Memories Monday -- Hard Drinking Detectives

It’s been a year since Margaret was murdered.  There have been a few leads, but nothing has really happened.  I’ve been looking at the staff pictures in old yearbooks to see if anyone looked like William Powell or Anthony Hopkins, who were her favorite actors (See Move Over, Miss Marple, August 4, 2013),  but I haven’t  had much luck. 

Karen has been talking to the old ladies at the Methodist church.  “I asked them if Margaret had grown up in the church, and they said she came about twenty years ago.  They said she was ‘a very nice girl,’ but Marian, who is the biggest gossip, said that there was always something about her that you couldn’t put your finger on.  That could have her imagination after the fact, but I kind of doubt it.  Those old ladies are shrewd.”

Nikki snorted.  “Do they think you’re a nice girl?”

“Well, I am,” Karen said and took another sip of wine.  “Of course, Methodists don’t drink.”

“Are you going to quit drinking or quit the church?  The Episcopalians don’t have a problem with it.”

“No, I just won’t let them see me.  If I left, I’d feel like those spies who make friends with people they’re spying on when they really don’t like them and may end up killing them.  It wouldn’t be honest.”

I didn’t point out that maybe not letting people see you drink wasn’t honest.  I’d had two glasses of wine already and I didn’t think I could argue logically.

“Well,” Nikki said, “I stopped in at the liquor store in her neighborhood.  I didn’t expect anything, but the woman and I got to talking about what kind of wine to get, and I mentioned that I was going to have a dinner party, but it would be a little sad, because just a year ago, my friend Margaret had been murdered.”

I was impressed. “That’s really creative.”

“Thank you.  So the lady said, ‘Oh, yes, she used to come in here.  Very nice lady, but quiet.’  I asked her what she liked.  I guess as one of her friends I should have known, but she didn’t notice.  She said she liked wine and she sometimes got scotch.”

“So . . . “ I said, “she got that for her friend, so it probably was a man.  Women don’t like scotch.”  I felt relieved, since I don’t like scotch.

“You never know,” Nikki said.  “Maybe Lesbians aren’t so wussy.  But at least you’re in the clear.”

“Why don’t you ask Janet and Kate if any of their friends drink scotch?”

I sighed.  “You know, Karen,  every gay person in the world does not know every other gay person in the world or even in history.  Gay people get that all the time.”  I felt very worldly, and I threw in “And they find it very annoying,” even though I didn’t know that for sure.

“You’re lucky that she told you.  Liquor store clerks may have to sign confidentiality pledges.”

Then Karen got an idea.  “Maybe we could go to a Lesbian bar and get to talking.  Maybe someone might know Margaret.”

“First of all,” I said, “I don’t where any Lesbian bars are.  And second, I don’t think we could pass.  They might think . . . I don’t know what they’d think, but it wouldn’t be a nice thing to do.”

Nikki snorted again.  “Listen to you, the big sophisticated liberal.  You’re just afraid someone would hit on you.”

“No, I’m not!  I would just say I was in a relationship and change the subject.”

“Maybe you’re afraid no one would hit on you, and you’d feel rejected.”

By that time we had to go look for another box of Girl Scout cookies and some more Valentine candy, so I didn’t have to answer.  I was relieved about that, too.