Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) Read Online Free Page B

the victim could not have been involved in any criminal activity; and the crime in question must always be murder. Vidocq made it very clear that they were not interested in solving cases involving robberies and insurance fraud; their membership included some of the finest forensic minds in the world, and they had decided long ago that their club would concern itself strictly with murder.
    Murder and lunch , that is. “Cuisine and Crime-Solving”— that was how their meetings had always been billed. Each meeting began with a very nice luncheon in one of the club’s private dining rooms—a Caesar salad, perhaps, followed by chicken scaloppine and lemon meringue pie for dessert. Nick felt his stomach beginning to growl . . . Vidocq members were all forensic professionals, and they had long ago ceased to be repulsed by the graphic details of their profession.
    Nick loved these meetings, though his busy schedule hadn’t allowed him to attend one in months. When he was with Vidocq he was among respected colleagues and he was doing what he did best—and for Nick, life didn’t get any better than that. If he had had any lingering doubts about attending this meeting, any second thoughts about leaving Alena so close to their wedding day, those thoughts were gone now.
    He knew that some of his colleagues back at NC State would have been amazed to hear that Nick enjoyed attending a meeting of any kind, because Nick wasn’t exactly known as a “people person,” to put it mildly—but that wasn’t completely true. Nick had never liked the human species as a whole, but there were a few specific members of the species he respected and admired and even looked forward to seeing—and forensic botanist Pete Boudreau was at the top of that very short list.
    The elevator door finally creaked open to reveal an elegant lobby area. In the center of the room was a marble scallop-edged table bearing an enormous floral arrangement of pink and white silk camellias. Fifty or sixty Vidocq members mingled about the area, awaiting the signal to move into the dining room for lunch. It was about average attendance for a Vidocq meeting, and Nick immediately began to search the room for his old friend—but before he could find him another familiar face appeared.
    “Nick,” she called out as she approached. “Is it true? Please, tell me it is—tell me miracles really can happen.”
    Kegan Alexander was a forensic anthropologist and professor of physical anthropology at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. She was a small woman, with the lean build of a marathoner or cyclist—and in fact she was both. Her straight brown hair was cut off even shorter than usual, an indication that she was probably training for an upcoming event. Somehow she always managed to keep her short hair tucked back behind her ears, which made her ears appear a little larger than they really were and made her slender neck stand out like a porcelain pedestal. Nick had worked with Kegan several times in the past and he respected her; she brought a marathoner’s endurance and discipline to her work, which was why Nick had nominated her for membership in Vidocq—a gesture that had further cemented their friendship.
    Nick greeted her with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, go ahead.”
    “Go ahead and what?”
    “Laugh, cry, projectile-vomit—I get all kinds of reactions when people hear I’m getting married.”
    “Well, here’s my reaction,” she said, stretching up on her tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek.
    “You’re too late,” he said. “I’m already taken.”
    “Congratulations, Nick—I couldn’t be happier for you.”
    “Then you don’t believe it’s all just a hoax? Or some kind of perverse crime against nature?”
    “Does she?”
    “She bought a dress.”
    “Then I say go for it. When’s the big day?”
    “Saturday.”
    Kegan blinked. “ This Saturday?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Then what in the world are you doing here?”
    Nick