Free Lovely, Dark, and Deep by Julia Buckley Page A

mid-morning. Jack tut-tutted about my lack of enthusiasm for winter, then packed his gear, donned his warm parka and shouldered his guitar. “Practicing for the coffee house today,” he said before he left. “Call me later, okay?”
    “Sure, Sweetie,” I said, and I waved him out the door.
    I hadn't reached the elder Yardleys the night before, but I'd talked to Jeremy Yardley and arranged to see him at noon. He was meeting me on his lunch break from Webley Public Works. I was curious to see the place, since I'd driven past it now and then, but never got the sense that anyone was inside. From the outside it merely looked like a giant garage. I'd interviewed the director before, a man named Ted Voss, but the inner workings I had never observed.
    I quickly showered and dressed in warm clothing: a light blue sweater, a pair of grey wool pants. I'm not much of a dress-wearing girl, unless it's a special occasion. I like flat shoes—really flat shoes—and they don't tend to go with dresses. Today I wore black boots with flat heels, and tossed on a long necklace with blue and green stones. I was trying to maintain the "casually elegant" title I'd earned yesterday. I bundled up and marched into the cold morning. Cold was an understatement, I decided, as I struggled toward Mr. Altschul. It felt as if the whites of my eyes had frozen.
    “Hi,” I said. I saw that he and his plower had indeed made progress, and I'd be able to remove my car after all. “Some weather, huh?” I called in a cliché morning greeting. Mr. Altschul squinted at me, as though he couldn't quite see me.
    “Yah,” he said. I headed toward the car, then heard Mr. Altschul doing something unprecedented: he was singing. He warbled, in a croaky, German-accented voice, the words, “It's not just a hunch, you'll be making my lunch tomorr—oh-oh!” Then he beamed at me.
    I almost fainted. He was singing a song from Fritz's cd, a horrible, weird song called “Make My Lunch.” The thing about it, though, was that it had a great tune, which Fritz had written, and it was so catchy that it stayed in your head for days on end. And now my old German landlord was singing it. The strangest part was that Fritz had been right. If he left the cd's with people, they would listen and they would sing. I managed a weak smile and a wave before I escaped into the safety of my frigid car. Whenever Fritz succeeded in one of his odd ventures, I felt off balance, like the earth had suddenly tipped sideways.
    With a weary sigh, I coaxed my shivering Scorpio into starting and made my way toward the newspaper offices. Sally was at her desk, resplendent in a Christmas sweater of red and green sequined ornaments on a black background and tight black jeans. Sally's style was unique, but I sort of envied that. “I have to wear it today, hon,” Sally said, noting my glance. “It's the last day of January, and after that I can't really push the Christmas season any farther. You've got some notes on your desk from Bill.”
    I smiled and nodded, then sat down, rubbed my hands to warm them, and got to work on the jobs my boss had assigned me. I asked Sally to let me know when it was 11:30, and when she did so, hours later, I couldn't believe the morning was gone.
    I hastily grabbed my purse and coat and headed back out to the car. I tried to formulate some questions for Jeremy Yardley, but I generally found that planning questions in advance didn't do me much good in an interview. Being so reliant upon vibes, I usually have to meet a person first, toss out my opener, and then see what their comments and reactions suggest.
    What I knew was that this man I was meeting was Sister Joanna's only sibling; that he had been fifteen at the time of her death; and that he had worked for the Public Works Department for eight years. He had told me the last fact over the phone; the other two I knew from the reading I'd done.
    When I arrived at the Public Works garage, everything was nicely plowed, of