extent under the Uniform Code of Military Justice. I can also assure you that the accused, Captain Robert Cobol, will be fairly tried under that same code.”
The anchor reappeared and said that reporters’ questions had not been answered, including those about the motive for the murder, the circumstances that had led investigators to Captain Cobol, whether he’d confessed to the crime, and whether legal counsel had been chosen.
“Stay tuned.”
A commercial for a thirst-quenching, or thirst-inducing, soft drink filled the screen.
Her phone rang.
“Hello, Major. Mac Smith.”
“Hi, Mac. We had a very nice time with you two.”
“Good. And thanks for the flowers. How are you?”
“Fine. Annabel’s prettier than any flower. Me? I just came back from working out.”
He laughed. “So did I. You know what they say about a healthy body. Next I’ll try for a healthy mind.”
“To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“Annabel and I were thinking of having a bite out. We know Jeff’s away, and wondered if you’d care to join us.”
It was tempting. It was Friday night, and she was off-duty until Monday morning, but she declined the offer. Things had been piling up on her lately—letters to write, reading to finish, a manicure to get to. “Another time, I hope,” she said.
“Sure. I assume you’ve heard the news about Joycelen.”
“Hard to miss.”
“Anybody bring up the rumor of a homosexual slant to it?”
She thought of what Max Lanning had said but decided not to repeat it. He was the only person who’d raised it, and considering his penchant for gossip … “No, no facts on that. Have you?”
“Locker-room blatherskite. Doesn’t make sense, considering Joycelen’s long marital history.” Before she could respond, he added, “Of course, being married doesn’t necessarily mean a lifelong pledge to heterosexuality. Nasty business, those kinds of rumors. They can be misleading. Say ‘gay,’ and some people think all motives fall into place. If I’ve heard them, I’m sure it’s all over town by now, replacing cocktail chat about nuclear bombs, aid to the Russians, and who Beardsley will nominate for the Supreme Court vacancy. Well, wish you could join us, Margit. Annabel sends her best.”
“And mine to her. It’s nice—and therefore typical—of you two to think of me. Thanks for the invitation.”
She changed into pajamas and robe, pulled the ingredients for a simple, healthy dinner from the refrigerator, and sat at the window. She missed Jeff. She wished they could spend time together that weekend. She thought of her father, with whom she’d been very close, and of her mother, whom she hardly knew at all. She was sad; it could turn into a depressing weekend if she allowed it. She looked at her nails andconsidered working on them. Looked as if they could use some rehabilitation. She picked up the phone and made an appointment with the base beauty shop for a haircut, manicure, and pedicure at eleven the next morning. Sometimes, you just had to do those things. They might not contribute to the security of the United States of America, but they’d do quite a bit for hers.
6
Under ordinary circumstances Margit would not have been required to keep the base locator informed of her whereabouts while off-duty. But because recent events in the Middle East didn’t fall into the ordinary category, many Pentagon commands and offices had instructed their personnel to do just that. Margit felt slightly foolish informing the duty airman that she would be at the beauty parlor, but she did. As it turned out, it was just as well she had. The result, however, was one she could have done without.
Work on her fingers and toes had been completed. The polish on her nails was still wet; she was afraid to touch anything. Tiny pieces of white cotton separated her toes; her feet rested in paper sandals designed for such artwork. Her hair had been cut, and the young woman who’d wielded the
The anchor reappeared and said that reporters’ questions had not been answered, including those about the motive for the murder, the circumstances that had led investigators to Captain Cobol, whether he’d confessed to the crime, and whether legal counsel had been chosen.
“Stay tuned.”
A commercial for a thirst-quenching, or thirst-inducing, soft drink filled the screen.
Her phone rang.
“Hello, Major. Mac Smith.”
“Hi, Mac. We had a very nice time with you two.”
“Good. And thanks for the flowers. How are you?”
“Fine. Annabel’s prettier than any flower. Me? I just came back from working out.”
He laughed. “So did I. You know what they say about a healthy body. Next I’ll try for a healthy mind.”
“To what do I owe the honor of this call?”
“Annabel and I were thinking of having a bite out. We know Jeff’s away, and wondered if you’d care to join us.”
It was tempting. It was Friday night, and she was off-duty until Monday morning, but she declined the offer. Things had been piling up on her lately—letters to write, reading to finish, a manicure to get to. “Another time, I hope,” she said.
“Sure. I assume you’ve heard the news about Joycelen.”
“Hard to miss.”
“Anybody bring up the rumor of a homosexual slant to it?”
She thought of what Max Lanning had said but decided not to repeat it. He was the only person who’d raised it, and considering his penchant for gossip … “No, no facts on that. Have you?”
“Locker-room blatherskite. Doesn’t make sense, considering Joycelen’s long marital history.” Before she could respond, he added, “Of course, being married doesn’t necessarily mean a lifelong pledge to heterosexuality. Nasty business, those kinds of rumors. They can be misleading. Say ‘gay,’ and some people think all motives fall into place. If I’ve heard them, I’m sure it’s all over town by now, replacing cocktail chat about nuclear bombs, aid to the Russians, and who Beardsley will nominate for the Supreme Court vacancy. Well, wish you could join us, Margit. Annabel sends her best.”
“And mine to her. It’s nice—and therefore typical—of you two to think of me. Thanks for the invitation.”
She changed into pajamas and robe, pulled the ingredients for a simple, healthy dinner from the refrigerator, and sat at the window. She missed Jeff. She wished they could spend time together that weekend. She thought of her father, with whom she’d been very close, and of her mother, whom she hardly knew at all. She was sad; it could turn into a depressing weekend if she allowed it. She looked at her nails andconsidered working on them. Looked as if they could use some rehabilitation. She picked up the phone and made an appointment with the base beauty shop for a haircut, manicure, and pedicure at eleven the next morning. Sometimes, you just had to do those things. They might not contribute to the security of the United States of America, but they’d do quite a bit for hers.
6
Under ordinary circumstances Margit would not have been required to keep the base locator informed of her whereabouts while off-duty. But because recent events in the Middle East didn’t fall into the ordinary category, many Pentagon commands and offices had instructed their personnel to do just that. Margit felt slightly foolish informing the duty airman that she would be at the beauty parlor, but she did. As it turned out, it was just as well she had. The result, however, was one she could have done without.
Work on her fingers and toes had been completed. The polish on her nails was still wet; she was afraid to touch anything. Tiny pieces of white cotton separated her toes; her feet rested in paper sandals designed for such artwork. Her hair had been cut, and the young woman who’d wielded the
Similar Books
