‘‘Why are you concerned?’’ Diane asked.
Clymene smiled. Not a strained smile, but one that reached her eyes. ‘‘I guess that seems strange. But in the world I live in now I depend on—how shall I say— the kindness of strangers. That’s the way it is in here. I own nothing—things are taken away at any moment and my living space turned inside out. I have to be alert to prisoners who suddenly go off the deep end because they received a letter they didn’t like and decide to take it out on me. As I said—that’s just the way it is in here, so kindness from a guard is important. It makes the quality of life a little better. It gives me some protection against the elements here. Grace Noel is a kind guard.’’
As Clymene spoke, her hands were flat on the table, her right over her left. Her nails were short and well manicured. Her voice was calm, her face pleasant, even though the bright orange color of her dress made her look sallow.
She showed no noticeable reaction to Diane’s obvious impatience. Ross Kingsley said she was always self-possessed. She would get frustrated, but never angry. She would state her innocence, but only in response to a question or some statement from him. She wasn’t like other prisoners. Ross thought she made it a point not to be like them.
‘‘Why do you think Grace Noel may be in danger?’’ asked Diane. She wondered if there was a real danger or if this was a ploy—or threat.
‘‘Let me start at the beginning,’’ Clymene said. ‘‘Grace Noel is the kind of guard who likes to talk with the prisoners—some of them anyway.’’ Diane noticed that Clymene usually referred to prisoners as them, not us.
Clymene smiled. ‘‘I suppose I should say us,’’ she said, as if reading Diane’s mind. ‘‘Grace Noel is a plain woman, large boned.’’
‘‘Are you saying she is overweight? How is that relevant?’’ asked Diane, growing more impatient. She shifted her position in the hard chair, thinking she needed to be tending to the problem at the museum.
‘‘It is relevant. That’s how she describes herself and . . . just let me explain. I work in the library and in the chapel. Noel talks to me while I’m working. You know, girl talk. A few months ago she was lamenting the fact that she was rarely asked out on dates. She was asking me things like how she should wear her hair—girl stuff.’’
Diane was having a hard time visualizing Clymene deep into girl talk and how this was leading to Grace Noel’s being in danger. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table.
‘‘One day,’’ continued Clymene, ‘‘she asked me how I got so many husbands, and she couldn’t even get a date.’’ Clymene paused a moment. ‘‘I told her that I’d only had two husbands. She gave me the knowing smile.’’
‘‘The knowing smile?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘Once you’ve been convicted, to the entire world you are guilty of all charges and innuendos against you. No amount of denial changes anyone’s mind, especially not in here.’’ She paused again and smiled. ‘‘Of course everyone in here says they are innocent, which takes the credibility away from those of us who really are. Noel, as kind as she is, believes I am guilty not only of the crime for which I was convicted, but also of the rumors and accusations the DA and others have leveled at me.’’
‘‘Rumors and accusations?’’
‘‘That I’ve had many more husbands and killed them all. I know that’s what the DA believes—and so does my profiler,’’ she said. ‘‘So that’s what Noel believes. And in my capacity as a serial black-widow murderer I must have many wonderful secrets for capturing a man.’’ Clymene’s mouth turned up in an amused expression.
‘‘That’s what she wanted? Secrets to getting a man? What are you worried about? That she’s looking for Mr. Goodbar?’’ said Diane.
‘‘No. She had already met the man—a new member of her church. She wanted him to notice her, to be drawn to her. So I gave her the benefit of my expertise.’’
‘‘Is this an admission?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘You have expertise to give?’’
‘‘For my trial I researched the kind of person the DA thought I was. Yes, I’ve become quite the expert.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I’ve also had two husbands and many boyfriends, so I figured I would give her some pointers and stay in her good graces—so to speak.’’ She smiled at her own pun.
‘‘What did you tell her?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘To research the man of interest—find out what he likes and dislikes and become the person he wants.’’ She shrugged again.
‘‘Just how did this put her in danger?’’ Diane glanced down at her arm for her watch. Clymene seemed not to notice.
‘‘Noel didn’t know how to begin with such a plan and she wanted me to help her. I asked her to tell me all about him. This is what she told me. Eric Tully, that’s his name, is an accountant. He likes camping, hiking, boating—anything outdoors. He likes country music, reality TV, and action movies—but he also likes poetry.’’ Clymene arched a brow as she said the last statement. ‘‘His most recent wife died giving birth to his daughter, now five years old. Before that he lost a wife to leukemia, and both his parents died when he was a teenager. He’s had a very sad life, Grace told me.’’ Clymene leaned forward. ‘‘Too sad, I told her.’’
‘‘What are you saying?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I’m saying that I recognized the kind of person I’d been reading about during my trial.’’
‘‘Are you saying he’s a serial murderer?’’ Diane was skeptical.
Clymene leaned back in her chair. ‘‘I told her I was suspicious of him, but she insisted that he was the man of her dreams.’’
‘‘Did you help her with a plan?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘Yes. It was just a basic plan that any girlfriend would come up with. Nothing in it was guaranteed to work.’’
‘‘You can guarantee your work?’’
Clymene eyed Diane for a long moment, then smiled again as if she found the conversation humorous. ‘‘Just a figure of speech. I mean there was nothing fantastic about the plan. But it worked. I was surprised.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Not to put too fine a point on it, he is a handsome man; she isn’t a beautiful woman. Like it or not, handsome men rarely choose plain women to marry... not without some ulterior motive.’’
This time Diane arched an eyebrow. She was thinking of herself. She had never considered herself beautiful, yet Frank was drop-dead gorgeous.
Clymene shook her head. ‘‘You’re not plain. Your face is interesting and intelligent. I imagine you attract a lot of good-looking and intelligent men,’’ she said.
Diane was disconcerted by the way Clymene kept reading her mind. Is my face an open book?
‘‘You were thinking that you are an exception, therefore Grace might also be an exception,’’ said Clymene, ‘‘But you’re not an exception.’’