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Mahreeya picked up her
glass, swirled the dregs of her wine, and downed it. “I guess I deserved that, huh? Sorry. I get that way sometimes. I guess you noticed.” A wry half-smile played around her lips. “My husband tells me I’m his biggest asset and his worst problem.”

Smart man. Even if he was a cheat.

“My dreams are coming true, Kiki. I always wanted to be somebody. You don’t know what it’s like to be a wallflower growing up, and to work so hard, and well, I guess since you know what I went through to look like this. A lot of surgery. A lot of pain. And at a very young age. Then there were the revisions as cosmetic surgery advanced. They make it seem so fun on
Nip/Tuck
. Everyone gets better quickly. But that’s not how it is. It’s been awful.”

I didn’t know but I could guess. I’d never given much thought to procedures. How could you hate yourself so much? At some point, didn’t enhancement turn into self-mutilation?

“Is that what he wanted? Your husband?”

“This was before he came along. Let’s see; I had my nose done first. A boob job. Then lipo on my hips and butt. I had braces and veneers. Injections. Peels. He did cast his vote for the second boob job after the kids. And a tummy tuck. Lately, I’ve had Restylane, Juvederm, Botox, and Thermage. I’m scheduled for an eye lift and more. My psychiatrist says I have a self-image problem. All I know is, I couldn’t stand to look at myself. People talk about that reality show,
The Swan
? They wonder how women could do all that. Well, I know how they can. You see, you’re willing to do that because you want to be admired. Not pitied or ignored. That’s it. Pure and simple. And you believe you won’t be unless you are perfect. It’s awful to avoid the mirror, to walk into a room and feel all eyes are on you because you don’t measure up to their standards.”

“Hey,” I touched her fist with a tentative finger. “I get it. I wasn’t much to look at in high school either. I asked eight boys to the Sadie Hawkins girls ask boys dance and they all turned me down. So, we’re late bloomers, right?”

The first real smile I’d ever seen flowered on Mahreeya’s face. “I can’t believe this happened to you. You’re so pretty.”

The compliment shocked and pleased me. “I had braces and glasses and a bad haircut.”

“Here’s to us.” She raised her water glass, and I did the same.

Our waiter set down two large salads and sparingly poured on a house vinaigrette at our command. Mahreeya checked with me, noted my agreement, and sent the bread basket back to the kitchen. Eating like this all the time would be far too boring for me, but I had to admit that she was a good influence.

“What was it like for you growing up? I mean, tell me about your friendship with Patricia, Jennifer, and Ella.”

Between tiny sips and small bites, she explained how cloistered the Alumnae Four were. Patricia’s parents, it seemed, kept the shortest rein on their daughter.

Ella, on the other hand, must have been a real challenge. “They could never keep track of her. She was the original wild thing. She brought up civil rights issues so often in our classes that one teacher banned her outright from talking about them. When CALA played Vashon High School in basketball, she took one look at the boy who was their star center, and woosh, it was over. She dumped Jennifer’s brother and away she went.” A thin shoulder came up in a half-hearted shrug, “And it frightened all our parents. You know, part of the reason for sending us there was to keep us …”

“Pure?” I continued, “But go back a second. I guess I didn’t realize Jennifer had a brother.”

“Jennifer and Patricia both have—or had—brothers. Jennifer’s brother Phil is dead. See, after he broke up with Ella, he signed up to go into the army. Didn’t last three months. He was killed in a training accident. It was heartbreaking. He was the only son and destined to carry on the family name and business. Like how Patricia’s brother carries on the family law firm. The Hallbacks owned a large talent agency. Jennifer runs it now. She inherited her brother’s shares, and her husband actually works for her.”

This was news to me. I didn’t even know Jennifer worked!

Then I got to thinking. If Ella’s breakup with Jennifer’s brother was the cause of his death, even indirectly, was that a motive for murder? Could Jennifer have killed Sissy and framed Corey to punish Ella? And later killed Corey to misdirect the police? It certainly was worth considering. Mahreeya waved down our waiter and indicated she wanted another glass of wine. By my count, it was her third. The booze worked wonders; she was downright chatty. “Of course, we’ve all had our share of heartbreak. My older sister died in a car crash in California. Patricia had one miscarriage after another, was it four or five? I can’t remember. I lost track. Then a hysterectomy after Elizabeth was born. She sort of went bonkers. Ella’s father’s two strokes, his death, and then her mother dying so soon after.”

“But Ella has always been her own person.”

“Exactly. And always upsetting the apple cart. Remember, the times were different. Her romance was dangerous. Not only did it put her father’s business at risk, but it brought the boy she was dating—and I use the term ‘dating’ loosely because they were so young all they could do was sneak around—into a part of town where he didn’t belong. He stuck out like a … well, he stuck out.

“Her poor parents wanted to take that eighteen-foot satin train and wrap it around her neck.”

“How’s Mrs. Goldfader? Wait
… have you been drinking?” Detweiler regarded me with wide eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. “Take my coffee, too. What’s up with you? Drugs, alcohol, engagements. I need a scorecard to keep up.”

“Dodie’s doing pretty well considering.” I updated him on my boss and launched a capsulized version of my meeting with Mahreeya as we sat on the bench outside of Kaldi’s Coffee in DeMun. I could give him only ten minutes before I had to get back to the store.

“What am I going to do with you?” He sighed before he checked his Steno notepad. “Danny Gartner came up with an airtight alibi. In fact, it’s unimpeachable. Testified before the Supreme Court in that KKK dispute. About the Adopt-A-Highway program.”

Detweiler continued, “He even referred me to their attorney, some guy named Krupp. I guess Danny testified they want to be good citizens. Keep the highways clean.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s their goal. They’re big on clean. The Crusaders for Racial Purity told me at the rally that AIDS is God’s way of cleansing the earth of filth.”

The detective sighed and gave me an oblique look. “Moving on. Besides the multitude of men enticed by Ms. Gilchrist’s charms, got any ideas who done it? The gun used on Corey came back as stolen years ago. We didn’t collect forensic evidence because it looked like a suicide. We’re still moving bricks.”

“I did uncover one possibility. A long shot.” I explained how Jennifer Moore’s brother had died after being dumped by Ella. Since Corey was Ella’s son, and most likely to take the fall for killing Sissy, perhaps Jennifer had set him up.

I did not add that Anya had spent the night at the Moore house. That twisted my gut hard. In fact, after I pieced these new facts together, and realized Jennifer—who I’d previously dismissed—might be our culprit.

I rambled, but I did manage to cover the basics. “Maggie never mentioned Jennifer working in various classrooms as a volunteer. But she could have been one of those drop-in type helpers. Jennifer offered to meet up after work and give me the clothes Anya left at their house. She spent the night there.”

“I don’t know what’s worse. The thought of Anya being exposed to a bunch of rabid racists or having her spend the night at the home of a murderer.” Detweiler said.

The detective and I sat far away from each other. We avoided eye contact. I wanted to talk more about his marriage, but I needed to stay clear of Detweiler’s nuptial problems. If his marriage didn’t work out, fine. We might have a chance of a future together. But only a stupid woman—and an immoral one—would count on that. Much less encourage it.

As wonderful as my daydreams were, as much as I wanted to reach out to Detweiler, I couldn’t. I knew myself. I couldn’t live with the guilt. I couldn’t risk my integrity. I couldn’t live every day regretting my actions. So I shut down.

Because if I did follow my desires, wouldn’t he have reason to wonder about me? About whether I could be faithful to him? And whether he’d really left Brenda of his own accord? Or whether I’d caused a breakup? Wouldn’t I lower my worth in his eyes?

I knew what I had to do. How I had to act. His words had given me hope, but realistically, I needed to continue to live my own life.

Which hurt. Really hurt. A dull ache started inside me. Maybe I’d have been better off never hearing that they were “working” on their marriage.

Even as all this ran through my mind, I chastised myself for not having been more honest with Ben. I’d been avoiding the messages he’d left on my phone.

What should I do about him?

I drained the second cup of coffee. “We’re going nowhere,” I said.

Detweiler narrowed his eyes. He knew exactly what I meant.

Rebekkah was happy for
me to relieve her. “I didn’t realize how tiring it can be to have to wait on people all day.”

I agreed. “Hey, take your mom these pastries, okay? I know she probably won’t feel much like eating.” I glanced over at my co-worker and added, “Tell her they’re from Bama and me.”

Bama’s eyes followed Rebekkah out the door. “She’s sweet but she’s helpless. I tried to get her to put together page kits? She ruined ten pieces of paper. Jammed the die cut machine. Which means we need part-timers fast. I put an ad on Craigslist, and I’ll talk with Katie tonight. Think we can count on Mert to help us?”

“Not much. Usually around the holidays I work part-time for her, cleaning. People have family coming in. Give parties.” I offered Bama an iced sugar cookie. “We’ll have to do the best we can. Maybe one of our customers would like holiday hours.”

She nodded. “If we hired a customer, we’d know if the person was any good with crafts.”

“Yes, but we could also lose a customer if we fired her.”

“We’d have to be very selective.”

“Right. How about we say the job is for a very limited time? Say it’s temporary? That way we could take a new employee for a test run without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

She smiled. “Good thinking.”

We agreed that the next morning we’d meet early and go over details of running the store. She asked me briefly how handing over the confidential album went. I wasn’t sure how long the legal agreement was in force for, so I didn’t name names. I simply said, “Fine. If I could tell you more, I would. And maybe I can. But please let me ask Horace first. I sure don’t want any trouble after I managed to keep a secret as long as I did. Besides, I’ll have to make sure he billed the client.”

“You deserve a fat bonus for that. You put in early and late hours.”

I glowed. Bama didn’t pass out compliments often.

She left and I worked until closing. Promptly at ten after, I bugged out to meet Jennifer at Bread Co. on Olive. Try as I might, I still couldn’t see her as our murderer. I wanted to eliminate her from our list of suspects. Maybe I could clear her.

Besides, what was she going to do? Shoot me at the deli counter?

Doubtful.

“I’m buying,” she pushed a twenty toward the cashier.

“But I owe you for taking care of Anya!”

“I’m celebrating. Please let me,” said Jennifer, pulling a moue.

Hey, it wasn’t like I was rolling in the dough. I gave in. We found a booth, and no sooner had we set down our Diet Cokes than she blurted, “Good news. Best ever. My husband was definitely having an affair! Isn’t that terrific?”

Not where I come from, but then I grew up in the middle of a cornfield in Indiana. I must have looked as shocked as I felt. I was stunned, hearing this right after my meeting with Mahreeya. What was it with these people? After learning George was cheating on me, I did research. According to one survey, twenty-two percent of married men admitted to straying. Fourteen percent of married women did. But how on earth did they all manage to buy real estate in one Zip Code?

“Before you ask, yes, he was involved with Sissy. But after her, he moved on to another younger woman in his office.”

Blow me down, Popeye. And mind you, she said this with glee!

What came next was a bit tricky for me to follow, but Jennifer went on to explain that off and on over the years, she’d hired a private detective to check up on her husband. Two days ago, she was presented with incontrovertible proof he was cheating. Photos. Really good photos.

“I sat him down and told him about Stevie.”

The expression on her face spoke volumes. She meant she’d told him about Stevie being gay.

“After my hubby finished stomping around the room, I brought out the photographs of him and his latest sweetie. He tried to explain the pictures away. Like I’m stupid or something,” she rolled her eyes. (This time I felt eye rolling was totally warranted. I was rolling mine, too.) “When he finished ranting and raving, I gave him the terms. He had two choices. Either come to family counseling and accept Stevie as he is, or find a new job. After all, I’m his boss.”

That’s when I knocked over my cola. The two of us took turns mopping up until a Bread Co. employee noticed our dilemma and swooped in with a cloth rag.

Jennifer and I changed booths, which gave me the chance to settle down. For the second time in one day, I learned how other women handled straying husbands with binding negotiations. I could foresee a whole new career for Jimmy Carter if he ever got the Middle East to grab the olive branch.

I was forced to reconsider my opinion of Jennifer. First of all, the woman was a CEO. Secondly, she was not, as Nana would say, a flibbertigibbet. Instead, she was one tough cookie. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. What strings to pull on the puppet, er husband. The threat of a possible reversal of fortune brought her spouse to heel. Actually, it caused him to genuflect.

“Quick as a flash, he was on his knees begging forgiveness and promising to go to counseling. He didn’t even propose to me on his knees. He’d blown out his patella playing high school football. That’s why he likes hanging around athletes so much. Relives his glory days. He’s not a bad man, but he sure can be stupid. I knew he loved my daddy’s company more than he loved me, but I owned the company, so it didn’t matter.”

She was so matter of fact, I nearly toppled my cola again. Jennifer was much more calm than I could have ever been. In my secret heart-of-hearts, I admit: I’m a believer in true love, love at first sight—or even at first sigh—and all that hogwash. But the woman sitting across from me was a clear-eyed, cold-blooded realist. She explained that to her mind, a long-lasting marriage is based on more than immediate attraction. Her philosophy was that to keep it together, you had to have a strong commitment. (Which I agree with.)

“Besides, our kids need two parents. Despite Stevie’s sexual orientation, he still needs a dad.” She summed it up nicely. “Love comes and goes. The marriages that last are those where there’s more benefit to staying together than to going it alone.”

How did Detweiler feel about his relationship to Brenda? That there was more benefit in staying married than divorcing her? If he did, I’d better make other plans.

I shook my head and told myself to focus on the present. Stay in the moment, I chided myself.

I’d obviously been wrong in my assessment of Jennifer Moore. I vowed not to undervalue another woman again. I especially promised myself I’d be more careful in assessing those who seemed on the surface to be very different from me. Looks certainly could be deceiving! Hadn’t Nana always said that?

Besides, hadn’t people done the same to me? Underestimated me? Judged me by my looks? And their face value perception of my worth? Indeed, they had.

I also made a mental reminder to put a higher value on my daughter’s taste in friends. I could learn something from my kid. Anya obviously has good taste. My boss and my mother-in-law had been right: I needed to make a concerted effort to get to know the CALA parents.

“Jennifer, you sure are practical about this whole thing.”

She grinned. “Cheating is not about sex. Men just want to feel powerful. Needed. Important. Younger women, especially younger women who act all dependent, make them feel that way.”

“How’s Stevie handling this and the situation at school?” I sincerely wanted to know. While I was pregnant, George and I discussed how we’d parent a child who was gay. We agreed that the hardest part would be helping and guiding our child through life. Being gay would add yet another layer of worries and concerns.

Motherly love brought a glow to Jennifer’s face. She misread the conflicting emotions on mine.

“Stevie will be fine. I’ve known about him for ages. Practically since he was a baby. How could I help but know? He’s the spitting image of my brother Phil.”

The spitting image of Phil? The same Phil who dated Ella? How did that work?

This time the cola came out my nose. I rasped out an apology as I choked, and she slapped my back.

“What about him and Ella? I heard from Mahreeya that they used to date.”

Jennifer waved her hand—with its nearly healed fingertips—in the air. “Phil broke up with Ella because he couldn’t stand living a lie. My dad pushed him to be a macho, alpha-male type of guy. Dad thought Ella was the perfect mate for Phil. She was Phil’s best friend. She knew all about him. That’s why she went places with him. They covered for each other while she was involved with that guy from Vashon High. She even agreed to pretend she had broken up with him when Phil decided to come out of the closet. He needed to buy time before he told Daddy.”

Her face grew somber. “Of course, Daddy refused to accept the truth. He made Phil’s life at home so miserable that Phil signed up for the service to escape. I begged him not to, but Daddy refused to pay for his college, and he didn’t have any money. What else could my brother do?

“That’s how I came to own fifty-one percent of Hallback Entertainment, Inc. Phil wrote Mother and instructed her to leave his portion to me, in case anything happened. See, Daddy never thought I’d go into the business. He convinced himself I’d be a happy little homemaker. Daddy never thought Mother would make a move without his permission. She also left her shares to me. It was her money, after all.”

Jennifer dabbed at her eyes. “Daddy forced my brother to be someone he wasn’t. He forced Phil to run away. Gave him no option but to join the service. What happened to my brother is never going to happen to my son. Never. Over my dead body.”