Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

had started but it was something I continued to do.
    It was on the toes of this angel that I had wished for Crawford, although I hadn’t known his name at the time.
    In my heart, I knew that wishing on the angel was a little silly. I also knew that stonecutters worked from the same molds and that there were probably a thousand angels in this cemetery and even on Catholic college campuses everywhere that looked just like this one. But when I looked up and discovered that this angel was exactly the same as the one that had been stolen from school, right down to the chipped wing tip, I knew that it was more than a coincidence.
    “See you next year, Mom.”

Thirty-Seven
     
    I stretched my body on top of Crawford’s, feeling the cool air from the air conditioner in my bedroom wash over my bare skin. I kissed him. “You know, we met once before. A long time ago.”
    His hand, the one that he was running down my spine, stopped, settling on my hip. “What?”
    “We met. At St. Thomas.”
    “We did?”
    I’m really good at breaking the mood. I rolled off him and pulled the duvet cover up over my chest. I was glad the room was dark because I didn’t want to see the look on his face after I confessed what I knew. “Remember that story you told me about the stolen cab?”
    He was silent as he put all of the pieces together. Slowly, it dawned on him. “You were the RA.”
    “Yep.”
    He rolled over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “And when were you going to tell me this?”
    “I just figured it out. When you mentioned it at dinner. It all came back to me.”
    “You lied to me,” he said, but I could detect, even in the dark, the smile on his lips. He could hardly believe that I had kept it from him for the last several weeks but found the humor in the situation, as well.
    “I had decided a long time ago that I was going to take that piece of information to my grave,” I said. I had also decided that if I was going to keep Lydia Wilmott’s secret, I had to let another one out. Otherwise, I decided, I might explode. I didn’t tell him that, however. Max’s secret seemed like the most innocuous one to reveal under the circumstances. “Do you remember anything about that RA?”
    “I remember that she looked like she was going to throw up,” he said. “I remember that she was tall. And I remember that she kept staring at my undershirt.” He traced a heart on my shoulder. “And I remember that the nun looked like Billy Martin.”
    I took his hand in the dark. “Max was in the closet right next to where we were talking.”
    He started laughing. “You must have thought you were going to die.”
    “That about sums it up.”
    He chuckled again. “Why the hell are you friends with her again?”
    “Because I love her,” I said. “Remember? When you love someone, you don’t want to see her suffer. Know what I mean?”
    He knew exactly what I meant. He didn’t subject me to the Crawford cross fire, and I didn’t subject him to any more of my dithering. I had stopped my excessive overthinking on the subject and he had let go of the fact that his family needed to have any say in the subject of his happiness.
    *   *   *
     
    We boarded a plane the Friday of Labor Day weekend at Kennedy Airport, our destination Hamilton, Bermuda, and the Elbow Beach Resort, armed with a couple of bathing suits, a marriage license, a simple off-white dress for me, and little else. We even left Max and Fred behind, knowing that what we were going to do didn’t need anyone else in attendance.
    As I lay beside Crawford in bed, the ocean visible beyond the balcony of our hotel room, I realized that the wound, which I thought would always be a part of me, had closed for good.

ALSO BY MAGGIE BARBIERI
    Final Exam
     
    Quick Study
     
    Extracurricular Activities
     
    Murder 101
     

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
    THIRD DEGREE. Copyright © 2010 by Maggie Barbieri. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
    www.minotaurbooks.com
    ISBN 978-0-312-59328-5
    First Edition: December 2010
    eISBN 978-1-4299-2631-7
    First St. Martin’s Press eBook Edition: November 2010