Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Mystery & Detective,
Women Sleuths,
Police Procedural,
Massachusetts,
Detective and Mystery Stories; American,
Boston (Mass.),
Lamerino; Gloria (Fictitious Character),
Women Physicists,
Revere Beach (Mass.),
Boric acid
panic. Sewing indeed. I thought of astronomer Maria Mitchell and her complaints about needlework. When she was a young woman, she’d been forced to learn to sew although she wanted to study astronomy, her father’s profession. As a treat to counteract the nasty note, I made an espresso and took a copy of her diary from my bookcase. I found my favorite passage, from an entry in 1853.
The needle is the chain of woman , and has fettered her more than the laws of the country . I would as soon put a girl alone into the closet to meditate as give her only the society of her needle .
Too bad I don’t have a return address on my threatening note, I thought. I’d send him—or her—this quote.
I’d received intimidating notes and phone calls working on other cases with the Revere Police Department, but not so early in the game. The only person I’d met so far in connection with Yolanda Fiore’s murder was Dorothy Leonard, whom I’d left less than an hour ago. Certainly not enough time for a posted letter to reach me.
I studied the cancellation mark, but couldn’t make out a date. While I was in California, Rose, whose office was one floor below my apartment in the mortuary building, had piled my mail into a basket on the floor of my small foyer. I decided against asking if she remembered which day this letter had arrived—no need to worry her over what would probably be useless information.
It had been less than forty-eight hours since Yolanda had been killed. Not much time, unless the killer had dispatched Yolanda down the library stairway with one hand and mailed the letter with the other. It was even more curious to think the note could have been written before the murder. Curious. And not a little frightening.
I abandoned the idea of a nap and took out a notebook. I headed the first page SEWING LETTER, to remind me of the perseverance of Maria Mitchell, who eventually discovered a comet and became the first female member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. The impact of the rude note was softened by the title I’d given it, and I was able to analyze it with a level head.
I made a list of potential meanings.
Possibility number one—the note had nothing to do with the current case. Perhaps the writer thought I’d receive it before my trip to California. He could have been warning me off the now-completed Berkeley murder investigation.
Number two—the revenge of an unhappy relative of someone I’d helped put behind bars. I scribbled the names of the key people in earlier cases. No one stood out as the likely author.
I briefly considered a misdelivery, but since there wasn’t
another Dr. Gloria Lamerino in Revere, or in the state as far as I knew, I didn’t bother to write it down.
On to possibility number three. I was being warned off investigating Yolanda Fiore’s murder.
The implications were clear and chilling: the murder was committed by someone who knew me, or knew about me. I shuddered at the idea that I was specifically sought out by a cold-blooded killer. More probably, I decided, the person was aware of my contracts with the police department or my connection to the Galiganis, and figured I’d get involved.
At the bottom of the page I wrote my view of the case so far:
1. Possible motive: controversy over boron? Suspects: nuclear scientists at the Charger Street lab.
2. Possible motive: unrelated to boron? Suspects: everyone else.
3. Killer’s strategy: frame John Galigani. Dissuade Lamerino from investigating.
Under ACTION, I wrote
1. Visit Charger Street lab.
2. Get library card.
My work on the Fiore case was under way.
THE TELEPHONE woke me from an unintentional nap in the rocker. My notebook had slid to the floor, my espresso cup was perilously close to the edge of the end table.
“You were asleep,” Rose said, her own voice far from upbeat.
I groaned when I realized I’d forgotten to call her. “I didn’t mean to be. I took a couple of pain pills.”
“Are