Read Online Mesopotamia by Arthur Nersesian - Free Book Online Page A

evidence of a garbage-driven life.
    I clutched my throbbing head and staggered outside. As I opened the busted screen door to the trailer, I was treated to an Alvin and the Chipmunks rendition of “Don’t Be Cruel.” Some minor miscreant was screeching out his amends.
    “Who the heck are you?” asked some pint-sized terror blocking my path. It must’ve been the boy genius, Floyd Jr.
    “She’s here to help me find your daddy’s killers,” Mama yelled from the next room. Floyd Jr. grabbed one of the other kids and led him outside.
    Continuing on to the narrow living room, I found that Mama was dressed in a strange sequin dress with a silver tiara and star-tipped wand. She was supposed to be a fairy godmother. There was a plastic drop cloth on the ground and she was surrounded by a circle of four high chairs. Vinetta was playfully feeding the four youngest.
    “You’ve got an amazing level of concentration,” she said between spoonfuls.
    “Huh?”
    “I peaked down there this morning and saw you with your head in the pages so I didn’t disturb you.”
    I smiled politely.
    “If you have coffee anywhere …” I would’ve even chewed down some old grounds.
    “There’s still some on the stove.”
    I poured myself a cold, thick cup. She had no blue Equal packets but offered me a spoonful of molasses as sweetener.
    “You ain’t trying to take my mother for some ride, are you?” the eight-year-old asked, returning to the kitchen.
    “Huh?”
    “We got no money if that’s your game,” Floyd Jr. said as his sister went through the kitchen cabinets and shouted out items in stock. He was compiling a grocery list.
    “I’m not asking for anything,” I assured him.
    Mama entered still dressed in her outfit and led me into the living room. “They fear the fairy godmother,” she said, “makes them easier to handle.”
    “Can you talk a moment?”
    “I’m always starved for adult conversation,” she replied as she tried to spoon more food into their tiny mouths.
    “I remember reading on the Internet that Loyd died in some accident.”
    “Yeah, but it wasn’t an accident. They blew him up.”
    “Tell me about it?”
    “They wired the shed with explosives and when he went in to get a rake, kerblam !”
    “Why did the article say it was an accident?”
    “Probably cause Sheriff Nick works for Carpenter.”
    “Floyd was a private investigator?”
    “Yep.”
    “What exactly did he investigate?”
    “His bread-and-butter work was for divorce lawyers. Tracking down cheating husbands and such. He was good at it too. He got hired all over the western part of the state. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it paid steadily and there’s a lot of skunks out there.”
    “Maybe a divorced husband or wife who got a bad settlement killed him,” I suggested.
    “No, that wall chart says it all—Carpenter did it.”
    “You really should have gone through his papers before asking me or anyone else to do it.”
    “I would’ve, but frankly I was afraid to screw something up.”
    “That’s like screwing up an oil spill. Your husband seems to have saved every shred of paper he ever came across. Unfortunately, nothing really leads to anything.”
    “Nothing?” she asked, holding her serving spoon in midair for the first time. I let out a hopeless sigh.
    “If there’s a method to his madness, I don’t see it.”
    “But you’re a reporter, you’re not telling me you never did an investigative piece before.”
    “Good reporters know their turf, they slowly build up an investigation. You get to know your players, you have a thread of mystery that you work toward.”
    “I’m telling you, it’s this Carpenter guy! He’s your thread!”
    “Even if I had a better idea of what was going on, I just don’t have a lot of time and cash to pursue this.”
    “Look, I know the area and people. I can bring you up to speed, and you can stay here. I’ll feed you while you’re working on the case.” She accidentally