say is that she’s not coming back for a while, not until small children won’t run away from her, screaming for their mothers.”
“Some skin disease?”
“That’s my guess.”
Ick.
“But,” Denise said, “she’s also losing some serious weight, so she’s not exactly down in the dumps about the whole thing.”
I laughed. “How long have they been gone? Do they even know that Agnes Mephisto is dead?”
“They left the Friday before, so they weren’t here, but I told them when they called in to say Carol was sick. Nick didn’t sound one bit sorry. I know he didn’t like her and all, but he could at least have faked a little sympathy!” She went on to list her brother’s faults, one of which was apparently the ability to telecommute from Florida while his wife was in the hospital.
My head nodded at appropriate times, but my mind was miles away.
As Bike Trail Nick clearly wasn’t the killer, one more name could be struck from the list. I smiled into the mirror. At this rate I’d have the case solved by the end of next week.
Friday night the kids and I went to Marina’s house and ate more pizza than was good for us. When I mentioned this, she drew herself up and put her nose in the air. “My pizza,” she said with a horrible Italian accent, “iz made of ze freshest ingredients, no?” The three youngsters giggled, egging her on. “Flour from ze new bag. Yeast from ze unopened packet. Tomato sauce from ze can bought only this morning.”
I forked off a piece of thick-crusted pepperoni and sausage. Guy pizza, but every once in a while it hit the spot. “Your Italian accent sounds like it has spent too much time watching old French movies.”
“The Swedish chef,” Jenna said, and for some reason this sent Oliver and Zach into paroxysms of laughter.
Oliver recovered first. “Know what?” He thrust his pizza-laden fork into the air. “We’re getting a dog!”
“You are?” Marina looked at him, then looked at me. “You are?”
“Um, yes.”
“When did this come about?” And why? her tone implied.
“Oh, we’ve been talking about it for a while.” On and off. Mainly off.
“Really?” Marina arched her eyebrows. “You never mentioned it.”
“Not a dog,” Jenna said. “A puppy.”
“Future dog.” Zach’s face lit up. “Cool. I’ve never had a dog. What kind are you getting?”
“Snoopy dog!” Oliver shouted.
“I want a golden retriever,” Jenna said.
Zach looked thoughtful. “Nathan O’Conner has a chocolate Lab. He jumps into the water and catches tennis balls.”
“Don’t want a Lab dog,” Oliver said. The three children started talking at once, each arguing at the top of his or her lungs for the breed of his or her choice.
I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled loud enough to make us all wince. The kids fell silent. Whistling was my best trick, but it didn’t do to use it too often.
Marina fixed her gaze on her son. “You’ll take the plates.” She pointed at Jenna. “You’ll be in charge of the silverware.”
Oliver bounced in his chair. “What do I do?”
“Hmm.” Marina tapped her nose. “Reroof the garage?”
He giggled and, once again, my heart melted into a puddle of love.
“Maybe eliminate national debt?” Marina frowned; then her face cleared. “I know. How about you find a cure for avaricious greed?”
Oliver tried to repeat the word, looking like a little bird hoping for worms to be dropped into his mouth.
“No.” Marina drummed her fingers on the table. “Eliminating avaricious greed might take longer than one night. What do you think about putting the napkins in the trash instead?” Oliver nodded happily. “Ready?” The three kids half rose. “Back, back, back,” Marina ordered. “Down, down, down.” They dropped their hind ends in their chairs and she held up her closed fist. “On three.” She put up her index finger. “One. Two.” A second finger went up next to the first. “Three!”
Before her third finger went up, the kids were hurrying around the table, collecting and clearing like professionals. Table clear, dirties in the dishwasher, they scampered off to the family room with only empty place mats to show they’d ever sat down with us.
I looked at Marina with admiration. “How did you do that?”
“Bribery.”
“Why doesn’t it work that well for me?”
“Got to bribe them with the right stuff. Next time,” she said, nodding sagely, “try cold, hard cash.”
“Marina, you didn’t!”
She crossed her eyes at me. “Sucker. We’ve been playing restaurant after school all week. I told them if they kept quiet about it and did well tonight, they could watch two movies.”
“You are a devious woman.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Speaking of devious.” I got up and fetched my purse. “So, the other day I went through the WisconSINs blog posts and made a list of—”
“Great God in heaven.” Marina flopped forward and thunked her forehead against the table. “Not a list. Please, anything but a list.”
“Do you want my help or not?” I asked. Marina made a small mewing sound that was probably a yes. She’d once dared me to go a full week without a list. I’d lasted two days, but I had broken down upon realizing we’d needed milk, eggs, bread,
“So what’s the title of this list?” Marina lifted her head and propped it up with her two fists, one atop the other.
All my lists had titles. Why anyone found this amusing, I had no idea. I unfolded the piece of lined yellow paper. “Murder Suspects.”
“So descriptive,” Marina murmured.
Brushing the paper flat, I said, “Some of these people are identified on your blog as potential suspects.”
Marina jumped her chair around the table to sit side by side with me. “Lemme see, lemme see.” It sounded as if she were repeating a take-out order for a Chinese restaurant.
“Not so fast, twinkle toes.” I held the paper out of her reach. “First, the introduction.”
She slumped back and folded her arms across her chest.
“Cut that out.” I opened the paper a few inches, then closed it up again. “There is no order to this list. Not most likely suspect to least likely, and not least likely to most. I just wrote names down as they came to me”
Marina looked heavenward. “On with it, O Queen of the Lists.”
I held the paper a little farther out of her grasp. “Suspect number one: Kirk Olsen.”
She nodded. “The affair of the school buses.”
“Suspect number two is Claudia Wolff.”
“Ooo, the Dysfunction from Fish Fry Friday.” Marina perked up. “I could stand it if Claudia was the killer. Sad for those horrible children, though.” She looked downcast for a moment, then brightened. “Growing up without a mom would be bad, but could it be any worse than having Claudia Wolff as your primary caregiver?”
“Well . . .”
“Can’t be Claudia, though,” she said, sighing.
“Why not?”
“She was up with a sick kid that night. Taylor? Tyner? One of those. Claudia was calling around to borrow a vaporizer. She called me around eleven.” Marina shook her head sadly. “Another good suspect toasted. Who’s next?”
The lyrics of a Tom Lehrer song went through my head. I tried to turn them off, but I knew they’d keep
