She moved back. Her eyes lacked the capacity to harden, but there was injury in them—trust betrayed.
“The police,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “There was no intention to mislead. But the case remains unsolved and I’ve been asked to learn anything I can about her. We know she volunteered at the center.”
She said nothing. Jake picked up the tension from across the room and stopped grinding.
“Did you ever meet her?” I said.
She studied the muffin’s golden-brown surface. Turned it over. Smiled at Jake and he resumed his work.
“What do you know about the center?” she said.
“Not much.”
“It was established so poor women could have access to basic health care: prenatal counseling, nutrition, breast exams and Pap smears, family planning. It used to be part of the University med school rotation but that ended a long time ago and we had to depend upon volunteers. I did a few concerts for them, helped them get stuff.”
“Supplies?”
“Supplies, donations. They still think of me as someone with connections. Sometimes I can actually accomplish something. Last week I heard of an agent who’s redoing his office and managed to get some of his old furniture.”
She looked at the pastry case.
Jake said, “Copacetic?”
She smiled again and turned back to me. “I met Hope a couple of times, but she really wasn’t involved. Though we thought she’d be. The first time I saw her was at last year’s fund-raiser. We had a variety show at the Aero Theater and a buffet afterward at Le Surph. She bought a five-hundred-dollar ticket that entitled her to a whole table but she said she had no one to bring so we put her on the dais. Because of her credentials. She sounded like someone we could have used. And she impressed a lot of people, with her intelligence and her personality—very dynamic. Shortly after, someone sponsored her for the board and we voted her in. But she never ended up contributing much.”
She finger-combed her hair and drummed the table.
“I guess what I’m saying is what happened to her was a horror but she had very little to do with the center and I’m worried about getting bad PR.”
“No reason you should get any,” I said. “It’s just background stuff, trying to understand her. Why didn’t she contribute more?”
She took a long time to answer. “She wasn’t . . . how can I say this . . . at the fund-raiser she had ideas. Talked about bringing in other psychologists, grad students from the University, developing a volunteer mental-health program. Her qualifications were fantastic and the person who sponsored her said she was dynamite. She showed up for the next board meeting, came around for a few weeks, counseled a few patients. Then she just stopped. Her book was out and I guess she was too busy. None of the programs got activated.”
She ate more muffin, chewing slowly, without pleasure.
“So she got too busy,” I said.
“Look,” she said, “I don’t enjoy judging other people. Especially someone who’s dead.”
“Was the person who sponsored her Dr. Cruvic?”
“You know Mike?”
“I met him once.”
“Yes, it was him. Which was another reason she had credibility. He’s been one of our most active board members. Really gives his time.”
“So he and Hope knew each other before the fund-raiser?”
“Sure. He brought her . . . Robin said you’re a guitarist.”
“I play a little.”
“She said you were very good.”
“She’s biased.”
She wiped her lips with her napkin. “I don’t play much anymore. After I gave birth, nothing but my son seemed important. . . . These questions about Mike Cruvic. Do the police suspect him of something?”
“No,” I said. “There are no suspects at all. Is there something I should know about him?”
“He’s been good to the center,” she said, but her tone was flat.
“And he brought her to the fund-raiser.”
“Are you asking if they had something going?” she said.
“Did they?”
“I wouldn’t know. And what’s the difference? Hope was murdered because of her views, wasn’t she?”
“Is that the assumption at the center?”
“That’s my assumption. Why else? She spoke out and was silenced.”