EVIL BONES

Review by Booklist Review

Someone has been killing and mutilating small animals in and around Charlotte, North Carolina. Things get even more serious when it looks like the perpetrator might have upped the ante: what appears to be the remains of a human being have been found. As forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan delves deeper into the investigation, she begins to suspect that there's a personal element to these shocking killings. But who would go to such sick lengths to get under Tempe's skin, and why? This is the twenty-fourth Brennan mystery (the first, Deja Dead, appeared in 1997, and won the Arthur Ellis Award for best first novel), and the series shows no signs of slowing down. Reichs continues to draw on details and experiences from her own professional life--she too is a forensic anthropologist--to give the stories a sense of realism that keeps them feeling fresh, and she always finds a way to develop a new grisly mystery that keeps us guessing. A fine addition to this popular series.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Forensic anthropologist Temperence "Tempe" Brennan investigates a series of ritualistic killings in the sturdy latest installment of Reich's procedural series (after Fire and Bones). The residents of Charlotte, N.C., have been put on edge by a recent spate of animal mutilations. When Tempe arrives at the scene of the most recent one, she's horrified to find that the victim is a dog and vows to track down the person responsible. With Andrew Ryan--Tempe's former investigative partner and current significant other--off on other case in Quebec, she teams up with the unpleasant but professionally gifted Skinny Slidell. The stakes of the pair's inquiry skyrocket when the killer graduates to human victims. Though the plot is somewhat predictable (not to mention grisly), Reich spruces things up with a lovably eccentric supporting cast that includes Tempe's erratic daughter, Katy, and grumpy teenage niece, Ruthie, who inject humor into the blood-curdling proceedings. Fans of the series will be satisfied. (Nov.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Dr. Temperance Brennan tackles the case of a serial killer of animals who's been ascending the food chain over a period of years. The unnerving vision that causes an elderly woman to drive off a rainy road in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, turns out to be a painted head nailed to a tree. Even more disquieting than this discovery is Tempe's realization that it's only the latest of a series of heads similarly disfigured, decorated, and displayed as death's heads. The only thing that prevents the perp, whoever it is, from being threatened with life imprisonment is that none of the remains are human: They're all skulls of rats, squirrels, rabbits, skunks, and dogs, the earliest of them three years old. Tempe and Erskine "Skinny" Slidell, the surly retired police investigator who partners with her, suspect that the killer, whose latest display does contain some human bones, is working up to killing people, and they turn out to be all too correct. Just in case Tempe is looking for relief from this stressful case at home, her willful 17-year-old grandniece, Ruthie, has overcome her resistance to setting foot on the campus of UNC Charlotte and made contact with Lester Meloy, a grad student who's supplied her with weed, and Danielle Hall, his fellow member in a secretive group called "Live." Ruthie inevitably goes missing and Tempe is kidnapped herself before all the promising complications of the case are waved aside in favor of a solution that comes out of left field and answers almost none of the sharpest questions the mystery has raised. Apart from recurring characters, this entry is less interested in live people than in dead animals. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Prologue PROLOGUE Don't panic! Don't you dare panic! Wind rocked the ancient Buick. Rain drummed millions of tiny missiles against its hood and roof. Her fingers ached from maintaining their ten-two o'clock grip on the wheel. Her neck burned from the strain of craning forward. Pointless. The altered posture did nothing to improve her cataracts-clouded vision. Beyond her little bubble, the world was a swirling maelstrom. Please, dear Jesus! Protect me! When no deity appeared to offer guidance or aid, Bella eased off the gas but maintained enough pressure to continue her agonizingly slow forward creep. Terrified of going faster. Terrified of coming to a stop on the blacktop. Bella alternated between chastising and defending herself. You should have checked a weather report. You should have told the kids you were going out. You should have stayed home. Bella usually listened to her children when they told her to wait. Sometimes they came. More often they forgot, too busy with their jobs and their lawns and their kids. She needed eggs for the angel food cake promised for the church bake sale. What could go wrong? The trip to the Publix took only twenty minutes. Unless something unexpected happened to alter the usual script. This predicament really wasn't her fault, Bella panic-reasoned. The storm had come out of nowhere, a dark monster racing across the late afternoon sky. Bella squinted hard behind her thick trifocal lenses, frustrated that the car's high beams seemed not to be penetrating the thick curtain of rain. Have mercy, dear Lord! A fast-food wrapper winged out of the gloom, danced across the glass, then whipped off in an airborne pirouette. Fresh tears ran down Bella's wrinkled old cheeks. More rapid heartbeats, then a glow lit the far-off horizon. Bella watched the approaching brightness contract and separate into two orbs. Moments later, a pair of headlights in the opposite lane flashed past. The blast of air and spray of water triggered a new round of palpitations and prayers. Twice, headlights took shape in the rearview mirror, looming like creatures with fiery eyes. Twice, the creatures swung wide to pass. Twice, Bella watched taillights recede into the wet void. More supplication. Please! More self-castigation. This is your own fault, you idiot. Another blustery gust almost dislodged Bella's hands from the wheel. Brake now! A cluster of panicky neurons bellowed. Wait until you can safely pull off! a more rational gaggle countermanded. Bella's frontal lobe pounded. Her hands felt numb. The Buick kept crawling. Time passed. An epoch. Maybe ten minutes. Then, as if in answer to her prayers, the deluge began easing in interrupted bursts. The interruptions yielded fleeting glimpses of the outside world. A narrow two-lane. Fenced farmland. A brown horse with a white muzzle patch shaped like a rat. The horse was a mare. The mare had a name. Glenda. Bella's spirits soared. Praise be, Heavenly Father!! Thank you for the sign. The horse lifted and shook its soggy head. Noted Bella's slow passing with little interest. Unhurriedly, the pockets of light expanded and merged. The sky brightened and the rain appeared to lose interest. Ahead and to the right, a tree materialized in the murky wetness, its height far greater than that of its brethren. Bella yelped with joy. The pasture. The horse with the rodent-shaped mark. The majestic old oak. The world was recognizable and as it should be. Shifting her foot from the gas to the brake while doubling down on her viselike grip, Bella rotated the wheel a few degrees to the right, aiming for a strip of gravel barely wide enough to qualify as a shoulder. The treads were worn. The pavement was coated with oil-slicked rainwater. Easy. Not too much . Too much. The right front tire dropped off the edge of the asphalt, pulling the vehicle in that direction. Terrified, Bella jerked the wheel hard to the left and gunned the engine. The Buick fired across both lanes and slammed into the trunk of the oak. Bella's head snapped forward and hit the wheel, jumbling her thoughts. Righting herself gingerly, she settled back against the headrest, allowing her gaze to slide skyward through the spiderweb cracks in the windshield. When questioned hours later, Bella wouldn't remember losing consciousness. She would recall waking up. The leaves rustling. The birds singing. The engine hissing. The scream rising from deep in her chest. The EMTs listened with disbelief as Bella described the horror she'd spotted in the branches above. Excerpted from Evil Bones by Kathy Reichs All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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