Unnatural Selection by Aaron Elkins

Age?”
    “Oh, dear, no,” Madeleine said. “Any human remains that come out of a prehistoric site go straight to the BM-the British Museum. No, these are simply the odd ulna or tibia that pops up on the beach from time to time. Old shipwrecks and such, don’t you know. Not all that unusual, really. People don’t know what to do about them, so they get turned in to the museum. We keep them a year or two for appearances’ sake, and then we quietly dispose of them.”
    “Ah.” Gideon was disappointed, but not very. The older the better, as far as he was concerned, but bones were bones. There was always something of interest.
    “We’d keep them longer, I suppose,” she rattled on, “if there were any hope of having them looked at by an expert, but we’ve never been able to lure one out here to go through them. No context, no skeletal populations of any size at all, do you see, so there isn’t much to be learned in any broad sense.”
    “I understand their point, but I can’t agree with that. There’s always something to be learned.”
    “My dear man, I’m thrilled to hear you say that.” She had puffed up with pleasure like a pouter pigeon. “Are there any tools you’d like me to have there for you?”
    “Sure, a metal tape measure and a magnifying glass would be good.” He shrugged, thinking. “Oh, and some glue, in case there’s any repair to be done-Duco or Elmer’s would be good, but whatever you use for pottery would do.”
    She nodded. “I’ll have them there for you. And is that all you need?” She seemed surprised. “Don’t you people use calipers and such? We have both kinds, spreading and sliding.”
    “Well, yes,” he said a little defensively, “if I were doing a really exhaustive analysis. But all I’ll be trying to do here is to give you some general idea of who the guy was. I don’t think there’s much reason to-”
    “No, no, of course not,” she said quickly, “a general idea is precisely what I want, and I appreciate it enormously.” She chewed tentatively on her lower lip. “And, er, Gideon, I suppose I should have mentioned this earlier, but-”
    “Hello, everyone, sorry to be late.” Cheryl Pinckney, Donald’s wife, had arrived in a cloud of musky perfume and slipped into her seat beside Gideon as the main course of Chicken Kiev and rice pilaf was being set out.
    Madeleine smiled coolly at her. Rudy gave her a surly, vaguely lustful nod.
    “Just the rice for me,” she told the waitress, turning her head away from the Chicken Kiev as if it smelled bad. “And some salad, no dressing, oil and vinegar on the side. Pardon me, Gideon,” she said huskily as her forearm grazed his.
    A moment later a smooth, pant-clad thigh brushed solidly against Gideon’s as she crossed her legs. “Sorry about that,” she said casually. “I guess my legs are a little too long for the table.”
    He had chatted briefly with her during the reception. Cheryl was a nature photographer whose pictures had appeared in National Geographic , Travel and Leisure, and a few airline magazines. If she hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have guessed that she was the wife of the prissy, balding Donald. On looks, she might have been a model. With her jutting cheek bones, long nose, and thin lips, no one would call her beautiful, but striking she was, and she moved with a catlike, self-assured grace that had drawn male eyes to her at the reception like iron filings to a magnet.
    As far as Gideon was concerned, however, she could have stood to put on a few pounds. On the living, he preferred his skeletons a little better covered.
    “As I was saying, Gideon,” Madeleine continued, “I suppose I should have mentioned this earlier-but I’m afraid we won’t be able to arrange anything like your normal fees.” She gave him a fluttery, winning smile. “If I were to buy you lunch, do you suppose that would do?”
    “Madeleine, I’ll buy you lunch.”
    When the waitress passed behind him with a tray