Free Murder at Barclay Meadow by Wendy Sand Eckel

enthusiastic “yes!!!!” to the lunch invitation, then checked out the available chats. No Annie. She must be at dinner. I considered opening the wine, but decided it wouldn’t be cold enough. I looked at Rhonda’s profile picture. It was the same photo as the one on her business card—a much younger Rhonda with lots of air brushing and good lighting. Underneath was a quote: “No bird soars too high if she soars with her own wings.—William Blake.” That didn’t really sound like the Rhonda I had met at the funeral. Maybe Facebook profiles don’t reveal as much about a person as I thought. Maybe it only exhibits how one wants to be perceived—controlled public relations—always in makeup, at an ideal weight, loved by so many “friends.”
    Feeling voyeuristic, I decided to snoop around her timeline. She had been tagged in a photo album labeled “Cougars’ Night Out.” The first picture was of a cake crowded with candles in the foreground, Rhonda and a group of arm-in-arm women in the back. The pictures that followed were quite different. I gasped when I saw the side view of a nearly naked man with bulging muscles straddling Rhonda. Her eyes were glossed in an alcohol haze, and she was stuffing a wad of money in what I hoped was the man’s G-string. The caption read “Lap dance.” So there it was: the completed Rhonda. Perhaps Facebook does, in the end, expose all.

 
    E IGHT
    Sue walked briskly into the room on the night of our third memoir class, settled into her desk, and checked her watch. She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know why I rush to get here.”
    â€œYou might want to switch to Jillian time,” I said. “Save yourself the stress.”
    Sue smiled and reached into a red leather Michael Kors tote. She pulled out a fresh stack of papers and tapped them together on her desk.
    The twilight sky glowed navy blue through the large paned windows. Tony arrived and flipped on a few more of the fluorescent lights. His BlackBerry clanged like a fire alarm as he settled into the seat in front of me. He glanced at the screen and let it fall back into his pocket. He turned to face me. “You write anything yet?”
    â€œNope,” I said.
    â€œYou’ve got to chop up the writer’s block. Just sit down and start writing. Here’s your first sentence: I was born.”
    â€œMm,” I said. “Thanks for the help.”
    Tony’s phone bleeped. He reached for it and started typing with his thumbs.
    Glenn strolled in looking freshly pressed and confident. He sat in his usual seat next to mine and set his briefcase on the floor. “Tell me everything about your meeting with Dr. Angeles, Rosalie. I’ve been anxious to talk with you.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “I’m so glad to finally see you.”
    â€œWhat was your impression of him?”
    â€œFor starters, he is very attractive.”
    â€œAnd?” Glenn said.
    â€œAnd he’s a terrible flirt.”
    â€œDid he make a pass at you?” Glenn said, sounding protective.
    Tony stopped typing and drummed his fingers on the desk.
    â€œI don’t know. I can’t remember the last time someone made a pass at me.” I lowered my voice. “He asked me to have a drink with him. That’s inappropriate, right?”
    â€œI would say so.” Glenn rested his arm on the back of his chair. “But that’s good information. We suspected he comes on to his students and you’ve confirmed that he does.”
    â€œI know. I thought the same thing. That could be how he behaved with Megan. The man has the personal boundaries of a golden retriever.”
    Glenn chuckled.
    â€œAnd listen to this,” I said. “You know his prestigious grant?” I leaned in closer. “He’s studying sex.”
    Tony spun around. “Who’s studying sex?”
    Glenn and I exchanged a furtive