Page 58 of Without a Clue

How do you start an interview with someone you’ve already known for years?

“So. I guess . . . we’ll just pretend I don’t know you to get this going.”

“Fine by me,” she says patiently, and gives a little wave to a lady she chatted with at breakfast who walks by.

She’s settled back in her chair like she is perfectly happy. Like this is just another day in paradise.

I cast a glance to Nash, my eyes saying, Are you seeing this? What is wrong with this woman?

He shrugs back as if to say, What is ever right with Neena?

And for a moment, it feels like old times.

“Okay,” I say for the zillionth time. C’mon, Pip. Business.

I grab for my phone. Forget it.

I can’t possibly try to figure out how to be a detective while pretending I’m not trying to be a detective.

That’s too sleuth for a beginner like me.

“Where were you when the night of the murder happened?”

“Which one, dearie? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Hugh’s,” I say. “Let’s just, for the time being, assume all of my questions unless specified are about Hugh.”

“I was in my bed, same as you and everyone else. Well, minus one of us, of course.” She laughs a little to herself and takes another sip.

My eyes go wide and shoot over to Nash again. Are you hearing her?

He takes my cue and steps closer to listen.

“And the morning he was found . . .” I say, typing into my phone.

“Oh, you know that, dearie. Where was I? Where do you know I was?”

She sounds teacherly.

“In . . . the library,” I say.

“Spot on,” she says, tapping her nose and then pointing at me proudly. “Very good. Jot that one down.”

After a few furtive looks in her direction, I begin typing into my phone, only to realize she has quietly scooted herself over and is now hunched over, hovering over my shoulder, reading the screen.

“Now, I’m only a humble writer and no great sleuth, but I’d type a header for that one, dearie. Something like . . .”

I purse my lips together.

Pause.

And after several moments, give in and begin typing Location.

“Very nice. Very specific.” Her flowery-perfumed hand pats my shoulder, and she drops herself back in her chair.

Honestly, is someone drugging Neena? Is that a thing?

“I don’t think you ought to take those pills anymore, Neena,” I say as an aside.