the workshop. And I had decided to put Mona on top of the list. Otherwise, I’d have trouble keeping my mind off her. I hoped I wouldn’t get behind on the downsizing plans. Something told me I wouldn’t do much relaxing that day, even though I know it’s important to keep rested.
There was no answer when I called Mona back, but I’d decided not to let that deter me.
I quickly checked my assembled kit for the consultation about the condo kitchen: measuring tape, my “what to expect” handouts, brochures, and a standard contract to show the client. Everything was packed except my minicomputer. I’d laid out a pair of black dress pants with a pale stripe, and a turtleneck. I’d added a scarlet cardigan in a cashmere blend. Woodbridge in the cold weather takes planning. My winter dress boots have an insulated lining, so they are good to minus twenty. They are old, but necessary. I considered tucking my nifty new tartan lace-up leather booties into my briefcase, but they’d be awkward to put on, so I chose to save them for a snowless day. I packed a pair of black suede pumps with red leather trim.
The only difficult and troubling item on the list was how to check up on Mona. I knew I had to knock that off first. I called once more but Mona didn’t answer. As before, there was no answering machine. This time that struck me as odd, since I figured a 911 operator who worked a lot of overtime would need to take messages. Maybe she had a pager or some other form of communication that I was unaware of. I gave Pepper a buzz at the police station, hoping to get her before the day got going, but no luck. The hit-and-runs would have all the Woodbridge investigators scrambling this week. I decided to check in every half hour until I reached her. In the meantime I got myself ready for my morning consultation. But Pepper didn’t call back. I knew that the detectives’ mornings were often spent in meetings, so I left detailed messages outlining my worry about Mona’s mental state and the possibility that her fears were real.
I called Mona four more times, letting the phone ring on and on. I was beginning to take the lack of an answering machine personally. I knew she didn’t want to meet with me, but I felt I had to do something. There must be a better tactic than going into hiding. If she needed protection or help, I would have to see that she got it.
But maybe she’d just been called in to work. I wasn’t sure when she would switch from night to day shift. I called. Someone who was definitely not Mona answered, “911.” I steeled myself. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, calling the emergency number, but what if it was an emergency?
“Is Mona Pringle on duty today?”
“What?”
“Is Mona—”
“I heard you, actually.” It was a man’s voice, warm and almost friendly, yet with that businesslike firmness that 911 operators require. “You know you’re not supposed to call here for anything but an emergency.”
“I do know that, but I urgently need to talk to Mona. It’s a type of emergency. If you can tell me she’s there, I can relax. I am sorry for calling this number. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I waited.
He said, “Is this Charlotte Adams?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it’s very important. I need to talk to her.”
“Actually,” he confided, “I know you are her good friend, so I’ll tell you, she was supposed to be in today and she’s not here. She didn’t call in either. It’s not like her. I’ve been calling and calling.”
Her good friend? “You mean she just didn’t show up?”
He lowered his voice. “It’s a first for her. Mona’s very dedicated. I am filling in, but the supervisor is having kittens over it. Anyone else, and her ass would be grass. You hear me?”
“I do. And I know she’s not at home.” I noticed my voice got higher as I spoke. It was almost in the trill range. “Would any of your coworkers have an idea where she could be? What about
There was no answer when I called Mona back, but I’d decided not to let that deter me.
I quickly checked my assembled kit for the consultation about the condo kitchen: measuring tape, my “what to expect” handouts, brochures, and a standard contract to show the client. Everything was packed except my minicomputer. I’d laid out a pair of black dress pants with a pale stripe, and a turtleneck. I’d added a scarlet cardigan in a cashmere blend. Woodbridge in the cold weather takes planning. My winter dress boots have an insulated lining, so they are good to minus twenty. They are old, but necessary. I considered tucking my nifty new tartan lace-up leather booties into my briefcase, but they’d be awkward to put on, so I chose to save them for a snowless day. I packed a pair of black suede pumps with red leather trim.
The only difficult and troubling item on the list was how to check up on Mona. I knew I had to knock that off first. I called once more but Mona didn’t answer. As before, there was no answering machine. This time that struck me as odd, since I figured a 911 operator who worked a lot of overtime would need to take messages. Maybe she had a pager or some other form of communication that I was unaware of. I gave Pepper a buzz at the police station, hoping to get her before the day got going, but no luck. The hit-and-runs would have all the Woodbridge investigators scrambling this week. I decided to check in every half hour until I reached her. In the meantime I got myself ready for my morning consultation. But Pepper didn’t call back. I knew that the detectives’ mornings were often spent in meetings, so I left detailed messages outlining my worry about Mona’s mental state and the possibility that her fears were real.
I called Mona four more times, letting the phone ring on and on. I was beginning to take the lack of an answering machine personally. I knew she didn’t want to meet with me, but I felt I had to do something. There must be a better tactic than going into hiding. If she needed protection or help, I would have to see that she got it.
But maybe she’d just been called in to work. I wasn’t sure when she would switch from night to day shift. I called. Someone who was definitely not Mona answered, “911.” I steeled myself. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, calling the emergency number, but what if it was an emergency?
“Is Mona Pringle on duty today?”
“What?”
“Is Mona—”
“I heard you, actually.” It was a man’s voice, warm and almost friendly, yet with that businesslike firmness that 911 operators require. “You know you’re not supposed to call here for anything but an emergency.”
“I do know that, but I urgently need to talk to Mona. It’s a type of emergency. If you can tell me she’s there, I can relax. I am sorry for calling this number. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I waited.
He said, “Is this Charlotte Adams?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it’s very important. I need to talk to her.”
“Actually,” he confided, “I know you are her good friend, so I’ll tell you, she was supposed to be in today and she’s not here. She didn’t call in either. It’s not like her. I’ve been calling and calling.”
Her good friend? “You mean she just didn’t show up?”
He lowered his voice. “It’s a first for her. Mona’s very dedicated. I am filling in, but the supervisor is having kittens over it. Anyone else, and her ass would be grass. You hear me?”
“I do. And I know she’s not at home.” I noticed my voice got higher as I spoke. It was almost in the trill range. “Would any of your coworkers have an idea where she could be? What about
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