but right about then, I didn’t care. I needed answers. I looked her in the eye. “I think there’s a lot for us to talk about. How about if you sit down, too?”
She did. But she made sure she kept her distance from the other two women.
Back in control—but who knew for how long?—I started again. “Look, there doesn’t seem to be any point in lying to you any longer—”
“Yeah.” Glynis glowered. “Now that we know you’re a private investigator.”
“That’s not why.” I hunkered down, the better to look each of the women in the eye. At the same time, I put my left hand on Celia’s arm (she was farthest in that direction) and my right on Beth’s. “I want you to know the truth because I think . . . well, I like to think of you as my friends. Even though you did con me into making that flan for you. And I can understand if you don’t feel very friendly toward me any longer. After all, I did lie to you. But that’s the whole point of friendship, isn’t it? We can have differences, and we can talk them out. Right?”
One by one, they nodded their begrudging agreement.
“Then here’s what you have to know.” I cleared my throat and, because I wasn’t in the kind of shape that allowed me to sit in a catcher’s squat for any length of time and still be able to walk, I stood and tried not to wince when my thigh muscles screamed in protest. “Alex Bannerman, the guy who’s accused of killing Vickie . . . Alex is a friend of mine. I’m looking into Vickie’s murder because I’m trying to clear Alex’s name.”
Celia’s protest was immediate. “We can’t help you.”
“You can.” I couldn’t afford to single any of them out, so I took in all three women with a wave of one arm. “You can tell me what you’re up to on Tuesday nights.”
“But if we do—”
Celia and Glynis both shushed Beth with a look.
“If you don’t, Alex is going to end up in prison for a crime he didn’t commit,” I reminded them.
Glynis looked up at the ceiling. “The cops say he did it.”
Celia looked down at the floor. “The papers say the evidence is indisputable.”
Beth wiped a finger under nose. “The TV news says there’s no doubt.”
“And none of them are right.” I kept the desperation from my voice. Barely. “Alex is a nice guy. A really nice guy. He’s fun, and he’s funny. He makes really great cookies, only he calls them biscuits. He’s remodeling the house where I’m going to live.”
“And let me guess . . . that isn’t here in McLean, is it?” The pointed question came from Celia along with a look that matched.
“It isn’t,” I admitted. “The part about me being one of your new neighbors was a lie, too. I needed to get to know you so I could find out more about Vickie. I didn’t think you’d give me the time of day, not if you didn’t think I was one of you.”
Glynis sighed.
Celia picked at one leg of her tailored pants.
Beth cried softly.
I thought she’d be the first to cave, but, surprisingly, the surrender came from Celia. “Look . . .” She shifted her position on the bench. “This isn’t something we want anyone to find out about. The guys—”
“They think we go to cooking class every Tuesday night,” Glynis added.
“Which is why you check Sonny’s schedule to see what he’s making in his classes. Then you do exactly what I did, right? You check out the ready-made foods at the grocery stores, find something similar, buy it, and make it look homemade by heating it in a fancy porcelain pan or scooping it out of its little plastic container and serving it on crystal.”
“Guilty.” Glynis tried for a smile that didn’t exactly make it all the way to her eyes. “We’ve been doing it for just about a year now.”
“And on Tuesdays, when your husbands think you’re going to cooking class, you’ve been going to bars, and I don’t get it. Unless . . .” OK, call me slow. A lightbulb went off in my head and suddenly the whole thing made sense. It was a sick and twisted sense, but it was sense nonetheless. “You’re all doing exactly what Vickie was doing. You go out on Tuesday nights to meet guys.”
Not a single one of them jumped up and told me I was wrong. They didn’t