Long Goodbyes (Virginia Kelly Mystery Book 3) by Baker Nikki

Author:Baker Nikki [Nikki, Baker]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, murder mystery, Lesbian, Chicago, AIDS, Virginia Kelly
Publisher: ReQueered Tales
Published: 2021-05-18T05:00:00+00:00

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On the way to Rosey’s parents’ house, my mind was working like a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine with a lot of motion but not too much in the way of results. I was turning the pieces over in my head, but I just couldn’t see the connections. Rosey and Andre. Rosey and Hobart. Rosey and Spike and the Women’s Crisis Line. Rosey and me. The last connection was the one that bothered me the most because I still didn’t know what might have prompted her to take the trouble, after ten years, to find me, to phone me and beg me to come to our reunion, just to tell me she didn’t want me.

As for Rosey and Andre, I had that down as cheap dirty thrills: Andre said no and Rosey said yes – assuming that I wasn’t just putting words in her mouth at the Johnny Appleseed. I knew what his reasons might be for lying, but I thought that maybe she had some too. And even if Rosey and Hobart looked like more of the same when I’d followed her on Saturday night, the truth was I had been upset, and Harry Hobart had hugged me too when he’d given me a ride home from Ewing’s Friday morning. The truth was I hadn’t stuck around long enough to be sure of what had really happened between them, but I knew from my broken watch and the phone call Rosey had placed from her room to the Women’s Crisis Line at 10:30 that same night, that she hadn’t stayed at Hobart’s very long. As for the Women’s Crisis Line and Rosey and Spike, I didn’t have a clue, but I was sure Spike would tell me if I took off my clothes and said, “Pretty please.”

That was a pleasant thought, as I was beginning to develop a soft spot for Spike the way people who are nice enough can make you like them even if you’re not initially inclined. The thought of charming that information out of her was such a lovely one, I didn’t even mind that the roads were icy and the heater wasn’t working very well. The car seemed to know the way to Rosey Paschen’s old house and the ride didn’t seem to take too long at all.

Rosey’s house was on the right side of Dean Street with a willow tree in the front and flower beds that somebody had dug up for the winter on either side of a cracking cement walk. It gave me an eerie sense of déjà vu, but the street was empty and quiet except for a bad board in the porch stairs that complained about my weight and another beside the front door. I wiped my shoes on a rubber mat that said Welcome Friends and I read the glittery red and green cardboard letters strung up in the front windows. They spelled things like: Noel, Season’s Greetings, and Joy to the World. There was a single light on in an upstairs room, so I rang the buzzer under the rusty mailbox.

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