For Whom the Minivan Rolls by JEFFREY COHEN Page B

whom reported no problems in the
marriage and absolutely nothing unusual of late. I had decided,
also, that my petty feelings about Gary shouldn’t impede the
investigation, so I shouldn’t exclude a whole avenue of inquiry
just because it came from him. Besides, I didn’t have any other
ideas.
    Rachel Barlow had decided to run for mayor, I found
out through Harrington’s clip morgue, because she felt it was time
for “a new voice” in Midland Heights. Seeing as how the old voice,
Mayor Sam Olszowy, had been in office for more than fifteen years
at the time, it was a safe bet that the town liked hearing the
voice it had now.
    But Olszowy had made several potentially critical
errors. He had seriously underestimated Rachel Barlow, dismissing
her out of hand as a credible threat in the Democratic primary.
There are no more than 200 registered Republicans in town, so the
Democratic primary, assuming Hitler isn’t nominated, will pretty
much decide the general election.
    In office and in his campaign, Olszowy was ignoring
the town’s changing demographics, too. He continued to cater to the
senior citizens, who didn’t want the school budget passed, and
weren’t interested in bringing more businesses to the downtown,
either. But ignoring young parents in Midland Heights is like
running for office in New York and announcing that you’re a big
Atlanta Braves fan.
    Next thing you know, Rachel Barlow, with her “we’ll
set up a committee and investigate it” platform, and her strong
advocacy of a healthy school budget, despite having no children of
her own, was running close to even with Olszowy in the polls
(assuming one can take accurate polls in an election this
insignificant). Who the mayor of Midland Park might turn out to be
would have as much an impact on my life as what brand of liquid
soap they chose to put in the men’s room at New Jersey Turnpike
rest stops. Maybe less.
    “What is it you want to know?” Rachel asked, her
hands folded in her lap, like the last contestant at a fifth-grade
spelling bee waiting for the word “extraneous” to be called
out.
    “Well, to start, how well do you know Madlyn
Beckwirth?”
    Rachel shifted gears to that of a beauty pageant
contestant asked how bikini waxing could actually help end hunger
in Third World countries. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets,
looking for an answer lodged tightly in her left frontal lobe.
    “Madlyn is my campaign manager. We moved to town
just about when she and Gary did, five years ago. I asked her to
manage my campaign because she’s my best friend, and I trust her.
Also because she brings an impeccable record to public service,
having been a past president of the PTO at Roosevelt School and
treasurer of the Boy Scout troop her son used to belong to.” Rachel
rolled her eyes back down to look into mine, with all the charm of
a department store mannequin.
    “That’s fine,” I said, in my best reporter style,
“but I’m really not looking for her resumé, and I’m not asking
essay questions, either. This isn’t a shadow-debate with Mayor
Olszowy. Just relax and talk to me.”
    “I thought that was what I was doing.” Rachel’s eyes
bored in just a bit, and widened maybe a millimeter. There was a
side of her that you didn’t want to cross. She was hiding it, but
not well.
    “You are, but you need to relax. We’re just having a
conversation. You’re not being questioned by the grand jury.” I was
trying my best to smile, but the cold front that had drifted over
the kitchen table was hard to get past. I was pretty sure I could
see my breath. “Now. Have you noticed Madlyn acting unusual
lately?”
    “ Unusual ?” Rachel said the word like it would
be visible coming out of her mouth, and would be ugly and hairy.
Anything that wasn’t usual clearly wouldn’t be welcome in this
kitchen.
    “Not ordinary,” I said. “Something she wouldn’t do
under normal circumstances.”
    “I know what ‘unusual’ means.” Rachel