Read A Forest of Corpses for Free Online

went off behind his eyes. His mouth wrinkled up in distaste.
    "Who is she, sir?"
    "Ayuh, that one. Crazy woman. She'd come in here to get their hootch."
    "Their? Whose hootch? Simpson's? She bought alcohol for both of them?" Was that why she knew him? "Or were there others, too?"
    "Nayuh, just her and that man." He made a face and shook his head.
    "Who is she, Mr. Hardy?"
    "Momo."
    "That's her name?"
    43

    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    "Don't know her name. That's all anyone calls her."
    "Momo?" Miguel and I traded glances. For the first time there was no hostility in his eyes. "How often does she come around?"
    "Who knows with that one. Spends all day talkin' to herself and that dog."
    "Why do you let her in here then, sir?" Miguel asked softly.
    "Her cash as good as anyone's," Hardy said, with New England pragmatism.
    "Was she black too, Mr. Hardy?" I asked.
    "Ayuh. Big and black indeed. Midnight black."
    So her color didn't make her unwelcome. I guess pragmatism overcomes bigotry.
    "Do you know where we can find her?" Miguel asked.
    He waved out beyond the doors of his market. "She's out there most days. Hard to miss, her and that dog. Tried to bring it in here, once. I straightened her up on that, pretty quick."
    We thanked the man and stepped outside. Moving from the cool of the icy air-conditioned market to the midday heat of the beach was a hot slap in my face. A cloudless sky overhead beat down on our bare heads as we crossed the nearly empty parking lot toward the restroom where Simpson had been found by Rebecca Long and maybe, just maybe, this Momo had seen something.
    The crime scene tape was long gone. I crossed the threshold into the rank coolness of the cinder block structure that stank of urine and brine. A trio of ragged, overdressed men looked up, startled at our entrance. Before either of us 44

    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    could ask what they were doing there, they fled, leaving a reek of booze, human stink and a pile of dirty blankets in their wake. I debated pursuing them, but decided to let them go for the time being. We could round them up later if we needed to ask questions. They weren't going very far; they'd left their property behind.
    Skirting the blankets, we moved through the rest of the washroom, peering into toilet stalls. I had studied the crime scene photos before we'd come out here to refresh my memory. I stood over one urinal looking down at the stained and cracked cement floor. No way to tell if one of those stains was Simpson's life blood, or just the dirt of ages.
    Miguel saw me looking. Shook his head. "Evil men."
    "Yes." What else could I say? I pointed at the pockmarked wall. "A .25. Small thing to do so much damage."
    We left the washroom. Back out in the sun I slipped on a pair of shades and scanned the stretch of boardwalk that ran east and west along the beach. In the parking lot, gathered around a blinged out Escalade, a half dozen Latino men were trying to look tough.
    A flock of pelicans flew overhead, their shadows chasing each other across the sand. A trio of Latino women herded a group of squealing kids toward a playground of slides and swings.
    I glanced over at Miguel and found him smiling as he watched the children. Something else we'd never share.
    During my brief, disastrous marriage there had been no kids.
    Sometimes you get lucky. The world could do without a Spider rugrat. Jason was all the kid I wanted. Though God 45

    A Forest of Corpses
    by P. A. Brown
    knows there was nothing paternal about the way I felt about him.
    An old woman pushing a shopping cart, full of battered shoe boxes and clothes Goodwill would have burned, rolled past us. She wore a heavy winter coat over a sweater that looked two sizes too big, and fingerless gloves. No dog, and she was white under layers of accumulated dirt.
    The wheels on the cart wobbled, dragging through a drift of sand, nearly falling off the boardwalk and dumping its contents on the beach. I reached it first