right,” Doris said, pulling away from Phil to wipe her face with both hands. “I’m just upset, that’s all.”
“Of course you are,” said Alice. “Anyone would be. Betsy, what do you think? Is this the sort of crime you could solve?”
Betsy smiled wryly. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is just the kind of thing the police are good at, but not me. You know, fingerprints, fibers, tiny pieces of lint or cryptic footprints. No, not cryptic. What’s the word? Footprints it takes ultraviolet rays to expose.”
“I really, really liked that silk brocade,” mourned Doris.
“More than the ruby necklace?” asked Shelly, surprised.
“Rubies and sapphires are mined in Thailand, and they sell for low prices over there. The stones I bought were small and probably not very high quality—it was just the idea of owning rubies. But the silk, oh the silk! That was special. I’ve never seen anything like that anywhere.”
“It was beautiful,” agreed Bershada. “I’m so sorry it’s gone.”
There was a little silence.
Shelly said, “Well, if we’re going to get this done, we’d better get back to it.”
Betsy, who had taken off her shoes, groaned and began to feel around for them with her toes.
Bershada said, “Now, people, wait just a minute. Look at Betsy, she’s been on her feet all day. I think we should send her home and finish up without her.”
“No, no—” Betsy started to object.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Shelly.
“But I don’t want to go home,” Betsy said.
“So don’t,” said Bershada. “You just sit there. When we want more cocoa, we’ll ask you to make it. That’s your job for the rest of the night—making cocoa.”
“I agree,” said Phil, but tentatively. He looked at Doris.
“Fine with me,” she said. “What’s left to do?”
“The bathroom,” said Shelly.
“The kitchen floor needs a scrubbing,” said Alice.
Bershada said, “And, Doris, we made a big pile of your undies on the bed.”
“I’ll be right in,” said Doris.
“Let me help you, sweetie,” said Phil.
“No, you don’t,” said Bershada, laughing. “You go scrub the kitchen floor.”
In another minute, they were back at it. Betsy at first felt useless to be consigned to the couch while everyone else got busy. But in a few minutes her head fell back and her eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep, just relaxed. She wished someone would come and rub her feet; she loved having her feet rubbed. A shame Morrie was no longer her boyfriend—he gave the best foot rubs.
Thoughts and ideas drifted through her drowsy mind. Doris was a very nice woman, and she sure didn’t deserve to have a vandalizing burglar pay a visit. Stealing the silk brocade was an odd thing to do. Who would the burglar sell it to? The teen vandals Shelly had talked about were a group, and they spent hours in the school. Could it have been a group of teens who did this?
But this apartment didn’t seem a likely teen target. Or even a burglar’s. Doris wasn’t a rich woman, or one of those crazy old people who lives alone in a raggedy house and has a reputation as a miser. Yet the burglar had done everything but take up the floorboards. Mike Malloy was right—this was more like a search than anything.
But for what?
Maybe the search was for that lovely statue of the Buddha. No, it couldn’t be. Doris had delivered the statue. There was no need to search her apartment for it, when it was not here.
Maybe something else, then: a diamond-studded cat collar or a Rolls Royce concealed in the bathtub—
“Betsy?”
She came to with a start. “Huh?”
It was Shelly, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Have you heard from Susan Greening Davis yet?”
“What? Oh, hum, yes.” Betsy squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, trying to get her brain to wake up. “Yes, she’s coming late this summer. She’s going to teach a counted cross-stitch class. Oh, and I’ve written to Lisa Lindberg asking her to come
“Of course you are,” said Alice. “Anyone would be. Betsy, what do you think? Is this the sort of crime you could solve?”
Betsy smiled wryly. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is just the kind of thing the police are good at, but not me. You know, fingerprints, fibers, tiny pieces of lint or cryptic footprints. No, not cryptic. What’s the word? Footprints it takes ultraviolet rays to expose.”
“I really, really liked that silk brocade,” mourned Doris.
“More than the ruby necklace?” asked Shelly, surprised.
“Rubies and sapphires are mined in Thailand, and they sell for low prices over there. The stones I bought were small and probably not very high quality—it was just the idea of owning rubies. But the silk, oh the silk! That was special. I’ve never seen anything like that anywhere.”
“It was beautiful,” agreed Bershada. “I’m so sorry it’s gone.”
There was a little silence.
Shelly said, “Well, if we’re going to get this done, we’d better get back to it.”
Betsy, who had taken off her shoes, groaned and began to feel around for them with her toes.
Bershada said, “Now, people, wait just a minute. Look at Betsy, she’s been on her feet all day. I think we should send her home and finish up without her.”
“No, no—” Betsy started to object.
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Shelly.
“But I don’t want to go home,” Betsy said.
“So don’t,” said Bershada. “You just sit there. When we want more cocoa, we’ll ask you to make it. That’s your job for the rest of the night—making cocoa.”
“I agree,” said Phil, but tentatively. He looked at Doris.
“Fine with me,” she said. “What’s left to do?”
“The bathroom,” said Shelly.
“The kitchen floor needs a scrubbing,” said Alice.
Bershada said, “And, Doris, we made a big pile of your undies on the bed.”
“I’ll be right in,” said Doris.
“Let me help you, sweetie,” said Phil.
“No, you don’t,” said Bershada, laughing. “You go scrub the kitchen floor.”
In another minute, they were back at it. Betsy at first felt useless to be consigned to the couch while everyone else got busy. But in a few minutes her head fell back and her eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep, just relaxed. She wished someone would come and rub her feet; she loved having her feet rubbed. A shame Morrie was no longer her boyfriend—he gave the best foot rubs.
Thoughts and ideas drifted through her drowsy mind. Doris was a very nice woman, and she sure didn’t deserve to have a vandalizing burglar pay a visit. Stealing the silk brocade was an odd thing to do. Who would the burglar sell it to? The teen vandals Shelly had talked about were a group, and they spent hours in the school. Could it have been a group of teens who did this?
But this apartment didn’t seem a likely teen target. Or even a burglar’s. Doris wasn’t a rich woman, or one of those crazy old people who lives alone in a raggedy house and has a reputation as a miser. Yet the burglar had done everything but take up the floorboards. Mike Malloy was right—this was more like a search than anything.
But for what?
Maybe the search was for that lovely statue of the Buddha. No, it couldn’t be. Doris had delivered the statue. There was no need to search her apartment for it, when it was not here.
Maybe something else, then: a diamond-studded cat collar or a Rolls Royce concealed in the bathtub—
“Betsy?”
She came to with a start. “Huh?”
It was Shelly, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Have you heard from Susan Greening Davis yet?”
“What? Oh, hum, yes.” Betsy squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, trying to get her brain to wake up. “Yes, she’s coming late this summer. She’s going to teach a counted cross-stitch class. Oh, and I’ve written to Lisa Lindberg asking her to come
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