O Is for Outlaw

in business for less than two years and was offering a no-frills flight to Louisville out of LAX with only two connections, Santa Fe and Tulsa. There was no advance seat assignment, no movie, and no meal service. She assured me the company hadn't filed for bankruptcy (yet) and hadn't reported any major flaming crashes to date. The point was I could get there for $577.
    I had her book me on an early morning flight, leaving the return ticket open since I really had no idea how long my inquiry would take. Basically, I'd make it up as I went along. In addition to the plane fare, I reserved a rental car at the airport in Louisville. I'd find a motel when I got there, preferably something cheap. At the end of this, if nothing else, my debt of guilt with regard to Mickey would be paid in full. I went home, packed a duffel, and chatted briefly with Henry, letting him know I'd be gone for some indeterminate period. I also put a call through to Cordia Hatfield, telling her of my arrival later in the afternoon.
    I stopped by the travel agent's and picked up my ticket, then drove over to the office, where I spent the balance of the morning getting life in order in case I didn't make it back. The drive to Culver City was uneventful, and I parked in the alley behind Mickey's building at 4:55. I left the duffel in the car, not wanting to seem presumptuous about staying overnight. Cordia had extended an invitation, but she hadn't seemed that thrilled.
    I knocked on the Hatfields' door, wondering if they'd hear me over the blare of the TV set. I waited a moment and then knocked again. The sound was cut and Cordia opened the door.
    I'd last seen the two sisters on Thursday, only four days before, but something in her manner seemed different. She stepped back, allowing me to enter. The apartment, as before, was uncomfortably warm, the temperature close to 80, windows fogged over with condensation. Steam curled from a pot simmering on the stove. The bubbling liquid was cloudy, and a collar of scum had collected on the surface. The air smelled of singed pork and something else, unfamiliar but faintly dunglike. The TV had been muted, but the picture remained: the late afternoon news with its steady diet of calamities. Belmira seemed transfixed. She sat at the kitchen table, tarot deck in hand, while under her chair, Dorothy chewed on a bony bundle of something crunchy and dead.
    "Is this a bad time?" I asked.
    "As good as any," Cordia said.
    "Because I can come back later if it's more convenient. "
    "This is fine." She wore a long-sleeved cotton housedress in shades of mauve and gray with a smocklike apron over it, trailing almost to the floor. She turned to the stove, reaching for a slotted spoon that she used to adjust ingredients in the boiling water. Something floated to the surface: heart-shaped skull, short body, not a lot of meat on it. I could have sworn it was a squirrel.
    "How have you two been?" I said, hoping for an answer that would clue me in.
    "Good. We're fine. What can we do for you?"
    Abrupt, to the point, not entirely friendly, I thought. "I'm on my way out of town, and I need to check Mickey's for something someone left with him."
    Her tone was aggrieved. "Again? You were just up there last night. We saw lights on till close to midnight. "
    "At Mickey's? Not me. I was in Santa Teresa all weekend. I haven't been here since Thursday morning."
    She looked at me.
    "Cordia, I swear. If I'd wanted to get in, I'd have asked for the key. I wouldn't go in without permission."
    "You did the first time."
    "But that was before we met. You've been very helpful to me. I wouldn't do that behind your back."
    "Suit yourself. I won't argue. I can't prove it."
    "But why would I be here now if I'd already been in last night? That doesn't make sense."
    She reached into her pocket and took out the key. "Return it when you're done and let's hope this is the last of it."
    I took the key, aware that her manner was still stony and unyielding. I felt terrible.
    Belmira said, "Oh, my dear!" She'd turned over four cards. The first was the Page of Swords, which I knew now was me. The remaining three cards were the Devil, the Moon, and Death. Well, that was cheering. Belmm looked up at me, distressed.
    Cordia moved quickly to the table and snatched up the cards. She crossed to the sink, opened the cabinet under it, and tossed the deck in the trash. "I asked you to quit reading. She doesn't believe in tarot. She told you that last week."
    I said,