The Helium Murder by Camille Minichino Read Free Book Online Page B

our meal, simultaneously snacking on cannoli crumbs, and went to my closet to assemble an outfit befitting a staff member of a funeral home. Black , I thought, in a burst of brilliance, although Rose seldom wore black on these occasions. One-hundred-and-five-pound Rose, I reasoned, could pull off any look in any color, but I needed all the help I could get.
    I chose a black three-piece ensemble, of the kind I favored—a skirt and long-sleeved blouse, with acoordinated vest trimmed in a silver print along the edges. I had long considered that vests were originally invented with me in mind, since I firmly believed that they hid all the unflattering bumps in my torso.
    Before I finished dressing, the phone rang, and my earlier nightmare came true. Peter was calling, “to check on me.”
    “I thought I might come over this evening, if you happen to be free.”
    “I’m not, Peter,” I said, trying to sound a bit disappointed. “I’m getting ready to attend a wake.” I’d made a split-second decision to spare Peter the fact that I was actually preparing to work at a wake.
    “That congresswoman?”
    “Yes.”
    And once again, Peter’s tone changed my mood in a matter of seconds. I no longer wanted to sound disappointed that I was busy, or even vaguely interested in a visit from him.
    “I read that the police are considering foul play. Don’t tell me you’re involved in the investigation.”
    “I won’t if you don’t want me to, Peter.”
    “Why are you like that, Gloria? I’m just worried, after what happened last time.”
    “Last time worked out fine,” I said, glad there was no video link to show Peter that I had automatically rubbed my wounded arm at the mention of “last time.”
    “Well, are you at least able to have lunch with me on Monday? I won’t see you before Christmas otherwise. I’m going on the senior trip to Washington.”
    “How nice,” I said. “I love Washington. The National Gallery, the Smithsonian.”
    “It’s not the same with a hotel full of eighteen-year-olds that you’re responsible for.”
    “I guess not.” I removed the receiver from my ear and looked at it momentarily, as if to ask it why it was bothering me with these petty issues. I wasn’t proud of my reaction to Peter, but the alternative of leading him to think I was still his girlfriend was out of the question. The fact that I’d been engaged to another man and then lived three thousand miles away since our last date didn’t seem to faze him.
    “So, lunch on Monday?”
    “I’ll let you know,” I said. “I’m pretty busy with this case.”
    “Good night, Gloria. I can tell you’re distracted right now.”
    “Good night, Peter.” The growling sound I made came after I’d hung up.
    I let out a big sigh and walked to my window to calm down. I could always count on a snowy street scene to soothe my nerves. Later, I decided, I’d have to think of a more permanent way to resolve my relationship with Peter.
    I searched through my CDs for some technical-reading music. I still hadn’t gone through Vincent Cavallo’s report and hoped it would contain some physics that I could enjoy. Just picturing the helium atom, with its two lovely electrons, relaxed me.
    To the tune of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony , I read another person’s view of the helium operation. SinceCavallo was a physicist, I wasn’t surprised to find that he took the strong position of the American Physical Society. “Profoundly concerned about the potential loss of the nation’s accumulated helium reserves,” were the words they used.
    The body of the report listed several actions that Cavallo felt would improve the helium program. Among his recommendations were the elimination of smaller activities, like testing, that weren’t cost effective, and charging higher fees to private industry for services. Cavallo estimated that the program would see an increase in income of four to eight million dollars, with a loss of only thirty jobs if his