Bones & Bloodlines

Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Quote Page Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Dear Reader Other works by this author About the author Guide Contents Start of Content BONES & BLOODLINES A Jude and Audie West Mystery by Laurie Alberswerth Bones & Bloodlines, published by Bear Write Media, St. Louis, Missouri, USA Copyright © 2023 Laurie Alberswerth All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. (Also, the author is aware that, as of the publishing date, no Jeep is rated to tow the Wests’ travel trailer. She has hopes for the future.) Cover design by Laurie Alberswerth. Cover illustrations by Michael Alberswerth and Laurie Alberswerth. Title font: Odachi, gratefully used with permission from creator Mehmet Tugcu. ISBN (ebook): 978-1-960550-01-9 ISBN (paperback): 978-1-960550-00-2 Wait! Want a sneak peek at Audie’s notes as she and Jude begin this adventure? Head over to www.LaurieAlberswerth.com for a FREE download! DEDICATION To my amazing husband, artist extraordinaire, and partner in every exploit, Michael. We’re not the Wests, but we’d get along with them great in real life. And you’ll always be the Jude to my Audie. Only a spouse knows the crazy that lies within a writer—I can’t thank you enough for living with it so well. This book is also dedicated to all the family and friends (most especially my long-suffering parents, Bill and Charlene Wilman) who have asked 7.9 million times if the book is finished yet. Guess what—it’s finished! Well, this one is, anyway. See, Book 2 is coming soon, but my characters are staging a protest, and my laptop is impersonating a brick, and no, I can’t name a launch date quite yet so please stop asking, and look! Something shiny! My love and thanks to you all. “And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.” -The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe CHAPTER 1 THE JAGGED STONE sliced through the vellum—and Audie’s palm—with precision to rival a chef’s knife. As red droplets bloomed across the wax rubbing and blotted out all the pertinent details, Audie remembered why she left the cooking to her husband. “Lovely.” She sat back onto the leaf-covered ground for a whole three seconds before the earlier rain added insult to injury. Jeans soaked, wax swallowed by the weeds, she scrambled to her feet. “Oh for Pete’s sake.” “Did you say something?” Jude materialized from the cornfield that bordered three sides of the tiny graveyard, carrying an armload of pale yellow, unshucked ears. His black hair fluttered over his left eye, and he swung his head to shift it. As usual, it didn’t help. “Just that Elise Durand continues to be a problem a hundred and sixty years after her death.” She held out the ripped parchment as he neared. “Sweetheart, if she’s still bleeding, we have bigger problems than we knew.” Audie examined her skin where the gravestone had lodged its grievances. “No worries. It’s not the specter who’s bleeding.” He piled the corn at the base of a rotting tree, swatted dust off his jacket, and lifted her hand. “In my non-professional opinion, it doesn’t appear life-threatening.” “We’re in the right spot if it is.” “Don’t say that. This plot was like trying to track down lost Aztec gold. I’ll never find my way, alone, on the anniversary of your demise.” He drew her close, his free arm pointing toward a vision of his bereaved future. “Picture me, all weepy, bearing flowers…” She gave him the damaged rubbing and a peck on the cheek, then wriggled away from his personal stage play. Heading for the backpack beside Philippe Durand’s older obelisk, she said, “Guess I’d better live. I’d hate to be the cause of all that drama.” She pulled a tissue from the bag’s front pocket, closing her fist around it. “New topic: why do you have corn?” “Peace offering to the skunk. If we feed him tonight, maybe he won’t circle so close to the fire.” “I’d say get enough for the raccoons too, but it’s a state park campground, Jude. Feeding the wildlife is frowned upon.” “I’m not giving out Budweiser and Pringles. I just don’t want him near the camper. Or us.” “The Pringles might work better.” “That’s not sustenance, woman. Have I taught you nothing?” She checked her hand, plucked a bandage from behind the tissues, and covered the cut. Tearing another sheet of paper off the roll, she returned to Elise. “Is the plan to roast those ears, basted in butter, rosemary, and garlic?” He paused. “That’s an idea. Maybe you have been listening.” In front of the stone again, she stepped into her footprints and peered down at the fallen foliage. “If you’re waiting for Madame Durand to rise and say hello,” Jude said, “this ends our genealogical partnership.” “I dropped the wax.” “Ah.” He turned to the corn. “Fortunately, I have a hawk for a wife. I give you three seconds to find—” “Got it!” She reached to where the small, dark disk peeked from under a sycamore leaf the size of a beagle. “Small rodents should be wary, Eagle Eye.” “I thought I was a hawk.” She reclaimed her spot on the memorial’s base and smoothed the new paper over