Goodnight, Irene

Lydia arrived and we were courteously guided to a booth near the back. There were about ten other people scattered around at the other tables, which just about made a full house.

We went about the business of studying the menu without saying much. Lydia chose a curried vegetable dish and I went for the murg sag and an order of garlic nan. The waiter left and Lydia looked over at me.

“Are you going to tell me about it, or should I pretend your eyelids aren’t swollen and your nose isn’t red?”

“Have you ever noticed that, in the movies, a woman can cry and neither her mascara nor her nose will ever run?”

“That’s Hollywood.”

“Yeah.” I told her about my conversation with Ke

“He’s lost his mind. Don’t let him get to you.”

“Too late. Maybe I’m the one who’s crazy for even trying to talk to him. Double crazy for letting it bother me.”

“Truth be told, I probably would have strangled him on the spot.”

“What do you suppose brought him to say things like that?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Irene, if you haven’t been able to see how threatening you are to Ke

She had a point. Ke

Our food arrived, but my appetite had left. I picked at the soft thin bread covered with bits of garlic and made a stab or two into the spinach-and-chicken dish. But I couldn’t force myself to do much more.

“You know what we need?” said Lydia, watching me. “We need to have a memorial service or something for O’Co

“Barbara wants to have an Irish wake. She wants to wait until Ke

“What happens at a wake?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t really know except from hearsay and movies. But Barbara’s going to talk to my grandfather’s sister; Mary’s from the old country.”

“I’ll bet Kevin could help out.”

“You’re right. Kevin’s probably waiting to hear what we’re going to do.”

I thought of all the other friends of O’Co

“Ready to go?” Lydia asked. I felt bad about leaving so much food, so I asked to have the murg sag wrapped up to go.

When we got home, I was about to put the Styrofoam container into the refrigerator when Cody intercepted me, and I dished out some of the meal for him. Lydia sat on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter and listened to the answering machine. Her mother had called to invite her over to a cousin’s birthday party on Thursday. There was also a message from Frank. Lydia gave me a very meaningful look, although he had simply said, “It’s Frank-Sunday morning. Give me a call if you get a minute.”

Fortunately, Cody distracted her by having a sneezing fit after eating the murg sag.

I called Kevin, but he wasn’t home, and his machine wasn’t on. I tried Frank. He answered with the usual “Harriman.”

“Hello, Harriman,” I said.

“Hello, Kelly,” he said warmly. “Sorry about conking out so early last night.”

“It was kind of fun watching you sleep.”

Lydia, hearing only my side of the conversation, raised her eyebrows. I grabbed a section of the Sunday paper from the counter and swatted her.

“What was that?” Frank asked.

“There’s a fly in here.” Lydia stuck her tongue out at me.

“Do you have plans for the afternoon?”

“Nothing special. Are you going stir-crazy again?”

“You guessed it. Would you mind going out for a drive? I just need to get out of the house for a while.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all. Give me about an hour, okay?”

“Great.”

We hung up and I found myself being studied by Lydia.

“Okay, Irene. Give me all the details. What’s going on with you two?”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Lydia.”

“Oh, sure. ‘It was fun watching you sleep.’”

“Last night he fell asleep on the couch, with his head on my lap. We were both fully clothed. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your big romantic story.”

“Who says that’s not romantic?”

I was rescued from a reply by the ringing of the phone. I picked it up and said hello. A genteel, very controlled voice came over the line.

“Hello. May I please speak to Miss Irene Kelly?”

“This is she.”

“Miss Kelly, I am Alberta Owens, Elaine Owens’s mother. Detective Giocopazzi suggested that I give you a call in co

Rachel had come through for me.

“Thank you for calling me, Mrs. Owens. I appreciate it very much.”

“Detective Giocopazzi tells me that you were present when my daughter died, and helped to identify the person who killed her. I suppose I don’t need to tell you how anxious I am to be of help. Justice won’t bring Elaine back, but perhaps it will provide some comfort.”

I hesitated. “I suppose she told you that the man who killed your daughter is dead?”

“Yes, and knowing that the man who murdered my only child is dead is some relief. But why was she killed? Why did he make her suffer so much?”

Her voice caught for a moment on this last question. What could be worse than losing a child in such a way? Somehow, knowing how hard she was trying to be calm while talking to me made hearing this little catch all the more painful.

“Mrs. Owens, I know you’re aware that there is some possibility of a co

“Her murder. Dying is natural. This was not.”

“-between your daughter’s murder and the murder of her cousin thirty-five years ago.”

“Je

There was a brief silence while I thought over something she had just said.

“Mrs. Owens, how did Elaine ask Je

“Oh, no, there’s never been telephone service out to the trailer. No, they were correspondents. They wrote to one another constantly. Mostly girlish fiddle-faddle.”

“Would any of those letters still be in existence?”

“I doubt it. I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for them in any case.”

“Mrs. Owens, this is very important. Would you please look for anything resembling a letter? I believe Elaine was killed because she knew something or had something that incriminated someone here in the murder of her cousin.”

“Well, if you think it’s so important, certainly I will look for them.”

“Did Elaine attend college?”

“Yes, for a time she attended Arizona State University, here in Phoenix.”

I could feel my pulse quickening.

“Did you know any of the young men who came to the parties Elaine held while she was in college?”

“Certainly. I don’t recall all of their names, of course. They were mainly young gentlemen from the university.”

“Do the names Richard Longren or Andrew Hollingsworth mean anything to you?”

She thought for a moment. I pulled at my lower lip, then realized Lydia was watching me and stopped.

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t say they do. Do you suspect them in some way?”

“Not necessarily,” I said, willing any disappointment out of my voice. “How about the Theta Delta Chi fraternity?”

“Elaine’s husband was a member of Theta Delta Chi. He would often bring his fraternity brothers to her parties.”

“Could you find out from him if Richard Longren or Andrew Hollingsworth ever came along to any of the parties?”

“Yes, we will be seeing him this evening. He is quite devastated by all of this. I’m sure he’ll want to be of help.”