the mike. “We’re all stunned and very sad. Frank—Principal Thayer—gave us the word only a couple of minutes ago.” Murmurings continued to ripple through the crowd as Barry’s voice cracked, then recovered. “The officers of the thirty-year reunion class have decided to hold the banquet tonight as planned, because we think David would want us to be together.” Barry had a stentorian voice, for someone so small in stature. He seemed to break down, but rallied and went on for a few more minutes, his closing remarks advising us to take every opportunity to enjoy life, since “you never know.”
Several other speakers stepped up to the podium, expressing gratitude to the chief donors and predicting great victories for the teams of ALHS in the new facility, but all in very moderate tones, more befitting a memorial service than a happy groundbreaking ceremony.
I tuned out most of the rhetoric, my mind on Rosie and the investigation. Usually I’d be bothered by the oppressive heat, but today that was a distant second to the discomfort I felt over David’s murder and Rosie’s situation.
I wondered if the LPPD was ready to arrest Rosie or if they simply wanted to question her. I was itching to know how Skip had glommed on to her in the first place? Had the police interviewed David’s reunion classmates already? I tried again to think if there was something untoward about her behavior at the cocktail party, something that would have been picked up by her party-going peers. When I’d literally bumped into David, all had been cordial. The only ones who were aware of Rosie’s unhealthy obsession were the members of the crafts group and Cheryl. I didn’t know all of Rosie’s other friends, but I doubted she’d advertised her wishful thinking far and wide.
Finally the group of dignitaries gathered around the shovel. I’d forgotten that’s why we were here. Tall as I was, I still couldn’t see the little ceremonial plot where the earth would be turned over. I knew the deed had been accomplished only by the smattering of applause as the crowd dispersed, its mood somber.
“Grandma?”
I realized I’d spaced out again. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Food to the rescue, a time-honored Porter tradition.
“Why don’t we all head for bagels at Willie’s,” Henry said. “My idea, my treat.”
Problem solved.
On the way out of the grassy area, I saw a small knot of thirty-year alums. Among them was Cheryl Mellace, wearing an eye patch. On me, the sight of a plastic cup with gauze sticking out the sides would have looked repulsive, as if I’d become a member of the Cyclopes, but it seemed to make Cheryl even more alluring. I doubted she’d chosen it as an accessory, however, and wondered what was wrong with her eye.
“I’ll just be a sec,” I told the other three in my own party and wandered to Cheryl’s group. Henry and Taylor were more help than they could have imagined in allowing me to dodge Maddie’s scrutiny.
A much subdued round of greetings came my way from the small clutch of men and women that included Cheryl Mellace. “I’m so sorry about your friend,” I said. “I know David meant a lot to all of you.”
The murmurings in response seemed heartfelt. I focused on Cheryl, looking for a more intense reaction, but saw none. I looked at the patch over her eye. “I hope that’s not too painful,” I said.
Her one good eye glared at me. “Thanks for asking,” she said. There was no doubt in my mind that she remembered my presence outside David’s hotel room when she delivered her insults to my friend.
“And I hope your last evening with David was a good memory,” I said.
Cheryl gave me one more angry look, then she sniffled and buried her face on the chest of the man next to her, no one I recognized.
“She and David go way back, Mrs. Porter,” he explained, patting Cheryl’s back. “They were very close.”
“I know.”
Like so many establishments in Lincoln
Several other speakers stepped up to the podium, expressing gratitude to the chief donors and predicting great victories for the teams of ALHS in the new facility, but all in very moderate tones, more befitting a memorial service than a happy groundbreaking ceremony.
I tuned out most of the rhetoric, my mind on Rosie and the investigation. Usually I’d be bothered by the oppressive heat, but today that was a distant second to the discomfort I felt over David’s murder and Rosie’s situation.
I wondered if the LPPD was ready to arrest Rosie or if they simply wanted to question her. I was itching to know how Skip had glommed on to her in the first place? Had the police interviewed David’s reunion classmates already? I tried again to think if there was something untoward about her behavior at the cocktail party, something that would have been picked up by her party-going peers. When I’d literally bumped into David, all had been cordial. The only ones who were aware of Rosie’s unhealthy obsession were the members of the crafts group and Cheryl. I didn’t know all of Rosie’s other friends, but I doubted she’d advertised her wishful thinking far and wide.
Finally the group of dignitaries gathered around the shovel. I’d forgotten that’s why we were here. Tall as I was, I still couldn’t see the little ceremonial plot where the earth would be turned over. I knew the deed had been accomplished only by the smattering of applause as the crowd dispersed, its mood somber.
“Grandma?”
I realized I’d spaced out again. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Food to the rescue, a time-honored Porter tradition.
“Why don’t we all head for bagels at Willie’s,” Henry said. “My idea, my treat.”
Problem solved.
On the way out of the grassy area, I saw a small knot of thirty-year alums. Among them was Cheryl Mellace, wearing an eye patch. On me, the sight of a plastic cup with gauze sticking out the sides would have looked repulsive, as if I’d become a member of the Cyclopes, but it seemed to make Cheryl even more alluring. I doubted she’d chosen it as an accessory, however, and wondered what was wrong with her eye.
“I’ll just be a sec,” I told the other three in my own party and wandered to Cheryl’s group. Henry and Taylor were more help than they could have imagined in allowing me to dodge Maddie’s scrutiny.
A much subdued round of greetings came my way from the small clutch of men and women that included Cheryl Mellace. “I’m so sorry about your friend,” I said. “I know David meant a lot to all of you.”
The murmurings in response seemed heartfelt. I focused on Cheryl, looking for a more intense reaction, but saw none. I looked at the patch over her eye. “I hope that’s not too painful,” I said.
Her one good eye glared at me. “Thanks for asking,” she said. There was no doubt in my mind that she remembered my presence outside David’s hotel room when she delivered her insults to my friend.
“And I hope your last evening with David was a good memory,” I said.
Cheryl gave me one more angry look, then she sniffled and buried her face on the chest of the man next to her, no one I recognized.
“She and David go way back, Mrs. Porter,” he explained, patting Cheryl’s back. “They were very close.”
“I know.”
Like so many establishments in Lincoln
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