Cut to the Bone by Joan Boswell Page A

testified that they’d used the drug for decades and lived productive, normal lives. Apparently methadone users carried cards that allowed them to receive treatment if they could not get to the regular clinics. Hollis stopped worrying about the missing woman, because this information, along with the absence of a purse, reassured her that wherever the unknown woman had gone, she most likely had the card she needed to continue her treatment.
    The other bureau with its half-open drawers spilling gaudy clothes couldn’t have been more different. A clutter of spilled makeup, open jars, lipsticks along with necklaces, bracelets, and earrings covered the surface. Hollis spotted a gold necklace that spelled out a name — Veronica — new information to feed into the mix.
    In one drawer she viewed a mishmash of lace and nylon underwear, mostly black or red, jostling for space with two blonde wigs. In another several pairs of white jeans, none too clean, were stacked in the bottom drawer along with leotards, v-necked sweaters, and long scarves.
    A look in the cupboard revealed that the bird of brilliant plumage did not respect boundaries. Miss Tidy’s clothes, a navy blazer, grey sweater coat, navy suit, and two pairs of navy slacks huddled on one side, pushed there by a bizarre collection of short skirts, leather jackets, and dresses.
    Hollis sat back. Who were the women who lived with Mary? What role did Mary play in their lives?
    She glanced at her watch. Nine thirty. Willem would arrive in a few minutes. Time to hike downstairs, because search or no search, she wanted to change from her washable dog training outfit into something more alluring.
    The dogs again welcomed her as if she’d been away for months, which surprised her, as they usually retired at nine. After they settled she checked on the girls. Jay had kicked off the covers and lay on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow. Hollis tucked her in, although she knew that the girl would throw off the covers again. Her souped-up metabolism kept her warm even on chilly nights with the window open. Crystal had curled into a ball and clutched her monkey close to her chest. Contemplating the vulnerable child, Hollis again vowed to find Mary.
    In her own room Hollis peered into her cupboard. She loved bright colours and luxurious fabrics, but they had to pass the comfort test. Tonight she opted for red denim jeans. She pulled on a long-sleeved black sweater which provided the perfect background for a chunky chain that, had it not been silver, would work as a bicycle lock. In the bathroom she cleaned her teeth and was wondering if she needed fresh makeup when the buzzer sounded.
    Too late.
    She zoomed lipstick on her mouth and raced to press the button to allow Willem through the lobby door.
    He enveloped her in a hug, tilted her face up for a kiss, and then stepped back. “What’s happened in the building? I had to undergo the third degree before the officer allowed me in.”
    â€œI gather you’ve been out of touch with radio and TV. It’s been on the news,” Hollis said.
    â€œYou’re right. I closeted myself in my office for most of the day and took the subway here. What’s this all about?”
    â€œYou should have read those screens that hang from the ceiling on the platforms. They carry the latest breaking news stories,” Hollis said before she remembered Willem’s contempt for sixty-second sound bites.
    As she told him what had been happening, she admired him. She never tired of looking at his tall, well-built body. Willem was a study in warm brown. Hair, eyes, beard all reminded her of a cuddly teddy bear, one you could take to bed and be happy. She continued to marvel that he seemed to feel the same admiration and desire for her.
    Willem considered her, his expression serious. “Maybe it’s you. Something about your karma draws you to violence. Maybe you’re murder-prone,” he said, his