best friends and have lunches together at the Ivy.
Mary walked into the main bedroom and took a quick look around. No correspondence. No notes. A few pictures on Brent’s dresser. They were mostly black-and-white. Brent as a young man in Hollywood back in the fifties. He’d been really good looking back then, Mary had to admit. His friends all looked like young comics with tans, hip clothes and money to burn. The few women pictured were lookers, too. Mary recognized a couple of the men in the photographs. One was now a celebrity of sorts, a talk show host. The other was a semi-well-known comic who’d been the brains behind a comedy series.
“Finding anything back there?” Rosie called from the kitchen area.
“Just a bunch of sex toys,” Mary called back. “Some of them are pretty heavy duty.”
She took a peek in the bathroom. Nothing there but a newspaper in a little shelving unit that held soap and hand towels. It was open to the obituaries, of course. Old people loved to read obituaries. Sort of a sneak preview.
“How much longer do you think you’ll be?” Rosie called.
“Sorry, I’m putting some of these sex gadgets into my purse,” Mary said. “I’ll need to do some very thorough research with them. Lots and lots of testing.”
Mary walked back into the living room. “I’m just kidding. I’ve got all those things at home.”
Nothing, Mary thought. I’ve learned nothing.
“Anything else?” Rosie said, clearly anxious to be done with this.
“I guess not,” Mary said.
They left the apartment and Rosie locked the door.
“I suppose you’re going to want to talk to the ladies, too? Like the police did?”
Mary stopped. “What ladies?” She looked closely at Rosie and the woman now realized that she’d offered some information that hadn’t been requested – always a bad idea.
“Oh, nothing, never mind…”
Mary gently grabbed her arm. “Rosie,” she said. “What ladies?”
Mary read the expression on the woman’s face as realization that it was too late for a retraction. Rosie let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“Apartment 410,” she said. “Please don’t mention my name. I don’t want to get on their bad side.”
“Shut up Fran, I’ll do the talking.”
The ‘ladies’ as Rosie had called them, turned out to be three friends probably all in their fifties or sixties who shared a huge condo. The apartment was tastefully decorated, everything top-of-the-line. Much bigger, much nicer than Brent’s place.
Mary thought the women in general looked pretty good for their ages. Their personalities, however, were iffy. The self-appointed spokesperson was Helen, a tall, thin blonde with an attractive but stern face. She had a thin martini glass in her hand, filled with a red concoction. A Cosmo, Mary thought.
Fran was the nervous one. Mary could tell by the way the older woman fidgeted on the big white couch. And the way she occasionally bit her lower lip. She had dark brown hair with frosted tips that probably cost a pretty penny.
The third was the quiet one. Her name was Rachel and she took herself out of the picture quite literally, standing off to the side so Mary had to turn her head to see her. She had a worn face but a body that Mary would kill for.
“So, what, you’re his niece, you said?” the leader, Helen, said.
“That’s right,” Mary said.
“So what do you want? We told the police everything we knew.”
“And what was that? What did you know?”
“Can’t you ask the cops for all that?” Helen’s voice was deep and stern. This woman could have been an Admiral in the Navy, Mary thought.
“Oh, yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Mary said. “They love to share everything they know about murder cases with civilians. Maybe I could bring in some bagels and they’d let me monkey around on their computers for a few hours.”
The other two women glanced at Helen, as if curious to see how she would react to someone actually standing up to her.
“You don’t have to get snippy,” Helen said.
“I’m not asking the cops,” Mary said, her voice softer but not to the point of pleading. “I’m asking you to help me. Someone murdered my uncle, and I’d like to help find out who. Is there anything you ladies can tell me?”
“Nothing,” Helen said. “At least, nothing useful. The cops pretty much told us that.”
“Well-” Fran started to say, leaning her head to side as if she were walking a tightrope, looking for her balance.
“Shut it,” Helen snapped. She glared at Fran then turned her gaze back on Mary. She