Free Hungry Ghosts by Peggy Blair

hair.”
    Ramirez wondered how Apiro could determine the colour of her skin. The woman’s head was almost black from bloating. The scarf around her neck was tied so tightly it had cut into the flesh, or what was left of it. A cloud of flies buzzed around the corpse. Apiro waved them away.
    Ramirez looked at the ghost again. Her complexion seemed darker than that of a mulata, but it was difficult to see her properly in the shadows cast by the morning sun. The flowers on the blue mahoe trees were already changing from primrose to orange. By evening they’d be red, almost the same shade as the ghost’s lipstick.
    Prostitutes were usually black. Maria Vasquez, the woman Apiro lived with, was an exception. With her streaked blonde hair and pale complexion, she could pass for white. But she was hardly typical.
    â€œAnd then there is this.” The pathologist carefully untied the scarf and dangled it from his gloved hand. “Another stocking.”
    Ramirez looked more carefully at the ghost peering over Espinoza’s shoulder. What he had first thought was a black scarf tied in a bow around her neck was a sheer nylon stocking. “Prima Verrier’s killer tied a stocking around her throat too,” he explained to Espinoza.
    â€œThere is another similarity, Ricardo,” said Apiro. “These small round impressions in the dirt.”
    Ramirez stepped closer to the cordoned-off area. He squatted to look at the marks beside the plastic numbers. They were evenly spaced, about five feet apart.
    Espinoza crouched beside him. “What are they?” he asked.
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Ramirez. “What do you think, Hector?”
    Apiro shrugged. “At first, I thought they might be from the victim’s shoes, but the heel on her shoes is wider.”
    â€œThere were marks like this at the first crime scene,” said Ramirez.
    â€œPrima,” said Espinoza, raising his eyebrows. “That’s ironic, isn’t it, if this turns out to be the second victim?”
    â€œYes, I suppose it is,” said Ramirez, nodding slowly. Prima , in Latin, meant “the first.”
    â€œIs that what he used to choke her with, the nylon?”
    â€œNo.” Ramirez shook his head. “He used his hands.”
    Ramirez glanced at the jinetera again. Her hand went to the stocking around her neck. She straightened the bow. “She was a beautiful woman, Señora Verrier. But not so pretty after a month in the bush, I can tell you that.”
    The dead jinetera shivered. She rubbed her arms as if she were cold.

15
    While her mother napped, Celia Jones dialed the number on the medical appointment card she’d found behind a magnet on the fridge. A university switchboard operator answered. Jones asked for Maylene Kesler and was surprised to be put through to the Department of Environmental Genetics.
    The receptionist managed to sound both weary and impatient at the same time. “I’m sorry, Dr. Kesler is out of town. Can I help you?”
    â€œMy name is Celia Jones. Dr. Kesler was at a clinic in White Harbour a few weeks ago. She tested my mother. She was supposed to call her back with the results. I was wondering if they’re ready. Emma Jones?”
    â€œDr. Kesler has been in White Harbour for several days, Ms. Jones. She’ll be meeting all the patients she examined in person to talk about her findings. I’m sure she’ll call your mother to arrange a time to see her. She has dozens of appointments to line up.”
    â€œIs there a number where I can reach her?”
    â€œShe has a private cell phone but I’m not supposed to give out the number. She’s been very busy. You’re not the first person who’s called here looking for her.”
    â€œThanks,” said Jones, disappointed. She was about to hang up when a thought crossed her mind. “Does Dr. Kesler specialize in Parkinson’s or