Death of a Knit Wit by Peggy Ehrhart

Author:Peggy Ehrhart [Ehrhart, Peggy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2021-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

“It seems they don’t want to be found,” Bettina complained the next day. She and Pamela were scanning the list of names ranged opposite a row of buzzers in the foyer of an apartment building several blocks from the Haversack commercial district.

“These are all just people.” She pointed to a tiny strip of embossed plastic that read R JAMES. “And this is just a normal apartment building, and an unprepossessing one at that.”

Yet an internet search for “Women’s Collective Workspace, Haversack NJ” had led them to this address.

“Women’s Collective Workspace, Women’s Collective Workspace,” Pamela murmured, leaning close to the buzzer panel. “Women’s Collective . . .” She paused, then pointed at a spot near the bottom of the list, where a buzzer was labeled WCW. “It must be this. Three B.”

She pushed the buzzer. The response was a startlingly loud buzz and then a click, as the lock on the door that separated the foyer from the building’s lobby disengaged.

The lobby had once been grander than it was now. A floor paved with tiny octagonal tiles was partly covered by a frayed rug. The walls, painted an institutional shade of green, were cracked in spots. A few steps at the lobby’s far end led to a landing where two elevators waited, one with open doors. Pamela and Bettina entered.

A few minutes later, the elevator announced with a low chime that it had reached the third floor and they stepped out into a short hallway.

“Let’s try this way,” Bettina said, and she took off to the right. In her bright yellow shirtdress she made a colorful figure against the walls and carpet, which were a bland shade of tan. “It’s down here,” she called after she had turned the corner.

There was no need to check the apartment number. The door was already open and Shane Bennett, in olive-green cargo pants and a long-sleeved olive-green tee-shirt, was standing on the threshold. The ensemble suited her lean body and lent her a kind of guerrilla chic.

“Was that you who buzzed?” she inquired with an inquisitorial stare that suited the outfit, as did the dark, untamed curls that surrounded a face free of makeup.

Before either Pamela or Bettina could answer, Shane advanced toward them. “I know you,” she said. “I know you from somewhere.”

“The reception for Dr. Critter.” Pamela mustered her social smile. “We met you there.” She mentioned her name and Bettina’s.

“Why are you here?”

“The Feminar?” Pamela ventured.

“That was this morning.” Shane backed up until she stood on the threshold again.

Bettina stepped around Pamela. “It was actually my idea to come,” she said, pointing at herself. “You have a workspace.”

“We do.” Shane nodded.

“I need a workspace. I’m a writer.”

Shane’s gaze traveled from the top of Bettina’s scarlet-tressed head, past the bright yellow shirtdress, and all the way down to the matching ballet flats. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, a reporter. For the Arborville Advocate.” Bettina smiled cheerfully, ignoring the implied snub. “And I need a place to work in peace.

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