Meerbaum for Political Science, a subject neither of us liked. We might have liked it if we’d had a good teacher, but Mrs. Meerbaum was overbearing, sarcastic, and unreasonable.
“Yes, like Mrs. Meerbaum,” I said. “The school plans a memorial service tonight during PTA, and I thought I’d scout for suspects. Would you like to come?”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a PTA meeting. It might be fun.”
“Milton first, then PTA.”
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“Well, I feel a little guilty. He’s been so helpful to me in the past, and I haven’t been to see him in a while.”
“You’re such a pushover.”
I unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. Jerry sat down on the passenger’s side and looked through the music books.
“Is that the Christmas cantata?” I asked.
“Yes.
The Glory of Christmas
.”
“Are you planning to play it?”
He leafed through the pages. “I don’t know. It’s not difficult. I’m not sure I’m ready for the glory of Christmas in September, though.”
“Choirs usually start on the Christmas music early, don’t they?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, since the last time I was in church, I believe I was wearing a long white dress and crying because my head was wet.” He set the book aside. “How was the chateau?”
“Grim and dark. However, Tori Satterfield’s really sweet and shy. I don’t believe she ever goes out.”
“Is she an invalid?”
“No, just shy.”
“But she talked to you.”
“One artist to another.”
“Did she show you her work?”
“Stacks and stacks of scrapbooks, all lovingly decorated. She wanted to be a ballerina and, except for one happy experience, never got the chance.”
“Did she know anything about the riddle?”
“No, and there must be a hundred portraits lining the walls.”
“Well, if Nathan’s so anxious to solve this riddle, why isn’t he over there examining all the portraits?”
“I’m not sure. There’s something going on or something that used to go on between Nathan and Tori that I can’t figure out. But he hired me. And I’m hiring you to come help lift pictures off the walls.”
“Okay,” he said. “I work cheap.”
***
Milton Warwick met me at the door of his office in Parkland, his broad grin fading when he saw Jerry. But he recovered and beamed like a lighthouse.
“Come in, come in. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather now, isn’t it? Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” I said.
Milton Warwick’s a tall, thin, gangly man with shiny bald head and protuberant eyes. As a scientist, he’s interested in everything, and he’d made it clear from the first time we met he was interested in me. I knew he was disappointed I’d married someone else, but his professional curiosity was stronger than his disappointment.
“What can I do for you, Madeline?”
“A teacher at Celosia Elementary died from an apparent heart attack. She was a heavy smoker. She was also wearing a nicotine patch. I want to know if that could’ve caused a heart attack.”
“Well, I’m right in the middle of an experiment. Give me a few moments. Have a seat, you two. I’ll be right back.”
Jerry and I sat down in the white plastic chairs Milton keeps for his visitors. Jerry looked through a copy of
Astounding Nonsense
, a magazine published by Milton’s science club to debunk myths and questionable scientific research.
“Check this out, Mac. There was an actual paper on the ration of toast crumbs found in butter.”
“Our tax dollars at work?”
“An independent study.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And here’s one calculating the number of sled dogs in Alaska. I’ve always wanted to go to Alaska, but not to count sled dogs.”
“Were you thinking of going there any time soon?”
“Sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? How about a second honeymoon?”
“Sure.”
“And here’s an article on painting.” He turned the magazine so I could see. “‘Simian Impressionists: An
“Yes, like Mrs. Meerbaum,” I said. “The school plans a memorial service tonight during PTA, and I thought I’d scout for suspects. Would you like to come?”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a PTA meeting. It might be fun.”
“Milton first, then PTA.”
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“Well, I feel a little guilty. He’s been so helpful to me in the past, and I haven’t been to see him in a while.”
“You’re such a pushover.”
I unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. Jerry sat down on the passenger’s side and looked through the music books.
“Is that the Christmas cantata?” I asked.
“Yes.
The Glory of Christmas
.”
“Are you planning to play it?”
He leafed through the pages. “I don’t know. It’s not difficult. I’m not sure I’m ready for the glory of Christmas in September, though.”
“Choirs usually start on the Christmas music early, don’t they?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, since the last time I was in church, I believe I was wearing a long white dress and crying because my head was wet.” He set the book aside. “How was the chateau?”
“Grim and dark. However, Tori Satterfield’s really sweet and shy. I don’t believe she ever goes out.”
“Is she an invalid?”
“No, just shy.”
“But she talked to you.”
“One artist to another.”
“Did she show you her work?”
“Stacks and stacks of scrapbooks, all lovingly decorated. She wanted to be a ballerina and, except for one happy experience, never got the chance.”
“Did she know anything about the riddle?”
“No, and there must be a hundred portraits lining the walls.”
“Well, if Nathan’s so anxious to solve this riddle, why isn’t he over there examining all the portraits?”
“I’m not sure. There’s something going on or something that used to go on between Nathan and Tori that I can’t figure out. But he hired me. And I’m hiring you to come help lift pictures off the walls.”
“Okay,” he said. “I work cheap.”
***
Milton Warwick met me at the door of his office in Parkland, his broad grin fading when he saw Jerry. But he recovered and beamed like a lighthouse.
“Come in, come in. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather now, isn’t it? Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” I said.
Milton Warwick’s a tall, thin, gangly man with shiny bald head and protuberant eyes. As a scientist, he’s interested in everything, and he’d made it clear from the first time we met he was interested in me. I knew he was disappointed I’d married someone else, but his professional curiosity was stronger than his disappointment.
“What can I do for you, Madeline?”
“A teacher at Celosia Elementary died from an apparent heart attack. She was a heavy smoker. She was also wearing a nicotine patch. I want to know if that could’ve caused a heart attack.”
“Well, I’m right in the middle of an experiment. Give me a few moments. Have a seat, you two. I’ll be right back.”
Jerry and I sat down in the white plastic chairs Milton keeps for his visitors. Jerry looked through a copy of
Astounding Nonsense
, a magazine published by Milton’s science club to debunk myths and questionable scientific research.
“Check this out, Mac. There was an actual paper on the ration of toast crumbs found in butter.”
“Our tax dollars at work?”
“An independent study.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And here’s one calculating the number of sled dogs in Alaska. I’ve always wanted to go to Alaska, but not to count sled dogs.”
“Were you thinking of going there any time soon?”
“Sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it? How about a second honeymoon?”
“Sure.”
“And here’s an article on painting.” He turned the magazine so I could see. “‘Simian Impressionists: An
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