Page 23 of The Happy Month

While I had those thoughts, Junior had forged on. “—of course, you are keeping the house on 2nd Street, aren’t you?”

Oh, he was talking about the co-op and the future. “Yes, of course, one of Ronnie’s absolutes is that once you own a piece of property you never ever sell it.”

“I imagine you’ll be renting out your bedroom?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I hope you’ll be a bit more selective than you were with me. I mean, everything worked out, but you didn’t know that when you let me into your home.”

“I think Ronnie’s going to look for a flight attendant.” Though as I said that I wondered if it was still true. He’d wanted flight attendants when we lived there because they weren’t around a lot. If we’re not living there, I suppose it didn’t matter. We could rent to anyone.

“I wonder, would it be possible formeto rent your bedroom? You could rent out the one I’m in now.”

Our bedroom had its own tiny bathroom. Ronnie was going to want extra for that, and Junior was already paying less than he wanted. The difference would be hundreds a month. I was not making that decision on my own.

“You’ll need to ask Ronnie.”

“Of course,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Well, I’m off to give ‘the tour.’ See you at home.”

I went back and reread the part about her friends. Rocky. Duh. That was definitely the kind ofname a lesbian in the forties might choose. Betty said Vera dreamed of making the world a better place… for lesbians? Manny Marker said Vera was a bad influence. Well, now I knew what kind of bad influence.

I’d slipped my cellular phone into my shirt pocket rather than leave it in the Jeep. I took it out and dialed the number Karen had given me. The phone number had a 619 area code. That was most of the southern part of the state from San Diego to Nevada. Philburn’s street address was in Palm Springs. I’d been trying to wait until it was time for nighttime minutes but honestly, I wasn’t sure when they started. I’d have to get the bill from Ronnie so I could charge this call back to the Karpinskis.

A man picked up.

“Yes, I’m trying to reach Wallace Philburn.”

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“I’m readingCanyon Girlright now and I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?”

“So, you’re a reader?” he asked, a tiny bit of excitement in his voice. “Are you enjoying the book?”

“It’s fascinating.”

“Well, thank you. It’s always a delight to hear from a fan. I didn’t know people were still buying the book. I haven’t seen it in a bookstore in forever.”

“I got it from the library.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose… Have you heard of this Interweb site called Amazon? Don’t get the book there. They’re going to destroy bookstores, which means destroying books.”

“When you wrote the book, did you know the Sisters of Artemis was a lesbian organization?”

“Who are you? You didn’t introduce yourself.”

“Dominick Reilly.”

“Let me guess, you’re investigating Vera Korenko’s murder?”

“I am.”

“For?”

“The family of Patrick Gill.”

And then he hung up on me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

July 25, 1996

Thursday morning