“My sister?”
He turned his head on the rim of the chair back and watched me ponder that surprise.
“I think I’ll think about that tomorrow,” I said.
He smiled and said, “Good idea, Scarlett. I’m told we got another call, too. Long distance. Gunnison, Colorado. Inquiry about the state of your health.”
“Michael?” I said, yet again surprised. “So that’s where he is. Wasn’t that sweet of him to call?”
“Um,” he said sardonically, “sweet.”
“How in the world did he hear so soon?”
“You’re big news, kiddoo,” Geof informed me. “This story’s already on the twenty-four hour cable news networks.” He imitated an anchorman: “In Port Frederick, Massachusetts, tonight, a mass murderer turns out to be a mass of murderers!”
“Don’t know that I’d call two a mass,” I said and had a moment of déjà vu. Where had I said something like that before? I was too tired to try to remember, everything seemed long ago and far away.
I turned my head and looked at a volunteer who was sunk in a heap on the floor about a yard away from me.
“How you doin’?” I said gently to Ginger Culverson. She’d been one of the first volunteers to respond to the plea over the local radio. Even Franklin and Marvalene had come out to help—they huddled now in a corner of the room, audibly telling each other how wonderfully altruistic they were.
“I ache,” she said and smiled sadly back at me. “Bodywise and heartwise.”
“You aren’t the only one who misjudged him,” I told her, as if that could help. “You’ll have to get in line behind me, for instance.”
“I liked him a little differently than you did, Jenny.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“We’ll get our new museum now, won’t we?” she said, and even managed to sound as if she cared.
“Either that,” I said, “or we’ll have to set up shop permanently in the parking lot.”
“Guess the insurance will build it,” she said.
“I hope,” I said.
“But you could probably use some financial assistance to make the new museum bigger and better,” Ginger mused.
“Undoubtedly,” I said carefully.
“Well, here I am,” she said brightly, just as her eyes filled with tears. “Simon’s dream come true.”
We exchanged teary, ironic smiles before she buried her head in her arms. Her father, I thought, would have liked her so much.
Ailey Mason trotted in the front door of the center. I watched him search the crowd for Geof. Once he spotted us, he slowed down to a weary trudge and made his way through the volunteers to stand in front of us.
“Mr. Mason,” I said formally, “you don’t happen to have a certain article of clothing for me, do you?”
He actually grinned and looked his age.
“Evidence,” he said sternly. “We have to hold it as evidence.”
“Oh dear,” I muttered while I imagined a lot of cops getting a lot of good laughs. I turned my head to plead for special dispensation: “Geof?”
“I’ll get it back for you,” he promised and leveled Mason with a cold look generally reserved for suspects. Mason swallowed his laughter and turned on his heel to search out the more sympathetic and good-humored comforts of hot coffee and doughnuts.
I had closed my eyes and was nearly napping when I heard Geof say my name softly.
“You called?” I said and smiled at him.
“When this is over,” he said, “I’ll have to get a move on moving, so to speak, out of my house.”
“I suppose you will,” I said neutrally.
“I just wondered …” He hesitated. “Do you have any architectural preferences? Contemporary? Cape Cod? Federalist? Tudor?”
“Actually,” I said, “my architectural preferences are more along the lines of Cheap. Easy To Clean. Comfortable.”
He laughed and I said innocently, “Why, pray, do you ask, good sir?”
“Well.” He seemed to have developed a hesitation in his speech that I hadn’t noticed before. “I’ve been thinking how I need a new place to live … and how you don’t want to live in your parents’ house now ... and …”
“Geof,” I said, “I don’t know how I feel about being number three of anything.”
“I know.” He was humility itself. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’d like to think this over,” I said gently, “and give us some more time to see what develops.”
“Sure,” he said quickly, “I can see that, sure.” But he sounded disappointed nevertheless.
I rolled my head over the rim of my chair and smiled at him again. “Geof, have you ever lived with anybody without benefit of marriage?”
“No,” he said, “actually, I never have.”
“That would be a first, then.”
He was beginning to grin back at me.
“Yes,” he said, “that would be numero uno.”
“Good,” I said and leaned back again and closed my eyes. “I like to be number one.”
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