Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(59)

“Tell me you’re not here because of the boys? ’Cause I really can’t deal with it today,” she said.

Dave said over his shoulder, “The boys are at school. They’re just fine.”

A woman in her sixties was sitting at a large kitchen table in the middle of the brightly lit kitchen.

“Mom, this is Otto Podowski.”

She looked up from her magazine and wrapped her lips around the straw of a large soft-drink cup that said Monster Size It on the side. She sipped from the cup, staring at her guest. She was a hefty woman wearing a loose cotton shirt and shorts, her hair tied in a messy wad at the base of her neck.

“Otto, this is Bea Conroy.”

“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Conroy.”

She finally pushed the cup back, eyeing Otto suspiciously, but said nothing.

Dave then pointed to a gaunt man in his early thirties who sat at the same table playing solitaire on the vinyl tablecloth. “And this is my brother, Tim.”

Tim looked up momentarily and gave Otto a wide-eyed, vacant look. “How’s it going?” he said flatly.

He wore a white undershirt and flannel shorts that looked like boxers. Otto could see the resemblance with Dave, the same full mouth and deep-set eyes. It was the level of engagement that Dave had with others that his family did not share.

An old man shuffled into the kitchen tethered to an oxygen tank on wheels. He didn’t acknowledge anyone in the room as he pulled a chair out and sat down at the table. The oxygen tank clicked with each breath as he leaned across the table to point at a red jack and then at an open black queen.

Tim looked up at the man and made an angry growling sound. “I know. I see it. Will you quit telling me already?”

The old man just grinned.

Dave pulled a chair out from the table for Otto. “Dad, this is Otto Podowski.”

The old man looked up and stared at the badge on Otto’s uniform. He nodded once and then looked back at the solitaire game.

“Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Conroy.”

From the back of the house two small kids screamed “Daddy” at the same time.

The younger man slapped his hand on the table. “Damn it.” He pointed a finger at his father as he got up from the table. “Don’t let Mom take off with my cigarettes. I just bought them this morning.”

Bea turned in her chair and swatted him on the butt with her magazine as he walked by.

“Otto has some questions for you, Mom. He was asking me about Santa Muerte. I told him you’re a believer, and you’d talk to him about who she is.”

The death glare that Bea Conroy then gave Dave was something only a mother could give a son.

“You know who she is. You didn’t need to drag him all the way out here to ask that question.”

“Otto’s investigating the murder of that young woman in town, and the man who was kidnapped. I told Otto, once you found out this was to help find that girl’s murderer, that you’d be happy to help.”

Dave had said no such thing, but Otto noticed a change in the woman’s expression. He hoped she was warming up to him.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“How is worshiping Santa Muerte different than worshiping like a traditional Catholic?” Otto could tell instantly that he’d gotten off to a bad start. When Otto asked his question her face pinched with anger, and she sat up straight in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest like an angry child.

Dave intervened quickly. “This is why I brought Otto here. So you could explain to him. So he doesn’t have bad information.”

“I’m a God-fearing Catholic just like anybody else. Santa Muerte is a saint, just like any other saint. If you know anything about Catholics, you know our saints do jobs for us. Santa Muerte’s job is to keep you safe. You say prayers for safety.” She jerked her head in the direction of the back of the house where her son was now yelling at the toddlers. “Timmy prays to her to keep him from getting sick like his old man. Santa Muerte keeps the kids safe when they go off to school. All kinds of bad things happen in life. You need some extra help in life to make it through to another day.”

The oxygen tank clicked and hissed and Otto noticed the man staring intently at his wife as she talked.

“Is she a saint that you could learn about here in Artemis, at St. Anne’s?”

She made a face and swatted at a fly buzzing slowly around the table. “Bunch of snobs. If you don’t pack the coffers each Sunday, they don’t want nothing to do with you.”

“Is there a church where you can go and worship Santa Muerte?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “She ain’t a religion. She’s a saint. Just like any other saint.”

Except the Catholic Church refuses to recognize her, he thought.

“Do you know of any other followers in Artemis?”

She puffed air from her lips, obviously irritated by the questions, and her eyes wandered over to the solitaire game her son had been playing.

To keep her attention, Otto pulled the baggie out of his shirt pocket and held it up to Bea.

“What’s that?”

“An artist named CC makes these necklaces. Do you recognize this one?”

“Do I look like the kind to buy jewelry?” she said.

“Any chance you or your family know someone who might wear this kind of necklace?”