Disclaimer: As Zack Addy pointed out last episode, there are 206 bones in the human body. Those are the only kind of Bones I own.
Notes: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! This is one of those 'the-plot-thickens' chapters, and it took me longer to write than most, even though it's a tad shorter. I hope you all enjoy it!

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Booth closed the distance between himself and Brennan in two long strides. "What's that?"

She turned to face him. "Remember that required reading I was telling you about, from my publisher? This is one of the books I've started." She held it up for him to see.

"From the Nest by Jeff Harryl. Cute. What does this have to do with anything?"

She flipped it open and moved to his side to show him better. "Look at these."

He did as he was told. There were papers stuffed inside the book, and a newspaper clipping. He quickly read the scrawled notes on a sheet of paper- 'Similar story published, large portions the same, check newspaper archives'. Underneath was a list of numbers in a different color ink.

"Page numbers?" he theorized, cocking an eyebrow.

"It would make sense," Brennan agreed, smiling. "But look at this."

It was a newspaper clipping, with a grainy photo of an older woman, and titled "Lydia Harryl."

Brennan's finger trailed to the top of the clipping and tapped twice at the page header. "Obituaries," she exhaled.

Booth scanned the column quickly. Something caught his eye. "Listen to this, Bones. 'Mrs. Harryl was also a skilled and sensitive writer, who had some of her short stories published in this paper twenty years ago.' And then… 'Lydia is survived by her three children, Roger, Emily, and Jeff, and preceded by her husband, Richard. Roger and Emily wish to make it known that there will be a memorial service held on Tuesday.' Sounds like Jeff wasn't involved, doesn't it?" He ran his tongue over his teeth and flipped to the next sheet of paper.

"Do you think that Debrue, or whoever wrote this, thought that Harryl plagiarized parts of his work from his mother? And that they might have been estranged?"

Booth let out a low whistle. "Bones, I think we just got lucky." He held up the page he'd been staring at, and Brennan leaned in for a better look. Her eyes widened.

"It's an article," she said, that infectious little I-can't-help-but-smile tugging at her lips. She reached out and took it from Booth. "It's not finished, but this is definitely a draft for a news piece." She started reading it out loud.

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James Frey's A Million Little Pieces managed to captivate the public and cause a good deal of controversy when it was revealed to be not entirely biographical. Many accused the author of dishonesty and hoodwinking the public. How much worse is it, then, when a book has entire sections lifted directly from another person's work, without credit or acknowledgement?

From the Nest, by Jeff Harryl, was well-received by critics as a warm, sensitive, and sentimental book centering on the relationship of a woman with her children after they'd flown the figurative nest. It was at the top of the New York Times Best Seller List for a goodly chunk of time, and has been a commercial success. However, entire chapters of the book were not written by Harryl. So who were they written by? The answer might surprise you.

His mother.

Lydia Harryl was born and died in a small town in West Virginia. She married Richard Harryl and the couple had three children before Roger passed away of lung cancer eight years after their marriage. Several of her short stories were published over 25 years ago in the town's local paper- stories that would later make up much of her son's book.

Jeff Harryl was estranged from his family after he graduated from college, and did not keep in contact with his mother, brother, or sister after that point. His mother died in 2001, and Harryl did not attend her memorial service or funeral.

I spoke with the older Harryl brother, Roger, who told me that neither he nor his sister had read their brother's work, or spoken to him since the death of their mother. He was surprised, and angered, to learn of the plagiarism, stating that his mother would have never consented to the copying of her work.

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The boxy writing ended abruptly, as if Debrue had been called away by a ringing phone or beeping microwave, meaning to finish later, but never had. Booth whipped out his cell and dialed quickly. "Yes, I'd like information on someone named Roger Harryl, please." Silence. "You're positive?" Another pause. "Thanks."

Booth snapped his cell shut and turned to Brennan, who seemed to be in a world of her own as she stared at the cover of the book in front of her. "Roger Harryl died four months ago. It was ruled a suicide."

That definitely grabbed Tempe's attention. "That would explain why this story wasn't ever brought to light. The only two people who found out died. But Debrue died several months after Roger."

Booth considered this a moment. "Maybe Debrue found out about the suicide, and wasn't buying it? Wanted to go for the larger expose, so he put off publishing the article on the plagiarism? Or maybe the suicide is real, and he wanted to strike some kind of deal with Harryl?"
"Maybe. But Booth-" Tempe fingers were thrumming nervously across the book's cover. "I met Jeff Harryl. Yesterday night."

It was Booth's turn to be startled into full attention. "What?"

"We have the same publisher. He was there, in the waiting room, and saw his book at the top of my stack," she said, furrowing her brow. "And then…" a light went on in her eyes, and she blinked at the book cover before turning to Booth with a grin on her face. "He gave me his number, and said to call him if I ever wanted to go out."

That was definitely a strange coincidence, the FBI agent decided. And another thing- why did his partner always get hit on by creeps? Agitated, he started to reply, but was cut off by the sound of Brennan's voice.

"Hello, Jeff, this is Temperance… yes, I'm good, and you? Great. Listen, I wanted to take you up on that dinner offer, if it's still good."

Booth stared at her in disbelief. What the hell was she thinking?

"Seven tonight? At Aria Trattoria? No, I'll meet you there. See you then." She shut her phone with a snap.

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AN: Thanks for reading this… you can increase my gratitude tenfold by reviewing it, as well! All comments, criticisms, suggestions, things you'd like to see happen, and other types of reviews are adored. Also, the pace will be picking up as far as updates on this story go, because I've got a new project in mind that I'm rather excited about. So we'll say you'll have the next chapter on Tuesday.

I suppose I should close with another of those true (but extremely misleading) teasers I've been tossing your way. So- next chapter, look for an argument, an Italian place, and a kiss.