CHAPTER 2If it hadn’t been for all that, I doubt if I should have accepted an invitation to a party at Karen Lunt’s house the night of February 3rd, the next morning when she called me up.
“I’m having a few friends in to supper, Mrs. Latham,” she said over the phone. “I hope you don’t mind my calling you one. The Candlers’ friends have always been mine too. Jerry simply adores you! A quarter to eight. You know my place, don’t you? The Candlers’ sweet old carriage house in Chatham Street?”
I said I’d come and put down the phone; and all that day and evening, everywhere I went, Karen Lunt’s name kept popping up. It was exactly like a new word that keeps appearing in everything you read when once you’ve looked it up in the dictionary or missed it dismally in a parlor game. I’d met Karen, on
