The Metaphysical Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery) by Weiss Kirsten

Author:Weiss, Kirsten [Weiss, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, occult, Paranormal, Suspense, San Francisco, female sleuth, San Mateo, urban fantasy
Publisher: Misterio Press
Published: 2011-10-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25: The Hanged Man

More training? Pen clenched the wheel. She’d show Riga. Pen had done her research, too. And if it was the ghost of Helen’s husband they were dealing with, then she’d follow that trail. He’d died leaving a bar on the Peninsula – maybe someone there remembered him. Maybe he had been a regular. Hell, maybe he was still there.

She’d need to look older. And maybe if she stuck to soda and big tips the bartender wouldn’t give her grief. She plotted her attack as she drove, imagining the conversation she’d have, chatting up the locals, reminiscing about her old buddy, Herman. By the time she reached home, Pen had created an alternate, more sophisticated persona and she couldn’t wait to try it on.

Her mother waylaid her at the door, fracturing her visions of adult independence. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you!”

“Sorry. Didn’t hear the cell,” she mumbled. It was true. The phone had been turned off.

Her mother fluttered around her, birdlike. “Have you had lunch?”

“I know when to feed myself, Mom.”

“I know you do, hon. It’s just, we never seem to talk anymore.”

Pen regarded her mother with a mixture of affection and frustration. Her mom had been trying to make the awkward transition from parent to friend for the last two years. Pen still wasn’t ready for it.

“You spend more time running errands for Riga lately then you do with me.” Her edict banning Pen from working with Riga hadn’t lasted a day.

“It’s just work, Mom.” Pen sidled past her and hurried up the stairs. “I’m seeing a movie with some friends,” she lied. “I’ve got to change.”

She took her time, careful to make her exit when her mother was busy in the kitchen with dinner. Pen didn’t want her to see the heavy makeup she’d applied.

It was twilight when she entered the Hanged Man and the bar was sunk in gloom. The dive was another world to Pen – an older world of red vinyl barstools, tarnished brash and cheap linoleum.

A long bar lined one wall. Booths squatted opposite. Three college-aged men had squeezed into one and they looked at Pen speculatively.

Like the three little pigs. There was nothing pig-like about them, really, Pen corrected herself. The men were tanned, hard and muscled.

She averted her gaze and studied the bar. An older, mixed-race couple sat further down, both overweight and jolly looking, though the hispanic man looked like he had muscle beneath. They leaned close together and laughed, as if they’d been together years.

The white haired bartender regarded Pen with suspicion from beneath a pair of eyebrows like hairy caterpillars. A tattoo of a hula girl danced on his ropy bicep.

“Diet coke,” she said, before he could ask for her I.D.

He gave her a hard stare then fetched a glass, poured, and placed it in front of her. He walked away without comment.

All her imagined wit evaporated. She had no idea what to ask, and could feel the stares from the three pigs – she couldn’t get the image out of her head now – burning the back of her neck.

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