Morgue Mama by C.R. Corwin Page A

finished, then checked himself in the mirror. He smiled with satisfaction. I watched his eyes shift in the mirror, to the knees peeking from the hem of Aubrey’s churchy dress. “Wasn’t I open and honest with you, Miss McGinty? Wasn’t I respectful and friendly?” He checked his watch and clicked on a small speaker box on the make-up table. The choir was already singing. “Time to go,” he said. He stood and pulled a plastic bottle of mineral water from the side pocket of his suit coat. He unscrewed the cap and took a small, quick sip. Then he smiled at us, calmly, neck veins back in place, and said, “You’re welcome to stay for the service, if you think it might do you some good. But you are not welcome to come back. Or call me. Or talk to any member of this congregation.” He gave us a quick “God be with you” and left. The security guard pointed to the door with his chin. As we left, I poked Aubrey in the arm and pointed back into the room. The eyebrow woman was sitting in the chair, nervously lighting a cigarette.
    The security guard followed us to our car. Aubrey and I hardly said a word to each other until we reached Swann’s, Hannawa’s legendary drive-in restaurant where all the car hops are muscular college boys. The minute you pull into a slot and click your headlights they run to your car—not walk, but run like they were on a football field—and take your order. We both ordered double-cheeseburgers and fries. They have forty-seven different flavors of milkshakes. Aubrey got a large butterscotch-banana. I got a small strawberry.
    I watched Aubrey watch the carhop trot inside with our orders. “So,” I asked her, “what did we learn today?”
    “Well,” she said, “we learned that sad-sack security guard isn’t the rube we thought. He recognized us when we pulled in and followed us. What we don’t know is whether it was on his own initiative or whether he was under orders from Guthrie Gates.”
    “What difference does that make?” I asked.
    “Remember what he said, Maddy: ‘I thought it might be the two of you.’ He didn’t follow us because we were strangers trying to sneak in and poison somebody. He followed us because it was us.”
    “That doesn’t mean Gates has something to hide,” I said. “There are lots of innocent people who hate the press.”
    Aubrey liked that. She laughed. “The first time we went to the church, Gates was as nice as pie. This time he couldn’t control himself. He was really p-o’d. And what was that U.S. and Red China stuff?”
    “It’s no secret those two churches don’t like each other,” I said.
    “Aren’t you being a wee bit charitable? They’re at war. They
spy
on each other. Gates knew about the doughnuts.”
    “Yes he did,” I said. “It gave me the willies when he said that.”
    “He wants us to be afraid. He wants us to believe that both churches are full of crazies. He’s warning us to back off. What’s done is done. Let Buddy Wing rest in peace.”
    The carhop was running toward us with our food. I rolled down my window for the tray. “And let the real killer rest in peace?”
    Aubrey impatiently reached across me for her bag of fries. “But we’re not going to let the real killer rest in peace. At least I’m not.”
    I handed her a cheeseburger. I had the willies again. She was telling me things were going to get dangerous. I could stop tagging along if I wanted.
    Aubrey peeled back the bun and delicately removed the onions. She looked for a place to put them. “Did you notice he was carrying his own bottle of water? I don’t think he’s merely being trendy, Maddy.”
    I let her put the onions in my hand and then dumped them on the window tray. “You think he’s afraid somebody will poison him next?”
    Aubrey nodded while she took a bite. “Or maybe he just wants people to think he’s afraid somebody will poison him next.”
    “So Guthrie Gates is still a suspect?”
    “Everybody is still a