Sisters of the Road Read Online Free Page A

Devlin had had an interesting life of travel and adventure; unfortunately she was definitely into recounting it at length. After episode four (Nepal, the summer of ‘74), I’d had enough.
    “I don’t think so, Devlin.” I wasn’t unsympathetic to people nursing hopeless crushes; my own undying feelings for Hadley fell into pretty much the same category, but at least I had the dignity to shut up about it. “I’m fairly busy today…I…I have to wash my car.”
    There was a silence as frosty as the air outside. “Well, I must say you’ve chosen an excellent day for it,” she snarled and hung up.
    “You’re so popular, Pam,” June said.
    “Yeah, now I have four new enemies that I didn’t have before.”
    “Well, everybody has to sow their wild oats sometime.”
    “I feel a little old for this though.”
    “It’s only because you came out so late,” she said wisely, as if she were my ancient dyke great-aunt and not a practicing heterosexual five years younger. “You have to make up for lost time. You’ll settle down some day.”
    The phone rang again and this time it was her cousin Joyce. She knew everyone in the world, but she didn’t think she knew a Rosalie. She’d tell the parents of the missing girls, though—maybe Rosalie was a fake name. Because Darla’s Beverly was gone and so was Cheryl Brown, you know, that cute girl who used to sing so good in choir. She kind of hoped it wasn’t her, hoped it was nobody they knew….
    June got worked up again and said that the so-called Green River Task Force was probably getting paid by the killer to set the girls up. Probably the killer was even on the fucking task force! Somebody’s idea of cleaning up the streets!
    I looked out the frosted window again and saw another figure picking its way through the snow. It too wore a beige coat, but this one was fashionable and swung open, unbuttoned, and I had seen that hat before. The figure was also carrying something very familiar. It stopped and looked at the building numbers, and by the time it reached our shop I had the door open. I was surprised at how relieved I was to see her. “Come in, come in,” I said. “June, this is Trish.”

5
    T HE YOUNG WOMAN WHO came through the door looked far different than she had last night in my car. That small, pathetic girl with the pale, terrified face under the black hat was actually taller than me, and the stiletto heels of her short soft leather boots made her even taller. Under her fake fur-lined coat she was wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt with a dash of black calligraphy across the front. Her figure was good, in a kind of unnatural Barbie Doll way: broad shoulders, spindly arms, large breasts, narrow hips and legs with almost no thigh. Today she was wearing no jewelry other than a silver heart on a chain around her neck, and very little makeup. Under her hat her small features were sharp and pointed; only the widely spaced eyes were outlined; the tiny rosebud mouth was pale and chapped. Strands of frosted ash-blond hair curled over her shoulders. June and I were in overalls and hiking boots, and I still wore my tattered blue scarf around my neck.
    “Have a seat,” I said, and gestured to the couch. June said good-bye to her cousin, pulled up a chair and straddled it. I perched on the couch’s armrest.
    “I didn’t take any checks or money or anything,” Trish began, holding out my bag. Her voice was high and a little nasal; she consciously lowered it and started again. “I just wanted your address.”
    June looked severely at me and then at the bag, a dirty white canvas pouch with a leather strap. “Was the deposit in there? Give me that.”
    While I might have felt constrained from counting the money, June certainly didn’t. She plunged her hand in and took out the deposit envelope, then tossed the bag over to me.
    I said, “You know that Rosalie is….”
    “I know. I called the hospital.”
    “Was Rosalie her real name?” asked June. “What