Her phone rang and Bart adjusted the heat so she could hear the caller talk over the noise. “Doug?”

“Annja, got some less than positive news for you.”

“When do you ever have positive news, Doug?”

“Ha. It’s about your sexy online pics.”

“They are not my pics. Someone made them up. And it’s not plural—it’s just the one. Right?”

“Right, just the one—that I’ve seen. If we want them removed from the site it’s going to take a slew of lawyers. I say you just let it slide.”

“Doug, if I let that picture slide, then what do I do about the next one, and the next one?”

“You have more?”

“Doug!”

“Sorry. Kidding. I’ve got a friend who’s an expert at all things Internet. I’m going to give him a call and see what he can do. Maybe spam the site or…I don’t know. I’m trying, Annja.”

“I know you are, Doug. I appreciate it.”

“I thought about putting a disclaimer on the show’s Web site. Something like ‘Ms. Creed has never posed in the nude and that picture is a fake,’ but I figured that would just drive more traffic to the pictures.”

“Not plural, Doug, don’t forget that. I just want it to go away. Thanks for trying. Talk later.”

“Bye, Annja.”

“Picture?” Bart stopped for a red light.

Releasing a sigh, Annja shrugged. “There’s a nudie pic of me online. It’s not me,” she rushed out when his eyebrows lifted and his smile grew lascivious. “My head, someone else’s body. That was my producer, Doug Morrell. He’s trying to have it removed from the site.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thanks. I think the best bet is to forget about it. Not call too much attention to it.”

“Probably. I’m sorry, Annja. I can’t imagine how that makes you feel.”

“Just the fact you do wonder how it makes me feel is great, Bart.”

“My pleasure. So, a necromancer, huh?”

“That’s what he tells me. He can foretell the future by speaking to the dead.”

“Right.” Bart signaled and turned onto a busy street. “I took the skull into evidence, but I don’t think we’re going to see it do anything magical. Are we?”

She smirked at his worried tone. “It’s dead now. But if you knew about its parents…”

“Do I want to know?”

“Nope.”

“Then keep that gem to yourself.”

“Did you send someone to Benjamin Ravenscroft’s house after his daughter?” she asked.

“Yes. The child protection agency has already reported that her aunt has been contacted. She’ll be placed with a family member until it can be determined her mother is fit to care for her.”

“Poor kid. To lose both parents in one day. She’s got cancer, you know. PinkRibbonGirl.”

“What’s that?”

“She e-mailed me a few days ago. About the skull.”

Bart shot her an alarmed look.

“I don’t think she could have had any idea her father was looking for it. Maybe. She was the only one, of all who answered my online query, who knew what the skull was. Isn’t that remarkable?”

“You tell me.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Too bad her father is a nut case.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Benjamin Ravenscroft wanted to believe in something so desperately he couldn’t see the truth. And maybe the truth could have done something for his daughter. We’ll never know.”

“Things happen for a reason, Annja.” He reached over and patted a palm reassuringly on her leg. “Now about this Garin Braden guy.”

“What?”

“What does he mean to you?”

Annja tilted a curious stare at Bart. Was he serious? Because he’d just asked, not as a cop, but more as a guy. A guy who might be interested in knowing about any men who had an interest in her. Huh.

“It’s a long story, Bart.”

“I think I want to hear it.”

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5552-8

THE BONE CONJURER

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Michele Hauf for her contribution to this work.

Copyright © 2010 by Worldwide Library.

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