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“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Are you kidding me, lady? If you didn’t notice, he’s down the hall with one girl bouncing up and down on his balls and another on his face. Where the hell do I fit into that equation?”
“Maybe if he knew how you felt about him, only you would be in that bed with him. But if you don’t tell him, you won’t know.”
Dolly appears around the corner looking like a million bucks. Ares says no one really knows how old she is, that she’s somewhere in her sixties, but she looks two decades younger.
“Good morning, ladies,” she says with an effervescent smile, the rhinestones on her denim jacket winking under the hallway light. When she sees Roxy’s tear-stained face, she frowns. “Baby girl, what’s going on?”
Roxy holds up the pregnancy test and does her best to fight off another wave of tears.
Dolly crouches down. “Does Ghoul know?”
“He’s a bit busy right now.”
Roxy gives into her tears, and Dolly puts her arms around her shoulders and gives her a warm motherly hug which only makes Roxy cry more.
“I love him so much, Dolly. What am I going to do?”
“Well, first of all, you’re going to pull yourself together, wash your face, and then you and I are going to figure out what comes next over some coffee.” Dolly helps Roxy to her feet. “Come on, I just put a fresh pot of coffee on and some pastries in the oven.”
Because Dolly’s got this, I decide to leave them to it. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“You don’t want a cup of coffee?” Dolly asks.
Every cell in my body screams for one. But these two need to talk and going by Roxy’s distrust toward me, it’ll be better if I’m not there. Coffee will have to wait.
Besides, I have a sudden urge to slide my arms around Ares and hold him close.
“I should see where Ares is,” I say.
As they begin to walk away, Roxy gives me a small, unsure smile. “Thanks.”
Dolly looks over her shoulder and gives me a wink. “I think you’re going to fit in well around here.”
ARES
Forensic floodlights illuminate the body. Half-submerged in water, it has been lying in situ for days. Animal and insect activity have had their way, and it isn’t a pretty sight.
“The medical examiner is putting death at five days ago,” Pinkwater tells us.
Twilight has settled over the river, and the crickets and frogs sing into the dying light. The foul odor of decomposition hangs heavily in the air.
“Do you have an ID?” Jack asks.
“We found his wallet in his back pocket. His license identifies him as Walter Hamilton of Redwood Town. His wife reported him missing two days ago.”
Despite the loss of skin on the victim’s face, I can make out the word WRATH carved into his forehead.
“He’s been dead five days, but she only reported him missing two days ago?” I ask.
“Apparently, Walter doesn’t mind a drink, and when he goes for one, it’s not unusual for him to be gone a few days.” He grimaces, the smell getting to him. “Apparently, Walter doesn’t mind laying into his wife, either. He’s got an ugly temper and a string of domestic assault charges.”
“That explains the use of wrath,” Jack says.
Mud sucks at our boots as we walk along the riverbank back to the parking lot.
“What is the organized crime connection?” I ask.
