Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(43)
Lucy now placed his meal before him and without another word dragged a chair over to Otto’s table. She hurried away and came back a minute later with a soft drink for herself, dropping into the chair with a huff. “What a day. Hurry, hurry all morning long, then lunch slammed us.” Otto took a few big bites, hoping to ease his hunger before Lucy demanded conversation.
“You know we love you, Otto. But you police need to do a better job informing the citizens. We’re not New York City. We don’t have news conferences and briefings about big cases. Any progress on Christina’s murder? And what’s happened to Dillon? Any word from him? We heard it’s a kidnapping, but who knows what’s rumor and what isn’t?”
Otto placed his sandwich on his plate and wiped his mouth. As he laid his napkin back in his lap he noticed the place had grown quiet. He looked to the back of the diner and saw three customers and two waitresses staring at him, apparently waiting for a response. He sighed, glared at Lucy, who smiled in return, and rose from his chair to face the room.
“I apologize. I’m making a statement tonight to the paper and radio. I’ll tell you what I can, now.”
The two waitresses walked closer to hear him better.
“We believe Dillon Reese was kidnapped. Chief Gray received a ransom demand of nine million dollars. At this point, we’re assuming Christina’s death was linked to the kidnapping but that has not been confirmed. We’re working with the FBI and trying to establish the location of the kidnappers. At this point all we have is speculation.”
“Was it a cartel kidnapping?” Lucy asked.
Otto turned to face her. Lucy’s forehead was creased with worry lines and her hands were clasped in front of her on the table. He realized how incredibly on edge the community must have been. “I’m sorry, Lucy, we can’t confirm that yet.”
One of the waitresses took a step forward and then stopped. “Why Christina and Dillon? That’s what no one can figure out. Two of the nicest people you could ever meet. And it’s not like they were rich. Who could possibly want to hurt them?”
*
After lunch Otto paid his bill and walked down the street to the Curiosity Shop, an odds and ends store that sold flea-market finds from estate sales and cheap items imported from Mexico. A maze of bookshelves and tables, the store was packed from floor to ceiling, most items covered in a layer of dust.
“Enter at your own peril!”
Otto smiled at the voice, which, separated from him by a thousand knickknacks, sounded far away. Owner Simon George lived at the rear of the store. He had once invited Otto back there to see his pet ferret, curled up in the middle of his twin bed. That was several years ago. Now the ferret had free rein in the store and could often be seen curled up on a pillow in the front window, soaking up the afternoon sunshine.
Otto wound his way around two bookshelves and found Simon at the back, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he emerged from behind the curtain that separated his home from his business. The shopkeeper wore a flannel shirt and baggy blue jeans held aloft with suspenders. Bald on top with a fringe that had grown down to his shoulders, he looked like an old hippie farmer. He smiled and bowed.
“Come in, come in. Watch for Brownie. He’s underfoot. Just about gave a woman a heart attack yesterday. Some out-of-towner who’d never seen or heard of a ferret. Screamed like a banshee, stomped her feet. Tried to crush him like a spider! Brownie scampered up on top of the bookshelf, his nose pointed down at the old woman, hissing. She’s holding her head screaming about a rat in her hair.” Simon laughed. “Damndest thing you ever saw. Poor old Brownie’s still traumatized.”
Otto laughed and joined Simon around a table full of used paperback books for sale. “Never heard of a ferret, huh?”
Simon shook his head, still smiling.
Otto pulled a small clear plastic bag from his uniform shirt pocket. “I’d like you to take a look at something. And please don’t mention this to anyone. It’s evidence in the Christina Handley murder.”
“Not a word. What can I do for you?”
“I wonder what you know about this.”
Simon pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. He looked closely at the pendant in the bag, turning it over several times and murmuring to himself. “Santa Muerte. Saint of Death. She’s a miracle worker, some believe, who saves sinners. A narco saint.”
“Connected to the cartels?”
“She’s widespread now. There’s Santa Muerte followers in the U.S. too. Even here in Artemis. She can save you from death, or bring death to your enemies.” Simon raised a shoulder in consideration. “You think about it, she’s a pretty convenient saint.”
“This Santa Muerte, is it a separate religion from the Catholics?” Otto asked.
“No, her followers still consider themselves Catholics, but the Catholic Church doesn’t recognize the saint, and condemns the cult around it.” Simon stood and came back with a magnifying glass. He studied the pendant in his hand for a minute and then looked up at Otto. “You understand where they’re coming from. People believe praying to the saint will keep them safe. Protect them from the cartels, from the government, the police. Whatever violence they have to live with every day.”
“So, if she’s a saint like any other, why would the Catholic Church not recognize her?”