Signs of Pain

Praise for SIGNS OF PAIN “Signs of Pain twists and turns in unique and highly satisfying ways—equally unusual and gripping all at once. It’s dark, no doubt, but also bristles with surprising humor.” —Tod Goldberg, author Gangsterland “Signs of Pain not only shines a light on a real-world darkness, but blunts it over the head with a bomb named Cherry. Fun was indeed had. Welch is one to watch.” —Beau Johnson, author of Brand New Dark “When former veterinary assistant Cherry Orozco stumbles upon Paula, a pregnant woman with Down Syndrome, at a church bingo event, she has no idea the can of worms she’s opened, or the lengths she will go to to solve the mystery her prodding reveals. The busy-body, amateur sleuth enlists the help of a whole cast of colorful characters, and their zany hijinks balance the dark secrets and devastating discoveries. Welch’s prose is clever, and full of empathy and humor. Signs of Pain has the heart of a cozy mystery, but the soul of the darkest thriller.” —Meagan Lucas, author of Songbirds and Stray Dogs “Ilyn Welch’s Signs of Pain cuts its readers off at the knees and makes them hurt along with its characters. An unflinching examination of unrighteousness and cruelty. This book will send you in search of compassion and mercy. A stark novella that should be read.” —Mark Westmoreland, author of A Violent Gospel SIGNS OF PAINText copyright © 2023 ILYN WELCH All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Shotgun Honey215 Loma RoadCharleston, WV 25314 www.ShotgunHoney.com Cover Design by Bad Fido. First Printing 2023. ISBN-10: 1-956957-26-XISBN-13: 978-1-956957-26-6 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 23 22 21 20 19 18 For Christine C, a tough cookie. SIGNS OF PAIN 1 CHERRY OROZCO GAZED at the tabloid newsstand alongside the checkout line. Jennifer Lopez caught her eye. Posed in a slinky one-piece bathing suit, the movie icon stared back seductively from the cover of a beauty magazine. She’s still dreamy, Cherry thought, her thumb and forefinger pinching the publication’s spine. A cover line next to a bare thigh read 12 KINKY QUICKIES: GRAB HIM AND GET IT ON! Face muscles dropping flat with instant boredom, Cherry released the magazine back into the rack. The conveyor belt moved. Seltzer water and Depends lurched closer to the scanner. The cashier tossed the diaper bundle around like a beach ball, searching for the sku numbers, eventually swiping the barcode. The clerk’s eyes darted a few times between the bulky incontinence product and Cherry. The seltzer zipped by. Cherry handed over two twenties and methodically put the change in her Care Bears wallet. Big-boned, bronze-skinned Cherry strode to the exit, unconsciously intimidating two shoppers to veer out of her way lest they get knocked onto their asses. Though fair of face, Cherry was fit, muscular, dark hair buzzed short away from her square jawline and cheek angles. Cherry deftly placed the items into the rear of her gold Honda Civic hatchback, firmly shut it, seconds later climbing in. Upon ignition, the cab filled with the strains of Mexican diva Paquita la del Barrio, belting out “Ratas De Dos Patas”— “Two Legged-Rat.” Within minutes, she arrived at her tidy house, 5 Meadowlark Lane in the enclave of Raptor Flats, east of the Los Angeles River, north of the phalanx of freeways, a high concentration of old drainage ditches crisscrossing throughout. Centuries of the region’s oral history recount once-plentiful hawks, falcons, eagles, vultures and more birds gliding over the water-adjacent level land. Now Raptor Flats was Los Angeles, quaint and ignored, a zone mix of residences, shops, businesses, and a funky industrial section. Cherry’s property, inherited by her mildly incontinent mother, Ida Orozco, was a nicely kept stucco classic, high ceilings and moldings throughout. A passing realtor would have been temporarily charmed by a meandering walkway among otherworldly hollyhocks, splashes of pink and orange bougainvillea veiling a storybook entrance. The house value was held low by the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Yesenia Cantu, whose front lawn was completely obscured by signs espousing Biblical verses and warnings. On one occasion a billboard appeared, hanging two feet into the Orozco airspace. After Cherry politely dealt with the intrusion, the Jesus-obsessed widow shrieked some aspersions. “You throw away God’s gift!” She pointed at Cherry’s torso. “Jesús, María, José! You’re supposed to get married, have babies.” Mrs. Cantu’s babies, now grown and moved out, kept a wide chasm between their lives and their mother, leaving her a little too alone, unmanaged, and unhinged. Despite this nuisance, the neighbors remained on pleasant terms, the Orozcos staying patient with Mrs. Cantu’s unique state of anxiety. Plus she adored Ida’s small mutts Yarn and Ball. “She’s always kind to animals,” stated Mrs. Orozco, whom Cherry addressed as Ida. “That tells me Yesenia’s very decent, even though she’s a kook.” Cherry put the diapers into her mother’s restroom. There pale yellow hues and white daisies were accented by Snow White-themed bath accessories. The ceramic tissue dispenser featured the Seven Dwarfs, and the princess’s figure helped pump soap. The wicked Queen’s image graced the trashcan, at that moment ready to be emptied of a couple soiled diapers, while a symbolic “magic mirror” hung on the wall opposite the practical but reflective medicine cabinet. She spruced up the bathroom a bit, took quick stock of toiletry supplies before emptying the Evil Queen can in the outside garbage bins. Back inside, Cherry detoured into her bedroom, a groovy mélange of earthy greens. She tossed her keys and wallet onto the pine-tree-patterned comforter covering her full-size bed. “Pearl,” Cherry said, greeting a