The One Hundredth Thing About Caroline by Lois Lowry Page B

courtship of this woman, which lasted, apparently, for years. He monopolized every bit of conversation at the party. I suppose we'll have to invite them here sometime, but—" Mrs. Baurichter continued to talk about Harrison Ledyard. Stacy was glowering.
    Suddenly Caroline realized why. All those hours Stacy had spent wallowing through Ledyard's trash. She could simply have asked her parents; they
knew
Harrison Ledyard. They could have told her all about him. Poor Stacy. Life as an investigative reporter was filled with hazards and frustrations.
    Finally Stacy shrugged and began to eat some more of the big round gray-green thing. Caroline looked at hers again. She looked away. She took another bite of steak.
    "Hey, Caroline," said Stacy, "if you're too full to eat your artichoke, can I have it? I
love
artichokes."
    Caroline smiled politely and passed the disgusting thing across the table to Stacy. Artichoke. So that's what it was called. She hoped her mother never discovered that they existed.
    ***
    Later, after they had done their homework and gotten into their pajamas, Caroline and Stacy were lying on the beds in Stacy's room again. Miraculously, during dinner, a maid had come in and picked up Stacy's sweater, folded it, and put it into a drawer. Her backpack had been placed on her desk.
    "Sometimes I really wish I were rich," said Caroline, staring at the ceiling. "But if I were rich, maybe I wouldn't ever have the motivation to be a vertebrate paleontologist. Maybe I would go to Asia Minor, and instead of digging in the desert, I would just want to stay in a Hilton Hotel. I wouldn't want that to happen."
    "It wouldn't," Stacy answered. "Because look at me for Living Proof. My family's pretty rich—so I guess that makes
me
rich—but I still plan to work very hard. I
already
work hard at being an investigative journalist." She giggled. "Even if I go about it wrong, sometimes. Harrison Ledyard—what a bogus adventure
that
was! Me down there in his trash cans looking for clues, for heaven's sake, and the whole time he was upstairs practically sending out newsletters!"
    "You know," said Caroline, "even if he's a colossal bore, like your folks said, I sort of wish that my mother had met him. There he was, an eligible bachelor, and my mother didn't even meet him. My mother never seems to meet any eligible men."
    "Caroline," said Stacy in a solemn voice, "I am very worried about your mother."
    "Oh, Stace, you don't need to
worry
about her. We're not headed for the poorhouse or anything. And she's not even miserably unhappy. It's just that she never gets to go out on dates or anything. Right at this very moment she's sitting at home, probably doing a crossword puzzle."
    "That's why I'm worried. She's sitting at home—alone, except for J.P.—"
    "Who is useless. He'll be in his bedroom, inventing something. He doesn't even play Scrabble."
    "I'm not talking about games and entertainment and conversation, Caroline," said Stacy, who was sitting up now, talking in a low, hushed voice. "I'm talking about what might also be sitting alone, upstairs,
above
your mother." She paused dramatically.
    "The Great Killer." Now Caroline sat up, too. "Frederick Fiske."
    "Right. I'm sure he's there in his apartment at this very minute. Friends describe him as a loner, I'm absolutely sure of it."
    "Stacy, can I use your phone?"
    Caroline dialed the number of her apartment. When her mother answered, she said, "Mom, are you okay?"
    "Sure." Her mother laughed. "I'm watching a dumb TV show and painting my fingernails, just for fun. I'll have to take the polish off, because they don't allow it at the bank, but it's kind of fun to try it out. How about you, Caroline? Are
you
okay? You're not homesick, are you?"
    "I'm fine, Mom," Caroline said impatiently. "It's you I'm wondering about. How's the building? Is everyone in the building home tonight?"
    "Caroline," her mother said and laughed again, "I haven't made an exhaustive study of