The Sirena Quest Read Online Free PDF Page B

flanked by four topless handmaidens, all wearing King Tut masks and treading water while the announcer offered a solemn tribute to “the glory that was Egypt.”
    The lights had come back on as the last stanzas of M.C. Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” faded.
    Ray Gorman had looked over at Lou and shook his head. “That’s the kind of crap that gives kitsch a bad name.”
    But Lou came to appreciate Brandi, and mostly for reasons that weren’t on display in that tank of water. She had a feisty, no-nonsense personality and a generous, sympathetic heart. Moreover, despite her cynical airs and Ray’s gruff demeanor, they were clearly crazy about each another.
    Brandi downed the rest of her drink and stood up. “Come on, guys, I’m starving. Let’s get some chow.”
    â€œWhere to?” Ray asked Lou.
    Lou thought a moment. “Broadway Oyster Bar. Good food, good beer, good blues.”
    â€œSounds like heaven,” Brandi said.
    As they walked south on Broadway past Busch Stadium, Brandi hooked an arm through each of their arms.
    â€œIt’s awesome having you guys together again,” she said. “You make a great pair.”
    Lou smiled. Once upon a time they’d been a great pair—in the dorm, in those freshman intro classes, at parties. Even at work in the dining hall, where the two of them—both on financial aid—had been assigned campus jobs as bussers. Wearing their white cotton jackets, they’d work the evening meal as a two-man team, pushing that cart up and down the dining hall, clearing the tables one by one—scraping and stacking the plates and trays, emptying and racking the glasses, sorting and standing the silverware in the baskets.
    A long time ago.

Chapter Six
    They were at a table in the outdoor courtyard listening to the Soulard Blues Band, which had just finished a rousing rendition of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy.” The waitress cleared away their dinner plates. As she was setting down another round of beers, the band’s drummer announced they were taking a fifteen-minute break.
    â€œOkay, Ray.” Lou set his beer mug down. “Tell me about this lead.”
    â€œMore a hunch than a lead.” Ray took another pull on his longneck Bud and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “About a year ago, I was in the library in Orange County. I’d been looking at some commercial properties in Newport Beach—trying to get a handle on the real estate values. So I spent an afternoon going through real estate listings. I began with current values and then started going back five, six, seven years, trying to find some patterns in the area. Well, in a lot of the issues, the real estate listings were back near the obituaries. Guess whose obituary was in one of those issues? Henry Washburn’s.”
    Lou turned to Brandi. “Washburn used to be the president of Barrett College.”
    â€œWell, duh.” She laughed. “Trust me, Louis, living with this guy means learning all about Henry Washburn.”
    Ray pulled out his wallet and removed a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Lou. “Check it out.”
    Lou unfolded the paper. It was a photocopy of Henry Washburn’s obituary. He read it. Then he read it again, slower this time.
    He looked up at Ray and frowned. “There’s a clue in there?”
    â€œMore like a wild-ass hunch.” Ray took another sip of beer. “I checked out Washburn. Dude never married. No wife, no kids. No gay lover, as far as anyone can tell.”
    Lou scanned the obituary again.
    â€œâ€˜Survived by his sister Abigail,’” he read aloud.
    â€œExactly,” Ray said.
    Lou frowned. “Go on.”
    â€œHere’s how I see it.” Ray leaned forward again. “Guy spent more than half a century at Barrett College. First as a student, then as a geology professor, and finally as president. We’re talking Mr.