The Nutting Girl by Fred DeVecca

Author:Fred DeVecca [DeVecca, Fred]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / FIC022000 - General
ISBN: 9781603815765
Publisher: Coffeetown Press
Published: 2017-05-31T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ashes to Ashes

Mooney had already had a few. More than a few.

The house was furnished in a “staged” manner, the way realtors do to make a place look homey and almost lived-in but not quite. But this place looked really “lived in.” There were empty pizza boxes everywhere and other takeout wrappers. Lots of empty bottles. A few were still filled.

It had been about a month since Julie floated down the river. I would be surprised to learn that Mooney had shaved, slept, or bathed since that day. By the looks of him, I would add “eaten” to that list too, except for the evidence of the empty food packages.

He had been drinking, though. That much was clear.

We were into June now, and the weather was getting warmer, but no windows were open. It was stuffy, sweaty, and smelled like a locker room.

And Scotch. It smelled like Scotch too.

Mooney staggered to the sofa and sat down with a groan, motioning for me to sit in the overstuffed chair next to him, which I did.

He poured three fingers of Scotch into a water glass and held it out to me.

“No thanks,” I said.

“Okay, it’s mine, I guess,” he said, and started sipping from it.

“You’ve already got one,” I pointed out, noting the similarly filled glass on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, hell. Can’t have too much now, can you?” He laughed.

I laughed too.

The Muppet Movie was playing silently on the TV in front of Mooney.

He finished the drink in his hand and reached down for the one on the floor.

“This film is genius, by the way. Someday I’ll make something this good. So, what brings you into these parts?”

“I live here. This is my ’hood.”

“So do I. This is my ’hood too. I bought this place. We’re neighbors.”

“The ‘For Sale’ sign is still out there.”

“Yeah. They left it there. They also left me this furniture. Nice, huh? I’ll take it down tomorrow … the sign, I mean. Have a drink.”

“No thanks.”

He was watching Kermit play his banjo on the TV and singing “The Rainbow Connection.”

“You know what, Raven? There really aren’t that many songs about rainbows. There’s only forty-two of them. I sat down and counted them yesterday. That’s all I could come up with—forty-two. And I used Google too.”

“That’s not an insignificant number,” I said.

“You know why there are songs about rainbows at all? Because everybody is looking for something on the other side. Just like Kermit says.”

“The other side of the rainbow, as in pot of gold, or the ‘other side,’ like life after death?”

He cocked his head, took another sip. “I never thought of it that way. I guess it’s ambiguous. I was thinking ‘pot of gold’ all the way. Everybody’s looking for that damn pot of gold. And you know what, Raven? It’s not there. There is no fucking pot of gold.”

“Yes there is.”

“No there’s not.”

“I gotta believe there is. There is something at the end. If, in fact, there is an end. I’m not even sure about that.

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