Caught in the Middle by Gayle Roper Page B

fun as much as I do.”
    I believed him. He had the knack for making a girl feel special, not tawdry, and if you didn’t want him to go beyond his outlandish compliments, he sensed it and didn’t push.
    “Mac,” I said, looking around to see how close listening ears might be. I was about to go after information with nothing more than curiosity as an excuse, and I didn’t want eavesdroppers. “Do you think Don had anything going with Trudy?”
    Mac looked at me incredulously. “Are you kidding? Didn’t you see how cool he was yesterday handing out the assignments relating to her? He didn’t care a rip about her.”
    “Didn’t you see how messy his desk was and how mussed his hair was? I think he was very upset.”
    Mac shook his head. “He’s a cold fish, just like I said. He keeps people at a distance emotionally. You should have seen him when his wife died. Nothing.”
    “Jolene thinks Don had a wonderful, storybook marriage, and he couldn’t have been involved with Trudy because he’s still grieving.”
    “Maybe they did have a great marriage for all I know. About the grieving?” He shrugged. “Just remember, Merry, we’re talking Jolene here. She may be one of the prettiest babes in town, but I wouldn’t depend on her great mental acumen. And speaking of the devil…”
    With a wave he moved off as Jolene rushed to my desk, eyes wide with shock. She plunked a watering can down on the edge of my desk.
    “Oh, Merry! I just found out some terrible news!”
    “What, Jolene?” I automatically stood and reached for her hands as her lily of the valley perfume reached out and grabbed me by the throat. I wondered if she had ever heard the word subtle .
    “I just learned who the body in your car was,” she said, gripping my hands back. Her eyes were wide with shock.
    “You just learned?” I looked at Jolene in wonder. “Don’t you read the paper you work for?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t read anything if I can help it.” She giggled self-consciously. “I’m never interested in other people’s stories. I guess I’m too wrapped up in my own.”
    The brazen and unconscious egotism of that comment startled me, and I let go of her hands rather quickly.
    Her giggle turned into a little sob. “It was Patsy! I can’t believe it! Patsy of all people! I’ve known Patsy since kindergarten. We always went to the same schools and rode the same school bus and sat near each other because of our names. I like Patsy!”
    I felt lost. “It was Patrick, not Patsy. Patrick Marten.”
    “Right,” she said. “That’s what I said. My maiden name is Luray, so I always sat next to Patsy.” She said her name with a heavy u, like Southerners say the Luray Caverns. “You know, Jolene Luray and Patsy Marten.”
    “You do mean Patrick Marten?”
    She nodded. “But the kids always called him Patsy. At least the boys did, and some of the girls. I called him Patsy from junior high on.”
    “Why?” To me Patsy as a man’s nickname indicated a shamrock-in-your-face type of Irishness not usually found in America anymore and certainly not in Amhearst. Men named Patsy still lived back on the Auld Sod.
    “He wasn’t the best athlete, especially as a kid. So they called him Patsy because he played like a girl. But he was so nice!”
    I thought of Hannah talking about their plans to go skiing, skating and snowmobiling, and I thought about the picture of Pat with his mess of fish.
    “I think he must have been athletic,” I said.
    She looked at me like I had said something terribly ignorant. “But he couldn’t play football or basketball. He didn’t like team sports.”
    I recalled the man on the Board of Education who wanted all the district’s monies funneled toward the schools’ sports programs instead of the academic ones. Now that I thought about it, the sports he kept mentioning were football and basketball.
    “In Amhearst, they’re the sports the official jocks play,” Jolene explained. “If