Scrapbook of Secrets by Mollie Cox Bryan

Beatrice said, grinning.
    Annie laughed. “Yes, I know. But I’m not too worried about that.”
    “What are you worried about, Annie?”
    “Well,” she replied. “There are things that might come up about Maggie Rae that she or her family would not appreciate.”
    “Like what?” Bea’s heavy lids raised up with her eyebrows, revealing penetrating grayish blue eyes.
    “Like that she wrote erotica, under another name.”
    “Oh.”
    “And, quite honestly, I think this town would have a field day with something like that.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, once people find out about that, then Maggie Rae’s murder may be justified. You know, they will say she was a loose woman and got what she deserved.”
    Beatrice thought for a moment. “I’d like to say you’re wrong, but you may be right. I’m sitting here right now and wondering what kind of a woman writes that trash—not that I think she’d deserve to be killed for it.”
    “I didn’t know her—but she was a beautiful writer and her erotica was good. I mean, it wasn’t trashy, you know? The stories are fabulous, even without the sex.”
    “Like a D. H. Lawrence or an Anaïs Nin, you mean.”
    “Yes. Well crafted.”
    “Lawrence is one of my favorite writers. He was one of Ed’s favorites, too. Oh, my husband loved to read. I still have some of his books.”
    “I heard he was a doctor.”
    “Yes, a fine physician. He practiced right out of this house. We lived upstairs and he practiced downstairs. It worked out, especially after Vera was born. Sometimes I spent days in Charlottesville at the university and I often traveled to New York, and Ed was able to manage.”
    “Most women your age didn’t have much of a career, I imagine. What did you do?”
    “I was a physicist. For many years, I was a practicing researcher. Then I began to be enamored by quantum physics and have been studying it ever since.”
    “Quantum physics?”
    “Yes. Space and time. Matter and energy. Our roles in creating our own reality. Fascinating stuff,” Beatrice said. She loved to watch the reaction on people’s faces when she told them she studied quantum physics.
    “Oh, yes,” Annie said, without flinching or seeming surprised. “I recently read a book about that, and I’ve seen a movie, kind of an odd movie, called The Life of Quantum Mechanics. Do you know it?”
    Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. “Y-yes.”
    “I really liked it,” Annie went on. “I liked the ideas behind it. I’m not sure I understand it or believe it completely, you know.”
    “Well,” Beatrice said, thinking she and Annie were going to be great friends, “many of my students were interviewed for that film.”
    “Very cool,” Annie said.
    “Indeed,” Beatrice replied. “I’ve got quite a quantum physics library inside, if you’d care to take a look.”
    “Oh, sure,” Annie said. “But I was sort of expecting some D. H. Lawrence.”
    Beatrice giggled. “Oh, we’ve got plenty of that, too.”
    Just as they got out of their chairs, an ambulance whizzed by and stopped in front of the Dasher home.
    “Now, that’s odd,” Bea said. “An ambulance at a memorial reception.”
    They stood motionless, watching the red lights, straining to see the crowd gathering around the ambulance.
    “Oh, well, guess we’ll hear about it soon enough,” Bea said. “C’mon in.”
    Annie’s eyes lit up when she saw the built-in bookcases in the library. Bea watched as Annie’s long fingers touched the backs of her beautiful books—many of them she had shared with Ed. Bea noticed Annie’s nails were cut short, and they were clean. This woman didn’t have time to paint her nails. Her hair was loosely contained in a bun gathered at the back of her neck. All business, Bea mused. Yet, she was a stay-at-home mom and gave up a career as a reporter to be a full-time mother. Well, that was according to Vera.
    “So you used to be a reporter.”
    “Yes,” Annie said, obviously mesmerized