Read Just Deserts (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 4) for Free Online Page B

she got this dreamy look, “they have a mall.”
    Ah, the ever-popular shopping mall. The way she said it, she could have been talking about Disneyland. I’d ask someone else about the blimp later. I motioned her outside, walked to the side of the building and pointed south, toward another valley.
    “And that?”
    “The valley of the Rio Sonora.”
    “A big river?”
    “Oh, yes. It is in a beautiful valley, with much vegetables. I am from the village of Arizpe, near the river.”
    “Maybe I’ll drive down that way one of these days, check it out.”
    Her face clouded. I’ve learned that Mexicans, who can be almost childlike in their honesty, do not like to give out bad news, or contradict you, so I asked, “Is that a problem?”
    “No, but you should not go alone. It is a very…solitary road.”
    “But you go home to visit, right?”
    “Yes, but I take the bus. It is safer.”
    The phone rang and I didn’t get to ask, “Safer than what?”
    What I should have asked was, “Safer from what?”

Chapter 6
     
    Hotel Afrodita had the appearance of a drive-thru fast food joint, but at the frosted window, instead of taking my order, they handed me a drawing with my room and parking place Xed in. My parking space turned out to be a garage, and as soon as I eased the car inside, the door slid down. A dim light marked an unlocked door into a room decorated in early ugly.
    It was a fairly large room, as motels go, and ornamented entirely in whorehouse red. Even the ceiling was red, except for the portion covered by a huge round mirror. Dusty velvets covered the bed and windows. Sliding open what I thought was a closet door, I found a whirlpool tub. The decorator had evidently tired of vermilion, for the heart-shaped tub was bright fuchsia.
    Hearing a knock, I opened the door to the garage, found no one there, then followed the rapping sound to a wooden slide-up window where, once opened, only the chest of a man was visible. A hand appeared with an invoice, and what looked like a menu. I took the menu, set it aside for later, handed over a five-hundred peso note, got two hundred back, and the window slid shut.
    I put a six-pack of Tecate I’d purchased, along with some ham and cheese, into the mini-fridge, then dug out a pair of disposable rubber gloves, and the bug and disinfectant sprays I never travel without. I stripped off the ratty bedspread and a suspicious looking blanket to find clean sheets, which I covered with my own linens and the blanket I also travel with. I’m no Howard Hughes, but when I can, I take my own stuff.
    Chores done, I sat on the bed, flipped on the TV, and grabbed the menu. Maybe I wouldn’t have to settle for a cold sandwich, after all.
    The first page indeed offered food and booze available for delivery through that sliding window, after placing an order on the—what else?—red phone. I was trying to decide between cheese enchiladas and carne asada when a moan caught my attention.
    On the fuzzy television screen, two hairy beings, genus and sex indecipherable, groaned and panted while performing indeterminable things on one another. Then the camera panned out and my mouth fell open. Diving for the remote, I quickly surfed through at least eight more porn channels before finding the nightly news from Mexico City. The commentator, a buxom blonde in a low cut sweater, spoke slowly enough so I caught important details. A commercial boomed on after yet another curvy gal gave the weather, so I turned the menu’s page, and lost all interest in world events.
    At first I was confused by what I saw, but then I’m sure my eyes bugged when it became apparent what I was looking at. Photos of sex enhancement devices, along with instructions for their use, were available from room service, through that same sliding window. I’d heard many a dildo joke, but never actually seen one, and certainly not a dozen configurations. Who knew they came in colors? This called for a beer and some serious