The Devil's Interval by Linda Peterson Page B

mollified. “They could be interesting to talk with.”
    â€œWho are they?”
    â€œGinger and William Brand. He’s Frederick’s business partner at the venture fund, and Ginger was Grace’s best friend. When you look through all the social clips,” she fanned the stack on the tiny table, “you’ll see the two of them together in lots of places.”
    â€œAnd one place you could see them together, but not in the papers,” I said, “The Crimson. Travis said they went together sometimes. I’m sure the police talked to Mrs. Brand. In fact, I think she might have testified at the trial. I’ll have to go look at the transcripts again.”
    â€œMaybe so,” said Andrea. “But don’t you think she’d be a little more open with us?”
    â€œCould be,” I said. “Though when Gertie tried to make an appointment for me to talk to Frederick, he was pretty brusque. I’m not sure why we’d have better luck with the Brands.”
    â€œWe’re going to put you in the natural habitat of our prey,” said Andrea. She dug in her briefcase again.
    â€œVoila!” She pushed a heavy, cream-colored envelope in front of me. An engraved drawing of a pale-green vine wound around the envelope.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œIt’s an invitation to the dedication of the new Cloud-Forest Garden at the San Francisco Botanical Gardens. It came to the office, and Gertie passed it on to me because she knows I like to garden. But you should go, because Frederick Plummer will be there. This was one of Grace’s causes, and take a little glance at this.”
    She pointed one impeccably manicured, natural-polish index finger at the invitation. I’d never seen Andrea with colored polish. Too vulgar, I was sure.
    I read aloud: “Join us as we honor the memory of Grace Plummer with the dedication of a fountain named for her.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said. “I’ll go. I’ll tell Gertie to R.S.V.P. for me.”
    â€œI knew you’d warm to this idea,” Andrea said. “It’s a splendid outing for you. You can wear a hat.”
    â€œGoody,” I said. “I’ve got a great, broad-brimmed pink number. Very Audrey Hepburn in her Funny Face era.”
    â€œUh-huh,” said Andrea. “Sorry I won’t be there to witness it. But when you’re not admiring yourself in the mirror, chat up the grieving widower, why don’t you?”
    â€œI will,” I promised. “Plus, I bet Grace’s best friend, Ginger, will be there. And I can interrogate her, too.”
    Andrea finished her coffee, took out a monogrammed compact, and inspected her lipstick. “It’s difficult to think of someone in a flying-saucer hat conducting a serious interrogation,” she said. “Don’t let the investigating go to your head. I believe Hoyt assigned you to be my researcher on my story.”
    â€œHey, why doesn’t anyone ever treat me like a boss?” I protested.
    â€œThat’s a question you ought to ask yourself,” said Andrea.
    â€œBeautiful compact,” I said.
    â€œIt was my great-aunt Amelia’s,” she said. “We have the same initials, AFS. ‘Use, reuse,’ that’s the New England motto, you know.”
Interval No. 3 with Dr. Mephisto
    I t was May Day and in honor of spring, Dr. Mephisto had on even more color than usual. If that was possible. Turquoise everywhere—silk sweater, teardrop earrings, several bracelets. When she met me at the door, I couldn’t help myself. “Is turquoise the new black this season?”
    She allowed herself a smile. “The new black?” Sometimes I thought she always countered my question with a question because that’s what shrinks learn in Therapy 101, and sometimes I thought she did it just to annoy me. I was leaning toward the annoyance option.
    â€œYou know, like last