Free Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio by Andrews, Austin Page A

it? So we changed the name to Boy
Review. Bruce was gonna run it, but not now. He drowned! You gotta go to a
helluva lot of trouble to drown in the goddamned desert, ya know what I
mean?" Karla's shoulders shook and she began to sob. "Cops comin' to
talk to me...funeral plans...his mother bawlin'. It's a mess!"
    "How
did he drown?" I asked.
    "Under
water." She looked at me as if I were an idiot. "He couldn't breathe
underwater."
    I
suppressed a grin as Callie dove in to save me. "What were the
circumstances of his being out in the desert alone and then being found in that
small lake?" Callie asked.
    "How
would I know that?" Karla was suddenly suspicious, "You're not like
cops trying to be somethin' else, are ya? Because if you was, I would call some
people you would not like to know. Because I had nothin' to do with my husband
Mo's death or with Bruce's death. Bruce was a drinker, ya know, and for all I
know he coulda passed out and fallen in the goddamned lake..."
    Whatever
Karla was on, it was starting to kick in. She was slurring her words, and her
eyes rolled ever so slightly, as if she were about to faint. "I think you
two better get the hell out," she said without malice, and rose unsteadily
to her feet. Then, just as suddenly, her mood shifted again. "Don't be mad
at me. I'm just not feelin' too well, ya know. Got a lot of things on my mind.
Come see me another time."
    "What
do you know about the ghoul pool, Karla?" Callie asked as we walked to the
door.
    "Howcha
hear about that?" Karla revived, shocked back into consciousness.
    "I
have a friend on the list," Callie said.
    Karla
gave us a large, tired shrug, her soft fleshy upper body jiggling with the
effort. "Bruce said he was on the list, but I don't know. I was on the
list one time. Mo was. It's like a naughty night that everybody in town wants
to be invited to 'cuz they want to brag about bein' on the list."
    "When
the show was called the Bird Review, did you give anyone a gold signet
ring with a bird on it?" I asked.
    Karla
let out a sharp laugh. "The day I pass out fourteen karat gold anything,
you call 911, okay? You're soundin' as crazy as those women who call about the
starlings! I'm not feelin' well. Goodbye." She closed the heavy carved
door in our face.
    "Well,
she closes doors as abruptly as you end phone calls," I remarked.
    "When
there's nothing more to say, move on." Callie shrugged, seeming to
understand Karla.
    "Why
are you fixated on this ghoul pool deal?" I quizzed Callie.
    "Let's
go have lunch and we'll talk," she replied, getting into the car.
    "Okay,
but start talking now."
    "You
sound like a cop." She grinned at me.
    "Well,
I was a cop, just not a very good one. I feel too sorry for people, like
poor Karla. What a wasted life."
    "Not
in her eyes," Callie said in her typically cosmic way.
    "So
you're the little chickie who talked Mo into spending all that money, and he
did it because he was trying to get into your pants?" I said, only half
kidding.
    "He
was not trying to get into my pants," she said firmly, to put an end to
further questions.
    "Then
he really was a dumb gangster." I slid my hand under her and squeezed her
cheeks, and she yelped.
    We
stopped at a little sandwich dive with a couple of tables out front. Not much
ambience but at least some fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of Karla's
drug and booze den. We stood in the takeout line and Callie ordered a ham and
cheese sandwich. I ordered a tuna melt. The words had no sooner left my mouth
than Callie spoke up, "I wouldn't do the tuna."
    "You're
right. I'll smell like a fish, and cats will follow me down the street. Make it
a ham and cheese," I said agreeably.
    "I'm
just cautious about food," she said. "I was poisoned in another
lifetime, and it's a carryover."
    The
sandwiches came flying across the counter before I had time to respond to that
startling confession. Callie took them both with her and unwrapped them,
lifting the bread as if it were a manhole cover, staring down