Free I Dreamed I Married Perry Mason by Susan Kandel Page B

wan hello. After thanking her again for the tea and cookies, I told her that the secretaries at the insurance company had made me promise to remind her about her sister’s lockbox. Sighing audibly, she told me that on innumerable occasions she had explained to them and their myriad predecessors that she had no key and therefore no use for the thing, not to mention no place to put anything so heavy. But she promised to look into it and apologized for troubling me.
    I hit the gas. How odd. Your sister is murdered, all that’s left of her is one lousy lockbox, and you don’t move heaven and earth to get it? You just let it sit around for almost half acentury, collecting dust? Maybe Mrs. Flynn didn’t want to know what was inside. Maybe she’d had enough surprises. Suddenly I felt very sorry for her. She’d sounded weak and tired. I planned right then not to get old. Older.
    By the time I got to Annie’s, the Kombucha mushroom tea was ready. Lucky me. I called her place Tarzan’s Treehouse because it was smack in the middle of what felt like a jungle, swinging vines and all. We sat outside under a canopy of Chusan palms with yellow flowers that tickled my nose, at least partially distracting me from the poisonous taste of the tea.
    â€œIt’s also know as ‘Miracle Fungus,’” Annie said.
    â€œIt’s a miracle I’m drinking it,” I said under my breath.
    â€œI heard that. It’s brewed from a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast. If you say ‘SCOBY,’ everyone knows what you mean.”
    â€œRikes, Shaggy! It’s a rhost!”
    Annie always ignored my pop-culture references. She had no use for such things.
    â€œMom, I’ve never seen you look so wrinkled.”
    â€œThat’s not a very nice thing to say. I thought dappled sunlight was supposed to be flattering.”
    â€œNo, I mean your dress.”
    â€œI’ve grown very attached to this dress. It may well become my new uniform. No more fuss. You just pull out the blue halter dress, and you’re set. And on chilly mornings, you accessorize with the duck sweatshirt.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œNever mind, sweetie. Have you called back the people at work? They’re frantic. The alien ziggurat looks hideous.”
    â€œThanks for the update.”
    â€œAnnie.”
    â€œI’ll deal with them later.”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œSo Vincent told you everything.”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    She picked up her garden shears and started to pace.
    â€œIt all started two Saturdays ago. Remember, that day it was so hot? I decided to stay in and organize the filing cabinet. Little Miss Perfect.”
    She lopped the heads off two perfectly acceptable daylilies.
    â€œThere were tons of papers and old bills and stuff, and I was being ruthless about throwing it all away. I filled up every trash can in the house. And then I came across this letter, tucked way in the back, near the deed to the house and the pink slips for the cars. A letter addressed to Vincent.”
    Two more daylilies down.
    â€œI had no idea what it was doing there, so I read it, thinking nothing of it, that it was probably just more junk.”
    â€œAnd it wasn’t.”
    â€œIt was from this woman, Roxana. Vincent had had an affair with her before he met me. I knew all about her—she was an artist, she left town abruptly, a real flake. Never took her responsibilities seriously, that kind of thing. It was no big deal, their romance, or so I had always thought. As it turned out, after they split up, she found out she was pregnant. She had a son.”
    â€œI can’t believe this.”
    â€œShe never told Vincent. Not a word. She was already out of his life, they had never been in love, she thought it would be better to raise the boy on her own. She went down to Mexico, tried some different things, and then she changedher mind. She said her son had a right