The Nitrogen Murder by Camille Minichino Page A

brochure.”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “I miss you, Gloria. But I hope you’re having a good time. Don’t worry about your newspapers and your mail. I’m picking everything up, and I’ll let you know if anything looks urgent. Or interesting.” Another laugh, because we were both aware that Rose’s curiosity knew no bounds.
    “Thanks, Rose. Bye for now.”
    “Oh, wait—I haven’t even asked you what Elaine’s fiance is like.”
    “We’ll go into that next time, okay?”
    “Hmmm. I’ll call you.”
    “Or you can e-mail me again,” I said, with a wink in my voice.
    We hung up. I felt lucky my friends tolerated my impertinence.

CHAPTER SIX
    D ana checked her wardrobe for something suitable for a day of interviews. First she’d have to report to Julia Strega, the owner of the company, then she’d be seeing a counselor, then the Berkeley police.
    Not a fun day, but Elaine had arranged for her to have a massage this evening. A classy lady, always doing thoughtful little things. She’d even checked to be sure Dana was okay going ahead with the wedding plans. Totally , Dana had told her, but she was glad she’d been asked.
    She’d have to move on the wedding shower, too, which was only about ten days away. She’d offered to host a party for the bride and groom at her house, forgetting that it would mean housecleaning and food planning. But a party might do everyone some good, Dana thought.
    She clicked through the hangers in her half of the closet she shared with Jen. Crop-top tees and mohair scarves; a swishy, too-short black velvet skirt from the thrift shop; a wraparound top with beaded fringe everywhere. A pathetic selection except when she was dressing for a rave. The EMT uniform had spoiled her. She hadn’t needed to invest in anything vaguely adult or professional in more than a year.
    The laundry basket in the back hall gave up only a bad smell. So much for Plan B. Plan C would have to be called up—borrow from her roommates.

    Jen’s clothes were way too small, but she could manage with Robin’s longish, straight black skirt and her own Moulin Rouge shirt.
    She hadn’t seen Robin since Saturday morning. Overnight with Jeff again, Dana figured. She might as well move in with him and save on rent. Robin was studying for a certificate in international business at some online university. She was in the intern phase at a San Francisco financial institution. Robin loved to call herself a consultant. Though it didn’t pay much, she constantly reminded them that one day it would all pay off. Big time.
    Her roommates couldn’t be more different, Dana thought. Jen was Wisconsin fresh, blonde, and wholesome, from the kind of family that baked cookies together on Saturday afternoons and held hands walking to church on Sunday morning. Jen wanted to be a history teacher. Robin didn’t talk much about her family, which had fallen apart when her father, a Vietnam vet who never recovered, had committed suicide. Robin had been only nine years old. Poor kid .
    Being an only child, Dana didn’t have much experience with kids, but she knew Tanisha’s little Rachel, and she’d done a couple of career-day talks at local schools and she knew how vulnerable kids could be. One time Dana had four junior high students on a tour of the back of an ambulance, each wearing a sticker: I’M A JUNIOR EMT. She remembered being surprised at how impressionable they’d been, in spite of their I’m-cool demeanor.
    Dana supposed her family life was somewhere in the middle, between Jen’s and Robin’s. Not your Hallmark family, but not devastated by such a catastrophe as suicide, either. Of course, her parents’ divorce had been hugely traumatic, but she always knew they both loved her. She figured she came out of it all reasonably healthy.
    Back to the wardrobe search. Dana checked the door to Robin’s room. Unlocked. Great . She must have come home sometime last
night. Robin was fussier than Jen about sharing