Page 65 of The Happy Month
“According to Jo, Rocky has a pretty good idea who killed her.”
“Putting two and two together… Someone’s husband?”
“Jo couldn’t remember. But probably.”
“Well, that’s exciting. Don’t you think?”
The waitress brought our meals and then swung around to refill our coffees. When she left, I asked, “You mentioned a murder in the late sixties. Do you remember much about that?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I do remember the sex I had in the sixties. My God! It was so amazing. There was something about it being illegal and forbidden that just made it so much better.”
“I bet you could recapture that feeling if you moved to Texas.”
He looked aghast for a moment, then said, “On the other hand, maybe the excitement came from the fact that I was in my twenties.”
“The murder?” I prompted.
He’d taken a bite of his omelet, so he chewed for a few moments. “Let’s see. She was in her early twenties; her body was dumped near a golf course in South Pasadena. I’m pretty sure she’d been beaten and raped.”
“Can you narrow down the date?”
“Oh my, I’m not even sure…”
“Where would you have heard about it?”
“Well, it was years before fag rags were freely available… I suppose it must have been inThe L.A. Times.”
“And they said the woman was a lesbian?”
“They probably wouldn’t have, no. But The Sisters of Artemis staged a candlelight vigil in West Hollywood. I’m pretty sure I went—though after the eighties I do tend to get my candlelight vigils confused.”
“They claimed her as a lesbian?”
“She went to the meetings.”
What I was looking for was something I could use to search a newspaper. A key word that might lead me to an article with the woman’s name. He wasn’t giving me much to go on. Then:
“Oh, wait. I think it was 1968. I remember going to something up in West Hollywood. A vigil. I was driving a two-year-old Dodge Charger I’d gotten a deal on. What a car. A fastback that was open all the way to the back bumper. The backseats folded down and there was all this space. The things I did back there. Or rather, the men I did back there.”
1968. That helped. That and South Pasadena might get me somewhere.
I began eating my burger in earnest. It was pretty good, as burgers go. Hardly the pinnacle of fine dining, but tasty.
“Have you talked to Ronnie about my getting your room when you move?”
“I’ve been a little busy. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“No offense, but I think he’ll raise my rent.”
“I’m sure he’ll raise your rent.”
And he wanted me to go to bat for him. I didn’t see any reason to do that. On the other hand, there was no reason not to give Junior some good advice.
“When you moved in, you said you had a section eight voucher. If you do all the work, Ronnie will probably accept that. You might be able to work it so we get more money, you pay less, and you get the room you want.”
He thought about it for a moment, then said, “You might be a genius.”
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” I said, facetiously.
