Page 60 of The Happy Month

“It is. Who’s this?”

“I’m hoping you like magazines, because I have an amazing offer for you.”

She hung up. But it was just as well. I had the information I needed. Or at least, I thought I did. Just in case there were two Andrea Grubbers in Riverside I called the third number. “Hi, is there an Andrea Grubber there?”

“No! And stop calling!”

Okay. I guess I wasn’t the only one looking for Andrea. Now that I knew she lived on Granada Avenue, we could stop there on the way to Palm Springs. I could have asked my questions over the phone, but it was easier to brush people off over the phone than it was in person. What I really wanted was for her to tell me who it was that gave her the tip about Pete’s supposed engagement. She wouldn’t want to reveal her source, but maybe once I explained that it was probably the murderer who tipped her off, maybe then she’d give me the information. Off the record. You never know.

It was after three. I wouldn’t get home until nearly four. I decided it was time to call it a day.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

July 30, 1996

Tuesday morning

Busy work. I’d kept myself busy all day Monday, and then when I got home I kept it up. I did two loads of laundry and then vacuumed the whole downstairs before I mopped the kitchen floor. When he got home at seven, Ronnie looked at me like I’d gone mad.

But I hadn’t gone mad. I was just trying not to think too much about Sunday afternoon. It had been wonderful to see my old friends, but it made me nervous. What if they’d been followed? Ridiculous, I know. I was sure they’d traveled in the last decade. Probably quite a lot. If someone had been following them, they’d have given up long ago.

No, the bigger thing to worry about was whether I’d been seen there by someone who knew Ronnie. Someone who’d mention it to him. If he did find out, I’d tell him I was visiting two old friends. He wouldn’t want to leave it at that, but I could say they were from Detroit. I could give themdifferent names and make up stories about who they were. And no matter how good I was… he wouldn’t buy it.

After a fitful night, I got to The Freedom Agenda around eighty-thirty. Lydia was already in her office with the door closed. That was fine. I’d decided I needed to spend the morning tackling the list of names Karen had given me for the Patrick Gill case. Several of the numbers were long distance. It was just easier to call them from the office, I wouldn’t need to be reimbursed.

I made a fresh pot of coffee, poured myself a cup, then sat down and dialed the first number. Vera’s friends, Harper and Georgia Dawson. They had a 602 number and an address in Scottsdale, Arizona. I was pretty sure that was a tony suburb. They’d done well for themselves.

A man said hello when the phone was answered.

“Is this Harper Dawson?” I asked.

“It is. You’re not selling something are you? ’Cause I’m not buying.”

“No. I’m not. I wonder if I can talk to you about Vera Korenko?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

I could hear a woman in the background asking, “Who is that? Who are you talking to? Harp, what’s going on?”

I forged on. “You were mentioned in a book about Vera’s murder. Your photo is in there.”

“We didn’t really know her, though. Georgia worked with her at the bank. The writer made things up. That’s all.”

“Vera? Are you talking about Vera?” The woman must be Georgia.

I asked, “Could I talk to your wife?”

He set the phone down, which made a clunking noise. A moment later the woman came on the phone, “Hello?”

“Is this Georgia?”

“It is. I’m Georgia. Do you know something about Vera?”

“I was hoping you could tell me about her. You worked together?”

She left a pause, took a long, ragged breath, then: “Vera was a wonderful girl. So, so smart. And pretty. But the boys… Well, she was too smart for them. I told her she had to pretend she didn’t understand things or she’d never get a husband, but she didn’t listen. Always had to let the boys know how smart she was.”

“Did the boys get angry at her?”