V Is for Vengeance

and washed her hands. Along with the blazer and white T-shirt, she was wearing jeans, tennis socks, and running shoes. Not exactly funeral garb, but an outfit I’d have felt comfortable in myself.
    I went into the other stall and availed myself of the facilities, hoping to delay my return to the viewing room until more mourners arrived. I expected to hear the hall door open and close, but when I emerged the woman was leaning against the counter, lighting another cigarette. I resisted the urge to point out the error of her ways. I suffered the same conflict at the bird refuge, watching tourists feed bread scraps to the ducks when a Please Don’t Feed the Birds sign is posted at the site. While I’m willing to allow visitors the benefit of the doubt, I’m always tempted to say, “Do you speak English?” or “Can you read?” in slow, clear tones. I haven’t done it yet, but it does irritate me when citizens ignore plainly posted municipal codes.
    Sabrina Striker’s face was long. Her nose was narrow through the bridge and wider at the tip, which made the whole of it seem larger than it was. She kept her dark hair tucked behind her ears, which caused them to protrude. She wore no makeup and needed a better haircut. Perhaps because of the flaws in evidence, she seemed appealing, someone nice and unpretentious.
    I took my time washing my hands. It’s been my experience that women in ladies’ rooms will tell you anything, given half a chance. This seemed as good a time as any to test the theory. I caught her eye in the mirror. “Are you Sabrina?”
    She smiled, exposing a rim of gum above her upper teeth. “That’s right.”
    I turned off the water and pulled a fold of paper toweling from the stack. I dried my hands, tossed the towel in the trash, and then offered my hand. “I’m Kinsey.”
    We shook hands as she said, “I figured as much. I saw your name in the book on my way in here. You’re with that older gentleman who’s talking to my dad.”
    “William’s my neighbor,” I said and left it at that. I leaned toward the mirror and brushed at one eyebrow as though smoothing the arch. I could see my mop was in need of a whack and I was sorry I hadn’t tucked my trusty nail scissors in my shoulder bag. I usually carry them with me in the event of a styling emergency.
    She said, “So, were you Audrey’s friend or was he?”
    “More him than me. I actually only saw her once. He was the one who suggested we attend the visitation,” I said, deftly avoiding the truth. “I believe the paper said she was engaged to your dad.”
    Sabrina made a face. “Unfortunately. We had no idea he was that serious about her.”
    “Was there a problem?”
    She hesitated. “Are you telling the truth when you say you weren’t Audrey’s friend?”
    “Not a friend at all. Cross my heart.” I made a quick X on my chest by way of confirmation.
    “Because I don’t want to say anything out of line.”
    “Trust me. I’m on your team.”
    “Basically, what happened was my mother died last May. My parents were college sweethearts, married forty-two years. Daddy met Audrey in a bar four months after mother passed away. Next thing you know she was moving in with him.”
    “Tacky of her.”
    “Exactly.”
    “I take it you objected.”
    “I tried keeping my opinion to myself, but I’m sure he knew how I felt. I found it offensive. My sister, Delaney, thought she was a gold digger, but I disagreed. Audrey was never short of money so I had a hard time believing she was after his. She was good to him. I’ll give her that.” She reached over and turned on the water, extinguishing her cigarette before she tossed it in the trash. “Of course, she was a slut.”
    “In her age bracket, I thought they were called something else, but I can’t imagine what,” I said.
    “A conniving old slut.”
    “You think she had an ulterior motive?”
    “There was something going on with her. I mean, Daddy’s adorable, but she’s hardly his type.”
    “How so?”
    “He’s always been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. Even my mother complained at times. He’s a homebody. He doesn’t like to go out at night. Audrey was a live wire, always on the go. Where was the common ground?”
    My shrug was noncommittal. “Maybe they fell in love. He must have been lonely with your mother gone. Most men don’t do well on their own, especially if they’ve been happily married.”
    “Agreed. And of course now he’s done a complete