21

The phone rang and I ran to get it, hoping Paolina’s voice would be on the other end.

It was Kristy, trying to schedule a special volleyball practice to rev us up for Saturday’s title match. I dutifully took down time and place and said I’d be there if I could arrange it. No promises.

“Nose okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” I lied.

I ended the conversation before she could inquire about Harry Clinton, the Olympic scout.

I dialed Mooney’s office again. This time somebody picked up his phone and said they thought he was somewhere in the building. I left a message: Don’t go anywhere till you talk to Carlotta. The guy on the other end said sure, he’d tell him, but from his uninterested tone I didn’t think he would.

I grabbed my handbag and ran down the front steps.

I think better when I’m driving. Part of me relaxes as soon as I settle in the driver’s seat and punch on the radio. Stray thoughts line up and organize themselves in neat rows and columns.

It seemed suddenly clear to me that I needed to make a stop before visiting Mooney, and I was pulling into the Herald driveway before I was entirely sure of the thought process that had brought me there.

I abandoned the car in a slot with a nameplate on it—some reporter’s perk, I guessed. I hoped he was out on a hot story that would keep him away from the office parking lot.

Helen, the party girl who’d given me my envelope, was still on duty, if chatting on the phone qualified as on duty. I listened to what Joe did to Sue and how Sue was going to fix him good. It didn’t sound like a business call. I cleared my throat. I didn’t want to miss seeing Mooney because of my brainstorm.

She got off the phone and heeled her precarious way over to me. “No more mail for you,” she said.

“You remember,” I said. That was promising.

“For twenty bucks I remember a lot,” she said.

“That’s just what I want to talk to you about,” I said.

On my way out of the building I saw the headline blaring from a stack of papers on some receptionist’s desk. I fumbled in my bag, trying to find change.

“It’s okay,” the lady behind the desk said with a toothy smile. “Take one. Read the Herald.”

SERIAL KILLER STALKS FENS! HOW MANY DEAD?

No wonder Mooney wasn’t answering his phone.