February 17 Evidently

The police came and took all of Margaret’s stuff for evidence.   She had some library books and they took them too.  They’ll probably run up a big fine.  I mentioned it at dinner, and Ed said, “You think of the damnedest things.”

Josh and Cilla both squealed, “Daddy said ‘Damn!’”  I’m glad they got a charge out of it.

Betsey put on her mildly-amused-but-exasperated look. 

I said, “Maybe you can write a book, My Wife Says the Darnedest Things.”

Josh and Cilla looked disappointed.

Betsey rolled her eyes.  “Maybe you could write a blog, Dad.”

“Or you could,” I said.  She didn’t know what to say to that.

“Well, the library could bill the estate.”  Ed said.  “Anyway, they can’t charge more than the price of the book, so it won’t hurt the inheritance.”   He was only half joking; he is an accountant.

I thought of the future crime buffs taking books out of the library and wondering if Margaret had ever read or even touched them. 

Maybe I do think of the damnedest things, but how can I tell?

February 16 Imagine there's a motive . .

There has been, as they say in the classic detective movies, a break in the case.

The police have released the information that Margaret had let the killer into her house.  So she had to have known him or her.  I can’t imagine her opening the door for someone she didn’t know.  I can’t imagine anyone going to Margaret’s house without being invited or at least calling first.

I can imagine what her house was like.  Victorian and very neat.  She could put something down somewhere and have it be there when she wanted it.  I can’t imagine what that’s like.

The news came as a relief to everyone.  Margaret had done something.  But no one at the library could imagine what.  Margaret didn’t seem to have any personal life.  She was like a character in one of those depressing “realistic” spy movies.  But then, like a spy, she had a hidden life.  Could she have been a spy?  Was she having an affair?  Was she blackmailing someone? 

Karen thinks she was having an affair.

My friend Nicole thinks there’s money behind it. 

I don’t know.  I guess everyone who knew her is a suspect, so that includes me.

Since I didn’t do it, that’s kind of exciting.

Ed thinks that’s crazy, but as I told him, craziness is part of my charm.

He grunted.

February 15 Later that Day . . .

By lunch we had loosened up, like people standing outside a funeral home during a viewing “for some fresh air.”   We talked about our last conversation with Margaret or marveled that we couldn’t remember when we had it.  “You just never know, do you?”  I have to admit I almost felt proud that I’d actually known Margaret.

Other things discussed:

The viewing:  Would there be one?  What would there be to view?

What we wanted done with us when we die:  The usual “just stick me in a garbage bag and put me on the curb” won.  Runner up was “shove me in the freezer” (with a nervous laugh).  No one wanted an open casket.  I want a nice Episcopal service with my favorite hymns and scriptures.

Whether there would be more break-ins that would go bad and whether we should get security systems or would signs that said we had security systems be just as good?  The consensus was that Margaret had left her door unlocked, which we never do.  So we’re all safe.

February 15 Sorry, Charlie

 It feels strange to be sitting at my desk, next to Margaret’s.   I can’t really concentrate.  Maybe if I write about it will help.

I wondered what the library would be like today.  Would everyone be as excited as my fellow worshippers had been or would we be quiet, huddling together like a bereaved family?

Everyone came in quite soberly and sat down at their desks without the usual good morning banter.  Every once in a while someone would walk past Margaret’s desk, look at her chair, and then hurry on.  I wondered if they were thinking that they ought to say something to me, as if I had special claim on Margaret since I sat next to her.  “Sorry, Charlie.”  When I thought of that, I started giggling.  Ever since those tuna commercials people have been saying “Sorry, Charlie” to me.  Unfortunately, Bill Cleveland, the head librarian, was walking by my desk at the time.  I must have looked guilty, because he patted me on the shoulder and said, “Everyone grieves differently, Charlie.”

I just nodded.

February 14 Holy Homicide!

Church was buzzing with the murder.  They had Margaret in the prayer for the dead.  And a sermon about how horrible violence is.  God forgive me (for the cliché and the insensitivity) but yada yada yada.  Yes, violence is a horrible thing, but can we do anything about it?   I do feel terrible about Margaret and her family.   But it still doesn’t seem real. 

The general feeling was that it was a break-in gone bad.  Which makes us all nervous.   I was the Queen of Coffee Hour once word got around that I’d known Margaret.  But I didn’t have much to offer except that even after all those years I didn’t have much to offer.

The cupcakes were a big hit.

February 13 A Terrible Thing Has Happened!

A terrible thing has happened.  Margaret was stabbed to death in her own house.  I was making the cupcakes for church when I heard it on the radio.  Fortunately Ed had taken the kids out shopping.

If a casting director had wanted a perfect librarian, he would have found her in Margaret.  She was in her fifties, had never married and was a Republican and a Methodist. She dyed her hair but wore it short.  Her clothes were nice enough, suits and dresses that looked expensive.  Not that I would know for sure.  We’d worked together for years, but had never progressed to the point of talking about how much things cost. 

Mostly we talked about books.  I had never had anyone I could talk about Dickens with or who understood when I said I had a “love-hate relationship with Jane Austen.”

I feel like I’m in one of those mystery novels in which everyone keeps saying, “How could this happen here?” 

I called Karen, and she said, “Almost in the family.”  I guess it is.

January's Over!

February 11:  I’m so glad January’s over.  Not that February is anything to write home about.  But at least there’s Valentine’s Day.  Today my co-worker Margaret and I ran out to the mall at lunch.  I got the girls shirts with hearts and a Spiderman t-shirt for Josh.  At least it’s red.  Maybe I can find some silly things in the dollar store. 

Margaret just sends cards to her niece and nephew.  (Isn’t it funny how English doesn’t have a gender neutral word for one’s sibling’s children?  Or one’s siblings for that matter.  Of course that’s never been a problem for me, having only a half-sister.)  But Margaret gives them each ten dollars!  We got back just in time and had to eat our lunch on our break. 

Anyway, I have to take the kids out tonight to get something for Ed.  Maybe a red tie or red socks or boxers with hearts.  That way, they can remind him to take them out to get something for me.  It’s not that I want anything, but it would be embarrassing if I had something for him and he didn’t have anything for me.

Valentine’s Day is Sunday.  I promised to bring something for Coffee Hour and I think I’ll make cupcakes and put Valentine sprinkles on them.  Maybe they even have little candy hearts.  I can get some conversation hearts, too, and put them on some.  (My friend Karen told me that she saw some dirty conversation hearts in the fancy candy store.  Maybe I should get a bag for Ed.  But what if I got them mixed up and put them on the church cupcakes?  Karen says I have the mind of a situation comedy writer.  Maybe she’s right.)

Dear Reader, I don’t know what you think of this, but I’m having fun.  Let me know.