The Oxygen Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

fatalities—like in an airplane crash or an earthquake or a flood or—” Rose paused, her face taking on a sad expression, and we all automatically looked south.
    “Or an attack,” Frank said softly, patting Rose’s hand. “We’re talking about large numbers of people who need to be identified and stored.”
    “Stored?” I asked. I’d been a tenant in the Galiganis’ mortuary—a live one, that is—until I moved in with Matt, so I might have known better than to ask about storage. I figured it out in time to hold off an explanation. “Never mind,” I said.
    “Not exactly what you find listed in the
I Love New York
tour book,” Frank joked.
    Matt had nothing to report. He confessed he’d napped through one of his conference sessions and slipped out for coffee with a buddy during another. He deferred to me, to report on what he called “the oxygen front.”
    “What I don’t get,” Rose said, “is how come we survived the old, unregulated days. I mean, we sat on Revere Beach for hours without sunscreen number such-and-such, and we ate raw cookie dough, right? Suddenly all the things we thought were okay when we were kids aren’t safe anymore? Like these CDCs, or whatever was making our refrigerators run. Were we that stupid? Or are we being paranoid now?”
    Rose always got to the heart of things, in spite of mixing up acronyms. Understandable that CFC would be replaced by CDC, the Centers for Disease Control, in her memory, given her profession.
    “Very good questions,” I said sincerely. “A little of both, I suppose. CFCs were a boon when they first came on the market—around the time we were kids.”
    Rose patted her nicely highlighted hair. “Maybe when
you
all were kids,” she said, with a wide grin. She wore a short jacket with fringe on the collar and cuffs and all the way down the front—the new frayed look that I didn’t understand. Especially when you added a large faux flower, constructed from more of the frayed fabric and pinned to herlapel. My black washable knit outfit came from an outlet store that specialized in travel clothes.
    “About CFCs,” I said. I knew my minutes were numbered, so I kept on track. “We used to think CFCs—like Freon—were ideal for both industrial and home refrigerators, among other things. They were so much better than the stuff they replaced. Originally, sulfur dioxide and ammonia were the refrigerants of choice. So everyone was thrilled to substitute something nontoxic, nonflammable, noncorrosive, and very stable, like CFCs. Then we realized that the chlorine part of the CFC molecule was a hidden hazard.”
    I surveyed my audience, all paying rapt attention to their food and drink. Frank caught the last segment of spaghetti on his fork. Matt picked at the crumbs on his bread plate, looking at the basket as if deciding whether to have another piece. Rose sipped water after unobtrusively swallowing a calcium supplement.
    “I think I’ll leave it at that,” I said, returning to my eggplant. “Keep you all in chlorinated suspense.”
    A laugh all around.
    Rose was ready to tell us of their visit with the Sassos, whose residence was in the West Seventies, not far from the American Museum of Natural History (I could live with that).
    “Last year the building went co-op, and Karla was able to help them buy their place,” Rose said. “They’re so proud of her success as a lawyer, as we are, too, of course.”
    “She makes a very good living,” Frank said. “I guess divorce is lucrative for attorneys, if not for the clients involved.” He paused. “I guess you could say that for me and Robert, too, about the mortuary business.”
    Matt and I laughed. Rose gave him a strange look.
    “Karla’s due in New York herself later in the week,” Rose said.
    “To spend the holiday?” Matt asked.
    “As close to Christmas as she can get,” Frank said. “William is at that age where he doesn’t want to leave all his friends while they’re on school