The Devil Went Down to Austin by Rick Riordan Page B

lobby, tried not to look too stunned when Maia appeared in black—a colour she never wore, and one that looked damn good on her.
    Jimmy Doebler's memorial service was on Airport Boulevard at a small Unitarian church—a prefab BoxoGod wedged between a Taco Bell and a WhileUWait key shop.
    I looked for the drivethru window on the church, didn't find one, and decided we'd have to park.
    Inside, pews made a C around the altar. About forty people sat listening to the organist play her prelude—a mournful, highly spiritual rendition of "Cheeseburger in Paradise."
    The crowd looked like what you'd expect at a funeral for a Parrot Head, as Buffett fans called themselves. There were scruffy men in jeans and Hawaiian shirts, ladies in tube tops and Indian print skirts—people who knew their way around a margarita machine.
    One notable exception in the front row was W.B. Doebler—a blue pinstriped island in a sea of tropical prints. At the opposite end of the pew sat Ruby McBride in black pants and Vneck blouse, white linen jacket, pearl necklace.
    Behind her sat her biker bodyguard, Clyde Simms. Clyde had forgotten his Bizon2
    this evening, but his fashion statement still
    qualified as lethal force—a scarlet silk suit, black dress shirt, silver bola. His blond hair fanned out around his shoulders. The World Wrestling Federation goes to a wake.
    Garrett sat beside a pew in the back, where his wheelchair wouldn't get in the way. He was holding note cards for his eulogy. I tried to remember the last time I'd seen him in a coat and tie.
    Next to him, at the end of the pew, sat Detective Victor Lopez. Something told me that Garrett had not been the one to pick this seating arrangement.
    Maia made a short hissing sound when she spotted Lopez.
    "Detective," she said. "Would you mind moving—perhaps to a different sanctuary?"
    Lopez grinned, scooted over. "That's okay, counsellor. Plenty of room."
    We slipped into the pew—Maia next to Lopez, me next to Garrett. Four friendly mourners.
    The lines in Garrett's face were deep, his eyes watery.
    "You okay?" I asked.
    He looked at me, bent his index cards. "Not the first adjective I'd pick. No."
    Lopez reached across Maia's lap and tapped my knee. "Say hey, Mr. Navarre. We need to talk."
    He wore jeans and a dress shirt and a beige summerweight jacket. His eyes were bloodshot, his chin shadowed in stubble. Either he hadn't been to sleep last night or he was trying to blend in with the Jimmy Doebler crowd. "You got somebody to call the medical examiner's office for you," he said. "That's a big naughty."
    An older, welldressed woman in the pew in front of us glanced back, frowning.
    Maia said, "You did what, Tres?"
    I whispered to Lopez, "Did it work?"

    Lopez sighed. What's a cop to do? "I don't know how many other friends you've got who can pull favours for you in Austin, Mr. Navarre—"
    "Tres," I insisted. "You're going to chew me out, call me Tres."
    "—but this is not your home turf. You try your normal crap here—I shouldn't even bother warning you. You want something, you ask me."
    "Ha," said Maia.
    "Shah," said the woman in front of us.
    Lopez handed across a manila folder, which Maia intercepted. She pulled out the papers, stared at Lopez. I could see the letterhead— Travis County Medical Examiner.
    Jimmy Doebler's autopsy report.
    "You're letting us read this?" Maia asked.
    "Counsellor, you hurt me. You underestimate how much I would do to allay your suspicions. The things you and your friends could accomplish if you only asked."
    We both stared at him.
    He cracked a grin.
    Maia shook her head in disgust, began to read.
    The minister began his introductory spiel. He directed most of his comforting comments to Ruby, the grieving exwidow. At the other end of the pew, W.B. Doebler shifted uncomfortably, checking his fat gold watch.
    Maia finished reading the autopsy report, slipped it to me.
    "Lethal levels of amitriptyline?" she asked Lopez.
    "It's Elavil," Lopez said. "An