The Pinch of Death – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn

Chapter 5. A Death

Jacquetta woke with a hangover. Oh well, she thought, it’s probably for the last time. Wine in the convent sometimes –maybe twice a year – but champagne definitely not.

Honey, who routinely drank as though she had a wooden leg, put her head around the door. She had not only drunk Jacquetta under the table but she had touched up her hair – newly blonded, it puffed out around her carefully made up face like a bridal veil.

“Here’s coffee,” she offered, “Unless you want more sleep.”

Jacquetta sat right up. “No, no,” she said. “I need to wake up now if I plan to get to that lunch. Coffee, please.”

Honey’s other hand held the morning paper and aspirin.

“What did I ever do to deserve such a fabulous roommate?” Jacquetta wailed.

“We were made for each other,” said Honey. “I’m not even going to try to replace you, so feel free to leave the convent at any time. You know, if it turns out they’re into secret beatings and mind control.”

“Flagellation is passé,” said Jacquetta. Mind control however… always popular. Monasteries or magazines, same thing everywhere. “But aren’t you and Barney getting married?”
Honey shuddered. “He needs to shape up first.”

Coffee in bed with the morning paper…even with a headache it was worth it. Last time, Jacquetta reminded herself. Breakfast in bed really was the ultimate luxury. She started with the town news, always more compelling than the national. And there it was, GLASSTOWN FOUNDER DEAD AT 87.

“Cause of death unknown but heart attack suspected. Miss Rainbeaux’s father Martin came to New Jersey in 1907 to found a factory that soon became world famous for stained glass and objets d’art. Windows from the factory are installed as far away as the American Embassy in Rome and the Cathedral of the Precious Blood in Montreal. Museums…blah blah blah.”

Jacquetta’s eyes bugged but the photograph was quite unmistakable – Miss Rainbeaux taken recently – exactly the woman she had met on the train – and Miss Rainbeaux in youth, dressed for her début. Those eyebrows alone would have scared the men away.

No lunch for me, she thought. What a coincidence! Sister Agatha would say there’s no such thing as “coincidence” and she found herself inclined to agree. You didn’t tell a total stranger you feared a sociopath and then suddenly wind up dead by happenstance. Jacquetta’s eyes flew past “survived by” and down to the announcement of “visitation” which she recognized as another word for “wake.” She produced a pair of nail scissors and cut out the article with care. It looked like the good sisters would just have to wait for their latest postulant. Jacquetta had something important to do first.