one hand jauntily. “Here I am.”
Her coffee slopped dangerously. I relocated it to the table in front of us.
“You are here because?” Armando prodded, unable to resist glancing at his watch. I was longing for my bed, too, but this was far too interesting a development not to pursue. Joan Haines, formerly of the Queens of Mean, seeking me out thirty-five years after graduation. I couldn’t wait to hear this. Maybe she was about to confess to the murder of Mindy Marchelewski , if it had been a murder, of course. Unfortunately, Joanie seemed to be in no hurry.
“Nice place,” she commented, her eyes wandering over the heavy draperies, wall-to-ceiling bookshelves and oriental-style carpeting. “Homey, you know. The kind of place where the people living in it really like each other, you can tell. Do you use the fireplace much?” She gazed wistfully at the stack of firewood next to the cold hearth, but I had my limits.
“As often as we can.” In an effort to move this along, I opted for a more direct approach. “Joanie, I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but it’s nearly 1:30 a.m. Except for five minutes last Saturday night, we haven’t seen each other since graduation and, quite frankly, we didn’t feel inclined to. Why have you come to see me?” I said this last part slowly and distinctly.
At last my question seemed to sink in, or maybe the vodka fog was starting to lift. She scooched around to face me fully. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m scared to death, and there’s not one single person I can ask for help. My soon-to-be-ex-husband is in Rio with his latest bimbo. I don’t have any real friends besides Ari, and lately I’m not so sure about her. The cops would never take me seriously after all the horror stories my dear old Brewster classmates have been telling them about our high school days. Then I thought of you and what everyone at the reunion was saying about your unofficial investigations.”
Her eyes welled up, and she scrabbled through the beaded evening bag on her lap. I presumed she was looking for a tissue and handed her one from the box on the end table, but she waved it away. My eyes met Armando’s over her bowed head. He shrugged.
“Here it is. This is what I want you to see.” She tossed her purse aside and dangled a small piece of folded paper at me.
I admit it. I was curious. I unfolded it carefully and saw a brief message printed in block letters on plain white paper. “Don’t get involved or you’re next,” I read out loud. “Who’s next and for what?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know,” Joanie wailed, “but after what happened to Mindy Saturday night, I have a pretty good idea.”
Armando spoke up. “Why do you connect that unfortunate incident with this message, if that is what it is?”
“Because that’s the last time I used this little evening bag. I mean, I wouldn’t usually have two dressy occasions in the same week, but there was the reunion and then this party at Max Downtown tonight for salon employees, so I used it again.”
I examined the note more closely, but nothing special stood out. Black ink, probably ballpoint pen, all caps, white computer paper. “That’s when you found it, when you were getting ready to go out this evening?”
“No, not until later tonight after dinner. I left the purse on my bureau last weekend because I knew I’d need it again tonight. Everything was already in it—lipstick, comb, tissues, you know. So tonight I just stuffed in my driver’s license and a twenty dollar bill, and that was it. It wasn’t until I went to fix my face with Ari after dinner at Max that I opened it, and this thing,” she pointed at the note, “fell out on the floor.”
I thought for a minute. “So you don’t know for certain the note was put into your purse on Saturday. It could have been tonight, right?”
She stared at me blankly. “That doesn’t make any sense. Tonight was just the people we work with.
Her coffee slopped dangerously. I relocated it to the table in front of us.
“You are here because?” Armando prodded, unable to resist glancing at his watch. I was longing for my bed, too, but this was far too interesting a development not to pursue. Joan Haines, formerly of the Queens of Mean, seeking me out thirty-five years after graduation. I couldn’t wait to hear this. Maybe she was about to confess to the murder of Mindy Marchelewski , if it had been a murder, of course. Unfortunately, Joanie seemed to be in no hurry.
“Nice place,” she commented, her eyes wandering over the heavy draperies, wall-to-ceiling bookshelves and oriental-style carpeting. “Homey, you know. The kind of place where the people living in it really like each other, you can tell. Do you use the fireplace much?” She gazed wistfully at the stack of firewood next to the cold hearth, but I had my limits.
“As often as we can.” In an effort to move this along, I opted for a more direct approach. “Joanie, I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but it’s nearly 1:30 a.m. Except for five minutes last Saturday night, we haven’t seen each other since graduation and, quite frankly, we didn’t feel inclined to. Why have you come to see me?” I said this last part slowly and distinctly.
At last my question seemed to sink in, or maybe the vodka fog was starting to lift. She scooched around to face me fully. “Because I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m scared to death, and there’s not one single person I can ask for help. My soon-to-be-ex-husband is in Rio with his latest bimbo. I don’t have any real friends besides Ari, and lately I’m not so sure about her. The cops would never take me seriously after all the horror stories my dear old Brewster classmates have been telling them about our high school days. Then I thought of you and what everyone at the reunion was saying about your unofficial investigations.”
Her eyes welled up, and she scrabbled through the beaded evening bag on her lap. I presumed she was looking for a tissue and handed her one from the box on the end table, but she waved it away. My eyes met Armando’s over her bowed head. He shrugged.
“Here it is. This is what I want you to see.” She tossed her purse aside and dangled a small piece of folded paper at me.
I admit it. I was curious. I unfolded it carefully and saw a brief message printed in block letters on plain white paper. “Don’t get involved or you’re next,” I read out loud. “Who’s next and for what?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know,” Joanie wailed, “but after what happened to Mindy Saturday night, I have a pretty good idea.”
Armando spoke up. “Why do you connect that unfortunate incident with this message, if that is what it is?”
“Because that’s the last time I used this little evening bag. I mean, I wouldn’t usually have two dressy occasions in the same week, but there was the reunion and then this party at Max Downtown tonight for salon employees, so I used it again.”
I examined the note more closely, but nothing special stood out. Black ink, probably ballpoint pen, all caps, white computer paper. “That’s when you found it, when you were getting ready to go out this evening?”
“No, not until later tonight after dinner. I left the purse on my bureau last weekend because I knew I’d need it again tonight. Everything was already in it—lipstick, comb, tissues, you know. So tonight I just stuffed in my driver’s license and a twenty dollar bill, and that was it. It wasn’t until I went to fix my face with Ari after dinner at Max that I opened it, and this thing,” she pointed at the note, “fell out on the floor.”
I thought for a minute. “So you don’t know for certain the note was put into your purse on Saturday. It could have been tonight, right?”
She stared at me blankly. “That doesn’t make any sense. Tonight was just the people we work with.
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