She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. What's up?"
I dug into my purse and pulled out my notebook and the clipping. "I need some info if you've got it."
She leaned forward, always curious. The woman had a nose for gossip like no one else I'd ever met, and if I needed to know anything about anybody in this little burg, she was the place to start.
I handed her the obituary and flipped open my notebook. "Susan—did you know her?"
She read the clipping. "Yeah, I knew her. She was in the Chiqetaw Players."
"That's why I asked you." I knew that Harlow was one of the primary sponsors of the little theater group. If anybody knew anything about the members, she would.
Harlow tapped a polished fingernail against the paper. "Susan had talent. Lots of it. I've read all of her books. It's hard to believe that she'd let this happen. I always assumed she was careful about her diabetes. I guess the condition is harder to keep track of than I thought." She handed me back the article. "What do you want to know?"
"What about her husband? Did they have a good marriage?"
She raised one eyebrow. "You aren't looking for a sugar daddy, are you?" When I glared at her, she winked. "Just kidding. I'm going to assume you have a good reason for asking, since I've never known you to go muckraking before." She glanced around. The gym was bare. Luckily, she didn't really need the income. She'd been one of the few smart ones with her money, investing for the days when she would be too old to play the cover girl.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Susan used to think her marriage was perfect, but I hear she filed for divorce recently. Walt's a scum. Rich and powerful, but a scum. He tried to seduce me last spring, and when I told him to fuck off, he spread a few well-placed rumors that I was a dyke who just married James for his money. Nobody believed him, but nobody would confirm that he was the one who was spreading the gossip, either. I never told Susan though. I didn't want to hurt her."
I knew Harlow well enough to know she wouldn't lie about something like this. "So, Walter's a scuzbag. I wonder why she married him."
Harlow shrugged. "I dunno. We weren't really close. I wanted to be friends and there were times when she opened up, but when I think about it, she never let anybody get too near. You know what I mean? It was almost like she was afraid to let people into her life." A puzzled expression crossed her face. "I wonder what happens to her estate now."
"Won't Walter get it? They were still married."
Harl frowned. "I don't know. They've got a daughter, though I gather she never comes home. Apparently the girl isn't very stable." Leaning forward even though the gym was empty, she whispered, "You know, Susan ran away when she was a teenager. Rumor mill had it that she went chasing after a boy, but I have no idea what happened. She ran off before she graduated. About a year and a half later, she returned to Chiqetaw, pregnant. She married Walter and would never talk about the time she was gone."
I jotted everything down, making brief, terse notes and underlining the words. It made me feel a little bit like a detective, and I bit my lip to keep back a silly grin. I probably wouldn't be able to read my own writing tomorrow, but what I could decipher should jog my memory.
"Interesting." I sat back and contemplated the huge sculpture that took up almost a third of the lobby. Harlow loved being a benefactor; the spa was liberally peppered with local artists' attempts to break into the spotlight.
She rested her legs on the desk, full of old Shape and Muscle & Fitness magazines, her feet encased in a pair of Sketchers. Chic. Everything about her was trendy, always a few months ahead of everybody else. When I hung out with her too much, I began to feel like a blimp next to that sleek, too-thin, too-toned body of hers.
"Can I ask why you want to know all this?" Harl was used to me talking about all sorts of ooo-spooky things, but I wasn't sure how she'd take my latest revelation.
"Susan showed up in my bedroom last night. I think she has some unfinished business she needs to take care of."
She stared at me. "Susan was hanging out in your room? You mean her ghost?"
"Well, she's dead. She couldn't be there any other way, now, could she?" I feigned a sudden interest in my fingernails, glancing at Harl through my lowered lashes.
"I see." Her voice was so even it scared me. One of these days, she'd break down and have them cart me away to the funny farm. "And did she tell you what she wanted?" A mixture of laughter and fear danced in her oh-so-blue eyes.
"Kind of."
"Awfully cryptic, aren't we? I have got to hear the full story, but I have the feeling you're not going to spill it right now, are you?"
I gave her a rueful grin and stood up. "Not now, babe, but I promise to tell you everything as soon as I've got more time." I was on my way out when another thought struck me. "Hey, I'd love to 'casually' meet a few people who might have been close friends of hers. Is there going to be a reception following the service?"
Harlow tossed her magazine back on the pile. "I have no idea, but I'll try to find out. Meanwhile, why don't you come with James and me to the opening of Obsidian! Starts at eight sharp, tonight. It's a play by a local writer. His name is Andrew Martinez, and he was in Susan's writing group." She grinned. "You won't believe what else he writes. Anyway, James and I are taking him out afterward to celebrate the new show. Tag along?"
"Are you sure that I won't be intruding?" I hated being a fifth wheel and chances were Andrew already had a girlfriend. Celebrations like sit-down dinners always felt awkward now that I was divorced.
She got that all-too-hopeful look that always spelled trouble for me. "He's unattached and won't be bringing a date. I'll say that you and I want to play catch up. The autumn's been so hectic that it's really true, you know—we need to spend an afternoon gossiping. And who knows? Maybe something will come of the meeting."
I narrowed my eyes. "It never works out, Harl. Don't even go there. But yeah, I'll come with you. I can use an evening out, and the kids can grab something from McDonald's."
She told me that the play would be at the local high school gymnasium. I gave her a hug and headed out, wondering what she would think when I told her the whole story. Unlike most of the residents of Chiqetaw, Harl accepted my quirkiness without comment, but when I started talking about ghosts, she got spooked. I think she must have been scared by some mutant pervert on a bad Halloween.