Richfield & Rivers Mystery Series 2 - Stellium in Scorpio (9 page)

Next
to that photo were other pictures of her and Mo at the beach, both looking
well-fed, but less decadent and decidedly happier. There were photos of Mo
kissing a large golden retriever, and Mo with an attractive woman.
Must have
been a relative,
I thought.
Or Karla would have chewed that portion of
the picture off with her teeth.

Karla
put her chipped red nail on the image of the woman. "That was Mo's first
wife."

"So
you must have liked her," I ventured, definitely surprised.

"Sure,
'cuz she was dead right after I met her. They had a couple a kids together, and
she blessed Mo and me on her deathbed, so I figure, why not let her sit up on
the mantel and look good, ya know, 'cuz she don't look so good now."

I
was beginning to wonder how our conversation could transition from wonderful
Mo, the love of her life, to Bruce Singleton, a shorter-lived love. I decided
diving right in was the best solution.

"So
I guess you met Bruce after Mo died..."

"Bruce
died too! You hear about that? I just don't have any luck with men. Bruce was
comin' over from another club to run the
Boy Review
for me. It was
originally called
Boys in Review Daily.
BIRD. In honor of the big-winged
finale. Mo named it that.
The Bird Review.
But we was gettin' so many
calls from people wantin' to know how to get rid of starlings or clean out a
martin house, for God's sake! Can you believe 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 intently at the
ham. I waited expectantly, amused by this blond woman of great insight who held
all nourishment in suspicion.

"Are
we safe?" I kidded her.

"Are
you making fun?"

"Absolutely
not." I smirked. "Just waiting for the green light on this sandwich
so I can eat and then find out about the ghoul pool."

"Eat."
She smiled and pushed my sandwich toward me.

"You
were poisoned in another lifetime?"

"Around
1500 a.d. Conditions were hideous, of course."

I
stopped midbite to stare at her.

She
continued, "I think it was accidental. I don't recall the specifics, but
I..." She stopped, realizing this was far beyond my ability to comprehend,
believe, or perhaps even endure. "Let's talk about something else. We have
years to discuss things like this."

"That
last sentence was comforting," I said and reached over and gently wrapped
my hand around the nape of her neck. She let out a great sigh, not unlike
Elmo's.

"I've
missed you," she said, looking up at me, and her translucent blue eyes
sparkled. There was a long pause, neither of us quite knowing where to take the
conversation. I let my hand drop from her neck, and Callie changed the subject.

"My
client in Tulsa, Randall Ross, is a wealthy man. I've known him for years. He's
been contacted by a man"—she seemed to be selecting her words
carefully—"who told him his daughter is in trouble. This happened two
months ago when I was in L.A. with you. He called, begging me to come back to
Tulsa immediately. He thought his daughter's death was imminent. I've been
trying to help him. Then a few days ago, he phoned me in a panic. His daughter
had called from Las Vegas to say that she'd attended a party where she'd been
put on a ghoul pool list."

"Who's
the man who contacted him?" I asked.

"He...wasn't
sure," Callie said.

"And
your client's daughter is Rose Ross?"

"Yes.
The problem is that people on the list actually do die with some regularity.
Whether they are on the list because they are about to die, or they die because
they're on the list, is the issue. Hard to prove. No one has the list. As
Joanie Burr said, each name is 'read out loud and dropped into the flames, and
only the ghost remembers the names.'"

"Pretty
convenient. A bunch of drunks hear thirteen names and get drunker. No list. No
evidence. So this trip is business, and I'm a nice adjunct to that?"

"I
knew if I told you I was here on business, you'd feel slighted," she said.

"You
think? Because the corollary of that is, had there been no business, you would
not have bothered to meet me."

She
leaned over and, in front of the couple dining at a nearby table, kissed me
warmly on the lips in a lingering promise of even warmer things to come.

"I
will always find you," she said softly.

"Not
as good as I will always be with you," I replied.

She
kissed me again and her lips were intoxicating.

"Callie,
you've got to level with me," I said, unable to prolong the pleasure for
fear of the pain. "You could have arranged to see me if you'd wanted to..
.you didn't want to."

"I
wanted to," she managed to say.

"We've
been apart for over two months. I know you want me, I can feel it. And God
knows, I want you, and yet.. .we've been here for twenty-four hours and we
haven't made love?"

"There
was a dead man—"

"Why
aren't we making love?" I gently interrupted and looked into her eyes. She
shifted in her seat and looked away, then tried to formulate her thoughts.
Apparently the truth was difficult—even for a psychic.

"It's...in
LA....it got to feeling so...permanent...so quickly."

I
was hurt by the fact that Callie Rivers had just admitted she wasn't rushing
headlong into my life, but I was glad to have the source of her anxiety out in
the open. Obviously I wanted more out of this relationship than Callie did. I
let that sink in and then the survivor in me kicked in, that piece of me that
always made sure I was okay.
After all, this is the woman who confided in me
that she 'd made love for years and never let herself climax, so why am I
surprised that she can keep her emotional distance? Just take a different
approach,
the voice in my head commanded.

"So
'permanent' is our problem?" I asked casually.

"It's
just bad timing, that's all. Astrologically, I'm emotionally reserved right
now. My Saturn has been opposition my Venus for weeks..."

"But
that aspect," I said, noting she was pleased I'd learned the word aspect,
"is short lived, right? You did say when you met me that I was destined
for you. So I'm hanging my hat on that. However, my immediate problem is that
I've been put on planetary pause, or asteroid avoidance, or whatever, and it's
wearing on my nervous system. So how about we just have some amazingly...
impermanent. ..sex? Would that be all right?" I kissed her gently.

The
middle-aged woman in tennis togs sitting directly across from us cocked her
eyebrow at me and gave me an appreciative smile. She was apparently picking up on
our conversation. I grinned shyly at her in return, lowered my voice to a
whisper, and tried to pull myself together.

"Okay."
Callie reached over and slid her hand playfully between my legs.

I
rocked back reflexively. "You're an exhibitionist."

"You
told me when we first met that you hated routine. Don't want you to get
bored," Callie said.

The
woman wearing tennis clothes walked past our table on her way out and hesitated
a moment to say, "You two continue to have a nice day," and she gave
us a radiant smile.

"Thank
you." Callie smiled up at her.

The
woman's husband let out a large belch and hoisted his belt buckle to adjust his
pants. "Men." She shook her head and laughed, obviously hooked on
them and unable to understand her own attraction for them. "We marry them
wanting all their masculine strength and testosterone, and then we want them to
be as playful and close as women can be, like asking an elephant to perform a
ballet. Even if we could train them to do it, it would look unnatural."
The woman grinned again as her husband shouted for her to come on.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

We
left the cafe and headed for our car. I stepped off the curb to open the
driver's side door, still laughing over the straight woman's catching Callie in
the act of groping me. I didn't see the car that came out of nowhere heading
for me. Callie screamed at the top of her lungs. My mind slammed a thousand
thoughts across my brain in a nanosecond. Leaving my physical body unattended,
it moved fearlessly to a four-beat musical choreography, an orchestrated dance
of danger, my head keeping count like a metronome: Arms overhead,
three-four,
dissolve to pirouette,
three-four,
away from oncoming
car,
four-one,
spin, spin, turn, face to the car,
three-four,
back to the
car,
three-four,
side mirror grabs my jacket and I'm up, spin and down,
three-four.
Land on my feet, dip back, bounce off my hip,
two-three-four,
Callie's
incredible strength hauls me out of the street,
three and four and cut!
Take
two. Cue the effects: screech of tires, grinding of gears, car backs up at high
speed, snap zoom to wide shot, car comes back for the kill! Callie's viselike
grip on my shirt collar, and I'm off my feet, up and backward through the air
and I land on the cafe patio. Standing ovation from the gathering crowd. Callie
dials 911. Cut. Wrap! My mind snaps back from outer space, slamming into my
body, the pain of reentry making my head feel like it took a bullet. Callie was
kneeling on the ground beside me, cupping my head in her hands and whispering,
"You're all right, Teague. Everything's okay."