Jane insists we do cocktails outside of The Man Club. She picks La Rue. It’s a fancy place that’s over-priced. Only the uppity people of Templeton eat here. The drinks on the menu have no prices, which tells me I can’t afford the place. The wait staff speaks French. I can’t pronounce the items on the menu.
She wants to sit on a deck overlooking Lake Erie. It’s early February, and the snow flies. Another storm takes over all the small towns next to the lake, Templeton included. Too bad for us. We sit inside.
Jane’s dressed in all black from toes to head: high heels, slacks, gold jewelry, sunglasses, and a Lilly Pulitzer hat with a wide brim. “Sorry about my gloomy look, but I’ve just come from a funeral, darling. One of Robert’s wicked aunts died. We still don’t know if she was pushed in
