you went to Janie’s,” said Annie.
Is she calling my bluff? wondered Harriet. She tried a different approach. “Are you buying a Hanukkah gift for your older man?” Annie looked appalled. “I would never do anything so cheap and obvious. That would be tacky.” She swept off down the street. Harriet followed. She didn’t like the idea of spying on Balsam and Douglas so soon after Balsam had caught them, but she wasn’t about to let Annie get away without answering some questions. As they crossed the street toward the Koreans’, she noticed a column of smoke rising out of a trash can. Balsam threw in some cut branches, and Douglas upended a large metal trash can. Flames leaped through the can’s perforations.
Annie grabbed Harriet’s arm. “Look!” she whispered. “They’re burning the evidence!”
“What evidence?”
“Aha,” Annie said. “That’s the mystery.”
“I think they’re burning the wood chips and paper bags.”
“Shows what you know. The Dumbwit’s a document forger. You think he sits on that stool reading his book all day long, but he’s grinding out phony savings bonds right in the back of that truck. Myong-Hee’s the connection. They’ve opened an offshore account in the Bahamas.”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Could we please stick to the facts?”
“Facts”—Annie spit out the word—“are a bore.”
Not in my world, thought Harriet. I’m going to find out the facts about you .
“Did you notice the Dumbwit’s jeans?” Annie said as they walked to the Feigenbaums’. “The knees are so ripped you can see the ripped long Johns. I tell you, H’spy, these are desperate men. They’re losing the farm and the only way out is a life of crime. Balsam is going to run off to Las Vegas to marry Myong-Hee and Douglas will be so upset that he’ll go on a killing spree. We’ll read about it in the New York Post .
‘Christmas Tree Massacre.’”
“Have you seen a lot of massacres?” Harriet asked shrewdly.
“Dozens,” said Annie.
She’s not going to give me a straight answer, ever, thought Harriet. Trying to conjure up Mr. Grenville’s dramatic skills, she let out a big phony shiver. “My feet are like ice. Let’s go inside and make cocoa.”
“Food’s better at your place.”
She’s trying to steer me away, thought Harriet, more determined than ever to spy on the Feigenbaums. She pulled a face. “I was stuck in my stupid apartment all yesterday.
I need a change of scenery.”
“If you must,” said Annie, and led her inside. The Feigenbaums’ receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled at them. Harriet’s eyes swept the waiting room as they walked past to the private part of the house. The tall man rubbing his knees was a Morris, for sure; the too-thin woman with bulging eyes could go either way. Probably a Barbara, Harriet thought, with a hormone disorder, or trying some test-tubey way to get pregnant.
Or, she thought, both well-disguised Mafiosi. After the men in the seafood restaurant, anything was possible. She followed Annie down the back stairs.
Annie made them both cocoa, which, Harriet noticed, had sugar and marshmallows this time around. There were even some packages of cookies. Annie’s exerting her influence over the Feigenbaums, Harriet thought. Might be significant.
Both of the patients were gone by the time the girls went upstairs to Annie’s room. It was a guest bedroom, layered with old Oriental rugs and painted a dim shade of russet, with still lifes and zoological etchings in frames on the walls. No visible effort had been made to redecorate it for a twelve-year-old girl, but Harriet’s sharp eyes immediately landed on two items she hadn’t seen before. The first was a well-worn sock monkey tucked next to the pillow. The second, which made her pulse race, was the lavender box the curly-haired man had thrust into Annie’s hands as she’d gotten into the cab on Saturday. It’s a love gift, thought Harriet. I have to find
Is she calling my bluff? wondered Harriet. She tried a different approach. “Are you buying a Hanukkah gift for your older man?” Annie looked appalled. “I would never do anything so cheap and obvious. That would be tacky.” She swept off down the street. Harriet followed. She didn’t like the idea of spying on Balsam and Douglas so soon after Balsam had caught them, but she wasn’t about to let Annie get away without answering some questions. As they crossed the street toward the Koreans’, she noticed a column of smoke rising out of a trash can. Balsam threw in some cut branches, and Douglas upended a large metal trash can. Flames leaped through the can’s perforations.
Annie grabbed Harriet’s arm. “Look!” she whispered. “They’re burning the evidence!”
“What evidence?”
“Aha,” Annie said. “That’s the mystery.”
“I think they’re burning the wood chips and paper bags.”
“Shows what you know. The Dumbwit’s a document forger. You think he sits on that stool reading his book all day long, but he’s grinding out phony savings bonds right in the back of that truck. Myong-Hee’s the connection. They’ve opened an offshore account in the Bahamas.”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Could we please stick to the facts?”
“Facts”—Annie spit out the word—“are a bore.”
Not in my world, thought Harriet. I’m going to find out the facts about you .
“Did you notice the Dumbwit’s jeans?” Annie said as they walked to the Feigenbaums’. “The knees are so ripped you can see the ripped long Johns. I tell you, H’spy, these are desperate men. They’re losing the farm and the only way out is a life of crime. Balsam is going to run off to Las Vegas to marry Myong-Hee and Douglas will be so upset that he’ll go on a killing spree. We’ll read about it in the New York Post .
‘Christmas Tree Massacre.’”
“Have you seen a lot of massacres?” Harriet asked shrewdly.
“Dozens,” said Annie.
She’s not going to give me a straight answer, ever, thought Harriet. Trying to conjure up Mr. Grenville’s dramatic skills, she let out a big phony shiver. “My feet are like ice. Let’s go inside and make cocoa.”
“Food’s better at your place.”
She’s trying to steer me away, thought Harriet, more determined than ever to spy on the Feigenbaums. She pulled a face. “I was stuck in my stupid apartment all yesterday.
I need a change of scenery.”
“If you must,” said Annie, and led her inside. The Feigenbaums’ receptionist looked up from her desk and smiled at them. Harriet’s eyes swept the waiting room as they walked past to the private part of the house. The tall man rubbing his knees was a Morris, for sure; the too-thin woman with bulging eyes could go either way. Probably a Barbara, Harriet thought, with a hormone disorder, or trying some test-tubey way to get pregnant.
Or, she thought, both well-disguised Mafiosi. After the men in the seafood restaurant, anything was possible. She followed Annie down the back stairs.
Annie made them both cocoa, which, Harriet noticed, had sugar and marshmallows this time around. There were even some packages of cookies. Annie’s exerting her influence over the Feigenbaums, Harriet thought. Might be significant.
Both of the patients were gone by the time the girls went upstairs to Annie’s room. It was a guest bedroom, layered with old Oriental rugs and painted a dim shade of russet, with still lifes and zoological etchings in frames on the walls. No visible effort had been made to redecorate it for a twelve-year-old girl, but Harriet’s sharp eyes immediately landed on two items she hadn’t seen before. The first was a well-worn sock monkey tucked next to the pillow. The second, which made her pulse race, was the lavender box the curly-haired man had thrust into Annie’s hands as she’d gotten into the cab on Saturday. It’s a love gift, thought Harriet. I have to find
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