the kitchen. I took a quick look around. Sparse furnishings, not anything to say who lived here. âHow long have you and Janet lived here?â I called out just as Marsha reentered the living room with water for me and some coffee for her. We sat on the sofa.
âI was already here, going to Georgetown Law, camping out with two classmates, when Jan called to say she was coming to Washington to work for the Vice President.â
âYou knew her from back in Iowa?â
âHigh school.â She took a drink.
I took a swig of water. This was not going to be easy. âYou grew up together?â
âPractically. I couldn't believe she was coming here.â
âWhen exactly was that?â
âA year ago January when the President was inaugurated.â
âOh, of course.â
âThis is a sublet. People from the previous administration. It's like that around here,â Marsha said offhandedly.
âIt's lovely and convenient.â I was stalling, hating the inevitable.
âMore so for Jan. I try to ride in with her; otherwise, it's a bus to the Pentagon and then take the Metro.â
Marsha would be taking lots of buses from now on. I took a drink and girded myself to drop the bomb, but my cell phone rang.
âMay I? It may be my other friend.â I answered âYes?â into the phone.
Max Walsh's voice came on. âWe've corroborated her identity from her fingerprints. You in your office?â
âNo, but I'll be there shortly.â I tried to make it sound like I was talking to my fictitious friend.
âYou back on the boat?â Max asked.
âI'm in Virginia now.â
âWhat are you up to?â
âI stopped by Janet Rausch's. I'm with her roommate, Marsha Hines.â I knew Max would pick up on that and record Marsha's name. The woman was looking at me questioningly.
âYou haven't told her?â Max asked.
I felt a burst of anxiety. âNo.â
âThat's not my jurisdiction. You had better walk softly.â
âLight like a butterfly. I'll call you when I leave.â I clicked off. âI'm sorry.â
âOh no, I was just surprised that you mentioned my name.â
I took my press credential from my bag. âI met Janet two nights ago. We talked. I admired her grandmother's pin.â
âIsn't it beautiful?â
I showed her my ID. âI work for the Washington Daily Star. I'm a reporter.â
âYou interviewing Jan or something?â Her voice was tinted with excitement.
âI wish.â I paused, steadying my nerves. âNo. I came to see you.â
âMe? How did you know about me?â
âI was given your name this morning by someone who works for the Vice President.â
âWhy? Oh. Something's wrong isn't it? Something happened to Jan?â Her voice pitched up.
âMarsha. Janet was killed last night.â
âOh God, oh noâ¦NOOOO!â The young woman wailed, and began to rock back and forth. Her coffee spilled. She flailed her hands as though attempting to rid herself of a pesky bee.
This would not be something Marsha could brush away.
âNo, no, no,â the stricken woman lowed.
I made an attempt to comfort her, but she fought me off.
âYou came to tell me, didn't you? Why?â She rocked in her seat.
âI was called by my editor to go to where a body had been found. The woman had no ID. I recognized her.â
Marsha moaned in agony.
âCan I do anything for you, get you something?â
Marsha shook her head violently, jumped up, moved jerkily, confused, and then ran up the stairs.
I watched as the despondent woman fled, tears filling my eyes. Screw trying to be objective. I hurt for this woman, for Janet. Janet's family. They might be getting the grizzly news about now too. A lovely daughter, stolen from them.
Marsha's lamenting, loud crying like muted screams, most likely into a pillow, cascaded down the stairs. Her torrent of
Sidney Sheldon, Tilly Bagshawe