Chapter Twenty
“Do you know what this means?” Lucy asked, holding out the clipping.
Geri took the scrap of newsprint and studied it. “Isn’t he the man who runs Heritage House?”
“He sure is, and it seems that he’s an alleged war criminal. I think your mom was investigating and discovered Novak’s true identity. She probably knew about him from her work covering the war in Bosnia.”
Geri was suddenly unsteady on her feet and Lucy grabbed her before she could fall. “Let’s go inside,” urged Lucy, leading the way to the three steps that went from the garage into the house. Reaching them, Geri plunked herself down and sat, still staring at the clipping. “You think Mom was investigating this guy and he found out about it and killed her?”
“I think that must be what happened,” said Lucy, sitting beside her. “I was talking to that group of three women who always hang out together, do you know who I mean?”
“Not really.” Geri shook her head.
“Well, there are these three women, close friends, and they told me that Novak convinced them to coax your mother into the stairwell to see a baby owl. It took a lot of convincing, they said. . . .”
Geri nodded knowingly. “I bet. Mom hated those stairs. Any enclosed space, in fact, ever since she came back from Bosnia.”
“It was only when she thought the owl was being mistreated that she agreed. Once they were all in the stairwell Novak reminded the three women that it was lunchtime, so they left, and your mother was alone with him.” Lucy reached for Geri’s hand, taking it in her own. “We know she never left the stairwell.”
“I just can’t wrap my head around this. What’s a Bosnian war criminal doing running a senior care residence?”
“I don’t think he put ‘Supervised massacres and torched hospitals’ on his visa application,” said Lucy. “What I can’t figure out is how he discovered that your mom was onto him. She was an experienced reporter and investigator and she knew how dangerous he could be. She would have been very careful not to tip him off.”
“On the other hand, he had a guilty secret and knew she was a potential threat. I bet he’d been keeping an eye on her all along. I know her apartment was searched while she was out. She mentioned to me that somebody had been messing with her things, she’d noticed subtle changes and things moved around and she thought it might be one of the nurses. I didn’t take it too seriously, I thought she was probably just getting forgetful in her old age. She eventually complained to the nursing supervisor, Elvira Hostens, who defended the staff and told her that it must be one of the other residents. She said some of the more advanced Alzheimer’s folks tended to take anything they took a fancy to but staff members always made sure the items were returned to their proper owners. Mom said she gave her a look that sort of suggested she’d be in trouble if she kept making accusations, so Mom backed down.”
“Elvira went on the offensive, turned the tables.”
“Yeah. I’m a little surprised that Mom even approached her, much less registered a complaint. She called her Nurse Ratched, after the awful nurse in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Mom always tried to stay clear of her after that, she said she felt she was being watched. I think she might’ve been afraid to continue investigating Novak. She sure never mentioned anything about it to me.” Geri stood up and brushed away a few tears. “She did seem kind of stressed before she died—I should’ve paid more attention.” Geri brushed away her tears. “I thought it was just old age.”
“You know,” said Lucy, also getting to her feet, “I’m beginning to think Heritage House is just a fancy way for Piotr Novak Varga to disguise his evil past. I’m beginning to wonder why I wasn’t more suspicious, why I fell for all those press releases about ‘aging in elegant surroundings’ and ‘making the most of your golden years.’ ”
“Well, the place must be a golden goose for whoever owns it,” observed Geri.
“That would be Peter Novak and his mother, Vesna Varga.”
Geri’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The Easter egg lady?”
“The very same,” said Lucy, who had been adding two and two. “They own the place outright, which means they must have had money, plenty of money, to invest when they arrived here from Croatia.”
“Money they stole?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them, but maybe they were well-off and brought along their cash. Immigration policies tend to favor wealthy people. And now they are raking in the dough, for sure. For one thing, Heritage House is only one of three senior residences in the TaraCare Corporation, which is conservatively estimated to be worth twenty million dollars. I wrote a story last year about the way some businesses set up fake corporations to provide overpriced services like laundry and cleaning, so it seems as if they’re losing money even when they’re making a huge profit—and they don’t even have to pay taxes.”
“I should be surprised, but somehow it all makes sense. I was never happy that Mom was there, something about the place always bothered me.” Geri shrugged and sighed. “She loved it, though, she really did.” Geri grabbed the railing and climbed up onto the first step. “I don’t know why she had to start poking around, looking for trouble.”
“Looking for trouble,” said Lucy, repeating the words and realizing she was guilty of the very same thing. “Some of us just can’t help ourselves.”
“Well,” said Geri, taking the next steps and opening the door, “if Mom’s experience tells us anything it’s that if you look for trouble you’ll probably find it.”
“Do you mind letting me have the clipping?” asked Lucy, indicating the scrap that Geri was still holding, careful not to rip the fragile paper.
“Of course not. Here,” she said, handing it over. “But promise me you’ll be very careful. Novak is a dangerous man.”
“I will,” promised Lucy, giving her a smile and a little wave. She heard the door close with a snap as she made her way through the garage, wondering what her next step should be. When she reached her car, parked in the driveway, she had a plan. She tucked the clipping into her reporter’s notebook, dropped it in her bag, started the car, and headed straight for Heritage House.
First things first, she decided, intending to get Miss Tilley out of danger and into the safety of her own home. She didn’t really think Miss T was in any danger, and neither was she. There was no way Novak could know she’d learned about his past. As far as he knew, once he’d disposed of Agnes he could be confident his secret was safe. She would have to confront him sooner or later, hopefully by telephone from the safety of the Courier office, but not until Miss Tilley was safe in her own little house. In the back of her mind she had some niggling concern that her visit to the social worker and her inquiries about the double billing might have sent off some alarm bells. It wasn’t likely, she told herself, resolving to proceed very carefully. Better safe than sorry.
The drive only took a few minutes, and she was soon crossing the lobby, purposely slowing her pace as she proceeded through the hallways as if she had all the time in the world. Finally reaching Miss Tilley’s room, she found her old friend sitting in an armchair, dozing, with an unfinished crossword puzzle in her lap.
Lucy’s first thought as she bent to pick up the pencil that had fallen on the floor was that dozing off in a chair seemed a bit out of character for Miss Tilley, especially if she was tearing through a crossword puzzle. Then she remembered her friend’s extreme old age, the warmth of the room, and the lateness of the afternoon, and thought maybe she was wrong. So she cleared her throat and shook Miss Tilley gently by the arm, expecting her to wake right up. But she didn’t.
“Wake up! Wake up!” she ordered in a sharp voice, at the same time giving that arm a good shake.
Miss Tilley’s eyelids fluttered briefly, then closed. By now Lucy was truly concerned, wondering if her old friend was ill, or worse, overmedicated. Spotting the sink in the corner she dashed over and grabbed a washcloth, soaking it with cold water. “Wake up! Wake up!” she demanded, gently wiping the cool, damp cloth on Miss Tilley’s face and wrists.
“What are you doing?” someone demanded in an authoritative tone of voice.
Startled, Lucy whirled around and encountered Elvira Hostens, Nurse Ratched herself, phone held tightly in a hand bare of rings with clipped nails. Even though she was dressed in street clothes, her tightly coiled French knot hairdo, starched white blouse, and trim navy pants, as well as her stiff posture, gave the impression of a uniform.
“I’m trying to wake up my friend. I’m supposed to take her out to dinner tonight.”
“Really?” Elvira narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “How very odd. She didn’t take her name off the dinner list, or let us know that she was going out for the evening.”
“It was rather last minute,” said Lucy, furrowing her brow. “But that’s moot now. She seems to be, well, see for yourself. She’s not responsive.”
Elvira was quick with an answer. “Just napping. They all do it. It’s typical of the aging process, especially if they’ve been too active. She’s got herself all wrought up, she’s become obsessed about poor Agnes’s accident and keeps fretting about it, talking nonstop with anyone who’ll listen. She needs to decompress, let her blood pressure settle down. Just leave her be, she’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of her. Her dinner will be here any minute and that always wakes them up.”
“I think you’re wrong,” said Lucy. “I think she’s been overmedicated.”
Just then the rumble of the meal cart was heard and, right on cue, Miss Tilley’s eyes popped open. She blinked a few times, then exclaimed, “Lucy! So nice to see you. What brings you here?”
“We had a dinner date,” said Lucy, making eye contact and holding it. “Did you forget?”
Realizing something was up, Miss Tilley played along. “I’m afraid I must have,” she said.
“I thought you might like a change of scene,” continued Lucy. “Get you out of here for some good home cooking.”
“Sounds great,” said Miss Tilley. “I’ll just need my coat and purse.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” said Elvira, placing herself to block the doorway. “What about your special diet?”
“A lot of tosh,” opined Miss Tilley, standing up and wobbling a bit on her feet. Lucy quickly stepped forward and took her arm, steadying her. “And besides, it’s rather stuffy and overheated in here. I could certainly use some fresh air.”
“Exactly,” said Lucy, helping Miss Tilley with her coat and purse. Then, Lucy taking her by the arm, they walked the few steps toward the doorway, where Elvira continued to block their exit.
“This is not a prison,” snapped Miss Tilley. “I am free to go.”
The nutrition aide had appeared, standing behind Elvira with tray in hand, waiting to deliver Miss Tilley’s dinner. She gave a polite cough alerting the nursing supervisor to her presence, forcing Elvira to step aside so as not to arouse the aide’s suspicion. Lucy and Miss Tilley quickly took advantage of the opening to leave the room. “I’m eating out tonight,” Miss Tilley told the aide, getting a smile from the pretty young woman. “I don’t blame you,” she said, lowering her voice and winking. “It’s mystery meatloaf.”
Lucy glanced at Elvira, worried about her reaction, and discovered she was busy texting on her phone. There was no time to waste, thought Lucy, beginning to think she’d made a big mistake. They were probably all in it together, Elvira, that social worker Joyce Zimmer, maybe even Felicity. She suspected Novak had cunningly involved them in defrauding the residents, using their guilt in lesser crimes to guarantee their silence and to hide his major one. She felt a sudden surge of adrenaline, an imperative to act fast and get Miss T, and herself, to safety. “I’m getting you out of here,” whispered Lucy, guiding Miss Tilley down the hallway to the elevator.
“With just my coat and purse,” giggled Miss Tilley. “I feel as if I’m fleeing East Berlin.”
The comparison struck Lucy as particularly apt, and she was struck by Miss Tilley’s insight. Also her willingness to play along, catching on quickly without posing questions or demanding answers, and she gave her old friend’s arm an affectionate squeeze. Lucy wasn’t happy about taking the elevator, but knew that Miss Tilley couldn’t manage several flights of stairs. Their only hope was speed and, much to her relief, the elevator was waiting at their floor. They quickly got in and Lucy pressed the starred L button, saying a little prayer that it would swiftly deliver them to the lobby and a clear route out of the building.
Much to her dismay, instead of descending, the elevator went up. Her heart started racing, but Miss Tilley didn’t seem worried. “It’s dinnertime, a lot of people take the elevator around now.”
True to her word, when the doors opened on the fourth floor, Howard and his Gang of Three joined them.
“What a lovely surprise,” said Howard with a courtly nod. “Good evening, ladies. Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“Unfortunately not, Miss Tilley and I are just on our way out,” she said, stressing the word out.
Howard raised his eyebrows and gave an approving nod, signaling he realized something was up, but the others remained focused on their supper.
“Any idea what’s for dinner?” inquired Bev to the group in general. “I forgot to check the menu.”
“Meatloaf,” replied Dorothy, in a resigned tone, “and Brussels sprouts.”
“But there’s Boston cream pie for dessert!” exclaimed Bitsy.
“Bon appétit,” said Lucy, feeling that the situation was a bit surreal. “Miss T is coming to my house for dinner tonight and Agnes’s daughter, Geri, is also coming,” she added, in an effort to give Howard more information about their situation.
“That should make a nice change,” observed Howard, tapping the floor with his cane.
“A dinner party!” enthused Bitsy. “What fun!”
“That’s the idea,” said Lucy as the elevator doors rumbled open on the dining room level, where most of the residents had gathered in the mezzanine, waiting for the doors to open. The area was crowded, as there were several people in wheelchairs, and a number of folks with walkers. But standing directly in front of the elevator were Elvira and Novak.
Peter was charm personified, indicating the wheelchair he had at the ready with a graceful wave of his hand. “My dear Julia . . .”
“That’s Miss Tilley to you.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Tilley. Let me take you back to your room,” he invited. The wheelchair was positioned so that it blocked the others from leaving the elevator, and worse, keeping the Gang of Three from their dinner.
“Move that thing,” ordered Dorothy in a brusque voice.
“Yes, yes. We don’t want to be late for dinner. There’s already a crowd at the door,” observed Bev.
“And we like to be first so we can get the best table, the one by the fireplace,” explained Bitsy in a fretful tone of voice.
“As soon as Julia, uh, Miss Tilley, is seated in the chair, the way will be clear and there will be no problem,” insisted Peter with another little flourish. His voice had developed a bit of an edge, Lucy realized, and his handsome face had taken on a hawkish appearance. It was his nose, she realized, which had a decided hook, and that white streak in his pompadour reminded her of some avian predator. He stepped forward, intending to grab Miss Tilley’s arm.
“The crowd,” hissed Howard, shepherding his little fan club out of the elevator as the doors began to close. “Use them.”
She understood he meant for her and Miss Tilley to join them, mingling with the throng and using the crowd to block Novak while they made their escape. The dining room doors had opened, however, and the seniors were on the move. Desperate measures were called for; it was now or never.
“Stop! Hold on!” Lucy yelled, causing a few curious heads to turn. She quickly produced the newspaper clipping and handed it to Howard. “Howard has an important announcement.”
That caught the residents’ attention, no doubt expecting to hear that tonight’s wine would be free, or that he was treating everyone to birthday cake. Novak, however, had recognized the clipping and lunged at Howard, intending to grab it, but instead collided with Bitsy, who was determined to get her favorite table. She shrieked and clutched at the nearest person, who happened to be Novak, embracing him. That definitely drew the attention of the hungry seniors, who began to focus on the little drama that was such an interesting change from their usual dinner hour.
“Howard, would you please share this, so everyone can hear?” she requested in a loud voice.
Novak, meanwhile, had managed to shake off Bitsy. Elvira was trying to herd the group into the dining room, muttering that dinner would be getting cold, but having little success as a good number of residents had decided this unfolding drama was a lot more entertaining than a meatloaf dinner. A few waiters had even appeared in the doorway, wondering what was causing the delay.
Howard straightened his glasses and unfolded the clipping, raising his eyebrows as he scanned it. “Well, it’s been some time since I’ve used my French but I’ll do my best.” He adjusted his glasses and furrowed his brow in concentration. “It seems from this that Colonel Piotr Novak Varga, pictured here, is wanted by the ICC,” he began, then paused to provide a clarification. “The ICC is the International Criminal Court located in The Hague, and that court apparently, and now I’m translating rather loosely, ‘wishes to try Croat Colonel Piotr Novak Varga who is accused of war crimes against Bosniaks during the war in Bosnia.’ ” He carefully folded the paper and gave it back to Lucy, then faced Novak. “This is a very serious charge,” cautioned the former prosecutor and judge. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
There was a communal intake of breath as the residents waited for his answer. “It is absolutely ridiculous, it’s Novak Varga. He’s some other guy, not me,” he insisted huffily. Some of the residents, Lucy noticed, were genuinely shocked, others seemed eager to believe he was innocent, and she also suspected a good number were responding to the appetizing scent wafting from the dining room and beginning to want their dinners.
“There’s a remarkable resemblance, then,” said Howard, stubbornly continuing even as some of the residents began to drift toward the dining room doors. “Photographs don’t lie. You are definitely the man pictured in the photograph, albeit much younger.”
“I’m innocent!” Novak declared. “You and Julia”—he pointed angrily at Miss Tilley, who was standing next to Lucy—“you’ve been listening to Agnes, she started this false lie about me. She got me mixed up with this Varga guy. I tell you, I am not him.”
That declaration caused a bit of a stir among the remaining residents, which encouraged Lucy. “That’s why you had to kill Agnes, isn’t it? Because she recognized you. She knew all about you. She was covering the war in Bosnia, she saw the destruction and the bodies. . . .”
That got the residents’ attention; there were mutterings and glances. Elvira stood by helplessly, lips pursed, watching in horror as she realized Novak was not the only one in big trouble. Once investigators began digging into the murder they were bound to discover her role in the financial irregularities at Heritage House. It would all come out, every nasty, sordid detail.
“A complete misunderstanding,” said Novak, sensing he had lost the crowd and beginning to move away, no doubt intending to flee.
“Stop!” ordered Howard in a thunderous voice as he advanced toward Novak. “I am placing you under citizen’s arrest. Lucy,” he added, “call the police.”
Novak looked nervously from side to side, then darted into the crowd, only to be tripped up by Florida Dawkins’s walker. He struggled to his feet, disentangled himself, and dashed for the stairs. The crowd moved toward the mezzanine railing, which overlooked the lobby, and watched amazed as he fled through the seating area and toward the door.
“He’s going to get away,” said Miss Tilley, who was at the railing, along with Lucy.
But when Novak reached the door, it was blocked by the substantial form of Officer Barney Culpepper. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, arms akimbo.
“He killed Agnes!” screamed Bitsy, leaning over the railing. “He made us lure her into the stairwell. . . .”
That got another collective gasp from the residents, and a puzzled look from Barney. “What’s going on here?”
Those who were able were beginning to descend the staircase, wishing to get closer to the action in order to hear what was going on. Howard was among them and, prompted by Miss Tilley, Lucy quickly left her and stepped alongside him in order to assist him on the stairs, if needed. He managed just fine, however, taking them one at a time.
“Exactly, right, Officer,” said Novak, slightly out of breath and taking in the advancing crowd. “As you can see there seems to be some confusion. We can talk about it outside, let these good people have their supper. . . .”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for. My buddy, retired cop Sam Friendly, invited me.” Barney was eying the crowd, looking for his friend, and wondering what to do. On one hand he had the threat of an unruly crowd of seniors, and on the other he had an accused murderer who he needed to question further. It was definitely a situation that needed to be resolved.
“Barney, I’m over here,” called out Sam, raising his arm.
“Hey, good to see ya, buddy.” Barney took a step or two forward, and Novak advanced, clearly hoping to get past him out the door and make his escape into the night.
“You better grab that fella,” advised Sam. “It seems he may have been involved in Agnes Neal’s death.”
Novak was turning his head from side to side, looking for an alternate escape route, as Barney had taken a step backward, positioning himself squarely in the doorway.
“It’s true,” declared Dorothy, stepping forward and speaking in her authoritative voice that brooked no nonsense. “He had us lure Agnes into that stairwell, and she never came out. You don’t have to be a genius to figure out what happened.”
Barney finally came to a decision and reached for his handcuffs. “Mr. Novak, I really think I’d better take you in to the station,” he began, only to be interrupted in mid-sentence when Novak pulled a gun on him.
That started a chaotic stampede as the frightened seniors began to flee through the lobby, many heading for the nearest door, which led to the hallway beyond. That door was unfortunately locked, forcing the crowd to turn and head for the stairs, moving as fast as their old bones would carry them. They rolled on, pushing walkers and leaning on canes, surging past Elvira and forcing her against a wall where she was trapped.
Lucy turned from the mayhem just in time to see Howard swing his cane around, hooking Novak’s ankle and causing him to fall. He dropped the gun, which skidded across the polished Versailles parquet floor and stopped at Bitsy’s feet. She stooped and picked it up, training it on Novak, who was trying to rise. “If you think I don’t know how to use this,” she declared, narrowing her blazing blue eyes, “it will be the last thing you ever thought, Mr. Varga.”
Novak froze, still on his knees, and Lucy watched as Barney promptly handcuffed him, then helped him to his feet.
“Lucy, maybe you better come along and explain what happened,” suggested Barney. “You too, Mr. White.” Then he led Novak out to his cruiser and drove off into the night.
Lucy glanced up at the mezzanine to check on Miss Tilley, relieved to find her in Vera’s capable hands. “Okay,” she told Howard, “I’ll drive.” Reaching the station, they were first interviewed by the chief, Jim Kirwan, and then State Police Detective Horowitz. Novak was detained while searches were conducted at his home, where evidence was found confirming his identity as Varga. DA Phil Aucoin handled the press conference the next day, announcing Varga’s arrest and his eventual extradition to the ICC authorities. But first, he assured the gathered media, Piotr Novak Varga would face trial for the murder of Agnes Neal.
“What will happen to Heritage House?” asked reporter Deb Hildreth.
Aucoin looked stumped. “I don’t have an answer for that,” he said. “That is something for the state regulators to decide.”
Stopping by at Heritage House later that day, Lucy discovered the residents were very concerned and fearful for their future. “What’s going to happen to us?” wailed Bitsy when Lucy met her in the lobby. Determined to get answers, Lucy tracked down Felicity Corcoran, finding her in a meeting with Vesna.
“Ah, Lucy, good timing,” said Felicity, welcoming her. “I think we have good news to announce.”
“Yes,” agreed Vesna, who was sitting behind her son’s massive desk, clearly assuming his position as CEO. She was dressed in what looked to Lucy to be a black-and-white tweed Chanel suit, and her Merlot hair was perfectly coiffed. “As the major investor in TaraCare I am happy to announce that everything will continue as before. The residents do not need to worry, there will be no changes in the immediate future.”
“That’s great news,” said Lucy, somewhat puzzled by Vesna’s cool and collected attitude. If she herself had been in a similar position, if her son, Toby, had been charged with a serious crime, she would be frantic with worry. But Vesna seemed to be enjoying her newfound position of power. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your reaction to your son’s arrest?”
Vesna fingered the softly gleaming three-strand pearl necklace that encircled her neck. “Peter bad boy, always bad boy,” she finally said, with a shrug. “What’s a mother to do?”
“You expected this?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied. “But money to start TaraCare, that was my money. Always my money. From cosmetics business. I wanted to start up cosmetics here, but Peter said no, too much competition. More money to be made in senior residence.” She smiled. “Sometimes even bad boy can be right.”
“Will you support him through the trials, and the extradition?”
Vesna’s eyes widened and she gave a sharp nod. “Of course. He’s my boy. With good lawyer, I think he will get off.”
“And what about Agnes Neal, the woman he killed? Do you have anything you want to say to her daughter and her friends?”
“I am sorry for their loss, of course.” She paused. “But we all know that accidents do happen. Stairs are very dangerous for old people.”
“So you think Agnes was killed in an accident.”
Vesna shrugged. “Hard to prove either way, no?” She turned to Felicity. “Now, if you don’t mind, Felicity and I have work to do.”
“What about the double billing, the Medicare fraud?” asked Lucy. “There will certainly be an investigation, probably an audit.”
Vesna was not perturbed. “I know nothing about that,” she said, giving Felicity a questioning look.
“Nor do I,” insisted Felicity. “We will, of course, cooperate fully with any investigation. As to the immediate future of Heritage House, which is a matter of great concern to our residents and their families, they can rest assured that we are committed to providing them with the highest quality care.” She paused. “I’ll be getting a press release out to you ASAP, Lucy.”
Leaving the office, Lucy decided to pay a quick visit to Miss Tilley, to see how she was doing. When she reached her room, however, she found her old friend waiting, with her bag packed.
“Rachel is going to take me home,” she said happily. “I’m finally getting out of this den of iniquity.”
“That is good news,” said Lucy. “How’s your blood pressure after all the excitement yesterday?”
“One ten over seventy,” she crowed proudly. “It seems a little excitement was just what I needed.”
“A bit too much for me,” admitted Lucy. She sat down on the bed, suddenly tired. “Did you know that Vesna, Novak’s mother, is taking over Heritage House? She says it was her money they used to start the business, she made it in cosmetics, in Croatia.”
“What’s so surprising, Lucy?” mused Miss Tilley. “Don’t they say that behind every successful man, there’s an even more successful woman?”
“I just hope she wasn’t behind his war crimes,” said Lucy.
“Well, that’s another reason for me to get out of here,” said Miss Tilley with a knowing glance.
Lucy sighed and got to her feet, eager to relax at home. “See you later, alligator,” she said, picking up her bag.
“Not if I see you first,” quipped Miss Tilley, prompting Lucy to smile. Her old friend was definitely back, cantankerous as ever.
* * *
“Busy day?” asked Bill, greeting her with a wave of his spatula when she got home later than usual. Lucy was exhausted after struggling all afternoon to write up what she suspected was the biggest story of her career. “I went ahead and fried up some burgers.”
“Great,” said Lucy, hanging up her jacket on the hook by the door and going directly to the refrigerator where she grabbed the bottle of chardonnay. Bill handed her a glass and she filled it, then sat down at the kitchen table.
“You won’t believe what happened. . . .” she began, taking a rather large swallow, preparing to tell him all about it.
“Guess what?” announced Zoe, bursting into the kitchen. “Remember that apartment, the one Leanne and I were going to share?”
“Sure,” said Lucy. “The cute attic one with the retro kitchen?”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Zoe. “Well, I’ve got it again, with a new roommate, Charlie. I just got a text. Funny coincidence, but the apartment was still available and Charlie found it and asked me if I’d like to share. Isn’t that crazy?”
“So who’s this Charlie?” asked Bill, flipping the burgers and adding cheese on top. “Charlotte or Charlene?”
“Nope, it’s Charles,” says Zoe, smiling like a cat who found the cream. “I know him from school, we worked on a team project together. He’s really cute, but,” she added, with a sigh, “I don’t think he’s into girls.”
“That’s good then,” said Bill, visibly relieved as he put the burgers onto their buns and set the platter on the table. “Let’s eat.”