Girl Sleuth-Chapter 8

(If you'd like to read from the beginning you can go Here.)

Jilly traded coats and hats with Anne after only a few moments persuasion and the promise of the full story later on at home. Anne crossed her fingers. With any luck the guy would follow Jilly. Surely by the time she left the theater after her audition he would realize that he had the wrong girl.

Anne left the store in a clump of other girls. She forced herself not to look around for the man in the gray suit but pasted on her brightest smile and forged ahead, arms linked with her chums.

One by one the other girls broke away from the pack until Anne found herself on her own. She could resist the urge no longer. Trying to be discreet she paused in front of a shop window. She stared at the window for a moment and then glanced behind her.

She turned back to the window. No one seemed to be paying any undue attention to her. She licked her lips. One more look wouldn’t hurt. Would it? Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman had made this sort of thing look so much easier in Notrious.

She satisfied herself with turning around slowly and surveying the scene. What was she supposed to be looking for anyway? Something out of place? She was in New York City for pete’s sake. Nothing was out of place.

A new thought pushed through her anxiety. What if the man wasn’t simply following her, but meant her harm. Jilly.

Cold terror swept up her spine.

She was only a block from her apartment. She would grab something for Jilly to change into so that they might get away easier.

Bounding into the hall breathlessly, Anne rummaged for her keys. She must take the time to clean out her handbag someday. Her feet hit the first floor landing and she slammed into a wall.

Not a literal wall. She looked up into fathomless blue eyes.

“Whoa!” Erik Carter snatched her arms to keep her from bouncing back down the stairs.

Anne clapped a hand on her snappy green beret and stared like a mime in shock.

“Are you okay?” He released her and she found herself wishing for his support again.

“I’m just fine. Thank you. Are you all right?”

“I think so. You pack a wallop though.” He rubbed his arm where she had barreled into him.

“I’m sorry Mr. Carter. I must pay more attention to where I’m going.”

“Call me Erik. I just wish it were me you were in such a rush to see.”

Anne did too. She bit her lip.

She would give anything if her only concern was the desire for a date on Friday night. But she had to make sure Jilly was okay. She could never live with herself if something happened to her friend and she did nothing.

“I’m sorry I don’t usually do this on such short acquaintance, but would you care to go to dinner with me tonight?”

Anne sucked air between her teeth. This was just too painful. “I cannot. I would like to. Really. I am busy tonight though.”

He nodded. “Okay.” But the look in his eye told her he thought she had rejected him outright.

She put a hand on his arm. “I really do have to run right out again this evening, but I do hope you will ask me again sometime.”

He nodded and the warmth returned to his gaze. “I will.”

Relieved, she smiled back. “Please excuse me then, I am awfully late.”

She hurled herself up the last flight of stairs to her apartment and thrust her key in the lock. The door swung in on darkness. The scent of cigar smoke stopped her as effectively as Erik had. Her hand groped for the light switch.

Light burst into the room. She couldn’t take it all in.

The apartment had been ripped apart. Every book had been pulled from the shelf. They lay in a forlorn heap on the floor. The couch had been slashed open and spilled it’s stuffing indecently. Pictures had been taken down and flung at random. Even her precious typewriter lay on its side on the floor, the ribbon hanging from it dispiritedly. She slumped against the doorframe, hand to her mouth.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 7

(If you'd like to read from the beginning you can go Here.)

Anne ducked her head and tucked her arms in close to her sides as she scurried through crowd. For once being on the short side was working in her favor. At the last instant she slipped down the subway station stairs. She stopped when her eyes hit street level and watched the foot traffic.

Sure enough a pair of light gray suit pants and dark wingtips marched by. She squinted up at the man, trying to make out his features, but with the awkward angle all she could see was the edge of a chin, the tip of a nose and a fedora that shadowed it all.

The man turned his head side to side as he passed, as if he were scanning the crowd in search of someone. He never glanced down.

Pursing her lips Anne ascended into the light once more. She had let her imagination get carried away. It was just like the time she and Carol had been convinced there was a thief living down the street. It turned out he had been a very nice man who was opening an antiques shop, and had had some deliveries made to his home. The only difference was that this time Carol was dead.

Maybe the sense of loss had kicked her imagination into overdrive. Shaking her head at herself, Anne headed for work. Now she was going to be late.

The alley behind Ms. Marguerite’s was like most of the alleys in New York. Filthy and foul smelling. She pushed the door open, gritting her teeth against the ear numbing screech.

A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. Anne swallowed stifling a screech of her own. “Jillian, you scared me out of my wits!” she hissed.

“You’re late. Hurry. I’ve got your gown laid out, but they will start any moment.”

Jillian hustled her down the hallway and into the common dressing room shared by all the girls. Anne needed no further encouragement. She stripped and tossed her clothes to Jilly who deftly caught them and placed them on hangers.

Anne shimmied into the evening gown that she would parade around in for the afternoon. Layers of emerald silk chiffon floated around her ankles, while the rest of the gown hugged the body more closely.

She ran a brush through her hair and turned to Jilly for inspection. “Am I presentable?”

“You better powder your nose.”

Anne picked up the powder puff and brushed it across her nose.

Together she and Jilly darted for the queue of girls at the far end of the room. They were waved to their place, with conspiratorial grins and flapping hands. Anne had barely time to paste on a smile before it was her turn to sashay through the pair of stiff green and gold damask curtains that opened onto the stage.

Several well-dressed women sat around the room on white velvet couches. Most had a champagne flute in their hands. Sales women stood discreetly near each customer ready to write down colors and orders.

Ms. Marguerite herself narrated the movement of the mannequins as they glided in procession across the stage each one taking her turn at the front of the stage, turning and posing to show the clothes they wore to best advantage.

Anne took her turn at the front. As Ms. Marguerite described the fabric and cut of the gown in exquisite detail, she realized she had not traded her work-a-day pumps for the elegant stiletto sandals made to match the gown. Swallowing, she strove to keep her breathing even and her smile plastered in place.

“I don’t know. You would think they would have more imagination than to put the redhead always in a green dress. And what are those shoes?” The catty snipe from one of the customers could be heard throughout the elegant salon.

Anne ground her heel into the plush white carpet, but kept her smile in place as she twirled away into the back line. The instant she was off stage the plastic smile was discarded and she rubbed her temples. Could anything else go wrong today?

She had no time to mope. she wriggled from the evening gown and into a gorgeous sundress with the wide bell like skirt of Dior’s New Look. She double-checked herself in one of the full-length mirrors. Shoes. She could not forget the dainty little ballerina flats.

Once more she joined the other girls in line and traipsed out onto the stage. This time at least she had a prop in the form of a pair of sunglasses, which she would put on and take off at least six times during her slow peregrinations across the stage.

She was in front and had just removed the sunglasses when a tall gray-suited man wearing a fedora entered the salon. His masculine presence was immediately noticeable among the bastion of femininity. Her heart pummeled against her rib cage, trying to make a break for it.

Even her smile faltered until she remembered to shore it up. Ms. Marguerite’s voice faded and Anne faltered. She could not take her eyes off the man, nor it seemed could he take his eyes off her.

Ms. Marguerite’s voice rose as she repeated some bit of the script. Anne blinked and slapped the sunglasses into place. She whirled and found her place. Though she felt exposed, surely the stage was the safest place she could be right now. He could hardly get to her with so many witnesses in the room.

At last it was her turn to slip behind the curtain. She hovered there, out of sight of the showroom, and watched the man. He eyes the other mannequins as they moved across the stage, but he seemed to show none of the same intensity with which he had watched her.

Was it the same man?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 6

(If you'd like to read from the beginning you can go Here.)

In the light of day the East Orange station had reverted to mere ordinariness. The menace that had hung in the air last night banished by the bustle of businessmen intent on making money and housewives intent on spending money by shopping in the city.

Anne fingered her small stash of cash. She pulled her change purse out, poured the contents into her palm and wrinkled her nose. A week until payday, and this would have to last. A few quick mental calculations and she bit her lip. She would just delay the purchase of a pair of new pumps. Too bad, she didn’t have an indulgent lawyer of a father like Lacey Carew.

She would also forego the luxury of a cab. Living in New York had gotten her used to walking, how hard could it be to find Carol’s apartment? It took only a moment to obtain directions, and she set out.

A breeze kept the walk pleasant enough and she found Burnett Street easily. Broken brickwork and overgrown shrubbery turned Carol’s building slightly shabby. Sagging curtains at the windows, made Anne think of a woman whose slip was showing. She paused for a moment before the brick building as she was assailed by doubt. Maybe she had made a mountain out of a molehill. She had studied the papers during the entire train ride and could make no more sense of them.

No. She straightened her back. She had already spent the time and the money to get here, the least she could do was follow her instincts. Sucking in a deep breath she climbed the stairs.

The woman who answered her knock on the super’s door looked as if she had been designed by central casting for roles as a Nazi hausfrau. Even her fine, blond hair was braided and pinned up on top of her hair.

“Yeah?”
“My name is Anne Leighton. I am—was a friend of Carol Hayes.”

The woman’s stoic stare held no flicker of interest, only mild annoyance at being disturbed.

“She was killed in an accident last night.”

At this the woman’s eyes rose slightly, but she still did not speak.

“I… her family wants me to go through her things and decide what to send home.” It wasn’t so very far from the truth. If the Hayes knew of her availability they would certainly have asked her to do something of the sort.

“No.”

“But, I… She has passed on and—”

“No one gets in until her back rent is paid up.”

“Carol always paid her bills. It was a matter of pride.”

“Not last month she didn’t.”

Anne bit her tongue. Her mother had taught her to be polite, even if it weren’t called for. “Please, I won’t be long. The family would be grateful if I can give them an idea of how much they might need to send for.”

“You got the money?”

“How much was her rent?”

“Forty-five dollars.”

It wasn’t likely. The woman was probably padding her number by at least five dollars. Anne shook her head. “We’re not in New York.”

“Come back when you have the money.”

“Please, her mother will feel much better if I can just assure her that all Carol’s things are there waiting for her.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Eyes flashing as if her honor had been besmirched, the landlady stepped back into her apartment and slammed the door shut.

Cheeks stinging as if she had been slapped, Anne stared at the door.

“Don’t let old Heil Helga get you down.”

Anne whirled hand to her heart. A lanky brunette stood on the stairs one hand resting on the banister.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to throw you. Say was that on the up and up? What you said about Carol?”

Anne nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Gee, I’m sorry to hear it. She was a good kid.” Her shoulders slumped.

“You knew her?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a man’s world out there and we secretaries have to stick together.”

“Did you work for Barlow and Company too?”

“Yeah. Oh, man I’m going to miss Carol.” The girl sat on the steps.

Anne joined her. She sighed as she took the weight off her feet. “Has Carol been acting funny lately?”

The girl’s mouth dropped open. “Did she commit suicide?”

Anne pulled back. “No. She was killed in an accident.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you think she killed herself?”

“On account of Tommy.”

“Her brother?”

“No. Tom Deschamps. They were hot and heavy for about three months but then a couple days ago they had a big blow up. Carol was all broken up about it. She wouldn’t tell me what it was all about though.”

Anne stared at the girl. It was all news to her. Carol had never mentioned a boyfriend in any of her letters. Good grief! Had she really known Carol at all? What other secrets had her friend been keeping?”

“She never gave you any hint what caused the break-up?”

“No. She was always pretty private, though Tommy really got her to loosen up. She started going to nightclubs with him and even went into the city to some sort of beatnik poetry recitals. Do you know that scene?”

Anne shook her head. She didn’t know that scene, and from what she had heard, didn’t really want to. What could Carol have been thinking?

“Well she really wasn’t herself lately if you know what I mean, and after her fight with Tommy she clammed up tighter than ever.”

“I had no idea.”

Mistaking her meaning, the girl patted her arm. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. She would have told us about it eventually.”

“No. I… I didn’t even know about this Tom person.”

“Oh.” The girl scrunched her lips to the side in a caricature of thought. “Maybe she knew you wouldn’t approve. In fact, she didn’t even tell me until I met them coming home from a date one night. My Robbie and I went out with them a couple times after that, but Tommy’s pretty wild.”

* * *

Anne disembarked from the train and checked her watch. Just enough time to make it to work. She picked up her pace, weaving through the crowded station until she emerged into the glare and blare of New York.

Who was Tom Deschamps? Had he had anything to do with Carol’s death? Maybe she had been the one to end things between them, and he had run her over in retaliation. She shook her head. It seemed a little melodramatic.

She stopped for just a second to look in the display window of her favorite shop. They had the most delicious evening gown in the window. The strapless turquoise silk had a wasp waist and wide skirt that seemed to float down to the ground. She sighed. A flash of movement caught her eye.

Turning she scanned the crowd. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. With a final wistful glance she left the dress behind and continued on her way.

A breeze picked up as she circled a hot dog vendor’s cart. Again she glanced over her shoulder. In the crowd behind her she spotted a snatch of pale gray. Surely she had seen that same gray suit at least four times? Once near Carol’s apartment. She quickened her pace. The light changed and Anne hugged her handbag closer to her side, darting into the midst of the throng crossing the street.

She swallowed against the metallic taste in her mouth and bit her lip. She was being ridiculous. Carol’s death had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

* * *

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 5

(If you'd like to read from the beginning you can go Here.)

Brow furrowed, Anne picked up the papers. She rubbed them between her fingers, they were oddly textured; thin, but nothing like regular typing paper. Must be some type of stationery.

She unfolded the pages. Tears stung her eyes and she felt behind her for a seat. Lowering herself onto the couch with a thump, she blinked rapidly.

She would know Carol’s handwriting anywhere and the quote was one they had shared often.

“Hearts will never be practical until they are made unbreakable.”

As girls they had used the sage advice of the Wizard of Oz to comfort one another whenever they had boy trouble. The quote was the only thing on the page.

She turned it over but there was nothing on the back at all.

Frowning she flipped to the next page.

“The graven images of their gods shall ye burn with fire: thou shalt not desire the silver or gold that is on them, nor take it unto thee, lest thou be snared therein: for it is an abomination to the LORD thy God.”

Obviously from the Old Testament, but why would Carol have been carrying such a quote around? Once again it was the only thing on the page. What had Carol been up to? Intrigued, Anne turned to the last page.

It contained a list.

The Thin Man

Rags

Ink

Plates

She stared at the words for a long while but could make no sense of the words. It sounded more like a grocery list than anything else. She pushed her lips out as she thought. Why would she write the title of an old movie? The last three words were the only ones not in Carol’s handwriting. Maybe it had to do with some errand she was supposed to do for one of her bosses.

Anne shook her head. She was too muddled to think of much of anything. Leaving the papers on the table, she retrieved her coffee mug and took a swig. Ugh, was anything worse than lukewarm coffee?

She fetched a fresh mug from the kitchen and carried the outline for the Lacey Carew back into the living room. Her typewriter waited for her on the small side table looking, perky and ready to go to work. She ran gentle fingers over the dark green keys. It was still hard to believe that her parents had bought her such an expensive Christmas gift. The Smith Corona Silent was the best available, and it was all hers.

She settled before the typewriter and pulled out a stack of fresh clean paper. She needed a zippy first line, something that would draw the reader into the story. Drumming her fingers lightly on the keys, in an imitation of work, she stared at the blank page.

A groan and a thump from the next room told her that Jillian was awake. Anne looked at the clock on the mantle. Nearly eight thirty. Jillian was up early. A door creaked and the sound of running water washed into the living room.

Anne turned her attention back to the sheet of paper before her. The minutes ticked by. She picked up a pencil and then put it down again. Rearranged the papers before her and reread the outline. Again she stared at the stark whiteness of the page and listened to the clock churn out the minutes.

It was no use.

She went back in the kitchen and picked up the pages with the cryptic notes. Jillian walked in toweling her hair dry.

“You were out late.”

Anne glanced up. “Oh Jilly.” Tears seemed to be hiding just under the surface of composure, ready to pounce at any moment.

“Oh no, you didn’t get the gig. Honey don’t worry, other jobs will come along.” Jillian engulfed her in a hug.

“It’s not that. My friend, Carol, was hit and killed in an accident.”

Jilly took a step back and then pulled her close again. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no.” Anne sniffed. She had to get herself together. “It was terrible, a hit-and-run according to the cops.”

She sat down at the table still holding the strange papers in her hands. Jilly opened the refrigerator.

“Let me make you something to eat.”

“No thanks, I’m not hungry.” She put the papers down again. How had Carol managed to get them in her bag without her noticing? And why had she thought it necessary?

Jillian cracked a couple of eggs into a skillet and slid two slices of bread into the toaster. The warm scents of breakfast curled through the kitchen.

Anne made an effort to be social. “You are up early this morning.”

“Yeah I have to be at the early showing.”

“Oh?”

“I made a deal with Ms. Marguerite to come in early today and do a double shift so that I can go to an audition tomorrow.”

Anne tore her gaze from the documents. “You’ve got an audition?”

Jilly smiled triumphantly and nodded. “Yep. I think this show could be a real hit too. I’ve read the script and it is good.”

“That’s great! Don’t forget me when you’re famous.”

Jilly settled into the chair across from her and flashed a smile so brilliant that Anne was nearly blinded. It struck her again how stunningly gorgeous her friend was. She could have her pick of roles if she resorted to the casting couch, but Jilly was determined to make it on Broadway by her talent.

She would do it someday too.

Anne stroked the pages on the table and then stood abruptly. “I’ll see you at work this afternoon, Jilly. I have to do something this morning.”

* * *

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 4

(If you'd like to read from the beginning you can go Here.)

Clutching her robe to her throat, Anne opened the door a crack. “Yes?”

She had to raise her gaze a good six inches before she found the face of the man leaning against the doorframe. Despite his height, he had a boyish quality that kept his darkly handsome good looks from being intimidating in their Hollywood perfection.

He straightened and a smile lit up his face like a beacon.

A bit weak in the knees, Anne put a hand to her hair. Why, oh why did she insist on looking like a slob for as long as possible before she got ready in the morning?

“Hi. I’m moving in downstairs and I was wondering if you might have a broom and a hammer I could borrow. I can’t seem to find mine yet.”

“Sure.” Anne debated and finally slid the door open a bit further. “You want to come in? I’ll be just a minute.” Maybe it would be a good test for a fellow. He would see her looking her worst, if he still showed any spark of interest, it could bode well.

“You have done wonders with this place.”

Anne looked around the living room, seeing it with fresh eyes. It really was pretty spiffy. A cluster of brilliant Chinese lanterns hung in the corner. Bookshelves lined one wall, holding Anne’s books and a collection of Jillian’s creations from when her roommate was going through her pottery phase. Colorful curtains, a few scattered rugs, and some bright pillows on the old art deco furniture did make it feel cozy and artistic all at once.

“Thanks. My roommate is an actress. I think she has the idea that everywhere she goes is some sort of set. She certainly had ideas on what an apartment in Greenwich ought to look like.” Oh great. Not only did she look ridiculous but she had also mentioned her gorgeous, actress roommate.

Still looking about himself in apparent appreciation her guest took a seat on the couch.

“Wait here and I’ll rustle up a broom and hammer.” Had she really said rustle up. Arggh. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“I would love some. Thanks.” He stood again and extended his hand. “I’m Erik Carter by the way.” His handshake was firm and dry with just a hint of callous.

“Anne Leighton.”

She was grinning like a drip. Shaking herself she dropped the papers she had been holding onto the table, and fled for the kitchen.

She scrounged up their broom and found a hammer in the junk drawer, then took out a tray to lay with her coffee service. She might be a sap, but she could at least be a good hostess. Her mom had drilled her in that fine art, honing her skills until they were razor sharp.

With her offerings in place she finger combed her hair and fluffed it a little. This time she would not be such an inane, nattering, dunce.

Erik seemed consumed with intense perusal of his hands as she entered. But he jumped up and took the coffee tray she was balancing on one hand.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Black, please.”

He gulped the coffee in two long swigs and reached for the broom and hammer. “Thanks, I better get back to work.”

Anne opened the door for him and he was gone in a flash. Sighing she returned to the couch and plopped down. It was obvious that her charms had been insufficient to capture his attention even for the length of time it would take to decently drink a cup of coffee.

Oh well. She probably needed to get to work anyway. Her glance slid over the coffee table. Where were those papers? She’d left them right there. Hadn’t she?

Bending low she looked underneath in case they had fallen to the floor. Nope. She stood and turned around. They were lying on the side table. Surely she hadn’t left them there? Had her handsome new neighbor been nosing through her things? Maybe he had just moved them to make room for the coffee service.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 3

(If you'd like to read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne crossed her ankles demurely, and removed her stained white gloves. If it weren’t for the unyielding, uncomfortable, unbearable chair in which she sat, she would have fallen asleep. Detective Morris returned to his desk and handed her a steaming mug. The bitter scent of burnt java singed her nose, warned her against drinking the brew so she simply held it in frigid hands.

Still she shivered as if the death’s cold finger had come too close and chilled her from the soul outward. Maybe she was next. A morbid thought. Anne shook herself. This was no time for melodrama; it was time to be practical and businesslike. It was the last thing she could ever do for Carol.

Detective Morris perched on the edge of his chair with his feet spread wide and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together in front almost as if in prayer.

“What can you tell me about all this?”

“Carol and I had dinner together. She went with me to the train station to see me off. We were talking and waiting, when she remembered an appointment and had to hurry away.”

“Did she say where she was going, or with whom?”

“She didn’t give me any details. For some reason I assumed it had to do with her work, rather than her personal life. We said good-bye and then a couple minutes later I heard a woman scream.”

“So you were on the platform, you didn’t see it happen.”

Anne shook her head. She breathed through her nose, willing herself to stay in control.

“What happened next?”

“I went to see what had happened and I… I saw Carol on the ground.” An image of her friend’s broken body flashed against the movie screen of her mind and made her want to retch.

“Did she say anything to you?” Morris waved a hand, like a director wanting more.

“She was already gone.”

“I see.” He sat back in his seat and picked up a pen, in what must have been a habitual gesture he flicked it back and forth through the fingers of his right hand.

Anne watched the play of the pen as if mesmerized. She was so tired. She breathed a prayer for strength.

The detective asked some questions about Carol’s background, character and lifestyle, which Anne answered to the best of her ability.

Detective Morris set down the pencil with which he had been jotting a few notes and clasped his hands together. “Okay, it seems your friend was fairly inoffensive. Didn’t cause anybody any trouble and didn’t run with a bad crowd.”

“Of course she didn’t”

“So my gut is telling me this was an accident.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s still a crime—a hit and run. We’ll canvas all the repair shops around and see if anyone brings in a car with the right kind of damage. Frankly, this is a hard kind of case to crack.”

“Are you saying that no one saw anything?”

It was his turn to shake his head.

Something was wrong with all this. Anne shut her eyes. Deliberately she reconstructed the scene she had been trying to avoid remembering all evening. Her eyes popped open.

“She was on her back when we found her.”

The Detective’s brow furrowed but he nodded.

“She had a gash across her forehead.”

Again he nodded.

Anne spread her hands. “Well there you have it. She would have had to be facing the car, and if she could see it, why wouldn’t she get out of the way?”

“She may not have had time.”

Anne crossed her arms. “But then there is the cut. It makes no sense that she would have an injury to her forehead. She ought to have been flung backwards. Any injury should have been to the back of her head when she landed.”

“So maybe she tripped or was bent over to tie her shoe. That would explain why the driver didn’t see her, and why she didn’t have time to move out of the way.”

Anne’s brow furrowed. It still didn’t seem to make sense. She started to protest.

The Detective held up a hand. “Listen, Honey, do you have any reason to believe that someone wanted your friend dead?”

“No—”

“Then trust me, it was an accident. I saw the tire marks. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s as simple as that. “ He placed a hand on her arm. “I know it don’t feel great to think it could be something so senseless, but it’s the way the world works. Things aren’t always tied up in a neat package with a bow on top.”

Anne subsided into her seat, defeated, and too tired to try to think anymore.

The detective had a few more questions for her and she answered them numbly. When at last he released her she swayed a little as she stood. A wall clock declared that it was nearly midnight.

She fumbled with her purse. Morris looked up as if surprised to find her still standing there. She held out the blanket to him.

“Are there any more trains into New York tonight?” Her words felt thick on her tongue.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Wait a minute and I’ll get a patrolman to drive you home.”

“Thanks.” She could force no enthusiasm into her voice.

* * *

Anne sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. It could not possibly be morning yet, but her clock declared otherwise. Declared it loudly and at length.

Sighing she reached for her robe and put it on. She padded into the kitchen and put some coffee in the percolator. Her handbag lay where she had dumped it when she had come in last night. She sat down and pulled it toward her. Might as well try to get organized while the coffee was brewing.

She pulled out the sheaf of papers Mrs. Adams had given her and perused them. Her eyebrows rose. It was titled The Mystery in the Mango Grove. This shouldn’t be too difficult. The outline was detailed enough that if it had been about flying, she could have landed a bomber on an aircraft carrier.

The warm scent of coffee curled through the room, the scent doing much to push back images of the night before. Anne poured herself a mug and picked up the papers to carry them into the living room where she could begin work.

Several folded sheets of paper fluttered to the ground. As she bent to retrieve the escapees a knock came from the front door.

Startled, Anne checked her watch. Who could it be at such an hour?

* * *

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 2

(If you'd like to read from the beginning go Here.)

Police sirens wailed their banshee cry of grief as a squad car pulled into the parking lot. Even more curiosity seekers pushed their way into the crowd to see what was going on. Anne could not convince herself to release Carol’s hand. Even though she was gone she still seemed to need a friend in the midst of the spectacle and noise.

A police officer shoved his way through the mob and began shooing the gawkers back. Anne refused to budge, but others proved more pliant and he managed to establish a ring around them of six or seven feet. More squad cars arrived and men spilled from them like clowns at the circus. They pushed the thrill seekers even further back.

From somewhere very far away Anne heard the train puff into the station and then groan in protest as it pulled away again.

“Miss.”

“Miss?”

A face loomed in front of her and she pulled back.

“Miss, are you okay?”

Anne blinked. Everything seemed disconnected. Jumbled and distant.

“Yes.” She uttered the words but they might have come from someone else all together.

“Can you come with me? The doctor needs to get in here and take a look at her.”

“Oh.”

Anne swallowed and willed her fingers to release their hold on Carol. The movement hurt, as if she were giving Carol permission to be dead. She accepted the man’s hand and he assisted her to her feet.

“You’re freezing.” He waved an officer over and whispered in his ear. Then ushered her through the crowd, which parted before them as if he were Moses. The officer returned with a blanket and the man wrapped it around Anne’s shoulders.

“I’m Detective Jack Morris. What’s your name?” The intensity in his gaze pinned her in place, making it impossible to look away.

“Anne Leighton.”

“Did you know the deceased?”

The deceased. Tears started then. Unbidden they streamed down her cheeks sopping the blanket she clutched beneath her chin. She couldn’t stop shaking.

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

“Can you tell me her name?”

“Carol Hayes.”

He put a hand under her elbow. “Come on with me. I’ll take your statement down at the station. It ought to be warmer there.”

Anne allowed herself to be led away a few steps, before a thought seized her. “My bag.” She could not lose that bag and the precious outline it contained. She started back for it.

The detective’s hand on her arm restrained her and she turned to look at him. “Allow me.”

She waited woodenly as he was swallowed by the crowd. She could not halt the flow of tears. The muscles in the back of her neck tightened as if they were violin strings being tuned, tighter and tighter again until they would twang if touched.

Carol. Poor, sweet, Carol. It was all so awful. Who would notify her family back in Columbus? Would the funeral be held there or here? Questions littered her mind tumbling into memories of her friend through the years.

Detective Morris reappeared and held out her handbag. “This it?”

“Yes.” Anne sighed. It seemed a hollow victory in light of Carol’s death. “Thanks.”

“Come on, let’s get you someplace we can talk.”

* * *