Kathy Reichs
Kathy Reichs
Kathleen Joan Toelle "Kathy" Reichs born July 7, 1948) is an American crime writer, forensic anthropologist and academic. She is a professor of anthropology at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte; as of 2013 she is on indefinite leave. She divides her work time between the Laboratoire des Sciences Judiciaires et de Médecine Légale for the province of Quebec and her professorship at UNC Charlotte. She is one of the eighty-two forensic anthropologists certified by the American Board of...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth7 July 1948
CityChicago, IL
CountryUnited States of America
Though Anne was born in Alabama and schooled in Mississippi, she had traveled North, and, like many Southerners, gained a theoretical understanding of the concept of cold. But the mind is an overprotective parent. What it doesn't care for, it hides. Like many inhabiting the subtropics, Anne had repressed the reality of subzero mercury.
Who's going to rob us? A crackhead crab? A jellyfish junkie?
Today he wore a burnt-orange shirt, black pants, and a tie that looked like a street fight at the south end of the color wheel.
We did just leave an insane asylum,” Hi agreed. “For all we know, Chance spend his nights dancing naked with sock puppets, plotting to invade Canada.
I’m adding ‘canine’ to my searches,” I said. “And ‘instinct.’” “Whatever. I’m adding ‘lunatic.
God help anyone who messes with the Virals!
Ben locked his eyes on mine for a long moment. Then, “How?” “How do you think?” I smiled, then slapped him full across the face
Ahh! Lady Pillows. So much fluffier than mine.” He took a giant whiff. “Why does everything girlie smell so delightful?” “Because we acknowledge the importance of basic hygiene. And periodically clean our bathrooms.” “Brilliant. I should write that down. After all, it takes a village.
Amazing.” Hi stripped off his shirt, wrung it out. “Score one for your honker.” “Thanks, I think.” I cocked my chin at Hi’s substantial midsection. “Nice abs.” “Yeah, I work out twice a month. No expectations. But stop hitting on me, it’s embarrassing.
Hiram!' Shelton ran to Hi's side. 'Aren't you you bleeding? I thought she shot you!' 'Red wine. When I saw it running everywhere, I played dead.' He winced as Shelton poked his belly. 'But I'm not leaping off any more shelves. That was pretty stupid.
I can't believe you jokers fixed it." Hi was picking his way down to the beach. "Believe it, clown. Too much brain power here to fail." Still pumped, Shelton threw another palm Ben's way. "Oh, I'm sure." Hi streched, yawned. "It was something highly technical, I suppose? Something requiring mechanical ability? Nothing as simple as tightening a wire or flippin a switch, right?" Ben reddened. Shelton developed an intrest in his sneakers. Score one for Hi.
Ben yanked Hi sideways as spikes snapped from the wall…Once again, only Ben’s reflexes had saved him. “Please stop doing that!” Ben barked. “Please keep doing that!” Hi warbled.
Tory a father isn’t supposed to fear his fourteen-year-old daughter. That being sad, you terrify me.
As a pirate, she once undressed a fencing instructor using only her sword!