“That’s a strong reaction,” Celia prompted.
“Fucker bulldozed his way up in here like he owned the whole place,” Etta sucked down another drag of the cigarette. She moved around the kitchen, mixing her margarita. “He fuckingbulldozedthe nice house beside me and built that fucking eyesore. With all thosecocks and ballsoutside. Then, he moved in with his trophy hussy. Goddamn disgrace to the neighborhood, I say.”
Celia bit back her laugh. “So, no love lost between you two.”
“Hell-fucking-no!” Etta roared. Killer growled and started barking. “Killer! Zip it!”
Etta turned on the blender for 20 seconds, then poured her heavy-on-the-tequila concoction into a glass with a straw. “That fucker made our lives a living hell! Whoever killed him did us a fucking favor.”
“Did you kill him?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Fuck no!” Etta sucked down her margarita. “I didn’t need to.”
“Why is that?” Celia asked.
“We were about to get rid of him, the legal way,” Etta drained her glass and turned back to the blender. “But then the fucker had to go get killed. Now, we may be stuck with that goddamn fucking trophy hussy for a hot minute.”
“What do you mean, legal way?” I questioned.
“Motherfucker hadn’t paid his neighborhood association dues for more than a fucking year,” Etta refilled her glass. “And that meant we could kick him out, whether he owned the fucking property or not.”
“Why wasn’t he paying his dues?” I pressed.
Etta shrugged, sucked on her cigarette, then sucked on her fresh margarita. “Fuck if I know. Goddamn idiot claims his money was ‘tied up’ in a patent or something.”
The blood drained from Celia’s face. “Did he mention when he was going to come into this ‘patent’ money?”
“Any day now, according to that goddamn motherfucker.”
Celia’s face went from white to fuming mad. I placed a hand on the small of her back. She calmed a little.
“Ms. Wilks, are you outside a lot with Killer?” I raised an eyebrow.
She nodded. “Yep. If I don’t take this little hellion outside on the regular, the little pissant will pee all over the house.”
“The day Mr. Cruz was murdered, did you see anything unusual?” Celia asked.
Etta took a drink of margarita, then a long drag of a cigarette. “Like I told the cops. A lot of fucking cocksuckers go in and out of that house all day long. Probably just the gardeners, but we’re too far apart to see who’s who. Fucking hussy could be running a goddamn whorehouse in there. Lord knows it looks like it on the inside, with all that red decorating and vagina pictures. Looks like a fucking abortion in there.”
A shocked laugh escaped Celia’s lips. I grinned. “I think that’s all for today, Ms. Wilks. I’m going to give you my card. If you think of anything else. Or, if you see anything out of the ordinary, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
I handed her one of my cards. Celia and I headed for the front door. Killer began barking his head off.
“Sure you don’t want a margarita for the road?” Etta smiled.
I froze.
Celia frowned at me, then turned back to Etta. “I think we’re fine, thank you.”
I couldn’t move until Celia elbowed me in the ribs to leave. I sucked in a breath. How long had I checked out?
It wasn’t until we were outside the neighborhood that Celia asked, “What was that back there?”
“What was what?”
“You froze when she asked if you wanted a road drink.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. This was something we hadn’t talked about. Ever. And if I had my way about it, we never would. “Just a little sensitive about people who casually suggest drinking and driving.”
Celia nodded once but didn’t turn back around in her seat for a good minute. When she faced the windshield again, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
