pronounce your last name, dear?”
Mary grinned. “Winn is close enough.”
“That simple!” I marveled.
“Not really, but close enough. I’ll answer to it.” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes appreciatively. “Ah, I needed that.”
“Mary Winn,” I repeated into the phone. “We’re going to be talking about Winslow and I figured you’d want – “
“I’m on my way,” Julia interrupted, and hung up.
“She’s on her way,” I told Mary. “Let me fill you in on Winslow’s visit. It was a week ago Sunday, and he drove up here and told me my first husband might be alive – “ And I told her the whole story.
“Am I clear on this?” Mary asked. She had produced a notebook and was taking scratchy notes. “Your first husband was reported killed in action, not missing?”
I nodded. “Which makes it so odd. Have you ever heard of him making similar claims?”
“Not at all. Completely contrary to his normal M.O.”
“M.O.?” Julia asked as she breezed into the room. Today she was in claret-colored corduroy with L.L. Bean’s famous waterproof boots. The dry spell had finally broken overnight. “That sounds like a criminal. I’m Julia Barstow, by the way.”
Mary nodded acknowledgement. “Mary Nguyen. And no, I’ve never been able to catch Winslow actually violating the criminal code, and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. Certainly immoral, to my way of thinking. But he’s been very, very careful.”
Julia helped herself to the coffee and joined us at the table. “Where’s Jack?” she asked me.
“He’s hitting a couple wine festivals in northern Virginia. Normally I’d go along to help, but I’ve been keeping an eye on things here.”
“Okay,” said Julia, settling herself comfortably and getting down to business. “Mary, what can you tell us about Colonel Winslow?”
“Obadiah Winslow, born in 1946 in Indiana, son of a shoe store owner, graduated West Point 1967, Viet Nam vet, MIA chaser, social climber, lives in grand style,” Mary reported promptly. “Where should I start?”
She opened her travel bag and pulled out a battered hardcover book. “Here’s his autobiography. It’s out of print now, I think it sold several hundred copies in the bookstores. He’s bought up all the remaindered copies and sells them now at his speeches. Read it sometime when you don’t have anything better to do. According to my analysis, it’s about one-quarter exaggeration, one-quarter outright falsehoods, and one-quarter unverifiable. So there’s about 25% good information in there, but you’d need to be a bona-fide Obie expert to know which 25%. And don’t bother reading it for the writing style, either. He’s hired a staff writer now, which has improved his speeches, but his writing style is both florid and trite.”
Julia blinked. “That doesn’t sound very good.” She reached across the table and spun the book around so she could read the title. “ Guns, Guts, and Glory ? Oh, my.”
Mary grinned. “Gagging, isn’t it?”
“So what exactly does – uh, I mean did – Winslow do for a living?” I asked.
“Technically, he doesn’t have to do anything,” Mary replied. “He inherited his wife’s estate about ten years ago, so he was what even the horse country set would call comfortably off. He founded ‘Lest We Forget’ back in 1980 and has lived more than comfortably on that.”
“What do you mean? If he’s been skimming funds, isn’t that illegal?” But, I thought, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Not the way he does it,” Mary explained. “Most of the money collected goes to ‘operating expenses’. Unfortunately, only a small amount of those expenses are actually involved in the search for MIAs. Most of it goes to fund Obie’s travels. He’s on the road half the time, going to his speaking engagements, and he travels first class all the way. Private jet or first class, penthouse suites, $200 dinners, all expenses paid by Lest We
Mary grinned. “Winn is close enough.”
“That simple!” I marveled.
“Not really, but close enough. I’ll answer to it.” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes appreciatively. “Ah, I needed that.”
“Mary Winn,” I repeated into the phone. “We’re going to be talking about Winslow and I figured you’d want – “
“I’m on my way,” Julia interrupted, and hung up.
“She’s on her way,” I told Mary. “Let me fill you in on Winslow’s visit. It was a week ago Sunday, and he drove up here and told me my first husband might be alive – “ And I told her the whole story.
“Am I clear on this?” Mary asked. She had produced a notebook and was taking scratchy notes. “Your first husband was reported killed in action, not missing?”
I nodded. “Which makes it so odd. Have you ever heard of him making similar claims?”
“Not at all. Completely contrary to his normal M.O.”
“M.O.?” Julia asked as she breezed into the room. Today she was in claret-colored corduroy with L.L. Bean’s famous waterproof boots. The dry spell had finally broken overnight. “That sounds like a criminal. I’m Julia Barstow, by the way.”
Mary nodded acknowledgement. “Mary Nguyen. And no, I’ve never been able to catch Winslow actually violating the criminal code, and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. Certainly immoral, to my way of thinking. But he’s been very, very careful.”
Julia helped herself to the coffee and joined us at the table. “Where’s Jack?” she asked me.
“He’s hitting a couple wine festivals in northern Virginia. Normally I’d go along to help, but I’ve been keeping an eye on things here.”
“Okay,” said Julia, settling herself comfortably and getting down to business. “Mary, what can you tell us about Colonel Winslow?”
“Obadiah Winslow, born in 1946 in Indiana, son of a shoe store owner, graduated West Point 1967, Viet Nam vet, MIA chaser, social climber, lives in grand style,” Mary reported promptly. “Where should I start?”
She opened her travel bag and pulled out a battered hardcover book. “Here’s his autobiography. It’s out of print now, I think it sold several hundred copies in the bookstores. He’s bought up all the remaindered copies and sells them now at his speeches. Read it sometime when you don’t have anything better to do. According to my analysis, it’s about one-quarter exaggeration, one-quarter outright falsehoods, and one-quarter unverifiable. So there’s about 25% good information in there, but you’d need to be a bona-fide Obie expert to know which 25%. And don’t bother reading it for the writing style, either. He’s hired a staff writer now, which has improved his speeches, but his writing style is both florid and trite.”
Julia blinked. “That doesn’t sound very good.” She reached across the table and spun the book around so she could read the title. “ Guns, Guts, and Glory ? Oh, my.”
Mary grinned. “Gagging, isn’t it?”
“So what exactly does – uh, I mean did – Winslow do for a living?” I asked.
“Technically, he doesn’t have to do anything,” Mary replied. “He inherited his wife’s estate about ten years ago, so he was what even the horse country set would call comfortably off. He founded ‘Lest We Forget’ back in 1980 and has lived more than comfortably on that.”
“What do you mean? If he’s been skimming funds, isn’t that illegal?” But, I thought, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Not the way he does it,” Mary explained. “Most of the money collected goes to ‘operating expenses’. Unfortunately, only a small amount of those expenses are actually involved in the search for MIAs. Most of it goes to fund Obie’s travels. He’s on the road half the time, going to his speaking engagements, and he travels first class all the way. Private jet or first class, penthouse suites, $200 dinners, all expenses paid by Lest We
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