By Ellis Peters
Whilst the tomb of Jan Treverra is opened to bare lately lifeless our bodies, neither of that is Treverra's, Detective Inspector George Felse, on vacation within reach, steps in to enquire the murders. Reprint.
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Additional resources for A Nice Derangement of Epitaphs (Felse, Book 4)
You should call first before you come,” Paloma said. They walked up the block to a restaurant popular with the locals. The place and the neighborhood were too far off the beaten track to draw tourists. The restaurant had no menus for the big meal. The inside was too crowded, but they found a place outside in the semi-shade, sharing a picnic table and benches with a quartet of men wearing street-construction vests and hard hats. They talked to each other in rapid Spanish. Kelly and Paloma used English.
He straightened up and ran some more, past the bus shelter and along an uneven sidewalk in the shade of apartment blocks just like Kelly’s. Again he had to stop, this time in the parking lot of a tiny convenience store beside a taquería. He coughed like he had before and spat up another gooey mouthful of something foul. The taste made him gag. Three more times he pushed himself to run until he felt his pulse beating in his gums and everything hurt too much to continue. He finally came to rest on a low bridge crossing a broad concrete flood ditch.
Kelly’s nose was gushing again. The Mexican kid was over him. Another punch slugged down from the heavens and blocked out the ring lights. Only then was the bell rung. The ref raised the Mexican kid’s hand and Kelly Courter disappeared for everyone in the room. TWO IF THE PLACE HAD DRESSING ROOMS, they weren’t for bolillos. They set Kelly and Vidal up at the back of the men’s room. While drunken viejos wandered in and out to use the piss trough, Vidal helped Kelly get the tape off his fists and get changed.