Dance of the Bones

Brandon still held the leash. “Come on, Bozo. Time for old age and trickery to win out. Let’s put on a show.”


He opened the car door. With the dog in tow, he staggered out onto the driveway and meandered halfway across the front yard before righting himself and walking tipsily back.

“Who are you?” he demanded of the woman, while swaying drunkenly on his feet. “Where are Adam and Grace?” He slurred the words as best he could. Grace came out more like Grathe.

“Who are Adam and Grace?”

“I’m staying with them. Isn’t this their house?”

“It’s my house, you incredible moron. Get that wreck out of my way.”

“Oh my,” Brandon slurred. “I stopped for a leak and must have hit the wrong driveway. So shorry. Looks like your car took a real hit. Maybe we should try to pull the back bumper forward an inch or so. Otherwise it’s gonna wreck your tire.”

Bending over, Brandon pretended to examine the Acura’s smashed back bumper while he was really trying to see if Henry Rojas was seated in the passenger seat. As far as he could tell the vehicle held no other occupants.

“My car is fine. I don’t need your help. Now get that thing out of my way. I was just leaving. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late.”

“Lemme get my insurance info. It’s in the car.”

“I already told you, I’ll handle the damage. Just get the hell out of my way.”

The urgency in her voice was unmistakable. Just then a pair of headlights pulled up behind Brandon. Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon recognized Dan’s Explorer. “Hey, here’s Adam now. He’s a mechanic. Maybe he should take a look at your car and see if it’s okay.”

Bozo had already recognized the car and was barking eagerly as he headed in that direction. Now two cars blocked Jane Dobson’s driveway.

When Dan opened the door to step out, Brandon pretended to fall against him. “You’re Adam,” he whispered urgently. “You live up the street. Bozo says Lani’s inside somewhere. No sign of Rojas.”

Dan got out of the Explorer with Hulk on his own leash. Brandon passed Bozo’s leash to Dan, then stumbled to the passenger side of the Escalade and made a show of rummaging through the glove box.

“Ma’am,” he heard Dan saying behind him. “I’m Adam, from just up the street. Sorry about my friend. I’m afraid he’s had a bit too much to drink, but you really shouldn’t try driving a vehicle with that kind of damage.”

“I want you both out of my way. Now!”

There was desperation in Jane Dobson’s voice now, along with the very real expectation that whatever order she issued would be instantly obeyed. Brandon turned back toward her carrying a fistful of paperwork, supposedly the insurance documentation that she didn’t want or need. He was pretending to be dead drunk. He had parked in the wrong driveway. The accident was clearly his fault, and yet she didn’t care about making an insurance claim? There was something wrong about that—-something very wrong.

As Brandon stepped toward her, the woman moved back to the Acura’s open driver’s side door. Leaning inside, she emerged carrying a leather purse. When Brandon saw her shift the purse from her right hand to her left and then reach inside with her right, the hairs rose on the back of his neck. She could have been reaching for a cell phone, but his gut said she wasn’t. She had to be reaching for a weapon.