Out of the Blues Read Online Free PDF

depicted a bare-chested man with flowing blond hair clutching a buxom brunette.
    Salt pointed to the book. “Good read?”
    Rosie swept her hair to one side of her heavily made-up face—pancake foundation, blue eye shadow, red, glossy lipstick. “I’m a romantic. What can I say?” Rosie, legally Roger Polk, had claimed her new name and transgender status two years previously, and was in the process—counseling, hormones—of completing the transition.
    â€œI think I’m going to need some help,” Salt told her. “My computer isn’t hooked up. I don’t know where the supplies and forms are kept. Apparently Sarge wants me to learn the ropes on my own.”
    Rosie leaned back in the chair, eyes resting on the book, sighed,then waved an imaginary wand. “Actually, feng shui is my specialty. Just leave it to me. Did they give you Rita’s desk? I thought so. By tomorrow it will be like a fairy godfather-soon-to-be-mother has come to your rescue. Oh, and don’t mind Sarge; by the way, don’t call him Sarge. He’s just a sweetie. I have such a crush on him. Well, that’s another story. You just go do your girl detective thing. And I’m sure you get this all the time, but you have the most unusual blue eyes. I love what you’re doing with your hair.”
    Salt made a note to herself to cut some of the flowers that grew close to the sheep paddock. She was almost certain Rosie would love the big pink camellias.
    â€”
    H ANDCUFFED and ankle-shackled, Stone shuffled into view on the other side of the heavy clear-plastic partition. The red jumpsuit, the prison uniform that signifies the wearer is mentally ill, hung loosely on his frame. His hair, intricately done in cornrows, formed a galaxy pattern. He sat down and propped his manacled arms on the steel counter. In the center of the partition was a five-by-five-inch square stippled with nail-sized holes. The air smelled of iron, of flesh-piercing slivers, of tears in the universe.
    Stone kept his head turned to the graffiti scratched into the paint on the side wall of their divided booth.
    â€œI’ve read the statement you gave to the FBI agent.”
    Stone continued his perusal of the scratchings.
    â€œIf I can find somebody else who knows that John meant to kill the bluesman, and if your information leads me to an arrest, you’re eligible to get your time cut.”
    â€œAin’t no ‘eligible’ about it,” he replied. His voice sounded strangled. “So what you got to do with what I’m telling the FBI guy?” Before she could answer, he turned and faced her. She’d thought itwas because of the barrier that separated them that his voice sounded different, but it wasn’t the Plexiglas or the holes. His mouth had a caved-in look and was ringed with teeth-sized scars. His lips folded inward until he opened his mouth as wide as seemed possible, showing off his teeth, all of which were gone or broken off. He turned his loose lips up in a horrible grin, then flapped them together, making a wet, smacking sound. The shouts of men accompanied by the sounds of metal striking metal came from the hallway behind Stone.
    â€œI’ve been assigned to investigate the death of Mike Anderson, the bluesman.”
    Stone went back to examining the wall hieroglyphics. He brought up his shackled hands to touch a finger to a piece of a word. His eyes slid to her in a sideways stare. “That’s funny. You end up workin’ to get me free.”
    â€œYou are the second person to see humor in this,” Salt told him, “but the first wasn’t me.”
    There was a sudden moldy refrigerant odor, and the close air turned quickly cold.
    â€œSo the white bitch cop put me in here now gonna help get me out.” He made a click with his cheek.
    â€œIt’s been given to me. It’s my job.” Her hand rested on the shield at her waist.
    â€œOh, and I