The Devil's Cradle by Sylvia Nobel & Max Lebowitz & Christy Moeller

Author:Sylvia Nobel & Max Lebowitz & Christy Moeller [Nobel, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Nite Owl Books
Published: 2010-10-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

I was happy to see Audrey’s spirits revived as she chattered amiably over Marta’s savory lasagna dinner. The accompanying Caesar salad and crisp garlic toast would have normally had me in ecstasy, but the whole weird episode with D.J. had put a damper on my appetite.

His kinky sexual habits were certainly none of my business, but the episode haunted me nonetheless. One thing for sure, his amorous exhibition had certainly served to squelch any suspicions that he might be gay, but I wondered what Bitsy Bigelow would think of his on-going relationship with the dress form? I’d probably never know, but even more intriguing was his apparent fixation with the portrait of a young Hannah Morgan. His final words rampaged through my mind but I had no clue as to what he meant. Thank heavens the roar of the vacuum cleaner had masked my hasty exit from the third floor. I couldn’t even imagine what I’d have said to him had I been caught.

I was burning to share my findings with Audrey, but I couldn’t take a chance on being overheard as Marta banged in and out of the kitchen door, delivering each course. Plus that, D.J. could walk in at any moment.

“Don’t you like the peach cobbler?” Audrey asked.

Her sudden question sent my thoughts stampeding. “What? Oh, yes, indeed. I love it.” I dug my fork into the flaky, cream-soaked crust and forced down another bite while she eyed me dubiously.

“You told me you were starving, but you didn’t even finish the lasagna.”

“I guess I’m too busy thinking about questions for Marta,” I whispered, hoping that response would do for now.

Her eyes blazed with excitement. “How do we start?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “I mean, how do you get her onto the subject you want?”

I grinned. “Most of the time, I just let people do what they like best.”

“What’s that?”

“Talk about themselves. All I have to do then is guide the questions in a specific direction.”

“Well, let’s get to work,” she said, giving me a conspiratorial wink as we left the table and pushed through the swinging doors. The kitchen, still warm, and permeated with the pungent aroma of onion and garlic, stood empty, but we soon found Marta outside the back door seated on a weathered rocker. She was busily snapping the ends off fresh green beans.

“You like Marta’s supper?” she asked hopefully, glancing up at us through Coke-bottle lenses.

Audrey grinned and patted her flat, almost concave, abdomen. “I’m totally stuffed. Thank you.”

“It was beyond wonderful,” I agreed, pulling up a lawn chair and motioning with my head for Audrey to sit also. “You really should think about opening a restaurant.”

Her thick lips stretched wide, revealing crooked, discolored teeth. “This is something I have done already.”

“No kidding? When was that?”

“Oh, many years ago. My husband Emilio and me, we have a little place in Nogales. But when he dies, I come to be near my daughter because her husband works in the mine. Soon I take the job here with Mr.

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