Light As A Feather

Thank you for coming to see me, Raymond. You must be wondering why I summoned you here on such short notice. Well, I have a specific reason in mind and you will soon understand. I want you to know the truth about what happened, but you must promise not to judge me too harshly. I will take that nod of your handsome head through this foul mesh to mean yes. I know there are great gaps in your knowledge. I would like to fill them in, if you will let me. As my loyal friend and lover, I feel you are entitled to know everything.

I'll begin with the Wednesday before Labor Day weekend. That was two days before Suzanne's murder. I was shopping at Macys. While I went to try on something in front of a mirror, I deliberately left my handbag on the floor nearby. Someone swiped it, of course. That sort of thing happens every day in New York. I told the police it contained much cash and a small handgun, which was registered to me. In reality, the bag was empty and the revolver was tucked safely under my pillow at home. No one saw anything, but everyone believed my story. I made quite a stink.

That Friday marked the end of a string of gloriously warm days and nights so cool that we didn't even need the air conditioners. It was very hectic at the Fifth Avenue townhouse. My husband, Duncan, was due to return the following evening from a European business trip and that coming Sunday the twins and their friend, Bibi Rogers, who was staying with us, were planning to return to Cornell for the fall semester. I really ruined things, didn't I? I guess I did, but I couldn't let Suzanne spoil everything I had worked for. I couldn't just sit back and let her do that! Surely you can see my position. Well, no one is really innocent here, not even you in your three-piece, pinstriped suit.