“Not exactly. It wasn’t her baby they found, and we’re not sure what happened.”
“Don’t this just beat the band? You listen to people pour their hearts out, think you know them and then wham! A slip of a woman comes around ten years later and whomps you upside the head with a whole new reality. Yeah, that’s what Larry would call this. A whole new reality.”
“A reality check,” I said, smiling to myself. “What else can you tell me about Christine? Did she have many friends?”
“She hung out with a guy named Jerry Joe Billings. Serious drinker, that one. I swear, there were times he left the icehouse and had to hold on to the grass to lean against the ground.”
“I met him. He doesn’t drink anymore,” I said.
“He’s a solid citizen now?” She laughed derisively. “Never knew why Christy stuck with him. Mean SOB. Maybe she liked him ’cause he laughed at her jokes and their mutual friend was Jack Daniel’s. Christy really made people laugh once she had a few whiskeys in her.”
“Who else did she hang around with?” I asked.
Rhoda swirled her drink and stared at the amber liquid. “Well, there was Bob-but I heard he died last year. She mostly sat with Jerry Joe and Loretta-when Loretta wasn’t working.”
“Loretta have a last name?”
“She was just Loretta-and I never let her do business in my place. Tried to tell her more than once I’d help her get rid of that asshole who pimped her. I can be a pretty convincing woman, and pimps are all cowards anyway.”
“Loretta was a prostitute?” I said.
“She hated what she was doing-or at least, that’s what she said. The drinks numbed her, and I didn’t feel all that guilty providing the anesthesia, even if I knew her ID was fake and she was under twenty-one.”
“I’d like to find Loretta. Christine may have fed you lies about the baby she was carrying, but I’m hoping she told someone the truth.”
But Rhoda was distracted. She lifted the sleeve of her Harley T-shirt and patted one of several nicotine patches she was wearing. “These are crap.” Then she shouted, “Larry, you owe me a million dollars.”
Larry stuck his head in the door. “Yesterday it was a Ducati 749.”
The couple smiled at each other and he left.
She pulled her sleeve back down. “I’m always wishing someone would bring a Ducati in here for repair and then not pay the bill so we can keep it.”
But I was wondering about her nicotine intake. Wasn’t one patch supposed to be enough?
“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” Rhoda said, “but I figured I needed one patch for every pack a day I used to smoke. I only quit day before yesterday, so the days are tough.”
“Loretta?” I hoped to get her back on track.
“Loretta. Right. Young, gorgeous, blond hair-the opposite of mine.” She picked up a hank of her dried-out, bleached-out hair. “Is peroxide addictive?”
I smiled. Tough interview. The lady was distracted, probably because she was coming off a more serious addiction than peroxide. Her foot was bobbing, her finger was tapping the glass of bourbon she still held and her eyes were darting everywhere.
“Sorry. You didn’t come here about me,” Rhoda said. “Let’s see. Loretta and Christy were pretty tight. Christy mighta told her something about this whole baby thing. You know, her lying about the kid really pisses me off.”
“Maybe she’d apologize if she were alive,” I said.
“Christ, she’d dead and I’m bad-mouthing her. That’s pretty wrong. Sorry. Go on with your questions.”
There I went again, nearly alienating a person who could help me. Jeez, when would I learn? “Did Loretta pick up johns near your bar?”
“Tell you the truth, the less I knew about that subject, the better I felt. Larry finally helped me understand that owning a place like the icehouse wasn’t good for me spiritually or emotionally-and Loretta was one of the reasons. She was just a kid, for Christ’s sake.”
Spiritually or emotionally? Obviously Larry’s words. “Larry sure looks out for you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s the best.”
“Back to Loretta. Is there anything you can remember that might provide me with the information I need to solve this murder?”
“Okay. I’m thinking hard here.” Rhoda squeezed her eyes closed. “I remember that pimp came and dragged her out of the icehouse one afternoon.” She looked at me. “Actually she and Christy were sitting outside-we usually kept the garage door up and folks would sit a long time, especially the regulars. Anyway, he was all sweet-talking Loretta at first and he called her by a different name… what the hell was it?”
“Maybe there was something special about that day? Something that might jog your memory?”
“Nah, I… Wait.” Rhoda thumped her head with the heel of her hand. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
“You remember something?”
“Loretta had a diamond ring tattoo on her finger-you know, on the left hand. That’s what he called her. Diamond. Shit, I was doing so much weed back then it’s a wonder I could put on my panties with the label in the back.”
“Maybe that was her street name,” I said, half to myself.
“Yeah. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
We talked for several more minutes, but Rhoda couldn’t pull anything else from her memory. Finally I rose and said, “You and Larry have been wonderful.” I gave her a card. “If you think of anything else, call me anytime.”
She stood. “This place, doing the motorcycle thing? We love it. It’s totally selfish. The icehouse wasn’t. I felt like I helped people by letting them talk, by being there all the time, standing behind that bar. I kinda miss that. Will you let me know if I helped Christy one last time, whether she deserved it or not?”
“Sure. If anyone else besides the police comes around asking questions about Christine O’Meara, do me a favor and don’t tell them anything.”
“Deal,” Rhoda said with a smile.
I drove home, watching for the white Focus Larry had mentioned. I saw a few-they’re probably the most rented car in the country-but none of them followed me.
As I turned the corner onto my street, I noticed an unfamiliar Honda parked at the curb in front of my house. I pulled into my driveway, and got out, heading for the back door. The woman who’d been waiting in the car immediately came after me.
“Are you Abby Rose of Yellow Rose Investigations?” she called.
New client or the press? The press, I decided. She confirmed this by saying, “Mary Parsons, investigative reporter for K-”
“Sorry,” I said, stopping to face her near my back gate. “I can’t help you.”
I didn’t expect this to deter her, and it didn’t. “Is it true Emma Lopez has hired you to learn the truth about the infant found under her demolished house?”
“I said I can’t help you.”
“But she is your client?” Parsons said.
“I suggest you leave, because I have police friends who-”
I was interrupted by Kate’s 4Runner pulling in behind my car.
“Hey, Abby,” Kate called as she got out.
Before I could warn Kate, she walked right up to the reporter and held out her hand. “Kate Rose. You new in the neighborhood?”
“She’s a reporter. I’ve politely asked her to leave. A few more minutes and polite is off my radar.”
“I only have a few questions, Ms. Rose,” Parsons persisted. “Just a minute of your time. Please?”
She was resorting to please? Must be new on the job. “Kate, let’s go inside.” I opened the gate and walked through, Kate on my heels.
“I’ll be around,” Parsons called before we were inside the house.
I wondered then if Larry Murray had mistaken a white Focus for a pale gold Honda earlier today. But I doubted he’d make an error like that.
While Kate fed Webster, I took a Dr Pepper from the fridge and popped the top. The sugar and caffeine hit me almost immediately, and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. “Want to do Chinese?” I asked Kate when she came back into the kitchen from the utility room.