Maggie Dove by Susan Breen

over-the-top, most of them Ph.D. students, some writers, and some who didn’t fit into any category. They all respected her husband and she loved being part of that world. She began studying Russian herself. Inspector Benet, of course, was fluent.
    “Stuart Dove could not change a lightbulb.”
    “He was a professor,” Maggie explained. “He was very charming, very cultured.”
    “He was no James Bond.”
    “I thought he was,” Maggie said, and she looked meaningfully at Winifred, who had once been a champion fencer, who had known back then when to parry and when to go in reverse. Though not now.
    “Why, on their honeymoon—” Winifred started to say, but Maggie cut her off.
    “That’s enough,” Maggie barked and finally Winifred snapped her jaw shut.
    “I’m in trouble now,” she stage-whispered to Arthur.
    “You’re too much,” he said, laughing. Maggie wondered what it would take to upset Arthur. Now, he’d be a good murderer, Maggie thought, involuntarily. Occupational hazard of being a mystery writer. Every time you meet someone, you wonder what would make them kill.
    He began gathering up his towels, putting away his ointments, preparing for his next client.
    “So long, pretty lady,” Arthur said.
    “Bye, Arthur,” Winifred cawed. “Don’t be a stranger.”
    She stared after him as he left. “I should have married a man like Arthur,” Winifred said. “Someone calm and good with his hands.”
    “I thought Fred was like that.”
    “Ah,” Winifred said. “He was boring.”
    She gathered herself together then, and looked at Maggie. “So, how much trouble am I in?”
    “Not so much,” Maggie said, because that was the thing about Winifred. Bad as she was, it was awfully hard to resist the spirit that flamed inside her. “Lucky for you, I’m trying to control my anger.”
    “Saint Maggie.”
    “I was over at Iphigenia’s, and I ran into Agnes Jorgenson.”
    “Oh my God,” Winifred said. “The light that failed.”
    Maggie laughed. “She’s just as wretched as ever. More so.”
    “I don’t know why she moved back to town. Couldn’t she have stayed somewhere else and made everyone there miserable? Do you remember when she tried out for cheerleading? When she wanted to be on the team? No one wanted to catch her. Remember how she looked in the uniform?”
    Maggie shook her head. She did remember quite clearly. It was almost as though Agnes had gone out of her way to look foolish. Short little skirt that did not flatter her hefty body, hair tied in pigtails, but instead of looking bouncy, it just sagged onto her shoulders. Plus she had no sense of timing at all. Even the gym teacher, sweet Mary Callahan, had to leave the room so as not to laugh.
    “Anyway, Agnes implied that Peter had some reason for being angry at Bender. Do you know about that? I wouldn’t have thought their paths would cross.”
    Winifred shook her head. She tried to cross her arms, but they were too heavy to move. Her right foot began to twitch. “I haven’t seen Peter in a week or so. He’s been busy with something. I thought he found a woman.”
    Maggie looked at her friend’s twitching foot. Seemed wrong to use someone’s disability against them as a tell, but she had to know.
    “Is it that bad?” she asked.
    Winifred’s eyes glittered the way they always did when there was danger. She loved trouble. Damned fool, Maggie thought. She put her hand on her friend’s, to try and stop the spasm.
    “Winnie,” she said. “What has he done?”
    Winifred’s entire body clenched in rebellion. She would not tell the secret, no matter what sort of torture she endured. Maggie wondered if she was the bravest person she knew or the most impossible. She wondered what on earth Peter could have done. She wanted to cry, to scream, and then suddenly Winifred cried out, “There he is!”
    “Who?”
    “That man I wanted you to meet. Remember?”
    “No.”
    She began calling to him, but her voice was dry and