Read The Bone Fire: A Mystery Online
Authors: Christine Barber
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Police Procedural
The Bone Fire: A Mystery
“A strong sense of the city of Santa Fe and its environs and the appeal of the two well-developed main characters show why this mystery was the first winner of the Tony Hillerman Prize for the best debut mystery set in the Southwest.”
—
Booklist
“Barber’s first novel is full of exquisite New Mexico scenery.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Isn’t it great when a new writer comes along and makes you sit up and take notice? Christine Barber does just that with
The Replacement Child.
Don’t miss it.”
—Michael McGarrity, author of
Nothing But Trouble
“In this excellent debut, newcomer Christine Barber weaves a heartbreaking mystery with the assured hand of an old pro.
The Replacement Child
has many charms: It’s a riveting procedural, a compassionate and perceptive study of human nature, and a wonderfully labyrinthine whodunit. But it’s the heart of this story that is the real charmer: the fascinating landscape of northern New Mexico and the tangle of cultures, old and new, that populate it. I guarantee that if you let Christine Barber take you there once, you’ll want to go back with her again.”
—William Kent Krueger, author of
Thunder Bay
“
The Replacement Child
is a gripping story set against the deceptive calm of an ancient land in modern times. In northern New Mexico, lives and events are interconnected, and Christine Barber weaves a tale where nothing is irrelevant and no one is unimportant. Barber is a wonderful storyteller and her characters invite us into their hidden places, compelling us to turn the page.”
—David Sundstrand, author of
Shadow of the Raven
“Barber writes with charm and gusto, having a special talent for depicting her main characters.”
—
I Love a Mystery
(highly recommended)
THE BONE FIRE
ALSO BY CHRISTINE BARBER
The Replacement Child
Christine Barber
MINOTAUR BOOKS
A Thomas Dunne Book
New York
Table of Contents
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS
. An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
THE BONE FIRE
. Copyright © 2010 by Christine Barber. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Book design by Rich Arnold
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Barber, Christine.
The bone fire / Christine Barber.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne book.”
ISBN 978-0-312-59350-6
1. Police—New Mexico—Fiction. 2. Women journalists—Fiction. 3. Murder—Invetstigation—Fiction. 4. Santa Fe (N.M.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3602.A7595B66 2010
813’.6—dc22
2010012841
First Edition: July 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my mom—I miss you.
To the cancer that took her—you suck.
The Spanish words used in this book reflect New Mexico’s unique Spanish dialect and, as such, do not share all of the characteristics of the better-known, modern-day Spanish. For instance, most Spanish speakers today would say “mi hijo” when referring to their son, while Spanish speakers from Northern New Mexico would say “mi hito.”
Additionally, in the book the term “Hispanic” is used instead of “Latino” when referring to someone from Northern New Mexico who is of Spanish decent. While “Latino” is the term most used in the rest of the country, “Hispanic” is the commonly used local term.
Thursday Night
The lights flashed off, and a few people screamed.
A couple of teenagers nearby held up lighters as if they were at a rock concert. Someone yelled, “Freebird,” which got a slight swell of laughter from the crowd standing in the dark, open field.
Lucy Newroe looked at the family of four standing next to her. The dad had his arm around the mom. Two kids—both girls—stood in front, their eyes shining. The younger girl, who looked all of eight with brown hair down to her shoulders and big eyes, suddenly screamed, “Burn him!” into the night.
The parents laughed. The older sister playfully jostled the younger one before yelling, “Burn him!” The parents smiled. The two girls started to yell together, and the parents joined in; the dad cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would carry, and the family chanted together, “Burn him! Burn him!”
The group of teenagers behind Lucy took up the cry and yelled, “Burn him!” even louder. Then more people
behind her joined in. “Burn him!” Within seconds, the entire crowd of thirty thousand seemed to be screaming the words together. Lucy turned back toward the still-dark stage they were all facing. Lucy checked her watch: 9:02
P.M.
It should start any minute now.
The crowd was still shouting, “Burn him! Burn him!” when the boom of fireworks broke out high above them. Everyone cheered. A bouquet of colored lights flashed on, illuminating a large effigy that stood on a dais in the front of the crowd. The puppet—or more correctly the marionette—was fifty feet tall, taller than a four-story building. Santa Fe schoolchildren had spent the last week constructing him of chicken wire, paper, and muslin. He was all white, except for a shock of blue hair and a black tie, which went nicely with the long white skirt he was wearing. He had pizza pans for eyes, huge ears that stuck out at least six feet, and big, full lips. He looked like a cross between Ted Koppel and Frankenstein.
The puppet had a name, Zozobra, and a nickname, Old Man Gloom. In a few minutes, they were going to burn him to death. This was an execution. He stood on a hill, arms outstretched on a cross made of metal. The monster must die for our sins.
Somewhere, a gong began to strike.
Zozobra started to move his huge arms in a floating resemblance of a Martha Graham dancer. His mouth opened and closed as he faced the crowd. Zozobra started to growl. It was like the deep noise an old man makes when woken from a good nap. It was like the sound of an engine revving on a Dodge Charger. The growling didn’t stop.
Lucy shifted from foot to foot in the dark, not sure what to expect next. She had to admit she was a little bit anxious. She had never been to Zozobra before, but then she’d only lived in Santa Fe for a year and a half. Her boss, Harold Richards, who had been city editor at the
Capital Tribune
for the past twenty years, described it as “a bunch of people standing around while they torch a big puppet.” She hadn’t believed him at first. It had sounded so silly—and so pagan in a city as Catholic as Santa Fe, whose very name means “Holy Faith.”
Still, Zozobra had been a Santa Fe tradition for more than eighty
years. It was the opening salvo in the fiesta party arsenal. The actual Fiesta de Santa Fe didn’t begin until tomorrow. Like any good Catholic celebration, the weekend started with the fires of salvation and ended in acts of sin. Tonight was about redemption. Tomorrow was about partying your ass off. In a wholesome, family way, of course. Because fiesta was about faith, plain and simple. It was about the faith of one man—Don Diego de Vargas—who more than three hundred years ago said a prayer while encamped with his army outside Santa Fe. It was the eve of battle, so of course he prayed hard. He needed to retake the city, which the Spanish had lost to the Pueblo Indians more than a decade earlier. He prayed that he could do so without bloodshed. He said this prayer to La Conquistadora, a wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, and he made her a promise. More of a bargain, really. If she would deliver the city to him without loss of life, he’d throw her a big party every year in thanksgiving. She delivered and he succeeded, and so Fiesta de Santa Fe was born. Fiesta nowadays consisted mostly of parades and sitting around the Plaza eating Navajo tacos and burritos. There also was a procession honoring the statue of La Conquistadora, which was carried on a handmade wooden litter though downtown.
Zozobra was a newfangled event, comparatively. It was started mainly as a fund-raiser for college scholarships, but one that would have put the fear of God into Edgar Allan Poe.
Zozobra’s look and size had changed over the years. During World War II, he’d been only eight feet tall and made to look like a combination of Hitler, Mussolini, and Emperor Hirohito. Now he looked more like an old man in a nightgown. Even so, Zozobra was as hip as any teenager—he had his own Web site, and his fans could follow him on Twitter.
Lucy heard far-off music start to play and could barely make out a performer slinking across the stage in front of the puppet. Zozobra started to groan more loudly in anticipation. If a guy had made a noise like that in bed, Lucy would have checked to see if he’d broken something. The yelling of the crowd was constant now. Too loud to distinguish between words.
