“Why don’t you answer the question and save me the trip?”

“To make your life easy?”

“To avoid a subject he might find embarrassing. I think you know more than you’ve told me so far.”

I knew he was angry, but I could see him wrestling with himself. “If it’s any of your fucking business, my mother had a life insurance policy. Dad collected sixty thousand dollars, put half in savings accounts for Tannie and me, and used the rest to buy the Moon. The subject is now closed and I want you out of here before I call the police.” He got up from his desk and with his hand on my elbow, escorted me unceremoniously from the premises.

By the time I got back to Daisy’s it was 4:00 and I was ready to pack it in. Clearly I’d reached the stage in the investigation where people were not only getting pissed off, but resorting to rudeness, sarcasm, and manhandling. Steve Ottweiler had to be as aware as I was that there was no way to verify his claim about his mother’s life insurance. Jake was never going to tell me which insurance company it was, and after thirty-four years, I couldn’t think how to get the information independently of him. I probably should have gone straight over to Jake’s and pressed him on the point, but in truth I was ever so faintly intimidated by the man. After I left Steve’s office, he had plenty of time to call his dad and tell him what was going on. All Jake had to do was repeat the story Steve had told me and I’d be none the wiser.

I sat down and typed the additional three conversations into my report. Mrs. York, Foley, and Steve Ottweiler. This was strictly make-work. By now it was not so much about being conscientious as it was about giving myself time to think. While my fingers traveled across the keys, my brain was busy with something else. I simply didn’t know what it was. The phone rang just as I was finishing up, and I answered with my attention still riveted to the page. “Hello?”

“Miss Millhone?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ty Eddings. You left a message for me.”

30

Kathy

Friday, July 3, 1953

Kathy stood behind the dining room door, forking cold Chef Boyardee ravioli from a can. The little pillows of dough were soft and the tomato sauce clung to the surfaces like cream. Dinner wasn’t coming up for half an hour, and Kathy was treating herself to a little snack beforehand. Kathy’s mother had decided it was important to experience food from foreign countries, so the first Friday of every month she’d try a new recipe. This she called “educating their pallets.” Last month she’d cooked this Chinese dish called Subgum Chicken Chow Mein that she served over English muffins with lots of soy sauce and crunchy brown noodle-things on top. In May she’d cooked Italian spaghetti, and in April she’d made a French dish called Beef Boigheenyawn, which to Kathy’s way of thinking was just like beef stew. Tonight they were having a Welch dish that Kathy herself had prepared under her mother’s watchful eye. First she’d opened a package of Kraft Old England American cheese slices that she melted in a double boiler with a can of evaporated milk. Then she’d stirred in Worcestershire sauce and half a teaspoon of dry mustard, and that was that. Oh, yum. She could hardly wait. The ravioli was just in case there wasn’t enough to go around.

The problem was that ever since the gym teacher, Miss Carrico, made that remark about Kathy’s losing thirty-five pounds, her mother had been keeping a close eye on her, serving her portions so small she left the table with a stomachache. The first time it happened Kathy thought she’d done it by mistake, but when she’d asked for a second helping, her parents had exchanged a look that made her cheeks burn. It was like they’d been discussing her behind her back and secretly agreed with the teacher, which didn’t seem fair.

When Kathy first told her mother what Miss Carrico had said about how fat she was, her mother had been livid. She’d gone straight to the school principal to complain about the teacher’s lack of tact and her sticking her nose into other people’s business where it didn’t belong. The principal must have turned around and given Miss Carrico a serious talking-to because now she made a point of ignoring Kathy, avoiding the sight of her altogether as though she didn’t exist. Not that Kathy cared. If Miss Carrico tried to make trouble over her PE grade, she intended to tell her mother about the way she acted around Miss Powell, the home economics teacher. When Miss Carrico thought no one was looking, she got all weird and intense. It was almost like she had a crush on the other woman, which Kathy didn’t think was right. She’d talked to her minister about it after one of the Moral Rearmament meetings, and he’d told her he’d look into it, but in the meantime to keep the information “under her hat.” Kathy wasn’t sure how long she was supposed to wait before she took matters into her own hands.