Page 20 of Fire and Bones

“Foggy Bottom. You gotta love that name, eh?”

I did, actually. Nodded.

“The area’s hot now, listed on the national register of historic places. But Foggy Bottom started life as a blue-collar community of Irish and German immigrants and African Americans. Folks who worked local, you know? At the breweries, the glass plants, the gas and light company.”

“You’re a native Washingtonian?”

“Born and raised. My grancie’s house is right around the corner. The old gal’s lived in Foggy Bottom since before I was born. Keeps getting crazy offers from realtors wanting her to sell.”

Arriving at the tent, Hickey said, “The fire’s no threat now, so all you need is standard PPE and a hard hat. I’ll wait by my truck.”

I unzipped the door and stepped through the opening. The interior smelled of grass and sun-heated canvas tainted by the faint stink of burning.

Coveralls, helmets, gloves, and goggles filled portable metal shelving at the tent’s center. Boots lined the ground beside one wall.

I chose the smallest Tyvek suit in the stack. Was moving toward a curtained-off partition when my mobile rang. Sang.

Digging the phone from my pocket, I clicked on.

Bad news.

Thacker’s staff were still trying but had yet to secure a hotel room for me. They were now looking into short-term rentals.

Disconnecting with a not so gracious thank you, I slipped into the coveralls and snapped the fasteners with agitated thumbs. Laced on my boots.

Deep breath.

Grabbing the final items to accessorize my fetching look, I stepped out into the bright morning.

And felt my irritation skyrocket.

Ivy Doyle of the flawless skin, ginger hair, and Ruby Woo lips was talking to Hickey. Down the street, a two-man crew was unloading a camera and boom mic setup from a WTTG van.

On spotting me, Doyle beamed her perfect teeth and gave me a five-finger waggle. A few more words to Hickey, then she hurried my way.

“Dr. Brennan. How awesome to see you here.”

I may have nodded.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Raising a reassuring palm in my direction. “I wouldn’t dream of bothering you. I know you’re about to begin recovery of these poor lost souls. We’re here to get a few ox pops.”

When I didn’t respond.

“You know. MOSs? Man on the street comments?”

“Uh-huh.”

Not exactly comfortable in all the safety gear and wanting to get on with the grim task ahead, I started to move off. Doyle hadn’t finished.

“I have a little something for you. No biggie, just a trinket I thought you’d find amusing. If you tell me where you’re staying, I’ll just leave it at the desk.”

“Actually, I don’t know where I’m staying.” Mildly surprised that a journalist would offer a gift, I assumed the gesture was because of her friendship with Katy.

“I’m sorry?”

“The ME is finding that every room in the district is booked.”

“That’s totally unacceptable.”

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