We each were alone with our thoughts; thinking about the skeleton with the bullet hole in his forehead. Who he was? What was he doing in the speakeasy? Was he the last man standing when prohibition ended at the Primrose Hotel speakeasy? How did he get dead? Questions, questions, questions. And not a single answer insight.
“Why don’t you call Marilyn and see if we can get together with her and Lyons for dinner later tonight at Timothy’s?” I said to Vanessa as we drove out of Mossville and headed home. Timothy’s is in reality Timothy’s Pub, a local bar, burger and steak joint a short walk from our apartment. It was the place where Vanessa and I met and we dine there two or three times a week. The food is cheap and good. Besides, neither of us wants to go to the trouble of cooking when we get home from work. Vanessa made the call and after a few words nodded to me letting me know that Marilyn and Lyons would meet us tonight. Vanessa and Marilyn then talked for twenty minutes preventing me from listening to the book on CD we’d been listening to on the trip because Vanessa has a hard time hearing the phone when a CD played in the Jeep.
Death in the Primrose Hotel – Chapter 3a cont’d
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