was back in a minute. She spread the paper out on the table.
âHere it is. I Saw You. Have you looked at it before?â
âYeah,â said Lynn. âThat paperâs usually around the house.â
âUm,â said Celia, âIâm not actually supposed to read that paper. It has inappropriate content.â
âYou mean all those ads for escorts and massage therapists?â said Lynn.
âWell, not just that.â
âShe means that sex advice column,â said Kas. âNot that Iâve ever read it. Itâs gross.â
âMe, neither,â said Lynn.
There was a pause.
Celia jumped in. âHow do you know itâs gross if youâve never â â
Lynn and Kas started to laugh so hard that Mr. Aquasize glanced over.
Celia shook her head. âOh, you guys.â
âAll right,â said Kas, âas my colleague Celia would say, we have strayed from the point.â She flipped through the pages. âHere it is. I Saw You. Okay. Hereâs one. âMan to Woman. #9 bus. You: bright blue jacket, red hair. Me: green toque, beard. I gave my seat to a senior. You smiled at me. I wanted to talk. You, too?â Aw, doesnât Green Toque sound nice?â
âThis is the perfect tool,â said Celia. âAnd, look, itâs online, too.â
âLetâs see,â said Lynn. She ran her eye down the list. âBut itâs all, like, dating stuff.â
âWho cares?â said Celia. âIt might just work. Obviously lots of people read this paper, or at least, ahem ahem, parts of it. What details should we include?â
The exercise music stopped and the nifty sixties emerged from the pool, teasing and laughing, tossing their noodles and belts into the bin, flicking their heads to get water from their ears. The blue water calmed to glass and invited the girls in.
Kas stood up. âHow about, âYou: green kilt. Me: choking to death. You saved my life. Can we meet?ââ
âItâll take some polishing,â said Celia, âbut the basic idea is great. Kilt identification and an I Saw You notice. A two-pronged approach.â She stood up, licked the inside of her goggles, adjusting them over her eyes and did a tidy dive into the fast lane. Kas followed with more of a splash.
Lynn sat on the edge and watched the churning water. She was never one for diving in.
âââ
The guinea pigs were loose on Celiaâs kitchen floor, cautiously inspecting Lynnâs feet, rumbling and squeaking in their mysterious guinea-pig way. Celia, looking like a surgeon in her rubber gloves and armed with a bottle of spray disinfectant, was cleaning out their cage. Kas was taking artsy guinea-pig photos and posting them to her blog.
âCome on, Hoover. Come on, Oreck, Miele. Smile for the camera.â
âOkay,â said Celia. âItâs been a week. What progress have we made in our investigation of the identity of Heimlich girl?â
Kas consulted her phone. âWhere are those tartans? Here we go. The three closest private schools use Arbuthnot Ancient, Modern Douglas and Hunting Gordon.â She held out the screen to Lynn. âWhat do you think?â
âI donât know. Could be any of them.â
âInconclusive,â said Celia. She scooped out some pine shavings. âWhat about the I Saw You ad?â
âA bust,â said Lynn.
âNo replies?â
âThere were lots of replies, but all of them were from creeps. Looks like âkiltâ is some kind of code word.â
âFor what?â said Celia.
âDonât ask. Inappropriate content. Slimeball stuff.â
âBut they donât have your email address, right?â Celia was always careful about Internet safety.
âRight.â
Kas shook her head. âI think weâve hit the wall on the search.â
âYeah.â Lynn slipped out of her sandals and wiggled her toes to