Dearly Departed Carly Winter (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

was right about Claudia and she had killed Charles, I certainly didn't need her coming after me for catching her snooping where she didn't belong.

Bill was wrong.

Of course, women had the fortitude to kill men by stabbing them, and I was determined to prove it to him.

Chapter 13

At some point in the night, Donna had returned. I found her snoring lightly, sprawled out on the couch, when I went to make coffee. Ringo lay on her chest, and I realized he was the reason I had been so cold during the night—he'd abandoned me for Donna.

I slipped on my green capris and a white button-down shirt. I debated wearing a hat since my hair refused to hang in its sleek bob but decided against it. No one at the library would care about my tresses.

“Where are you going?” she asked groggily as I pulled on my coat.

“To the library to do some research. Do you want to go with me?”

She sat up and nodded. “Not really, but I will. Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”

“Sure. Hurry up, though. I want to be there right when it opens.”

When Donna emerged from the bedroom looking chipper and dressed in a mini-skirt, boots, and a sweater, we headed out. I left my crutches at home, so we decided to grab the bus to avoid overextending my ankle.

People hustled about on the streets while the bus slowly meandered through traffic. I kept my eye on the women hurrying about, looking for new styles in clothing I needed to study. It seemed bell bottoms were becoming more and more popular and weren't just for hippies any longer. I appreciated the trend, but also loved my capris and wasn't sure I could give them up anytime soon.

Once we arrived at the library, we waited patiently for it to open.

“How was your trip?” I asked as Donna yawned.

“Fine. Uneventful.”

“Did you see your pilot?”

Donna shook her head and sighed. I took that to mean she didn't want to discuss him, but something had happened between them. Maybe she'd dish the details later.

A few female college students joined us and I listened to them speak in serious tones about the book, The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan, one I had been meaning to read, but I hadn't gotten around to it. Donna stared off into the distance, obviously preoccupied by her own thoughts. I noted one of the girls didn't wear a bra and I tried to imagine the outright horror that would ensue if I arrived at work without one. Natural breasts wouldn't be tolerated. Everything had to be contained and as jiggle free as possible.

What would my life have been like if I'd had the opportunity to go to college? Perhaps I could have been a doctor or a lawyer, although both were typically a man's profession, and there was the problem that neither job really excited me. Would I have worn a bra? I certainly wouldn't bother with the awful girdle.

Perhaps I would have been discussing one of feminism’s greatest books out on the city streets? Even if I had gone to college though, I'd still not know what to do with my life, so it was probably for the best I hadn't attended.

When the library opened, we allowed the women to file in before us. I headed over to the card catalog and began my search.

“Do you ever feel inferior to them?” Donna asked.

“To whom?”

“To the college women. Do you believe they think they're better than us?”

I turned to my friend and shook my head. “No, I don't. Actually, I never gave it any thought. Why would you even consider such things?”

Although Donna was the life of the party, she often showed me little snippets of her psyche that indicated a very deep struggle with her self-esteem that I assumed went back to her less than stellar childhood.

Donna shrugged. “Sometimes when I hear them talking about books and math and such, I feel like they're better than me. I schlep drinks and pick up cigarette butts.”

“You've also been to Paris,” I said, laying my hand on her forearm. “You've traveled all over the country and seen things they never will. You know what to do to save lives if a plane goes down. They don't. No woman is more important than the other. We're all finding our own different paths.”

Donna grinned and squeezed my hand. “You're right. I guess lack of sleep has me feeling down.”

I'd always loved the library. The smell of books and the tranquility of it all often made me feel as if I'd stepped into another world.

“What are you looking for?” Donna asked.

“I'm researching women killers,” I replied, digging through the cards.

Donna snorted and shook her head. “Heck, Patty. Nothing like a little light reading!”

“I know.”

“Why in the world do you want to read about such horrible people?”

I didn't want to share that I was trying to prove an FBI agent wrong. Instead, I just shrugged and continued my task.

“I'm going to grab that table over there by the magazine rack,” Donna said, pointing to empty seats by the window. “While you're doing your light reading, I'll dig into Vogue. I've been thinking I need a new look.”

“Hmm… I don’t know about that, Donna. You’re stunning as you are.”

“You’re so sweet, Patty. But a girl can always freshen up her look. Like they say at work, we never know when we’re going to meet our future husbands!”

I shook my head as she sauntered over to our spot. She was always thinking about marriage.

After fetching my books, I joined Donna at the table, which sat between the magazine rack and a bookcase. The sun shining through the window warmed the area nicely. In fact, I may have even had the urge to nap if it hadn't been for my reading material on women serial killers.

The depravity trapped on the pages astounded me. Jane Toppan, a nurse who went by the moniker “Jolly Jane” because of her