We'll Meet Again

29

As Molly suspected, when her phone rang on Saturday afternoon, it was Jenna calling.

“I was just talking to Phil Matthews,” Jenna said. “I understand you’re cooking dinner for him. I approve.”

“Good Lord, don’t even think in those terms,” Molly protested. “I would have had him pounding on the door if I hadn’t let him come over, and since I’m not ready to go to a restaurant, it just seemed like the logical thing to do.”

“Well, we decided that, invited or not, we’re coming over for a drink. Cal is anxious to see you.”

“You’re not invited,” Molly said, “but come over around seven.”

“Moll,” Jenna said, then hesitated.

“Say it. It’s okay.”

“Oh, it’s nothing dramatic, my friend. It’s just that you sound like yourself again-and I love it.”

Who is “myself”? Molly wondered. “Nothing like windows without bars and a satin quilt on the bed,” she commented. “They do wonders for the soul.”

“Wait till I get you in to Manhattan for the makeover. What are you up to today?” Molly hesitated, then decided that she was not ready to share, even with Jenna, the fact that she was going through Gary ’s daily reminder and appointment books, searching day by day for clues. She settled instead for a half-truth. “As long as I’m a hostess, however unwelcome that role, I’m getting a few things started in the kitchen. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that.”

That much was true. The rest of the truth was that Gary ’s date books going back several years before his death were stacked on the kitchen table. Working backwards, starting with the date of his death, she had been going through them page by page, line by line.

Molly remembered that Gary ’s schedule always had been crowded, and that he was always jotting down reminders to himself. She already had come across several such notations, entries like “5 P.M. Call Molly at club.”

She remembered with a pang that there were times he’d phone her and ask, “Why is it in my book that I’m supposed to call you now?”

At 5:30, just before she set the table for that night’s dinner, Molly found the notation that she wanted. It was a phone number that showed up several times in Gary ’s last reminder diary. She checked with the information operator and learned that the area code for the number given was in Buffalo.

She dialed the number, and when a woman answered, Molly asked if Annamarie was there.

“Speaking,” Annamarie Scalli said quietly.