On the square marking next Thursday on the wall calendar in Rosalie’s kitchen were two exclamation marks and the words the lawyers in purple felt-tip pen. Other than that, there was nothing on the wall calendar at all. Of course, Rosalie had work to do. She had investments she managed and charities she supported. She put a lot of time into the Smith College Alumnae Association. Still, if something didn’t happen soon, what would she do? This could go on forever. She was as sure as she could be that Michael Pride had murdered her grandfather. She was just as sure that nobody would arrest him for it unless they had to, because nobody at all wanted to see Michael Pride arrested. That was how he’d gotten out from under that raid he’d been caught in the day or so before grandfather died. Rosalie had thought she’d had it all set up, and it had done nothing for her at all. And now—
Now she sat down on the edge of Michael Pride’s desk and looked around the office. It was just as much of a mess as she had hoped she was making it. The witnesses were numerous and shocked. Rosalie didn’t care that Eamon Donleavy was furious or that Sister Augustine was exasperated. She did care that Michael Pride seemed to be amused, but she shoved that to the back of her brain. What Michael Pride felt or thought or did mattered not at all in this case. Rosalie had her eye on Gregor Demarkian, and in that direction she thought she had made a hit. She knew who Gregor Demarkian was because she had read about him in People magazine. She knew what he was doing here because there had been rumors about his coming for a week. It was impossible to keep anything secret in the center from anyone who really wanted to find out. Eamon Donleavy had been talking about Demarkian with the Cardinal for Rosalie didn’t know how long. It hadn’t occurred to Rosalie that Demarkian might actually be here when she showed up. She thought it was a very good thing for her that he was.
He was supposed to be an independent investigator. He would have to take her seriously.
Rosalie was wearing a little black dress today, instead of her customary slacks and turtleneck. It was too hot for slacks and turtleneck. In this dress she couldn’t tuck her legs up under her without showing off her underwear. That was a scenario with possibilities—Michael wouldn’t care, but Eamon Donleavy would spit—but Rosalie was afraid it would also make Gregor Demarkian think she was a jerk.
Rosalie crossed her legs at the ankle instead. She said, “Well, now. Are all of you people willing to listen to what I have to say for once?”
For a moment Rosalie thought Eamon Donleavy was going to lunge at her. She even flinched. He moved only to flex the muscles on his arms. “No,” he said. “Nobody is willing to listen to what you have to say.”
Farther away, Gregor Demarkian coughed. “Excuse me,” he said. “My name is—”
“Gregor Demarkian. I know. I’m glad you’re here. I’m Rosalie van Straadt.”
“I understood that, yes,” Demarkian said.
“It was my grandfather that was murdered,” Rosalie said. “And of course they’re all trying to cover it up. That’s why I’m here.”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Michael said.
Rosalie ignored him. It was true, of course, but everything she had to say was true, too. That was the point.
Michael came fully out of the crowd and crossed to Gregor Demarkian. He held out his hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Demarkian. I’m Michael Pride. Welcome to the Sojourner Truth Health Center.”
“Thank you,” Gregor Demarkian said.
Sister Augustine hissed. “Rosalie, get down off that desk. What will Mr. Demarkian think of us?”
Rosalie had no intention of getting down off the desk. She wasn’t very tall. She would be swallowed up by the crowd. She started to swing her legs in the air instead.
“They are covering it all up,” she said, in as reasonable a tone as possible. “They’ve been covering it up since it happened, just as they cover up everything else Michael does. Did you know that the strychnine my grandfather swallowed came from the medical cabinet in this very office?”
“Yes,” Demarkian said.
“Did you know that the cabinet was locked? And that only Michael and Sister Augustine had keys?”
“I knew that, too. Yes.”
“Well, they’ve been much more forthcoming than I thought they’d be. But I bet there’s something you don’t know. I bet you don’t know that Michael was arrested two days before my grandfather died. Arrested on a morals charge.”
“It wasn’t a morals charge, Rosalie,” Michael said. He sounded so damn patient. “It was a vice charge. There’s a difference.”