March 12, 1965

We had the Barneses over for dinner. Saying their name sounds odd and sort of wrong, which seems to fit the evening. (Or maybe that's just the lack of sleep and a few too many swigs of vodka talking. I have a feeling ninety percent of this entry won't make sense when I reread it tomorrow.)

Watching the two of them together was like seeing my parents together again, the way they were when I was little. He was obnoxious, rude and overbearing; she was quiet, coy and syrupy. He talked about how happy they were together and she agreed in her kittenish sort of way. Sitting across the table from those two and thinking about my own parents was like watching the beginning stages of a car crash in slow motion. It took all of five minutes before I wanted to scream.

As soon as I could, I excused myself and took the salad plates to the kitchen. (I planned a multi-course meal not because it seems fancier than an ordinary one, but because it had moments of escape built right in.) As soon as I set them on the counter, I dashed to the opposite side, opened the cupboard where we keep our liquor and took a swig of vodka. A glass of wine just wouldn't be enough.

The meal wore on, and I used it as an opportunity to watch them. Not that I enjoyed the experience, mind you, but Elijah is ninety-nine percent certain Jeff is a Klansman, and any information we can get through him or Cynthia will eventually prove useful. (We're both hoping for the day the police department will finally come to its senses and stop siding with the Klan, but neither of us is optimistic.) As I watched them, saw how they flirt and guessed at the state of their relationship, I learned that Elijah is just as observant about that sort of thing as I am. In this case, it was not a good thing.

Let me explain. Jeff clearly wears the pants in their marriage- not just in terms of career, but in terms of everything. Cynthia didn't say much, and when she did, it was to agree with something Jeff said. She disagreed once- I don't remember what about- and he turned to her with this smile on his face.

"Cindy, you don't really think that, do you?" He smiled as he said it, but I could tell it wasn't a joke. The only creature I've seen grin like that is a water moccasin.

Cynthia paused, surprised; then she laughed. "Oh, of course not, dear. I was only joking."

I glanced at Eli to see if he noticed the same subtext and saw that he did. I could feel his tension, the same tension that comes moments before a midnight shootout. Not fear or anticipation, but anger.

The next few minutes continued in that same vein. As soon as I could, I grabbed the dishes and excused myself to the kitchen and my trusty bottle of vodka. I remembered Elijah and went to the door.

"Elijah, honey, could you come here for a second?"

Once he was inside the kitchen, I pulled him out of sight and kissed him. He seemed surprised at first, but then I felt him relax and put his arms around me.

"What was that for?" he whispered when we pulled away.

"You looked like you were going to kill someone," I whispered back, then smiled. "I needed some way to distract you."

"Someone named Jeff? I was considering it."

I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so I decided to treat it like a joke. "Honey, the last thing we need is a murder investigation."

He smiled faintly. "Thanks, Laur."

I let go of him and handed him the bottle of vodka. "Here. My last link to sanity."

He took a swig, then set it on the counter. "Laurie, you're a lifesaver."

"Yours or Jeff's?"

He didn't answer. "C'mon," he said at last. "I'm sure Jeff's got some fine remark all picked out."

Cynthia Morris half-listened to Stephen Christian's lament of lost causes, no longer wondering if it would fit her class. By the second listen, she had already decided the song would make an excellent, if challenging, solo piece. The nice thing about working for a school so long was that after a while, the principal didn't look over your shoulder. Her students could sing songs by popular artists and, as long as they fit the school's standards of furthering education and enriching lives, the principal wouldn't bat an eye. Well, he might blink a bit when the soloist sang "Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you," but she could handle that.

Couldn't she?

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you...

Wish your drinking would hurry and kill you...

The song rose in pitch, and Cynthia hit Stop. The song was perfect- challenging, engaging, and suggested by one of her students. But that one line...

She started to dial Laurie's home number, stopped, and dialed her cell instead. Laurie wouldn't answer her home phone, seeing how she wasn't at home. She was...

Come to think of it, Cynthia wasn't certain where her friend was. She'd hopped on a plane and dropped off the radar, so to speak. Oh well. Cynthia would know where she was soon enough.

"Really? Your fourth stint?"

The Lunch Lady grinned. "That's right, dearie. And I've escaped each and every time."

Laurie didn't have to feign being impressed. "That's pretty...spectacular." She gave a small laugh. "So how long this time?"

Her cell's ringtone cut off Lunch Lady's response. Raising a finger and an apologetic smile, she moved away from the counter to answer it. "Hello?"

"Laurie? It's Cynthia."

Usually, the call would have been a welcome intrusion, but listening to four ghost felons in a prison run by your dead husband was the very definition of a bad time. "Cynthia, can I call you back? This isn't the best time."

"Oh, sorry. Where are you?"

"I'm..." Laurie hesitated. Cynthia had more of a stomach for unusual stories than most people, but would she believe this one?

Laurie was still debating when Elijah appeared in the doorway. Everyone froze, including her.

"Uh, Cynthia? I'll call you back."

In case you're wondering, the song Cynthia was listening to is "Fin" by Anberlin.