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Art and Glenn, Glenn was his name, were the best of friends. “You were inseparable,” she added sympathetically.
    “They were,” Gabby was off again, recounting more stories. She didn’t notice Art’s face or the tears sliding down his cheek, unchecked.
    Sally interrupted, “I remember a record you two bought that promised to arouse your dates. What was its name?”
    Art wiped his face. “Frank Sinatra,” he said and lifted his glass in a sort of goodbye wave.
    Sally got up and fled to her room. She looked at the pile of papers, which contained Mary Jo’s latest journal and address book. She placed the index cards Art had given her on top of them, but couldn’t think about Mary Jo. She was overwhelmed by the past and how lucky she had been to escape the disaster of St. Charles, when she did. She remembered meeting Danny, an ex-con serving bar at the Elks Club in Elgin. How she missed Danny’s olive-toned skin, his thick hair, turned white since he was in his twenties from the antibiotics they gave him in Viet Nam for the syphilis he was too much of a scared virgin to contract, about the nude she had sketched of him on her bedroom wall after he died. How she missed him, how much he had convinced her she was loved.
    A bitter sweetness enveloped her. Robert Koelz would understand the ebb and flow of her emotions. Robert. Sally dressed for bed in pink silk pajamas and cradled Mary Jo’s paper trail to her chest as she climbed up into the canopied bed. Time to study how to clear Robert.
    The July 20 th entry in Mary Jo’s journal seemed close enough to the present mayhem to start. It was written in Greg shorthand. Sally’s could only translate the most carefully written words. ‘Husband’ was always capitalized. Some details were lost, but the word ‘pain’ was underlined as were the words ‘bruises’ and ‘escape.’
    Sally skipped to August 1 st . In Mary Jo’s relaxed script she read, “Ricco will be served divorce papers at Dukane this morning. My face is too swollen to go to work. I’m all packed. My lawyer, Sue Pike’s kid brother, promises I will be safe. I’m not sure. I buried my ring in the backyard next to the rose bush he gave me the first time he broke my ring finger. The funny thing is, I’m sad. I guess for all the broken promises of happiness, of the forever of marriage. But it is more important to live, to feel safe, to at least have a second chance. Mother said it was important to be happy. Life is so short.”
    Mother. Where did Mary Jo’s mother live? Sally reached for the address book. Robert had remembered St. Louis for Mary Jo’s husband. Harvey was supposed to check it out. What was Mary Jo’s maiden name? Sally started in the ‘A’ section. Not until the ‘S’ section did Sally notice the number of similar last names and addresses in Florida. Orlando, Vero Beach, Tampa, all had the name ‘Staples’ listed.
    “Family,” Sally said. They must be family. Eleven o’clock, too late to be making social calls. Sally closed the address book and slipped into dreamland. Danny was taking her picture in her exercise tights.
    “Let your hair fall a little on your face,” Danny directed.
    In the dream her hair was still dark, natural curly, unruly. But Danny loved her and she him, to the bottom of his perfect feet, and the way he placed one hand on his belt, jutting his hip toward the world. My, he was fine.

Chapter Three
    Bibliopole
    September, Thursday
    Andrew Sites received the stack of cards with a quizzical expression on his face. Sally explained for the lawyer as well as Robert. “Ricco and Mary Jo Cardonè’s information while they were in St. Charles.”
    “Ricco’s arrest record,” Andrew said, handing a blue card to Robert.
    “No wonder he left Illinois,” Robert said after reading the information.
    Penny whisked the card from Robert’s hand. “Do the Ann Arbor police know Robert’s accuser was incarcerated this many times?”
    “They knew he had a