Scratch the Surface

conversation.
    Although Sonya, Jim, and Hadley were fellow writers and not fans, she had no desire to make a fool of herself with them, either; on the contrary, she wanted them to see her as a computer whiz and chat room adept. Consequently, she planned to be at her computer by six-thirty to study the instructions Sonya was sending on how to enter this imaginary room. In preparation for a meeting with people who wouldn’t see her and wouldn’t have cared how she looked, anyway, she took a shower, did her hair and makeup, and put on tailored pants and a good sweater. Although she now felt healthy, she ate a bland dinner of French toast and applesauce. Then, to avoid prolonged exposure to the fishy odor of canned cat food, she moved the cats’ water and food bowls to the bottom of the staircase that ran from the kitchen, past the back door that lead to the garage, and down to the large, open family room on the ground floor, which bore no resemblance to a cellar or basement. It had sliding glass doors she had never opened, comfortable-looking chairs and couches on which she had never sat, and a giant-screen television she had never turned on. The sight of all this previously unused space inspired her to move the cat litter and a supply of cat toys down there as well. The cats didn’t sleep in the guest room anymore, and, of course, they were more than guests. When she’d finished carrying the cats’ belongings two flights down, from the second floor to the ground floor, she felt an obligation to inform Brigitte and Edith of their change of address, but had almost no idea of how to go about communicating with them. On inspiration, she opened a can of some disgusting giblet concoction that Edith liked, and spooned it into a bowl that she carried to the family room. When she returned to the kitchen, Edith was standing on all fours on the table, the edge of which she was affectionately rubbing with her mouth. Looking Felicity in the eye, she uttered a soft, solitary meow.
    “Your food is downstairs,” said Felicity. “I have moved it.“ I am learning to talk to cats, she thought. It did not occur to her that Edith was soliciting the affection she was lavishing on the edge of the kitchen table.
    At six-thirty, she sat at the computer in Uncle Bob’s study, where she read Sonya’s e-mailed instructions, easily followed them, and found herself waiting for the other board members to show up, as they finally did. Felicity pictured them in her mind, Sonya with her Scandinavian blondeness and her loose cotton garments; Jim with his Chinese-African-American coloring and features, looking like a grown-up version of a child in a UNICEF poster; and Hadley, probably pale and unshaven after his illness.
    After a few preliminary postings that established everyone’s presence and awareness of the purpose of the meeting, Sonya wrote: “Let’s begin by stating that Janice did not intend to poison us. The poisoning we have suffered was accidental. It is, however, the occasion for our discovery of certain irregularities in Janice’s billing Witness for money she claimed to have spent.”
    Felicity, feeling that details were required, wrote: “Janice claimed that the food she supplied for Witness meetings came from Tony’s Deli in Jamaica Plain. I went there this morning. It is a Russian grocery store. The food Janice billed us for couldn’t have come from there, and the store employee there had never heard of her.”
    “But I have old receipts with the name of Tony’s Deli stamped on them,” Sonya added. “Witness has been reimbursing Janice for money she didn’t spend there.”
    “Food isn’t the only thing we’ve been reimbursing her for,” Hadley wrote. “There are newsletter costs, photocopying, office supplies, drinks.”
    Jim posted a question: “She teaches school. Does anyone know where?”
    “Boston,” Sonya replied.
    “Does the school have a cafeteria?” Jim asked. “Think about the food she’s been serving us. Cold cuts, iceberg lettuce, sliced tomatoes. All that could’ve come from a school lunchroom.”
    “Those stale rolls,” Hadley added. “You’re onto something, Jim.”
    “The pudding,” Felicity wrote. “I wondered the same thing. On Sunday, she was talking about all the conferences she was going to. I wondered how she thought she could afford all the promotion she was planning.”
    “Now we know,” Sonya wrote. “By stealing from us!”
    “Not stealing,” Jim wrote. “Petty