The War Against Miss Winter Read Online Free PDF

attention. Wordlessly, the bruno glanced my way. In response the Lisper straightened his tie and gave me a knowing smile.
    “How you doing?” he asked me.
    I tried to look surprised that I was being addressed; I’m sure it would’ve read true if I hadn’t been staring at him. “I’m hitting all eight,” I said through a tight smile.
    The Lisper nodded and escorted his companion back to the rest of his group.
    While the buttonmen aimed for discretion, the social registry buzzed about FDR’s foreign policy and the effect the war was having on both the economy and their vacation plans. The more nervy of the group glanced at the other side of the room and sourly fretted about the inclusion of “those people” in the festivities. When Jim’s name came up—and it rarely did—it was only to confirm the deceased’s name.
    If they didn’t know who Jim was, they certainly knew his wife. While my conversation with Mrs. McCain may have yielded a dozen colorful adjectives, the word most frequently used by her friends was eligible . Jim’s better half was lousy with dough and had so many potential suitors she could’ve started her own branch of the armed forces.
    The question was why a woman like that had married a man like Jim.
    I took my place in line before the casket and decided to make use of my time. In front of me stood a man in a gabardine suit. He was sixtyish and balding, with a prominent wine-stain birthmark obscuring the realm between his forehead and nonexistent hairline. This blemish sethim apart from the rest of the crowd and I had a feeling that despite his privileged standing, he was constantly battling to be accepted by a world that was rightfully his. This meant he was desperate for conversation with someone who treated him as an equal.
    “Good afternoon,” I said to him in my best Katharine Hepburn. “Such a tragic loss, isn’t it?”
    He surveyed me long enough to determine that even if I wasn’t someone he knew, I might still be someone. “Good afternoon.” He offered me his hand. “How do you know Eloise?”
    “From the guild,” I said. “And you?”
    “The club.”
    I nodded as though I were familiar with that great institution. “It’s lovely that so many people have turned out to support her.”
    “Yes, yes,” said the man.
    I leaned into him and lowered my voice. “I was surprised to learn that her husband was a private investigator.”
    My companion matched my lean and willingly gave up what he knew. “I think we all were. She never mentioned him to anyone.”
    “Why do you suppose that was?”
    “Embarrassment, of course. A Fitzgerald shouldn’t mingle with riffraff.”
    I covered my surprise with a cough. Cromwell Fitzgerald was one of the largest steel manufacturers on the East Coast. The industrial revolution had showered his family with the kind of dough associated with the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts.
    Or at least that’s what I’d been told at PS 48.
    I kept my eyes on my companion. “Even so, Eloise married riffraff . Why go through that embarrassment only to hide your husband away until his death?”
    He moved so close to me I could see the hairs lining the inside of his nose. “That, my dear, is the million-dollar question. Perhaps she couldn’t bear another scandal.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”
    He traced me from top to tail. “My, but you’re young. I supposeall of that happened before you were born.” He tried on his next words as if they were a set of new dentures. “This isn’t the first…loss Eloise has suffered. It was so very tragic, especially when the accusations arose. Naturally, Eloise was exonerated of any misdoing, but I’m afraid the memory of all that still lingers.”
    The body was ready for the next demonstration of grief. “If you’ll excuse me.”
    He took his turn at the casket, slyly glancing at his watch fob to determine if the appropriate amount of time had passed before moving on. I replaced him on the