The Dollmaker's Daughters (Bo Bradley Mysteries, Book Five) Read Online Free
Author: Abigail Padgett
the hunt."
"Oh," Madge Aldenhoven said, nodding. "This girl's boyfriend is named for a dog."
"A ghost dog, Madge. I think that's the point."
"What point?"
Bo recognized the impasse and gave up. Madge might enjoy a story, but symbolism was beyond her.
"What was your maiden name?" Bo asked, backing into the hall.
"Rasmussen. Why?"
"And your mother's?"
"Schramm."
"And her mother's?"
"I think it was Thompson, but don't ask me to go back any further," the older woman smiled. "Why are you asking?"
"I didn't think any Irish names would turn up," Bo answered. "Just checking."
"My father's mother's name was Quinn," Madge offered, triumphant .
"Then you have to understand about the ghost dog!"
"You're crazy, Bo."
"Yeah."
After flipping on the light in the cramped office she shared with another investigator, Bo sat at her desk and listened as the quiet office building gradually came to life. The conversation with Madge had been oddly pleasant as if the long animosity between them were simply gone. Bo filed the impression for later reference, but didn't trust it. Madge had tried unsuccessfully for over three years to oust Bo from her job. One noncombative encounter did not , she noted, necessarily constitute genuine warmth. Still, it was strange to think of Madge Aldenhoven as a child. With a paternal grandmother named Quinn. Almost as if Madge might actually have at one time been human.
This is what comes of getting to work early, Bradley. Bureaucrats appear to have qualities of the living. It's an illusion. Don't let it happen again.
After leaving a note for Estrella Benedict , her office-mate and enormously pregnant best friend, Bo collected the multiplicity of forms necessary if Fianna's case had to be petitioned, and phoned the hospital for the girl's room number. Then she ambled back out to the four-wheel-drive Nissan Pathfinder she'd bought at a police auction, and exited th e CPS parking lot as another hundred social workers and clerical staff were trying to get in. The feelings associated with being early were interesting, she thought. Arrogant and supe rior to those who were merely on time. Fortunately, she was in no danger of having the experience twice.
At St. Mary's Hospital she parked in a space marked police and showed her I D badge to the eleven-to-seven graveyard shift guard just going off duty.
"You here for that teenager?" the man asked. "The one they brought in last night from the beach?"
"Well, she wasn't exactly on the beach—" Bo began.
"They called me to help hold her down," he went on sadly, fingering a pack of Camels showing above the top of his uniform shirt. "Had to put her in restraints and the orderlies were all in the ER with a bus full of Cub Scouts. Wrecked in the fog on their way home from Disneyland. Bad night."
Bo looked at the wiry, aging man and thought of Greek choruses. The news of the night handed over to the day, which would reconstruct from the narrative its own version of reality.
"Were any of the scouts badly hurt?" she asked.
"No, thank God," the guard answered, glancing dramatically at the ceiling through smudged bifocals. "Guess I'll go on now and get some breakfast."
"Good idea," Bo said from the elevator as its doors whooshed shut.
Restraints. Bad news. And hell to pay when Andrew LaMarche would quite reasonably demand an explanation for her insistence that the girl be admitted here, when she obviously needed to be in a psychiatric facility. Bo felt little transparent things tumbling around in her head. Just bits of things nobody could see. A puzzle. She was certain that the girl called Fianna wasn't psychotic last night, merely upset and in some kind of shock. So what had happened that would require restraints?
The girl was awake when Bo knocke d politely on her open hospital room door. On a tray beside the bed a full breakfast, including coffee, sat untouched. The doll was nowhere in sight, apparently stored with the girl's clothes by the hospital staff. Bo
"Oh," Madge Aldenhoven said, nodding. "This girl's boyfriend is named for a dog."
"A ghost dog, Madge. I think that's the point."
"What point?"
Bo recognized the impasse and gave up. Madge might enjoy a story, but symbolism was beyond her.
"What was your maiden name?" Bo asked, backing into the hall.
"Rasmussen. Why?"
"And your mother's?"
"Schramm."
"And her mother's?"
"I think it was Thompson, but don't ask me to go back any further," the older woman smiled. "Why are you asking?"
"I didn't think any Irish names would turn up," Bo answered. "Just checking."
"My father's mother's name was Quinn," Madge offered, triumphant .
"Then you have to understand about the ghost dog!"
"You're crazy, Bo."
"Yeah."
After flipping on the light in the cramped office she shared with another investigator, Bo sat at her desk and listened as the quiet office building gradually came to life. The conversation with Madge had been oddly pleasant as if the long animosity between them were simply gone. Bo filed the impression for later reference, but didn't trust it. Madge had tried unsuccessfully for over three years to oust Bo from her job. One noncombative encounter did not , she noted, necessarily constitute genuine warmth. Still, it was strange to think of Madge Aldenhoven as a child. With a paternal grandmother named Quinn. Almost as if Madge might actually have at one time been human.
This is what comes of getting to work early, Bradley. Bureaucrats appear to have qualities of the living. It's an illusion. Don't let it happen again.
After leaving a note for Estrella Benedict , her office-mate and enormously pregnant best friend, Bo collected the multiplicity of forms necessary if Fianna's case had to be petitioned, and phoned the hospital for the girl's room number. Then she ambled back out to the four-wheel-drive Nissan Pathfinder she'd bought at a police auction, and exited th e CPS parking lot as another hundred social workers and clerical staff were trying to get in. The feelings associated with being early were interesting, she thought. Arrogant and supe rior to those who were merely on time. Fortunately, she was in no danger of having the experience twice.
At St. Mary's Hospital she parked in a space marked police and showed her I D badge to the eleven-to-seven graveyard shift guard just going off duty.
"You here for that teenager?" the man asked. "The one they brought in last night from the beach?"
"Well, she wasn't exactly on the beach—" Bo began.
"They called me to help hold her down," he went on sadly, fingering a pack of Camels showing above the top of his uniform shirt. "Had to put her in restraints and the orderlies were all in the ER with a bus full of Cub Scouts. Wrecked in the fog on their way home from Disneyland. Bad night."
Bo looked at the wiry, aging man and thought of Greek choruses. The news of the night handed over to the day, which would reconstruct from the narrative its own version of reality.
"Were any of the scouts badly hurt?" she asked.
"No, thank God," the guard answered, glancing dramatically at the ceiling through smudged bifocals. "Guess I'll go on now and get some breakfast."
"Good idea," Bo said from the elevator as its doors whooshed shut.
Restraints. Bad news. And hell to pay when Andrew LaMarche would quite reasonably demand an explanation for her insistence that the girl be admitted here, when she obviously needed to be in a psychiatric facility. Bo felt little transparent things tumbling around in her head. Just bits of things nobody could see. A puzzle. She was certain that the girl called Fianna wasn't psychotic last night, merely upset and in some kind of shock. So what had happened that would require restraints?
The girl was awake when Bo knocke d politely on her open hospital room door. On a tray beside the bed a full breakfast, including coffee, sat untouched. The doll was nowhere in sight, apparently stored with the girl's clothes by the hospital staff. Bo
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