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“Mr. Austin, this is Ridley Calvin, homicide detective, Kitsap County Sheriff’s Department. You’re a hard man to reach.” Austin paused. “Thank you.” “That wasn’t a… um, you’re welcome.” “Bad joke, Detective Calvin. And please, I go by Austin, no ‘Mr.’ What’s this regarding?” Since leaving the NYPD a year earlier, Austin had gotten a few calls about old cases, but always from former colleagues. Never from a local detective. “One of my old cases, I’m guessing?” “You guessed right,” Ridley said. “But before I say more, just to confirm, this is Thomas Aaron Austin, retired detective. NYPD from 2002 to 2022?” “That’s correct.” Across the cramped kitchen, Andy held up the finished burger proudly and took a huge, dramatic bite. Austin smiled. On their honeymoon, at a little hotel bar in Texas, Austin and his wife had shared the perfect hamburger, and he’d been working for a week to recreate it to add it to his menu. Detective Calvin continued. “You were the lead investigator on the Lorraine D’Antonia case, aka The Holiday Baby Butcher, correct?” Austin’s smile dropped. “I was lead detective on the abduction and murder she committed in New York, yes. The Seattle murders and investigation I had nothing to do with.” “Understood. Before I get into it, may I ask, why New York City to Kitsap County, and why Hansville of all places?” Austin stared out the little window to the parking lot that ran right up to the beach. The day was sunny and crisp, the kind of day he craved in a winter mostly populated by gray drizzle. “You know about my wife, I assume?” Austin’s corgi, Run, squeezed herself under the swinging wooden doors that led from the store area into the tiny kitchen. She stared at the grill and sniffed. When no one offered up a treat, she lay in the patch of sun that streamed through the window onto the linoleum floor, taking up about a third of the available floor space. “Yes,” Ridley said. “That story made the news even out here. And I’m sorry.” “Thank you. She was from one town over. Kingston. We had talked about retiring out here. And I lived two years in Bremerton as a kid.” “Navy brat, I assume?” “Exactly. Never thought I’d retire so soon, but here I am.” “And you bought the little store?” “And bait shop, and café, yes. Can you tell me what this is about?” An iron knot had tied itself in Austin’s stomach over the last minute. The mention of Lorraine D’Antonia was enough to do that. Ridley let out a long slow breath, the kind of breath Austin knew well. He’d heard a thousand like it and had let out a thousand of his own over the years. It was a breath that said, 'You’re gonna hate hearing this as much as I’m gonna hate telling it.' “Three weeks ago,” Ridley said, “a couple teenagers found a bag on a beach just up the road from you. Point No Point. A decorative Thanksgiving gift bag. Felt.” Austin listened to Ridley’s breathing, then listened to his own. “I don’t want anything to do with this.” “I know but—” “Really, I moved out here to get away from this kind of thing.” “Austin, please. I’m sending you a photo right now. Check your cell.” “Our service sucks out here and—” Andy waved to get his attention. “Wi-Fi, boss. Photos come in over Wi-Fi.” Austin’s cellphone dinged with a new text. “Did you get it?” Ridley asked. “No obligation, just look at it. Tell me you’re not intrigued and I’ll hang up right now.” Austin swiped open the photo. As Ridley had said, it was a decorative gift bag, Thanksgiving themed, sitting on a beige table. An evidence table. Austin tasted a saline bitterness in his mouth. Like salted grapefruit rind. Frustration. “Now look at this one,” Ridley said. Another photo appeared, a shot of the inside of the bag taken from a couple feet above it. Austin tasted moldy bread. Disgust. Inside the bag were dozens of tiny white bones. He knew what was coming next. “The bones belonged to a baby,” Ridley said. “Four weeks old. She was kidnapped from Bremerton a few days before Thanksgiving. A little less than a month ago now.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked. “Four. Weeks. Old. Her name was Allie.” Austin stared at the picture, the iron knot in his belly tightening. He said the only word he could think of, the only word that would form on his lips. “Copycat.” “That’s what we’re assuming, but still, I’d love to get your perspective on this.” “Hold on a sec,” Austin said. Across the kitchen, Andy had stopped eating the burger. He shrugged as if to ask, What’s going on?Austin covered the receiver with his hand. “Can you handle the rest of the day?” “We’ve had seven customers in the last week, boss. A tumbleweed just blew through the kitchen and a lonesome coyote is currently howling in the dining room. Yeah, I think I got it.” “Where’s your office?” Austin asked, uncovering the receiver. “Silverdale.” Austin sighed. “Give me forty minutes.” He hung up. “How was the burger?” “Good, but…” “Not perfect?” He picked it up, considered taking a bite, then set it down. The taste of moldy bread still coated his tongue. Andy eyed him thoughtfully. “Is your thing acting up?” Austin nodded. He’d tried to explain his lexical-gustatory synesthesia to Andy a few times, but he knew how odd he sounded when he tried. Words and emotions sometimes brought tastes and occasionally, strong emotions kept him from tasting food altogether. “If I taste it now, well, I’m too pissed off to taste it right.” “What’s going on?” Ignoring the question, Austin took off his apron. “I’ll be gone for a while. Will you feed Run? Apartment is unlocked.” The building housed the tiny café, the store, and a small apartment where Austin lived with Run. “Of course, but why did the detective call? What did he want?” Austin tossed the apron into the bin of dirty rags in the corner. “He wanted me to take a leisurely stroll down nightmare lane.” Continue Reading The Bones at Point No Point now: 📘 Kindle: amzn.to/3FCHH1S 🎧 Audible: adbl.co/3NB2o2b 📦 Paperback: amzn.to/3D7mQ1O

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The Bones at Point No Point (A Thomas Austin Crime Thriller Book 1)