Read Online Red House Blues by sallie tierney - Free Book Online Page B

they were on Seattle’s first
real street (thus the name), that the street used to be called
Front Street. Seems Michelle was a wealth of information Suzan
didn’t feel she needed but it was nice to run into someone friendly
right off the bat. She let Michelle talk until a customer snapped
her back to her commercial duties.
    The Sea Turtle was a block west of the
bookshop on Alaskan Way, around the corner from the Bread Of Life
Mission. She imagined that “hostel” might be a euphemism for
homeless shelter. Claire had gotten the name off the internet. But
the place turned out to be clean enough and seemingly well run.
    To the left of the door was a whole rack of
tourist flyers and maps, plus the expected information on how to
find social services and public restrooms downtown. The guy at the
desk had the moth-eaten look of a down at-the-heels panhandler
coming off a weeklong drunk. But he was accommodating enough,
signing her in and handing her the key for room Two-B. Which, he
mentioned, she would be sharing with three German women traveling
down the coast from Vancouver. They were out sightseeing so Suzan
should have the room all to herself if she wanted to get settled.
He didn’t offer to carry her pack. Self-sufficiency was what
hostels were about.
    Two-B room was cell-like, the window wall
sandblasted red brick with a small sash window flanked by two
gunmetal gray bunk beds. She located her assigned bunk right away.
It was the one without underwear and hiking socks drying on the
rails. Home sweet home.
    There were four Army surplus-type metal
lockers on the wall opposite the window. Suzan found an empty one
and hung up her two shirts and spare pair of jeans, stacking her
underwear on the top shelf. It somehow brought to mind Sean’s jail
stay. Funny, how when Sean was in jail she had never spared a
thought to what it must have been like for him, the tiny cells and
regimented meals. At least he hadn’t had to walk down a long spooky
hall to the toilet.
    As uncomfortable as the
bunk appeared Suzan flopped onto its olive drab blanket, totally
exhausted in spite of the nap she had taken on the train. Or maybe
because of the nap. She hadn’t had time to think of that nasty
dream. It probably meant nothing beyond being a rehash of whatever
insecurities were fermenting in the back cupboards of her mind. But
the whole thing had left a bad taste. She could still see Sean’s
corpse floating toward her through a prism of green pond water.
What would Claire think of the dream? Probably that it’s a warning to get my fanny back to
Bellingham and stop chasing this particular ghost. Maybe she’s
right that I haven’t thought this thing through but I’m here
now.
    What to do first? Good question. How about
something to eat and a look around the neighborhood. Then first
thing in the morning march the grieving widow in to see the
police.
    Suzan followed Michelle’s advice and treated
herself to a mushroom burger at the J & M Cafe up the street.
It ran to more than she wanted to spend but Michelle the bookshop
guru assured her the cafe was one of the original businesses in
Seattle and a “must see”. She reminded herself she wasn’t here on
vacation. It would be so easy to get sidetracked into tourist mode,
to forget her purpose in coming to Seattle. If only she could
forget.
    The next morning she was disappointed to
learn that Paula and Keith, the two police officers that had
delivered the bad news in Bellingham were unavailable to meet with
her.
    “You should have called,” said the woman at
the desk, stating the obvious.
    “Is there anyone at all who might be free to
talk to me about the investigation into my husband’s murder? I
haven’t heard anything for months.” The oh-poor-me tactic seemed to
hit the right nerve with the woman.
    “I’ll call around and see what I can find
out,” she said, managing the hint of a sympathetic smile.
    She found an officer from homicide who was
reasonably willing to share some