The Kingfisher Murder: A completely gripping crime mystery by Erica Wright

Author:Erica Wright [Wright, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thrillers & mysteries
Published: 2024-08-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

If we had dinner, I didn’t remember it. There may have been some leftover baklava lying around. And the potato chip crumbs on my fingers meant that someone had gone out for snacks. Had I stumbled down Brighton Beach Avenue or had Dolly? My head had swollen to the size of a basketball, I was almost certain, and when I touched my forehead, I winced. The throbbing wanted to eject my eyeballs, and I squeezed them shut, believing that another half hour on the couch would save me. The sound of aspirin being shaken tempted me, but I resisted for as long as possible.

“It’s eight thirty, kitten,” said Dolly in his softest voice. It still sounded as if he were using a megaphone, and I groaned. “Your shift starts soon.”

I sat up gingerly, taking the aspirin and water glass held out to me, too sick even to be irritated that Dolly looked ready for a photo shoot. His winter skin was paler than usually, but there was still a glow underneath, a side effect of being Dominican or Floridian, I wasn’t sure. The burn scar on his temple was partly hidden by the clever haircut he’d designed and popularized himself, a sort of drooping faux hawk that managed to look more fox than rooster. I knew several of his co-stars had request the same look. Dolly didn’t seem to mind the copycats. He was generous that way, and I tried to remember that I liked him even though I’d rather he left me to die that particular morning.

I drank the water, smelling alcohol on my own breath and trying not to gag. If I missed work at The Blue Lagoon, I would be replaced without a second thought. In fact, Hank and Captain Barrera were probably wondering why I hadn’t quit already. But I still hadn’t talked to anyone who might have been helped by Tabor except perhaps John No Last Name, and he hadn’t been exactly forthcoming. A large part of me didn’t care and only wanted to go back to sleep, but the nagging, truth-seeking part wouldn’t let me lay back down. I’d slept in my clothes, and the sequins had smashed into my skin, leaving scales in their wake. Even so, the skirt would have to suffice. It was a long train ride back to my apartment, and there was some reason I didn’t want to go there anyway. My mind worked slowly to remember. Oh yeah. Death threats. “Time’s up. —S.”

Not quite, I said to myself, praying that was true. A few days more, and that idea turning in the cloudiest part of my brain might make itself known. Vondya hurried into the room, grumbling at the sight of me, but holding out a lunch bag all the same. I hugged her spontaneously, regretting the sudden movement when a sharp pain zigzagged down my forehead. My reward was a small pat from my wigmaker who recommended the red pageboy she’d made for me.

“To distract from the rest,” she said, shooing me out the door.

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