Free Damsels in Distress by Joan Hess

always bored each other. She wanted the glitzy, high-powered world of a penthouse in Manhattan and a summer place within a few minutes’ drive of the yacht club. He wanted to live in a small town, mow his own lawn, and grill steaks on the patio.”
    “But now you’re afraid he’ll be seduced by all that?”
    “No,” I said irritably as I put the wine glass in the sink. The last thing I wanted was to lapse into maudlin snuffling, or get stopped for driving while under the influence of the Gallo boys. “I’ve already admitted I’m being ridiculous, okay? Maybe it is prewed- ding jitters, or PMS, or the stress of dealing with these Renaissance weirdos. In case Sally hasn’t caught you, I’m having musicians and madrigal singers tomorrow afternoon. After that, who knows? It could be a full-scale production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with hot cross buns and lemonade available at intermission.”
    Luanne refused to be distracted. “If Peter calls, are you going to talk to him?”
    “Why wouldn’t I? We’re getting married in September.” I found my purse and took out my keys. “I need to go. Caron’s undoubtedly convinced by now that I did or said something so outrageous at the meeting that she’ll have no hope of passing AP history. This will, of course, ruin her chances of getting into college, so she’ll have to earn a living as a Welsh miner or an Australian bush pilot.”
    “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
    I will admit I hesitated for a moment, envisioning the scenarios, then shook my head. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Chapter Four
    I took a circuitous route home to avoid the traffic on Thurber Street, which can be tedious even in the summer because of the bars, restaurants, pool halls, and performances at the art center. I was vaguely aware of some sort of annual biker gathering in progress, but their presence was minimal during the day. This meant the presence of police was maximal at night. I certainly didn’t want any citations with my name on them to find their way into the hands of Sergeant Jorgeson—or onto Lieutenant Rosen’s desk when he returned.
    As I crossed one of the two bridges over the railroad tracks, I realized that I would be driving past Angle’s house. If I could spot it, it would be easier to drop off the basket before I arrived home. Blue with white shutters, Lanya had said. I slowed down to a crawl and began to watch for it. The streetlights were doing their best, but the neighborhood had been there for decades and large trees kept many of the houses in shadows. There were lights on in some of them; others were dark, possibly vacant for the summer. Two college girls came walking down the hill, too fascinated with their conversation to notice me. In one of the houses, a baby began to wail. In another, a TV set flickered.
    I was almost to the alley when I spotted the blue house on the right side of the street. The front porch light was on, not only attracting moths and other winged insects, but also a visitor. His back was to me, and his arm propped against the frame, blocking the view of whoever was on the other side of the screened door. As my car went by, he turned and looked over his shoulder. I was pretty sure it was Edward Cobbinwood, dressed as he had been at the ARSE meeting two hours ago. I doubted he could see my face, and there was no reason to think he would recognize my car.
    Even if Edward had identified me, it didn’t matter, I thought as I turned left into the alley and pulled into my garage. Although he’d looked a bit startled, it seemed perfectly reasonable for him to go by Angle’s to express concern for her ankle—and deliver the basket. It would have been helpful if he’d announced his intention before I fled the potluck.
    Caron was not home. I found a note on the kitchen table that explained her whereabouts: Inez’s father had offered to take them out for ice cream after the lecture. She’d added a hasty scrawl that read,