Download Forgotten Bones PDF by Vivian Barz published on 1 August 2019.
About Vivian Barz
Vivian Barz grew up on a farm in a small Northern California town of fewer than three thousand people. With plenty of fresh air and space to let her imagination run wild, she began penning mysteries at a young age. One of Barz’s earliest works, a story about a magical scarecrow with a taste for children’s blood, was read to her third-grade class during show-and-tell. It received mixed reviews. Vivian kept writing, later studying English and film and media studies at the University of California, Irvine. She now resides in Los Angeles, where she is always working on her next screenplay and novel. Barz also writes under the pen name Sloan Archer.
Inside this book
After three and a half hours of standing around in a howling wind, Officer Susan Marlan was finally starting to see an end in sight. One of the R&G Electric guys had fired up the backhoe and was keen to start doing his thing (they seemed to enjoy being out there even less than she did), so if he got down to it, she might be home in bed within the next hour, having a filthy cookie-dough threesome with Ben and Jerry while catching up on Game of Thrones. She sighed tiredly and gave the back of her stiff neck a quick rub, bouncing at the knees in a fruitless effort to keep warm. It could have been worse, she supposed. At least nobody had been killed or even hurt beyond a few cuts and a probable concussion, a miracle given the state of the vehicle.
The paperwork wouldn’t be too much of a headache, either, with it involving just the one driver. Still, she wouldn’t have even needed to be out in that field freezing her ass off if that pretentious idiot hadn’t fallen asleep at the wheel and rammed him and his anorexic girlfriend into that telephone pole, upending it in such a way that it was deemed an electrical hazard to the public—through the only “public” who really used the road were farmers and teenagers looking to get drunk or laid (or both).
On the bright side: overtime. As Susan waited, she ruminated on the details of the wreck. During her years on the job, she’d become adept at sniffing out bullshit. Those two, Derek and Danica, reeked worse than a Texas pasture. She’d initially suspected a case of the old driver-passenger switcheroo: that it had been Danica, her intoxicated dragon breath detectable from five counties over, who’d been operating the vehicle during the wreck and not Derek.
Eric Evans was schizophrenic. He was also a great many other things—a professor of geology, a heavy coffee drinker, a reasonably gifted drummer, a John Carpenter film enthusiast, an occasional smoker, and the ex-husband of an abstract artist named Maggie —yet schizophrenic was the title he felt defined him most as an adult. Unlike smokers, it was a status he could never quit, no matter how painfully he tried. Eric did not consider himself an unhinged individual, and he was right in this belief. Despite Hollywood’s negative fixation on a particular breed of schizophrenic, a large majority of those diagnosed with psychotic illnesses are not dangerous. Eric fell within the pacifist range, which, as he frequently liked to point out, validated the old adage about not believing everything you see on TV.
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