Free The Goodbye Body by Joan Hess

housing in Southern California is exorbitant, and even if we were interested in southern Arizona or Florida, we’d have to invest too much of our—”
    “Get out your wallet,” said Lucy. “I’m sure Claire’s not interested in the details of your IRA and pension plan. I know I’m not.” She looked at me. “So what’s the truth about the weather? We’re from Virginia and not at all accustomed to annual blizzards and relentless summer heat waves.”
    “‘Purportedly mild’ is a good description.” I took Daniel’s credit card and began to fill in numbers on the receipt. “Occasional snow, but it doesn’t linger. August is usually pretty hot.” I glanced up as the bell above the door jangled and my science fiction hippie slithered in. “Spring and fall are lovely, though, and you don’t have to worry about hurricanes, earthquakes, or tornadoes.”
    Daniel peered at the license displayed on the wall behind me, as dictated by the local powers that be. “Claire Malloy, eh? How long have you lived in Farberville? Did you attend the college?”
    I handed him his card and a pen to sign the receipt. “I’ve lived here quite a few years, and I went to college elsewhere. Would you like a bag for the books?”
    “Yes, please,” said Lucy, “and do forgive Daniel. He’s as snoopy as a little old lady who hides behind the curtains and spies on her neighbors.”
    “Like that witch in the condo next to ours?” He laughed in a rather unconvincing way. “I think she’s hoping we’re going to skinny-dip in the hot tub. Why don’t you invite her over for coffee some morning, Lucy? She probably has some juicy stories about illicit liaisons behind the fourth green.”
    “Let’s go, Daniel. I enjoyed talking with you, Claire. I’ll come by later in the week to replenish my book pile.”
    I wished them a pleasant stay, and after they’d left, went to see what nefarious tricks were being perpetrated behind the science fiction rack. The hippie was squatting to peruse the lower rows, his jacket pockets bulging suspiciously.
    “Find anything?” I asked.
    Startled, he stood up. “No, just browsing. Who were those two that just left?”
    “A couple of tourists. Unlike some, they paid for their books.”
    “Spooky.”
    I frowned at him. “Because they paid for their books?”
    “No, them. Real spooky, if you know what I mean.”
    “I have no idea what you mean,” I said, hoping he wasn’t in the throes of a hallucinogenic flashback from substances he’d ingested in the seventies. “They seemed very nice.”
    He began to edge toward the door. “I’m talking real spooky. Don’t get all worried if I don’t come around here for a few weeks. I think I’d better go to an ashram to get my head straight. Nothing like meditation to realign your karma.”
    I had a feeling he might benefit more from medication. “I’ll try to be brave. Send me a postcard if you have a chance.”
    He backed through the door and headed up the street. I sighed as I noticed a few gaps on the rack, then went into the tiny office to collect a stack of catalogs. His absence might be the closest I’d come to a vacation, I thought as I sat down on the stool behind the counter. Lucy and Daniel had seemed to be the epitome of a normal, upper-class couple, bickering in a genteel way while they searched for a gated community where they would be sheltered from even a glimpse of the untouchable caste.
    At noon, I put the CLOSED sign on the door and drove to Dolly’s house. There were no signs of activity in the front yard, and no blare of music from the back, which suggested that all concerned parties were still in bed. I was not inclined to rouse them and suggest we have lunch by the pool. I didn’t know of an antacid that could combat the level of acrimony and antagonism that would surface between bites of tuna salad and sips of iced tea.
    I went inside and stopped to gape at the dining room table. Not only had the dishes been removed,