Imagine my surprise when Sexy Neighbor turned up dead. And Mousy Husband began acting… well, highly suspicious. Was this just a ploy to keep the two lovers apart for a few more chapters? Or would Mousy Husband turn out to be the real serial killer, thereby allowing the heroine to find happiness with the mousy, bespectacled but perhaps secretly heroic homicide detective who had just turned up to investigate the neighbor’s death?
The husband and the homicide detective were in the middle of a duel of waspish wit and mousy spectacle polishing when the manuscript broke off in midchapter.
“Aarrgghh!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t sure which was more provoking: not knowing how the story ended, or realizing that I’d actually gotten caught up in Anna Floyd’s hokey plot.
Although perhaps my interest was less related to the plot than to the question of what, if anything, it had to do with Ted’s murder? Was this rather dark and brooding story really the product of the same mind that had produced the other three mildly amusing if somewhat predictable works I’d previously read? Was there any significance to the fact mat Anna Floyd was writing about murder instead of the usual abduction and seduction themes?
Most interesting of all - since all Anna Floyd’s statuesque blond heroines and mousy heroes clearly resembled Dr. Lorelei and her husband, was this plot inspired by something in real life? If Lorelei was having an affair with a patient, she’d probably done a certain amount of sneaking around. And if Ted had been blackmailing her, an observant eye - say, a jealous husband - could have detected a certain emotional tension between them. What if the husband had put the evidence together and come to the erroneous conclusion that Dr. Lorelei had been having an affair with Ted? Was the book some kind of wish fulfillment? Or, better yet, a game plan? In the book, Sexy Neighbor had been bludgeoned, not strangled, of course, so the book wasn’t a finished game plan. But what if the blow to Ted’s throat was a bludgeoning attempt that had failed, forcing the killer to fall back on the mouse cord to finish his victim off?
I’d have to consider the husband a suspect. And decided that if he was a suspect, I should make a better effort to remember his name. I looked him up on the phone list. Dr. Glass. I’d work on remembering that. Dr. Glass whose motive, if he turned out to be the killer, would be transparent.
I was rereading passages of the manuscript, trying to figure out if the mousy homicide detective resembled anyone else around the office or if he was another version of Dr. Glass. And also looking for clues that the deceased Sexy Neighbor was intended to represent Ted. He wasn’t my idea of a dream-boat, but maybe he looked that way to Dr. Glass. He was taller and younger, anyway. And perhaps his breezy attempts at charm had gone over better with Dr. Glass than they had with me.
I still had my nose buried in the book when the door opened. I glanced up to see a cleaning cart rattle into the reception area. I focused back on the screen, and then realized that there was something odd about the figure pushing the cart. I looked up at her. Her shoulders sagged in typical tired fashion beneath the usual faded blue smock the building cleaning service staff wore. A few wisps of gray hair escaped from her bandanna.
Odd that she would be here so early, I thought. Usually the cleaners didn’t show up till after five. Probably someone had called for a special cleanup of some kind, I deduced, and was about to turn my attention back to my computer screen.
The cleaner stopped for a moment before pushing her cart through the opening into the rest of the office, and sighed heavily as she eased her obviously aching back. As she did, her bandanna slipped up a little, revealing an earlobe pocked with odd, assorted earrings.
The rabid fan.
“You again!” I shouted, furious that the intruder had very nearly gotten past me in her cleaning lady disguise. I vaulted over the reception desk to catch her. She turned and tried to ram me with the cleaning cart, but I had more momentum. I batted the cart aside, shoved the bandanna-clad figure to the floor, and sat on her.
Four of the office dogs thought this was enormous fun, and danced around us barking. Jack and Frankie, who had been talking in the hallway, ran over and Waded through the dogs to help.
“Hold on to her,” I said. “And turn her over.”
“Her again,” Frankie said.
“This time we arrest her for trespassing, I hope,” Jack said.