my ex-husband had been a graduate student in the English department at Cal, but I didn’t. “When, exactly, was this seminar?”
“Six years ago.”
“Who was in it?”
“Mitchell, Laura, Ashoka Prem, Marilyn Winters, Dana Arndt, Don Ellis, Jivan Mehra, a young man from Bombay, and Noriko Yamamoto from Kobe.”
“Isn’t that a rather small number for a seminar?”
“It was the second semester.”
“How does the seminar connect with your finding them the house for Paradise?”
She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she was going to say they asked her to keep an eye out. Shifting in her chair, she said, “The seminar met here. Mitch and Laura told me they were looking for a place to live and work. They didn’t mention a restaurant or I would never have dreamed of putting them next to me. I have my work to consider. I need uninterrupted quiet. But Mitch and Laura should have been perfect neighbors. Mitch was a full-time student. Laura was taking two classes to finish up. She had taken a job handling customer complaints at the water company until Mitch found work.”
“Then what were their plans?”
Rue sighed deeply, the sigh of one who has considered a situation too many times and been stymied every one of them. But the effect of that sigh was more mental than physical. Her back remained erect, her shoulders didn’t slump any more than they already had (which was considerable); only her face seemed to slacken, and that in dismay rather than relaxation. “When Mitch got his degree it was to be Laura’s turn. She would go to chiropractic school. That was years ago, you understand, before every corner in town boasted two chiropractors. I have friends with back problems—not serious like mine, of course—who have never paid to see a chiropractor. They just check the ads and go for the free visit the new ones offer. They’ve done it for years.”
“So Laura Biekma planned to become a chiropractor,” I said, herding her back to the topic. “And that affected your finding them the house.”
“They wanted a place where they could live upstairs and use the ground floor for her office. It needed to be on a main street, in a good neighborhood, and not be too expensive. At the time, the house fitted all three criteria.”
“Did they spot it on their way to your class?”
“Yes. And they knew right away it was what they wanted.”
I nodded, silently noting that Rue Driscoll had taken great credit for this boon of circumstance.
As if reading my mind, she raised a forefinger. “They wouldn’t have gotten it without me. The old man who was selling it had lived there twenty-three years. We were good friends. He had other offers, but I convinced him to sell to Mitch and Laura, even though it meant carrying a bigger loan. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone but me.”
“Surely Mitch and Laura”—I was beginning to think of the Biekmas as Mitch and Laura—“realized that.”
“Of course. Then, they had no plans to disrupt my work. Then, I didn’t have the same kind of work to disrupt. And for years they didn’t make a sound. Mitch and Laura bought the house, and rented the upstairs where they live now.”
I was tempted to bring the interrogation back to the question of why she thought she had been poisoned, but I decided to let her follow this train a bit longer. I would have to know about the Biekma’s background anyway. “What happened after your seminar ended?”
“They all graduated. Noriko went to graduate school at Columbia. She was a bright girl. She wrote an incisive paper on anti-Semitism and its effects on Virginia’s work. Dana left for some monastery outside Katmandu. I think she was planning to hike up there from Calcutta. Jivan went back to Bombay. He was applying to graduate school, but I don’t believe he was accepted, at least not then. His family had money; he could wait a year. And he wasn’t a dedicated student. Sometimes I thought he just came for the
“Six years ago.”
“Who was in it?”
“Mitchell, Laura, Ashoka Prem, Marilyn Winters, Dana Arndt, Don Ellis, Jivan Mehra, a young man from Bombay, and Noriko Yamamoto from Kobe.”
“Isn’t that a rather small number for a seminar?”
“It was the second semester.”
“How does the seminar connect with your finding them the house for Paradise?”
She hesitated, and for a moment I thought she was going to say they asked her to keep an eye out. Shifting in her chair, she said, “The seminar met here. Mitch and Laura told me they were looking for a place to live and work. They didn’t mention a restaurant or I would never have dreamed of putting them next to me. I have my work to consider. I need uninterrupted quiet. But Mitch and Laura should have been perfect neighbors. Mitch was a full-time student. Laura was taking two classes to finish up. She had taken a job handling customer complaints at the water company until Mitch found work.”
“Then what were their plans?”
Rue sighed deeply, the sigh of one who has considered a situation too many times and been stymied every one of them. But the effect of that sigh was more mental than physical. Her back remained erect, her shoulders didn’t slump any more than they already had (which was considerable); only her face seemed to slacken, and that in dismay rather than relaxation. “When Mitch got his degree it was to be Laura’s turn. She would go to chiropractic school. That was years ago, you understand, before every corner in town boasted two chiropractors. I have friends with back problems—not serious like mine, of course—who have never paid to see a chiropractor. They just check the ads and go for the free visit the new ones offer. They’ve done it for years.”
“So Laura Biekma planned to become a chiropractor,” I said, herding her back to the topic. “And that affected your finding them the house.”
“They wanted a place where they could live upstairs and use the ground floor for her office. It needed to be on a main street, in a good neighborhood, and not be too expensive. At the time, the house fitted all three criteria.”
“Did they spot it on their way to your class?”
“Yes. And they knew right away it was what they wanted.”
I nodded, silently noting that Rue Driscoll had taken great credit for this boon of circumstance.
As if reading my mind, she raised a forefinger. “They wouldn’t have gotten it without me. The old man who was selling it had lived there twenty-three years. We were good friends. He had other offers, but I convinced him to sell to Mitch and Laura, even though it meant carrying a bigger loan. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone but me.”
“Surely Mitch and Laura”—I was beginning to think of the Biekmas as Mitch and Laura—“realized that.”
“Of course. Then, they had no plans to disrupt my work. Then, I didn’t have the same kind of work to disrupt. And for years they didn’t make a sound. Mitch and Laura bought the house, and rented the upstairs where they live now.”
I was tempted to bring the interrogation back to the question of why she thought she had been poisoned, but I decided to let her follow this train a bit longer. I would have to know about the Biekma’s background anyway. “What happened after your seminar ended?”
“They all graduated. Noriko went to graduate school at Columbia. She was a bright girl. She wrote an incisive paper on anti-Semitism and its effects on Virginia’s work. Dana left for some monastery outside Katmandu. I think she was planning to hike up there from Calcutta. Jivan went back to Bombay. He was applying to graduate school, but I don’t believe he was accepted, at least not then. His family had money; he could wait a year. And he wasn’t a dedicated student. Sometimes I thought he just came for the
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