Free Burying Ariel by Gail Bowen

going over to Mr. Mariani’s to get the keys.”
    “Mission accomplished,” I said, fishing the keys out of my purse and tossing them to him.
    “Cool,” he said. “This whole weekend is going to be cool. Pete coming back, and seeing Mieka and Greg and Maddy. As soon as they get to the lake, I’m taking the baby down to the point.”
    “Uncle of the year,” I said.
    My son winced. “Not really.”
    “Why ‘not really’?”
    “Because babies are universally acknowledged chick magnets.”
    “With smart guys like you in the universe, we chicks don’t stand a chance, do we?”
    “Not a chance. Listen, do you and T want a chili dog? We can scrape the pot and get you a couple of spoonfuls.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “What was all that chili for, anyhow?”
    Taylor ate her chili dog and went straight to bed. As we talked about the evening, she seemed intrigued rather than disturbed, and I was grateful. She was asleep by the time I closed her bedroom door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. No queen would need to search for a poisoned apple to get rid of me that night. I looked like hell. I went downstairs, made myself a drink, then walked into the kitchen where Angus and Eli were cleaning up. They had the radio on. Eli turned when he heard my step.
    “Is it true that a girl was killed up at the university today?”
    At seventeen, Eli had the kind of El Greco good looks you see in Calvin Klein ads. He wore his hair in a single braid in the traditional way of aboriginal men, and his eyes were dark and luminous. His radar for pain was extraordinary, perhaps because he had known so much of it in his short life. Alex Kequahtooway was raising him, and in my opinion he had worked a number of small miracles. Eli was doing well at school, and he was making friends. My son Angus had helped. He was a generous, extroverted kid who had simply enlarged his circle of friends to include Eli. It was good news all the way, except that Eli still seemed obsessed with death in the way that anorexics are often obsessed with cookbooks and food preparation.
    I sat down at the kitchen table. “That’s what I came down to talk about. The woman who was killed taught in our department. Her name was Ariel Warren. Mieka and she were friends when they were little, and she and Charlie Dowhanuik were a couple.”
    Angus shot a glance at Eli. “You know who Charlie Dowhanuik is, don’t you? Your idol, Charlie D.”
    Eli jumped from his chair. “Did Charlie kill her?”
    “Why would you think Charlie killed Ariel?” I asked.
    Eli’s face was miserable. “I listen to his show every day. I tape his ‘Ramblings’ when I’m at school. Charlie D is so cool. He used to talk about his girlfriend all the time.” He looked puzzled. “Except I thought her name was Beatrice. Anyway, he was always talking about how great Beatrice was; then a couple of weeks ago, he just stopped. I thought they broke up.
    Charlie had called his beloved Beatrice. Today’s allusion to The Divine Comedy had been part of a pattern. Unbidden, an image flashed into my mind. Charlie as a little boy on the edge of the crowd; Ariel taking his hand, rescuing him; Dante, at eight, meeting the seven-year-old Beatrice and knowing “bliss made manifest.” Two loves that had lasted a lifetime – or had they? Had something happened to turn Charlie’s bliss to suffering?
    My son’s voice brought me back to reality. “Mum, do you think it would be okay to pack the car tonight, or are you worried about our stuff getting stolen?”
    “Go ahead, pack,” I said. “I want to get away from here as soon as we can tomorrow evening.”
    Angus frowned. “Is everything okay?”
    I patted his shoulder. “Everything’s fine. Make sure you lock the garage door. I couldn’t live with myself if someone stole your Tool CDS.”
    After the boys went off to get their gear, I walked over to the living-room bookcase. It took me a moment to find what I was looking for. I