The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) by Kirsten Weiss Read Free Book Online Page B

believe it when we heard.” Marie darted glances between Marta and Marilyn.  She was a mousy woman, with sloping shoulders, and a discreet tire around her middle. 
     “We don’t have much time,” Marilyn snapped.  “We’ve got jobs.”  She compressed her lips into a thin red line and swung one leg over the other.  It was a neat trick in her hounds tooth pencil skirt, even if she did kick Marta in the process.
    Marilyn had a stretched, predatorial look to her.  Her face looked like it had been made up in a department store –perfectly swooping black brows, cat’s eye liner, and perfectly blended but a little too much foundation. 
    “I’ll jump right into it then,” Riga said.  “Helen hired me—“
    “We know,” Marilyn interrupted.  “I told her she was wasting her money.  This city is crawling with psychic frauds.”  Her lips curled into a sneer.   
    “I’m not a psychic.”  Riga tried for a smile, just one of the girls.  But she’d never been just one of the girls.
    “Are you a fraud?” Marilyn purred.
    “Marilyn!” Marta protested, brushing Marilyn’s footprint from her navy slacks.   
    Marie shot Riga an apologetic look.  Riga suspected apologies were Marie’s specialty. 
    “I’m sorry,” Marie squeaked.  She pulled a pill of wool from her lumpy gray sweater.  “What do you want to know?”
    “Hold it.” Marilyn arched forward.  “Why should we tell her anything?  We don’t even know what happened to Helen.”
    “Helen’s dead,” Riga said.  “I don’t know how it happened either, but the circumstances are suspicious.”
    Marilyn snorted.  “Thank you, psychic hotline.  Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?”
    Riga imagined telling her that Santa was real.  She’d never believe it.   “What can you tell me about Helen’s husband, Herman?” she said instead.
    Marta shot Marilyn a look that dared interruption.   “He was alright.” She tapped her paper cup on the table.  “I didn’t know him well.  He showed up a couple times with Helen for drinks.  They seemed to get along, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Helen told me she’d met someone new,” Riga said.
    The three women glanced at each other, looking surprised. 
    Marta shrugged.  “She didn’t say anything to us.”  Tap, tap, tap.
    “Seems a little soon if you ask me,” Marilyn said.  “Herman’s been gone less than a year.”
     “Almost exactly a year,” Marta corrected.  “It would be wonderful if it’s true.  Herman’s death hit her hard.  She deserved a little happiness, I think.  I wonder why she wouldn’t have said anything to us, though?”
    Riga didn’t wonder about that at all. 
    “She was dressing more nicely,” Marie said.  The others looked at her and she shrank in her chair, as if she’d surprised herself by speaking.  Her nose twitched.  “And she’d lost weight.  Do you remember how awful she looked in the months after Herman died?”
    Marilyn admired her scarlet claws.  “Just because she was coming out of mourning, doesn’t mean she had a new love in her life.”
    “It would have been nice if she had.”  Marta smiled wistfully.  “Kind of gives a girl hope, you know?” She held her cup by the rim and rolled it in circles around her quarter of the table. 
    Riga nodded.  She did know.  It was a sort of proof of life.  “Did anything unusual happen that last night at the Cliff House?”
    Marilyn’s eyes narrowed to catlike slits.  “How did you know we were at the Cliff House?”
    “Helen told me she was meeting friends from work there.  I assumed you were the friends,” Riga said.  It wasn’t a very good lie.  Even if Helen had mentioned such a thing, she wasn’t likely to give Riga their phone numbers. 
    Marta shook her head.  “It was a normal night out.  If anything, Helen seemed more relaxed than usual – I think your meeting made her feel better.  She was taking action, doing something.