Read Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones for Free Online

and addresses of the boys’ parents. The Shores and the Webbers. Artie belonged to the Shores. The Webbers lived much closer to where the bone might have originated. Midnight could have found the bone, and Artie snatched it from him. Gordon picked up the phone.
    After setting up appointments to meet with both families tomorrow, Gordon tackled the computer and its databases. Given that he didn’t know much more than the victim’s minimum age and approximately how long the bones had been buried, narrowing the search parameters enough to get results was next to impossible. He did what he could, but having to leave most of the fields blank meant he got back too many results. Or none at all.
    He started with Mapleton, came up empty, then expanded his search outward. He noted a couple of possibilities, but none seemed promising.
    When his eyes couldn’t take any more, he rubbed them and checked the time. Nine? Already? Damn. Given her work schedule, Angie normally called it a night by nine. But he’d said he’d be by. He punched in her number. She picked up on the first ring. “Hey there.”
    “Too late?” he asked.
    “What do you think?”
    He bolted for the door.
     
     
    * * * * *
     
     
    The alarm’s klaxon roused Gordon from a dead sleep. Angie slapped the clock into silence. He squinted at the glowing red numbers. Four-ten. He groaned. “So early?”
    “I thought you’d wash my back this time. If you’re up for it.” When her fingers, warm and smooth, found him, she gave a quiet snort. “Don’t know why I bother to ask.” She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.
    Wide awake now, Gordon grabbed another condom and followed her to the bathroom. Shower sex last night. Followed by slow, languorous, make-the-world-disappear-and-collapse-into-a-dead-sleep sex. Topped off with waking up—triggered by an alarm notwithstanding—next to Angie, who wasn’t rushing downstairs to bake, but wanted more sex first. Life was good.
    A short while later, he amended that thought. Life was very good. He dried off and opened the bottom drawer of Angie’s dresser, where he kept a change of clothes. Empty?
    Angie opened the storage trunk at the foot of her bed. “Sorry, Chief. Had to make room for Megan’s things.”
    Before or after Megan had seen his, he wondered. He doubted Angie kept secrets from Megan. But he was still coming to grips with the fact that his relationship with Angie wasn’t as low-profile as he’d thought.
    “I’m coming downstairs with you,” he said. “I promise to stay out of your way.”
    She eyed him quizzically. Understandable, because normally, he left when she got up, if not earlier. “If you do, I’ll put you to work.”
    “I don’t think your customers would appreciate my baking skill set. Or lack thereof.”
    “I was thinking more along the lines of washing dishes.”
    “Will there be coffee?”
    She snickered. “Coffee? That’s what you wanted? And here I’ve been giving you sex.”
     
    Downstairs in the Daily Bread’s kitchen, Gordon perched on the edge of a stool and sipped a steaming mug of fresh-brewed coffee while Angie spread butter—copious amounts of butter—on the sheet of dough she’d rolled onto a marble slab. Her first batch was already in the oven, and the aromas of yeast and cinnamon filled the air. His mouth watered. “That smells so good. How can you do that before breakfast? Aren’t you starving?” After all, she’d had a workout last night, and another one this morning, too.
    She laughed. “I guess I’m immune.” She took a container from under the counter and sprinkled the contents over the butter. Pecans, he knew, and cinnamon sugar. But as for whatever else it was that made Angie’s rolls special—that was a secret she’d never divulge. His palate wasn’t sophisticated enough to discern the other subtle flavors, but he didn’t care. Bottom line—they were fantastic.
    “So,” she said. “How much can you tell me about yesterday’s