by Sara Rosett
I spotted Irene making her way down the breakfast buffet line and waved her over when she finished. I said, “I’m waiting on someone, but I don’t think he’s going to show.”
“Oh, okay. How about I sit over here?” Irene sat down at the table beside me.
“How are you doing after yesterday? You know, I didn’t see you afterward, but you were okay, right?” I asked.
Her silverware clinked to the floor. She quickly bent to pick it up and set it aside before reaching for another set wrapped in a napkin. She slowly unfolded the napkin and said, “Um, yeah…sure. I’m fine.” She lined her silverware up neatly and spread her napkin in her lap.
“You didn’t get hurt or anything?” I asked, puzzled by the way she smiled tentatively. I realized she didn’t know what I was talking about.
“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly as her hand fluttered around her face, pushing her blond bangs off her forehead. Then she smoothed the lapels of her lightweight travel blazer. Today’s blazer was green.
I signaled the waitress for another glass of juice and said, “Well, that’s good.”
After a few seconds, she inched her chair toward mine. “Ellie, I’m not sure…” Her voice trailed off.
I said, “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
She smiled quickly and shook her head.
I handed her the newspaper. “A man died yesterday in the Metro. He fell off the platform as the Blue Line train came in.”
“Oh, goodness. That’s terrible,” she said, but I could have sworn I heard relief in her voice.
“So what happened to you?” I asked.
“Me? Oh, I remembered I had an…appointment.” She nodded her head and her voice became more sure. “I had an appointment and didn’t want to bother anyone, so I left the group right before everyone went into the Metro.”
“That’s right.” Good grief. I’d completely forgotten. Had being pregnant addled my brains or was it everything else that had happened? “I can’t believe I forgot. You were on your way to the Library of Congress. You didn’t get to see it?”
“No.” Now she looked completely at a loss. Apparently that was all she was going to say, because she put down the paper and cut her omelet with intense concentration. I paid my bill and calculated the tip. Irene had never puzzled me before. I’d always thought she was as transparent as a plate-glass window, but there was something about her today, a furtiveness, that I’d never seen before.
“Well, I’ll see you in the lobby. I’ve got a call to make,” I said and Irene nodded, distractedly.
I found a sofa in the lobby and dialed Debbie’s phone number. She picked up immediately, her voice eager. “How did it go? What did he say? What was he like?”
“Debbie…” I paused and it seemed like I could feel the hope being sucked out of her. “I’m sorry. He didn’t show.”
“It’s okay.” Her words were a monotone now. “You know, I don’t know why I do this to myself. It’s always the same. No one will talk about it.”
“Have you tried talking to your mom again?” I asked as gently as I could.
There was a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding? No. Wouldn’t do any good. Subject is closed. She doesn’t even know I contacted MacInally. Or how hard it was for me to track him down. I didn’t want to get into the whole why-can’t-you-move-on thing. I can’t move on. I just can’t.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said. I hated hearing the anguish in her voice. “I’ll try to get in touch with him again. I’ll be here all week. Maybe he’ll meet with me later.”
“You know what really gets me?” I didn’t think she’d even noticed what I’d said. Now anger laced through her voice. “No one will talk about it, but if they do happen to accidentally mention it, then it’s with shame. Shame! He served his country. What’s shameful about that?” Her voice rose and wavered on the last line.
“Nothing,” I said quietly.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sorry. You should know. You’re living it.”
“Look, I’ll call him again,” I repeated. “Do something nice for yourself today. Tell Derrick you need a break for a couple of hours. Take yourself out to lunch or buy that pair of boots you were telling me about, okay?”
“Okay. Call me if you hear from him.”
I hung up, called MacInally, and left a terse message. Did he really understand the hopes he’d raised?
That afternoon, I leaned over a display mounted in the wall. “I don’t see anything,” Abby said as she peered over my shoulder.
“You have to look closely. The tarantula is right there under the branch,” I said.
“I’m glad I can’t see it.” Abby moved on to a display that showed the interior of a beehive. Live bees thronged over the comb. A few departed through a cleverly constructed transparent tunnel connected to the museum’s windows. We watched the bees fly away; then, a few returned through the tunnel to the hive.
“Okay, I think we’ve done it all,” Abby said. “American Indian Museum—check. Dinosaurs—check. Sea fossils—check. Mammals—check. Reptiles—check. Now we can check off the Insect Zoo. I think when you’ve made it to the Insect Zoo you’ve seen it all.”
Nadia didn’t even have to consult her map. “We haven’t seen the Hope Diamond yet.”
“Jewelry.” Abby brightened. “Lead on.”
Nadia’s glossy dark hair bounced as she strode through the museum. “It’s up here on the second floor, too. Did you know the Hope Diamond weighs over forty-five carats? It was donated in 1958.” I glanced back at Wellesley. She was at the back of our group, talking on her cell phone. She didn’t seem to mind that Nadia had taken over as tour guide.
“Where’s Irene?” I asked Gina. She crossed her skinny arms and shrugged. Her pale lemon shirt made her look even more faded and washed-out than she had yesterday. “She said she was tired and headed back to the hotel a few minutes ago.” Gina hadn’t said much during today’s tour. Granted, it was hard to get out more than a sentence or two with Nadia nattering away all day, reporting little-known facts and trivia about the exhibits.
As we walked past the open gallery that overlooked the rotunda on the main floor, I looked around for Summer, in case she was early. She said she’d meet me by the African elephant display. The massive hall dwarfed the elephant. I didn’t see Summer, so I still had a few minutes to check out the diamond. I lingered a few seconds, enjoying the dramatic architecture of the museum with its three floors of pillared galleries that rose to the dome. Wellesley had informed us it was a classic Beaux-Arts style. I thought it was a wonderful contrast to the modern museum buildings that I’d been in, which always seemed a bit cold and sterile.
Wellesley ended her phone conversation and I fell into step with her as I searched in my bag for chocolate. I opened my hand, offering her one of the silver-wrapped Hershey’s Kisses as I asked, “Irene went back to the hotel? Was she okay?”
“Oh, no chocolate for me,” Wellesley said. “I eat an ounce and, I swear, I gain two pounds in my hips. Irene seemed fine. She said she was tired and was going to the hotel to take a nap.”
Irene didn’t set a marathon pace in anything I’d done with her, but I’d never known her to skip out of activities. I hoped she really was feeling okay. Wellesley interrupted my thoughts as she asked, “So, what’s this class that all your husbands are taking? I know you told me, but I can’t remember the details.”
“Foreign Reciprocity Officer Training. Did you know that our military helps train military officers from foreign countries?”
Wellesley shook her head. “No, I had no idea.”
“We do. They’re usually from ally countries. Mitch told me that sometimes foreign countries don’t have the technology for training that we do here. It’s kind of like a foreign exchange program for foreign military officers. Anyway, when these people arrive here for training, each base has to have a point of contact to help them get situated with everything they need. The FROT class trains them in how t
o handle the paperwork and coordinate everything the foreign officers need.”
“How big is this training program?” Wellesley asked.
“It’s not that large. The FROT training is an additional duty,” I translated for her. “That means the guys will still do their primary job, being a pilot, and they’ll do the FROT thing if they have a foreign officer arrive on base. I don’t think it will be that often where we are. Now, if we were at a training base where they teach people to fly, then I bet it would be another story.”
We walked a few more paces and I said, “I saw the article about the man who died in the Metro. I didn’t realize yesterday in all the chaos that he was someone you knew.”
She stopped walking and looked at me. “What?”
“The man who died. You talked to him on the Mall right before we went to the Metro.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“But his picture was in the paper. You spoke to him by the Reflecting Pool. In fact, it looked like he was angry with you. He grabbed your arm.”
Her eyebrows descended and she quirked her mouth to one side. “I don’t know what you saw, but it certainly wasn’t me. We’re holding up the tour.” She elbowed her way into a crowd around the display case where the Hope Diamond rotated slowly.
That was weird. Maybe I’d been mistaken? The picture in the paper had been in black-and-white and kind of grainy.
Nadia said, “It’s so beautiful. Can you tell us about the curse?” I stood on tiptoe and looked over the crowd to catch a glimpse of the diamond. The color surprised me. I’d expected a deeper blue, but it had a more translucent quality. Wellesley eyed Nadia warily as if Nadia was trying to trip her up before she said, “The gem has a colorful history, but like most curses, the curse associated with the Hope Diamond—bad luck and death—turns out to be mostly myth. Contrary to the legend, the jeweler who brought the diamond back from India, Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, didn’t die from being torn apart by wild dogs in India. Instead, he lived to be eighty-four and died in Russia. Even though the diamond was part of the French crown jewels, Marie Antoinette did not wear the diamond…”
My cell phone rang. The caller ID read SUMMER AVERY. I checked my watch as I opened the phone. It was four o’clock and I was late. I waved to Abby, who knew I was meeting Summer, and dashed out of the room to the balustrade overlooking the museum’s gallery.
“Hey, Summer. I’m on my way,” I said, searching the crowds milling around the elephant. “But I don’t see you. Are you by the elephant?”
“No. I’ve been…delayed.”
Shoot. I hoped she wasn’t about to cancel. I didn’t want to have to tell Mitch that Summer was a no-show. He wouldn’t hold back with the “told you so” comments.
“That’s okay. You’re on your way, right?”
“Umm…I don’t know how long this thing will last.” Now that I wasn’t focused on being late, I noticed she didn’t sound like her usual breezy self.
I slowed down. “What thing?”
“Being questioned by the police.”
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip
Routines that will take the pain out of packing
Keep a set of small, travel-size bottles of lotions, shampoos, and other toiletries separate from the items you use day-today. You’ll have all the items you need in one spot and can pack quickly. Restock used items at the end of your trip or save hotel samples for your next trip.
If you travel frequently, invest in travel clothing that doesn’t wrinkle and that you can wash and hang to dry.
Containerize your travel items into smaller bags for quick packing and unpacking. For example, separate jewelry, toiletries, and makeup into different bags. You can even use zip-top bags for this.
To avoid the last-minute search for your airline and hotel confirmation numbers, have a copy of your reservations sent to your e-mail account. Print information and store all travel reservations (airline, rental car, hotel) in a designated place. To make it easy to find your travel documents in your purse or carry-on, place them in a business-size envelope or plastic folder, which will keep them separate from your other items.
Chapter Three
“Can I get you anything else?” A dark-headed man with an olive complexion set a glass of water on the end table beside me.
“What? Oh no. Thank you. I’ll be fine.” As he moved across the office’s reception area, I noticed he had the compact, solid body of a wrestler. What had he said his name was? Tom? Terry? And what did it matter? Was I focusing on that minor detail so I didn’t have to think about Summer being questioned by the police? He did look a little familiar, but after my encounter with Wellesley, I wasn’t sure if I’d seen this guy either.
A short, lean man with a shriveled face entered the office and shouted, “Tony!” as he scurried by the reception desk. Tony met him in the hall. They talked about a contract as they walked down the hall and disappeared around a corner.
I pushed my sweaty bangs off my forehead and tried to get my breathing under control. It had been quite a hike from the Mall to K Street, where Summer worked. I probably could have taken the Metro to the offices of the Women’s Advancement Center, but I hadn’t thought about it, and the truth was that if I had thought of it, I’d probably have avoided the underground trains anyway. I still felt a little skittish about the Metro.
I was glad the reception area was deserted. It was frigidly air-conditioned and everything was either clear glass, transparent plastic, or white fabric. Even the receptionist’s desk was a plastic and glass concoction that looked like an ice sculpture. I’d gone for the touristy look today with a skort, sleeveless shirt, sunglasses, and tennis shoes. I definitely looked out of place with my vacation duds and flushed face.
I took a sip of my water and noticed Tony had reappeared in the doorway. “Tony, how long has Summer been in with…”
He forced a smile. “Only fifteen minutes or so. It won’t be much longer, I’m sure. Routine questions. They didn’t take long with the rest of us.”
“Oh, they questioned you, too?”
“Yes, of course. We were all on the platform in the Metro.”
I finally placed him. He’d been the man that the tall, blond woman had tossed her lanyard and cell phone at shortly before the television interview began in the Metro. So the woman had been Summer’s employer and landlord. I hadn’t made the connection until just now.
I was about to ask what the police wanted to know, but I heard voices from somewhere behind Tony. Summer stopped abruptly in the doorway, her long red curls swirling around her shoulders. “Tony! There you are. I’m out of here. Remember, I told you I had to leave early today—” She caught sight of me and hurried across the reception room to hug me. “Ellie!”
Her long hair tickled my nose as I returned her hug. I pulled away and held her back by her shoulders. “Are you okay?”
She shrugged and broke away. “Sure.” She dashed over to the reception desk, jerked open a drawer, and tossed her hobo bag on her shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning, Tony,” she said as she leaned over and tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard. “I’ll have that spreadsheet finished after lunch tomorrow, I promise.”
Summer picked up a denim jacket from the back of the chair, then linked her arm through mine and pulled me out of the office. “I’m so sorry about that! No big deal. Where do you want to go to dinner? Is Mitch still waiting for us?”
“I called him on the way over and told him you’d been delayed. He’s tied up anyway. One of his meetings was rescheduled, so we’re going to meet at six.”
“Perfect. Where do you want to go? Do you feel like Thai?” She kept chattering as she pulled a black beret out of her purse and situated it on her curls at a jaunty angle. “Oh, I’m so glad I got out of there before I saw Mr. Archer. Did you meet him? I heard him talking to Tony right before I left. I know Mr. Archer’s going to ask me to babysit Emma again and I don’t want to see him go balli
stic when I tell him I can’t. He’s unpredictable. Ms. Archer says he has sleep issues and that’s why he’s so irritable.” Summer rolled her eyes. “He’s just plain old mean.”
I stopped dead in the quiet hallway. “Summer, you were questioned by the police. That is a big deal. Are you sure everything’s okay? Why did they need to talk to you anyway? You weren’t on the platform at all.”
Her green eyes narrowed as she studied me for a few seconds. Her busy, almost frantic manner fell away. “So what they say about pregnancy hormones is true. I’ve never heard you use that tone.”
Why is it that when a woman is pregnant and she displays any emotion from frustration to irritation or just plain crabbiness, everyone in the vicinity has to tell her it’s the pregnancy hormones? It’s as if a pregnant woman can’t have legitimate emotions. Every state is attributed to hormones. “This has nothing to do with me being pregnant or my hormones. It’s about the police questioning you. I’m worried about you and you don’t seem to have a care in the world.”
“Let’s go downstairs. There’s a restaurant where we can talk.”
We sat down at a tiny table in the back corner and ordered. “So what happened?” I asked.
Summer pulled her long hair over one shoulder and raked her fingers down the curving strands. “They wanted to talk to me because they thought I was on the platform yesterday.”
“But you weren’t. You were babysitting what’s her name—the Little Terror.”
Summer actually glanced around the restaurant guiltily. “I shouldn’t call her that. Her name is Emma. Anyway, they wanted to talk to me because there was someone on the platform who looked like me from the back. Long hair, beret, denim jacket. But it wasn’t me. I told them that.” She smiled and sipped her latte.
“Summer, why are they still investigating?”
“They’re not sure it was an accident.”
