Dear Irene by Jan Burke Page B

helped her. Venus came back to find the seeds sorted. There’s another story about ants—”
    “Never mind,” John said. “This guy Thanatos doesn’t make a lot of sense. Some Muse of Good Cheer—”
    “Grace of Good Cheer.”
    “Okay. Some Grace of Good Cheer will know the agony of Tantalus, he wishes you a Merry Christmas — or happy Saturnalia — wants you to wait until January, and puts something in here about ants.”
    “I agree it doesn’t make much sense. The last one didn’t make much sense either, until after the professor was murdered. Are we going to run it?” I asked.
    “Of course.” He used the intercom to call Lydia into his office.
    “What about Frank?” I asked.
    He thought for a moment, then said, “He can have the original.” He picked up the letter and walked over to the copier with it before I could protest about fingerprints. I didn’t say anything about it, knowing it was unlikely that the forensics lab could lift a good print from the paper, even if Thanatos had not used gloves.
    Lydia came into the office, and John handed her a copy of the letter. The minute she saw what it was, she looked over to me. I tried for nonchalance. I could see she didn’t buy it.
    “Tell Mark Baker to get on this right away,” John was saying. “Kelly can fill him in on the translation. And tell Design I want to run the letter on A-1 tomorrow — anybody has any objections, see me. I don’t see how they can argue. For all we know, someone out there may be able to foresee that they’re in danger if they read this.”
    A passage in the letter came to mind. “‘It has already begun,’” I quoted, suddenly feeling a little shaky. “I think we may be too late to warn the victim.”
    “You don’t know that!” John said vehemently. Seeing my surprise at it, he added, “Besides, I hate all the dull stuff we’ve been running lately. I hate the holidays.”
    “Bah, humbug!” I said.
    “Go ahead and laugh. You and your snookums will be having a great time, Kelly, while I slave away.”
    He was trying to make me believe that he hadn’t forgiven me for asking for a few days off around Christmas.
    “What
are
you doing over Christmas?” Lydia asked.
    I hesitated. I wasn’t completely comfortable with the plans Frank and I had made, but in a moment of testing myself I had agreed to them.
    “We’re going up to his cabin in the mountains.”
    “The mountains! Where—”
    “No. Different place — not where they held me. According to Frank, his place is more like a house than a cabin.”
    “But it will be near there, won’t it?” she asked, then saw I didn’t like the question.
    John, in the meantime, had dialed Frank’s number. He told him about the letter and after a pause said, “She’s fine. You want to talk to her?” and handed the phone to me.
    Frank told me he’d be down to pick up the letter and asked if the three of us wanted to join him for lunch. John begged off but Lydia was agreeable.
     
     
    F RANK HAD SPENT the morning down at the county buildings, taking care of some business at the courthouse. He was happy to get a change of pace. We had lunch at a little hamburger joint a few doors down from the paper. It’s had about five different names in about as many years, but the same people seem to own it — or cook in it, anyway. They make good old-fashioned burgers, so risking arteries that will probably look like pinholes, I ordered up a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry shake. Frank followed suit but Lydia behaved herself with a chicken sandwich and a salad.
    “So what are your plans for the holidays?” I asked her.
    “Guy is going to spend them with me and my mom. You know that Rachel is coming out to spend Christmas with Pete, right?”
    I nodded. Guy St. Germain had been dating Lydia since the summer, and Frank’s partner had been seeing as much of Rachel Giocopazzi, a Phoenix homicide detective, as he could manage between their work schedules and his fear of