Read Monkey Wrench for Free Online Page B

burnt glue.
    “Okay, Pearl, you’re done for today.”
    She looked at me blankly, all the early animation gone from her expression. Did she comprehend what had happened?
    The soleplate of my hundred-dollar iron was ruined, covered in burnt fusible web. I wasn’t sure there was enough elbow grease in the world that would get it looking like new again. Worse yet, there would be no way to salvage the top of her quilt. I couldn’t send it home with her.
    “Arrgh,” Pearl said. She had picked up a needle in one hand and was poking the thread in the direction of the hole without success.
    Ursula appeared in the doorway. She had her sweater on, her purse in hand. She was carrying her VTA pass, ready for the trip home.
    “Okay, Pearl, shop’s closed,” I used my chirpiest voice. I held the quilt behind my back, hoping out of sight meant out of mind. I tucked it onto one of the high shelves and put the iron on a lower one. “I’ve got to meet Buster. Want me to drop you off at home?”
    I gathered up her beads and needles.
    Pearl said. “I have my car.”
    I wasn’t sure she was okay to drive. I looked over to Ursula for her opinion.
    Ursula caught on quickly. “How about you give me a lift as far as your place, Pearl? I’ll catch the bus on Fourth Street.”
    “Sure, whatever,” Pearl said.
    I caught Ursula’s eye and smiled. Going to Pearl’s neighborhood first would be taking her in the opposite direction of her apartment in South San Jose, but that would ensure Pearl got home safe. That was a weight off me. I grabbed Ursula’s upper arm and mouthed “thank you.”
    Pearl and Ursula went out the back. I heard Pearl’s black and white Mini start up and saw it go past the window.
    _____
    I felt the emptiness the minute I unlocked my back door. No gurgling from the shower, no gentle snoring coming from the bedroom, no cup of tea poured for me. No Buster.
    The note was on the kitchen table. “Sorry, duty calls.”
    No details. I crumpled up the paper and tossed it toward the trash. I hated this job as much as Buster did. While a homicide meant late nights and intense days of non-stop investigations, they didn’t happen that often. Drugs were another story.
    The Task Force Buster was on was a joint federal and state and local force coming together to crack down on prescription drugs getting into downtown San Jose. Students at the college were selling their medications. Some got the pills legally from their doctors and sold them for a huge markup. Others visited pill mills—pain clinics—where unscrupulous doctors would give painkillers and stimulants to healthy kids.
    I checked my phone for messages. Nothing more from Buster, but Sonya Salazar, Barb V’s contact at State had called. Her message said she had more Quilters Crawl maps in her office at San Jose State and that she would be in before her evening class started at six.
    Vangie had sent a text saying she was in the library, studying.
    I saw a tweet from a Vietnamese food truck that I followed. The truck had no permanent home. Each week, they sent out tweets giving out their not-so-secret location for that night. According to this, PhoHo would be in front of the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles tonight at six.
    I glanced at the date. Today was the first Friday in October. Perfect. First Fridays were a big deal at the museum and all around the arty SoFA district with exhibits in odd venues. The vibe was hip, and I’d find plenty to do.
    My spirits lifted. I could go downtown and be around people. I didn’t have to remain here in my empty house, wishing Buster was home.
    I started to ping Freddy to ask him to join me. I closed the screen before I entered his entire number. No point in feeding Buster’s ridiculous jealousy.
    Of course, it would serve him right … I quashed that thought.
    I changed quickly into my skinny jeans and a screen-printed tee. The night was warm enough that I wouldn’t need to carry a jacket. I stuffed some money and my