The needlepoint group was really making progress. Sam had taken out all his sections that were too tight and redone them. Shelley's sampler was more than halfway done and looked gorgeous. Jane was only slightly behind Shelley. Jane, like Sam, had been forced to remove one section that hadn't worked out, and discovered that it was harder to work with canvas that was slightly limp from already being used. Jane and Sam sympathized with each other over this unpleasant surprise.
'Next time I do a sampler, I'll remember to do it right to begin with,' Jane said.
'I hope I will, too,' Sam agreed.
Again, Tazz hadn't turned up, which was a relief to Jane. She wondered whether Tazz was embarrassed or furious or both that Jane had bluntly turned down the idea of writing Tazz's costume book for her. Or maybe Tazz's absence had nothing to do with Jane.
Elizabeth, who apparently had more time than most of the group to work on her sampler, had only four sections to finish. Jane was still doubtful about Elizabeth's choices of colors, but apparently Elizabeth had an eye for contrasts that really did look good.
After they had all complimented each other, Elizabeth asked Ms. Bunting what her husband was doing today while Ms. Bunting was at the meeting.
'The old fool is looking for his missing golf club at secondhand stores,' she said with a laugh. 'Nobody but an idiot, or a rich person wanting a receipt for an antique to reduce his taxes, would turn it over to a secondhand store. If I were looking for it, I'd go to pawnshops. Or order a duplicate on eBay.'
'What's eBay?' Elizabeth asked.
The rest of them looked at her with astonishment. 'It's a place on the Internet that holds thousands of auctions,' Shelley said.
'There are also lots of golf club sites in other places on the Internet,' Sam put in. 'Some sell restored antique golf clubs. My son-in-law is an avid collector of them. It makes it really easy to buy him birthday and Christmas presents.'
'What will we do when we're all through with our samplers?' Elizabeth asked Martha, clearly not interested in the subject at hand. She had no interest in the Internet. Jane suspected that Elizabeth had never, and probably never would, own or operate a computer. And was undoubtedly proud of herself for it.
'We're going to master basket-weave patterns,' Martha said. 'I've noticed that none of you seem to have used this valuable stitch. It's the most durable of all of them. We'll be making a pillow, blocking it, adding special stitches around the edging, mastering trim for the surround, and stuffing the pillow properly when that's done. If you want to take the second level of classes later, those deal with creating your own designs. Mazes, animals, Christmas stockings, using beading and ornaments.'
Shelley's eyes lit up like beacons. 'I can't wait to take that class.'
Only Jane knew of Shelley's vast collection of pretty beads, little buttons, and tiny ornaments. Shelley never had figured out what to do with them. Now she knew.
The worst part of Mel's job used to be taking people to the morgue to identify their nearest and dearest. For one thing, it was fiercely cold there and stank of formaldehyde and antiseptic. Thank goodness, eight years ago they'd changed this. Now the body, with only the face showing, was wheeled into a room with a glass partition. No odor. No hint of the stem-to-stern autopsy. There was a curtain behind the glass that would open
when the people responsible for identifying the body were in place.
Still, it was shocking.
When the curtain opened, Mr. Roth looked as if he was about to faint. Mel led him to a chair nearby. 'I'm sorry I have to ask, but is this your son?'
Mr. Roth had bent forward, hands over his eyes, and was trying gulp back his urge to cry.
'Of course it's our son,' Mrs. Roth said. 'Harry, get a grip. We have to face up to this.'
Mrs. Roth frowned at Mel and demanded, 'Close those curtains. We've seen enough.'
'Come along when you're both ready,' Mel told them. 'I'll be waiting in the hall for you. There are questions I need to ask. Take all the time you need.'
Mel sat down by the door, simmering. He should try to see this from Mrs. Roth's viewpoint. She'd lost her only child. But why did she have to be so rude? Not only to him, but to her husband.
He only had to sit there for a few minutes before the couple emerged.
Mrs. Roth was pale, but composed. Mr. Roth was still mopping at his eyes.
'I'm taking you to my office in an unmarked police car. You'll be more comfortable there,' Mel said. 'I'd like to interview you and find out what your son was like.' As they entered the elevator, Mel added, 'I'd like to speak to each of you separately. Mrs. Roth, could I order you some coffee or tea while you wait?'
'I'm not waiting. We'll be interviewed together.'
'I'm sorry, but you will have to wait,' Mel said firmly.
'Then orange pekoe tea with sugar,' she snapped.
When she'd settled irritably in the outer office, Mel offered Mr. Roth coffee, which Roth accepted numbly. Mel waited for the man to speak.
'He was our only child — we adopted him,' Mr. Roth said softly. 'Aggie couldn't have children. I must apologize for her behavior. You mustn't think she doesn't care that Denny is dead. She's simply keeping her armor on — she's good at that.'
He teared up again. 'I loved the boy from the first. It was a little harder for Aggie. I think she thought adoption wasn't quite 'nice' and that it suggested something was wrong with her. It might have been better if we'd taken a little girl instead. But he was such a good boy. I taught him to play softball. I took him to circuses. I helped him with homework. I…'
He couldn't go on. Mel handed him a box of tissues and went to look out the window for a few moments until Roth said, 'I'm sorry. What else do you want to know?'
'Did Denny make friends easily?'
'Of course. Aggie and I made sure of that. She did the room-mother things, made him take dancing lessons, which, surprisingly, he liked. She threw wonderful birthdays and let him invite all his friends. And he always had lots of them. He was happy until…'
'Until what?'
'Until he decided out of the blue that he wanted to know who his biological parents were. Aggie was appalled. He always knew he was adopted but never seemed to care until two years ago.'
'Did it hurt your feelings?' Mel asked.
'Not especially. I suspected it might happen when he grew up. I myself was adopted and had wonderful parents, and I never cared who actually sired me.'
'Did you or your wife know who Denny's biological parents were?'
'No. The adoption agency offered to tell us the available adoptee's ethnic background. We didn't care.'
'How did your wife take this idea of Denny's interest in finding his genetic parents?'
'She hated it. She felt that all that we had done for him had been wasted. She considered it a personal betrayal.'
'Did your son have any enemies that you know of?'
'No. Until he got this bug in his ear about finding his 'real' parents, he had nothing but friends. It changed him. It became an obsession and he dropped all his friends to pursue it.'
Mel's interview with Mrs. Roth didn't surprise him. First, she was outraged that she had to wait so long, 'And the girl who served me tea never came back with the sugar I'd asked for.'
So Mrs. Roth had also been rude to the young secretary who brought her tea, Mel thought.
'Well, it's time for your husband to sit around now. Tell me about Denny.'
'He was such a nice boy. And we treated him as if he were a prince. He had everything he wanted. Good, expensive clothing, a generous allowance. We even bought him his first car when he turned sixteen and paid the
