Dance of the Bones

And my mood didn’t improve when I found a message on my machine from some guy named Brandon Walker, claiming he was a friend of Ralph Ames. He said he was hoping I could give him some help with a case he was working for Ralph’s cold case group, TLC.

My initial assumption, of course, was that Mel had somehow ratted me out to Ralph. I suspected that the two of them were conspiring behind my back to bring me into the TLC fold whether I wanted to be involved or not.

Still, I went ahead and returned the call because that’s who I am—-someone who returns calls rather than ignores them—-but I wasn’t exactly cordial.

“Brandon Walker?”

“Yes.”

“J. P. Beaumont here. You called?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I believe I mentioned this in my message—-I got your number from Ralph Ames. Do you know anything about TLC?”

“Some,” I admitted with a singular lack of enthusiasm. My terse answers weren’t exactly encouraging, and neither was my tone of voice, but Walker plowed on anyway.

“I’m working a case down here in Arizona that may have connections to a cold case from up your way. I’m looking for some help.”

“Which case?”

“The dead guy’s name is Kenneth Myers,” he told me. “At least that’s the name he was going by up in Seattle at the time of his death. Down here he was known as Kenneth Mangum. His mother had reported him missing years earlier, but because of the name confusion, it took a long time before someone up there connected your cold case with the missing persons report in Arizona.”

“What time frame are we talking about?” I asked.

“Hold on. I have some files here that may include all those details, but I’ll need to go out to the car to look through them. Do you want me to call back, or do you want to hang on?”

“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you call me back in ten?” As soon as the call ended, I immediately dialed Ralph’s number. “I’m sure you and Mel have been burning up the phone lines this morning,” I grumbled when he came on the line.

“We’ve done no such thing,” Ralph replied. “In fact I haven’t spoken to Mel since right after you managed to drag her out of the trunk of that car. What’s she up to these days? Keeping out of trouble, I hope.”

“I hope so, too,” I said. “She’s spending the weekend in D.C. at a Homeland Security conference.”

“Tell her hello from me when she gets back,” Ralph said. “Now, what do you need?”

“What’s the deal with Brandon Walker?” I asked.

“He’s a good guy who used to be sheriff down south in Pima County,” Ralph answered. “He’s been a part of TLC not quite from the beginning, but close. He’s a neat guy. I like him. His wife, Diana Ladd, is a fairly well--known author. I think she and Mel would hit it off.”

Ralph’s enthusiasm resembled that of a matchmaker setting up a blind date. I wasn’t amused. I didn’t figure Brandon Walker and I would ever be best buds, and neither would our wives.

“Tell me the truth, Ralph. Was Walker’s call today purely coincidental, or did you and Mel join forces to sic him on me?”

“Mel and I are innocent of all charges,” Ralph assured me. “I didn’t know a thing about any of this until Brandon called me this morning asking for your number.”

“All right,” I said grudgingly, “I’ll hear him out. In fact, he’s calling back right now. Gotta go.” I switched over to the other line. “That didn’t take long.”

“Look,” Walker said. “I can tell you’re not thrilled to have me intruding on your weekend. This case is an odd one, and if you’re not interested in helping . . .”

Odd is something that appeals to me. “What makes it odd?” I asked.