic in his tone. Blackie’s head came up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” McQuaid said, with a quick shrug. “Nothing at all.” He looked at his watch and got up. “Sorry guys, but I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late to class.”
    “There’s dessert,” I said.
    McQuaid dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Save it for me, babe,” he said. “See you later, Blackie. Brian, don’t forget your homework.” More Dad-speak.

Chapter Three
    An herbal bath was used in centuries past as an excellent
preparation for an aphrodisiacal feast of love.
Erotic oils used in herbal soaps include clary sage, jasmine,
rose, ylang-ylang, orange blossom, cardamom,
juniper, sandalwood, vanilla, and patchouli.
     
Christian Ratsch
Plants of Love

    Blackie insisted on helping Brian with the kitchen chores—the rule at our house is that anybody who doesn’t cook is obliged to wash the dishes. I left the two of them to their work and went out to the herb garden behind the house to cut some lavender.
    When we moved here three or so years ago, I didn’t plan to have a large garden. But the herb gardens around the shop are more for display than actual production, and every year, I seem to want more of something—more lavender, more sage, more parsley, more thyme. So the backyard garden has become the place where I grow the herbs I dry to sell in the shop, or package fresh and sell in the produce section at Cavette’s Grocery, the old-fashioned market at the corner of Guadalupe and Green, just a few blocks from the shop. I always smile when I see those neat little raffia-tied cellophane packages of Thyme and Seasons basil and rosemary and marjoram, and think of somebody cooking with them, making soup, maybe, or a salad, or a main dish. Somehow, it’s like spreading the wealth. I’ll never get rich, but I’m doing good work.
    As the evening deepened into dusk and the nighthawks began to dart through the sky, I spent a pleasant half hour gathering lavender, which I would dry for use in