Rose had gone off on another tangent. “Or if you need any wedding night consultation …”
“Rose!”
She laughed, in her easy way that had been missing for a while. “By the way, I ran into Annie Senato—the Civic Ladies had a meeting at her house. I told her you were back in town and she wants to get together.”
“I don’t remember her.”
“Sure you do,” Rose said.
I laughed. We’d had this conversation several times, with different names. Rose was always trying to jog my memory about our classmates, most of whom had lost their place in my brain cells long ago.
“I’m not getting any recollection of an Annie Senato.” I tapped my head, as if to show her where the information would be if I had it.
“But you were in the same homeroom.”
“I guess it was a big room.”
Rose lowered her voice to a near-scolding tone. “Gloria, she showed me her yearbook. You wrote in it.”
I swallowed hard, fairly sure what was coming next. “What did I write? ‘I’ll never forget you. Love, Gloria’?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, dear. Did I ever write in your yearbook, Rose?”
She leaned across the counter, dislodging a shower of powdered sugar from the pizza dolce, and slapped my arm, barely holding in her laughter.
BACK IN MY APARTMENT with Matt, I looked around with a new eye. What would I take with me to Fernwood Avenue, what would I leave behind? My two blue glide rockers were the only furniture that had traveled with me from California. I put them, with my computer system, on the list of indispensable items. I could do without nearly everything else.
In the corner, by the archway to the kitchen I saw a package I didn’t recognize. A large package, about six inches thick, leaning against the wall.
“What’s this?”
“Something for your new home.”
I knew before I’d torn the paper all the way off. A set of prints of Revere Beach Boulevard, mounted, ready for hanging on my new walls. The largest poster showed the Cyclone roller-coaster, which had dominated the skyline of the Boulevard for many decades. A pale maroon car sat perched on the topmost hill, full of people with excited expressions, ready to plunge forward.
Like me. “It’s a good thing I’m moving. These won’t fit here. They need a bigger wall.”
“I have a bigger wall.”
I smiled at Matt. “What else do you have?”
“A driveway big enough for your Caddie. And a fireplace to keep you warm.” He looked at the digital thermometer/clock on my desk. The outside temperature registered ninety-one degrees at ten o’clock at night.
“Wonderful. Let’s go there now and throw some logs on.”
“Maybe not. It hasn’t been cleaned since last winter.”
“No problem. I don’t mind a little carbon.”
“Whoa,” he said, in an uncontrolled laugh. “I love you, Gloria.”
“And I love you, Matt.”
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Previously published Worldwide Mystery titles by
CAMILLE MINICHINO
THE BERYLLIUM MURDER
THE LITHIUM MURDER
THE HELIUM MURDER
THE HYDROGEN MURDER
Forthcoming from Worldwide Mystery titles by
CAMILLE MINICHINO
THE CARBON MURDER
The last piece of first-class mail had no return address. A small off-white envelope of good quality, postmarked REVERE. I slit it open and pulled out a plain sheet of matching paper.
My throat tightened as I scanned the neatly typed lines, then reread every word.
KEEP OUT OF POLICE WORK. TAKE UP SEWING. END YOUR NEW POLICE CAREER, OR I WILL.
My fingers gripped the note. I looked around quickly, as if the author might be standing over me with a coatrack, ready to push me out the door and down my own staircase.
“A solid, grown-up series, well plotted and well peopled. With dialogue that keeps you smiling.”
—Shelly Singer, author of Royal Flush
Copyright © 2002 by Camille Minichino.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, contact: St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010-7848 U.S.A.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
THE BORIC ACID MURDER
A Worldwide Mystery/June 2004
First published by St. Martin’s Press LLC.
eISBN 9781429978088
First eBook Edition : March 2011
Boric Acid Murder, The Page 25