Read Online In the Teeth of the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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woman looks at your man the way that bitch did, you remember everything
about her."
Triplett's left brow quirked upward. "Your man?"
"Damn straight," Rhianna said as she reached for the phone. She was punching in the number for the
Witch's Brew. "I hadn't thought about her, but it's worth a shot."
"If anyone knows who that broad…" Corbettson stopped when Rhianna held up a hand.
"Yeah, is Myra there?" Rhianna asked into the phone. She listened, frowning. "You have any idea
when she'll be in?" After another long pause, she rolled her eyes. "You have an address on her?"
"I know where she lives," said Triplett.
"Never mind," Rhianna barked then hung up. She looked at Trip.
Triplett sighed. "Let's go."
"I've already questioned her," said Cortesio.
"I haven't," snapped Rhianna.
****
Myra spat vulgar epithets as she stumbled through her darkened living room. "All right, goddamn it!"
she shouted at the insistent knocking at her door. "_I'm coming!_"
Working until the pre-dawn hours did not make for a cheery personality when rudely awakened
before noon, Rhianna thought as she heard the security chain rattling on the door. As it opened a crack to
frame a red, bleary eye that grew instantly hostile, Marek thought sure the slut was going to slam the door
in her face.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I've got some questions I want answered," said Rhianna.
"Find yourself an encyclopedia, then."
"Either let me in or you'll spend the rest of the day downtown."
"Shit!" Myra flung the chain out of its slot. "This had better be damned good, Marek!"
Rhianna's nostrils were assailed with the overpowering stench of garlic as she came into the waitress'
house. The room was so dark, she was afraid to step much further, and wouldn't have had Myra not
turned on a small table lamp that cast a warm light into the room.
"I just got to bed," the woman grumbled, fishing a cigarette from a crumpled pack on the coffee table.
The flare of a match lit her haggard face before she fanned out the flame.
"It's past ten o'clock," said Rhianna.
"So? What's your point?"
Seating herself gingerly on a chair, Rhianna looked around. The room surprised her because it was so
neat and orderly, not what she would have expected from the woman. Although the coffee table held the
remains of a fast-food breakfast and an ashtray full of spent butts, every thing else was spotless.
"You know about Irish," Rhianna said.
"I heard," Myra said and Marek heard the tone of her voice change. "Is there any news?"
"Not yet."
"He'll turn up." Myra pulled the silk edges of her nightgown bodice closer over her breasts.
"You know most of the customers who come to the Brew," Rhianna said, watching the way Myra's
mouth tightened defensively.
"Yeah, so?"
"Do you know a woman named Felicity that comes there?"
Myra put her right thumbnail between her teeth. "I don't ask the women their names, honey. I don't do
women, you know?"
"This woman is about five foot six or seven; long blond hair; green eyes; good figure."
"That describes most of the German sluts who come in."
"This one was there the last night Irish was. She had on a white-sequined dress. She bumped into him
on his way out. Made a point of talking to him."
Myra leaned over and stubbed out her cigarette. "Unless you haven't noticed, Marek, half the women
who see Irish make it a point to talk to him."
"I need to find this woman, Myra."
"Why?" Myra pulled her feet up on the sofa. "Did he bang her, too?"
Rhianna knew there was a history between Conor and the waitress, and that was exactly what it was -
history. But if the signals Myra was giving off meant anything, Irish was one history lesson the woman
would love to re-take. "He means something to you, doesn't he?"
"Irish?" Myra said, trying for a flippant attitude. "He's okay."
"You slept with him."
"I sleep with a lot of men, honey," Myra said in a droll voice.
Rhianna let that remark pass. "Tell me about this woman. I know you know
about her."
Triplett's left brow quirked upward. "Your man?"
"Damn straight," Rhianna said as she reached for the phone. She was punching in the number for the
Witch's Brew. "I hadn't thought about her, but it's worth a shot."
"If anyone knows who that broad…" Corbettson stopped when Rhianna held up a hand.
"Yeah, is Myra there?" Rhianna asked into the phone. She listened, frowning. "You have any idea
when she'll be in?" After another long pause, she rolled her eyes. "You have an address on her?"
"I know where she lives," said Triplett.
"Never mind," Rhianna barked then hung up. She looked at Trip.
Triplett sighed. "Let's go."
"I've already questioned her," said Cortesio.
"I haven't," snapped Rhianna.
****
Myra spat vulgar epithets as she stumbled through her darkened living room. "All right, goddamn it!"
she shouted at the insistent knocking at her door. "_I'm coming!_"
Working until the pre-dawn hours did not make for a cheery personality when rudely awakened
before noon, Rhianna thought as she heard the security chain rattling on the door. As it opened a crack to
frame a red, bleary eye that grew instantly hostile, Marek thought sure the slut was going to slam the door
in her face.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I've got some questions I want answered," said Rhianna.
"Find yourself an encyclopedia, then."
"Either let me in or you'll spend the rest of the day downtown."
"Shit!" Myra flung the chain out of its slot. "This had better be damned good, Marek!"
Rhianna's nostrils were assailed with the overpowering stench of garlic as she came into the waitress'
house. The room was so dark, she was afraid to step much further, and wouldn't have had Myra not
turned on a small table lamp that cast a warm light into the room.
"I just got to bed," the woman grumbled, fishing a cigarette from a crumpled pack on the coffee table.
The flare of a match lit her haggard face before she fanned out the flame.
"It's past ten o'clock," said Rhianna.
"So? What's your point?"
Seating herself gingerly on a chair, Rhianna looked around. The room surprised her because it was so
neat and orderly, not what she would have expected from the woman. Although the coffee table held the
remains of a fast-food breakfast and an ashtray full of spent butts, every thing else was spotless.
"You know about Irish," Rhianna said.
"I heard," Myra said and Marek heard the tone of her voice change. "Is there any news?"
"Not yet."
"He'll turn up." Myra pulled the silk edges of her nightgown bodice closer over her breasts.
"You know most of the customers who come to the Brew," Rhianna said, watching the way Myra's
mouth tightened defensively.
"Yeah, so?"
"Do you know a woman named Felicity that comes there?"
Myra put her right thumbnail between her teeth. "I don't ask the women their names, honey. I don't do
women, you know?"
"This woman is about five foot six or seven; long blond hair; green eyes; good figure."
"That describes most of the German sluts who come in."
"This one was there the last night Irish was. She had on a white-sequined dress. She bumped into him
on his way out. Made a point of talking to him."
Myra leaned over and stubbed out her cigarette. "Unless you haven't noticed, Marek, half the women
who see Irish make it a point to talk to him."
"I need to find this woman, Myra."
"Why?" Myra pulled her feet up on the sofa. "Did he bang her, too?"
Rhianna knew there was a history between Conor and the waitress, and that was exactly what it was -
history. But if the signals Myra was giving off meant anything, Irish was one history lesson the woman
would love to re-take. "He means something to you, doesn't he?"
"Irish?" Myra said, trying for a flippant attitude. "He's okay."
"You slept with him."
"I sleep with a lot of men, honey," Myra said in a droll voice.
Rhianna let that remark pass. "Tell me about this woman. I know you know
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