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"Carol, believe me, she's just playing prima donna right now. Does it all the time. Go up on the pretext of telling her dinner is ready, then casually mention that John sent you." He pulled a card from his wallet, scribbled something on the back and handed it to me. "Show her that and I guarantee she'll talk to you." I read what he'd written. Thought you'd enjoy this. J. "You know her well?" I asked.
"I was her first husband." He frowned. "Don't look so shocked." "But you're a cop." "RCMP actually, in Ottawa. And it was a long time ago, when she was in her blue collar stage." He waved the card back and forth. "You want this or not?" I did and I didn't. If he was wrong, I'd never live it down. But if he was right? I snapped the card from his fingers and started up the stairs. "If I'm not back in 30 minutes, come looking." He laughed and propped his elbows on the banister. "You'll be lucky to get five." I paused on the landing. All the doors along the hall were closed, but I heard a faint grunting and rustling from behind one. I wondered for a moment if that's where the groom's drunken brother had been, and almost abandoned the plan. But Jill's dinner was ready, and Yorkshire pudding simply does not keep. So I swallowed hard and tapped on the door. "Miss Rose? I mean, Mrs. Szewchuk?" "Hannah? Thank God." Madelyn's voice was faint, her breathing ragged, as though she'd just run a mile. I moved closer to the door. "Actually, it's Carol Davis --" I cringed, thinking I should have given her a pseudonym, just in case. "I came to tell you dinner's ready." The card burned in my fingers. "And John O'Connor sent me to talk to you." I waited, half-expecting her to holler something about ex-husbands and the women who associate with them. But she said nothing at all, so I took that as a good sign and opened the door. "Miss Rose?"
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