PURCHASE HOLY DEATH
Alabaster Books
E-book formats

CHAPTER ONE

You’re the P.I.?”  She made the question sound like an accusation.  “P.I. Berger?”
    The door to my office framed a silhouette Bunny would kill for.  I looked her over.  Long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders like cheese sauce on a baked potato.  My stomach grumbled as she entered the room, her red knit dress locking in curves better than a Ferrari at the Grand Prix.  I had her number already.
    “That’s me, how can I help you?” I said.
    “You got credentials?”
    I pointed to the certificates hanging on the wall beside my desk.  She sauntered over for a look, all hips and plenty of cheek.
    “How come you got two first names?”
    “How come the moon’s blue?” I said.
    “It ain’t,” came the reply straight out of east L.A.
    I pointed to the chair opposite my desk.  My prospective client took the hint and slid her red knit figure in, wriggling her backend to fit.  I caught a glimpse of my secretary checking her out.
    “What can I help you with?” I said.
    “...It’s uh...it’s about Santa,’ she hesitated, and I interrupted.
    “You’re here about Santa Claus?”  I checked the red dress for fur and jingle bells.
    “No.  Santa Muerte.”  She rolled her eyes.
    I knew about the cult, a Mexican spin-off of Catholicism. “Holy Death,” I said, wanting to make sure we were on the same page.
    “You don’ t need to cuss,” she huffed, the back of her hand hugging her left hipbone.  The rock on her finger dug into the soft flesh of her waist like it was testing dough for the Pillsbury Bake- off.  Made me notice her waistline, which was half the size of mine.
    “If I was cussing,” I told her, “your ears would be on fire right now.  Holy Death is the translation of Santa Muerte.”
      “I thought Santa meant Saint.  Saint Death.  She’s a skeleton.”
    “You want to tell me your problem?”  I tried to maneuver her back on course but I already knew she’d be a hard one to steer.
    “Yeah,” she said, crossing her legs so I could admire her red suede platform sandals.  Steve Maddens if I ever saw them, right down to the leopard skin heel.  I was looking for a pair myself a few weeks ago but they were all sold out.  My opinion of her just bumped up a notch.
    “What’s your name, anyway?”  I had to ask because my devoted secretary failed to enlighten me.  Why can’t I find a secretary who does more than wave clients through my open door?  I guess I could start closing my door but I like the view.
    “Cinda Mae Bradbury.” She flung out the name like I should bend down and pick it up except I wasn’t in a bending mood.
    “You from the south?” Her drawl was thicker than molasses on cornbread.  I couldn’t tell if she was serious or putting me on.
    “Sho ‘nuff.’  Cinda Mae batted her eyelids like they were caught in a cross breeze.  I guessed South Illinois.
    “Exactly why are you here?” I asked.
    “I moved here to get me in the movies.”  She made it sound like a done deal.
    “I mean, why are you here to see me?”
    “I, uh, I hear you’re the best...”  Her twang dwindled as she struggled to impress me.
    “You got that part right,” I said.  If she needed reassurance she came to the right person. “So what’s your problem?”
    “It’s my boyfriend.”
    “He’s involved in the cult?”
    “Yeah,” she shifted in the chair re-crossing her legs so they faced my secretary.  Down boy, I thought, watching his mouth gape open.  If it weren’t for his cute butt and karate skills, I’d have fired him years ago.
    “I got a question,” she drawled, glancing up at the credentials on my office wall, “are you a real P.I. or are those just your initials?
    “Both,” I said.
    “Did you make up that name ‘cause you’re a detective or did you decide to be a detective ‘cause that’s your name?  I mean Pauline Isabel Berger ain’t your normal everyday detective name.”
    “I agree, it ain..., er, isn’t.  Can we get to the point here?”  She wasted more time than a coon dog chasing its tail in a windstorm.
     “Sure.  What do I call you, Paul or Pauline?”
    “I go by Polly.”
    She giggled.  “You wanna cracker?”  Her lack of wit dimmed her good looks.
    “You wannna know how many times I’ve heard that crack?”
    “Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t resist.  Wasn’t that the name of an old timey movie star?  Polly Berger?”
    “Bergen.” I said.  “With an ‘n’ at the end.”
    “Well, nobody’s ever gonna mix you up with no movie star, that’s for darn sure.”  She giggled again.
    I wasn’t good at laughing when I was the butt of the joke.
    “I didn’t mean that in a negative way,” she added, possibly by way of apology.
    I wasn’t certain I wanted this woman for a client, but these days I couldn’t afford to be fussy.  I needed to remember Bunny’s dictum, “lose your patience, lose your patients.”  He thought that was funny.  I thought it was dumb but I had to admit it helped me hold my temper.
    Bernardo Contreras, affectionately known to the world as Bunny, has been my less than diligent secretary for the past two years, ever since I set up shop in Hollywood.  He works as a stand-up comic on weekends, which means I can’t rely on him exactly those times of the week I need him most.  His stage name is Bunny Slippers, which tells you something about his sense of humor.
    To help pay the bills Bunny teaches karate on Tuesday and Thursday nights, which is how I met him.  I still take karate lessons from him one night a week, which tells you something about me.  Bunny is buff.  On top of that, he’s handsome in a peculiar sort of way.  His face is long and narrow and his mouth is too wide, but when he smiles you can’t help but smile with him in the same way as that comedian with the English teacher sister who used to correct his letters and whose name I can’t think of right now.  I think he went to Las Vegas and disappeared.  At least I haven’t seen him on TV since.
    Anyway, we have a peculiar relationship Bunny and me. He’s in his late twenties, I’m pushing forty from the wrong end, but we get along.  Kind of a mother-son relationship in some ways.  Not so much in other ways, but I don’t want to go there right now.

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