SEVEN
STILL HABITUATED TO ITALIAN time, the women found themselves awake early despite their exhaustion. Deborah was the first to get out of bed. Believing Joanna was still asleep, she tried to be quiet as she passed through the kitchen into the bathroom. The moment she flushed the toilet the connecting door to Joanna's bedroom opened.
"You look like something the cat dragged in,' Deborah said as she eyed her roommate.
"You've looked better yourself," Joanna said. "What time is it?" "Quarter past six, but my pituitary gland thinks it's noon." "Spare me the specifics," Joanna said. "All I know is that I had intended on sleeping late, yet I've been awake for at least an hour."
"Me too," Deborah said, "How about we go down to Charles Street for breakfast? I need coffee big time."
"Since the cupboard is bare we don't have much choice."
Three quarters of an hour later the women descended to the square and walked down Mt. Vernon Street to Charles. It was a fine spring morning with lots of bright flowers in the window boxes. Although there were few pedestrians until they got to Charles, the birds were out in full force. At the end of Charles Street fronting the Boston Common they found a Starbucks that was open. They went in and ordered cappuccinos and got some pastry as well. They carried their food over to a small marble table by the window. At first they ate and drank in silence.
"The coffee is good," Joanna said at length. "But I have to say it tasted better in Campo Santa Margherita."
"Isn't that the truth," Deborah agreed. "But it is reviving me."
"So you still want to go out to the Wingate Clinic and get jobs?" Joanna asked.
"Absolutely," Deborah said. "I'm psyched. But we'd better start brainstorming about specifics. How are we going to get names and Social Security numbers of dead people?"
"That's a good question," Joanna said. "While I was lying in bed this morning I was thinking about it. A few years ago I read about somebody doing it in a novel."
"How did he or she do it?"
"She had an in. She worked in a hospital and got the information from the hospital chart."
"What did she do with it?"
"It was a Medicare scam of some sort."
"Good grief!" Deborah commented. "That's interesting, but unfortunately it's not going to help us. That is, unless you were thinking of enlisting Carlton's help."
"I think we'd better leave Carlton out of this," Joanna said. "If he had an inkling of what we were up to, he'd probably turn us in to the FBI."
Deborah took another sip of her coffee. "I think we should break the problem into two parts. First we get the names. After we have the names we worry about getting the Social Security numbers and whatever else we need, like birth date and maybe even mother's maiden name."
"Getting names won't be a problem," Joanna said. "At least that came to me while I was lying in bed. All we have to do is head over to the library and look at the Globe's obituary pages."
"Good ideal" Deborah said. She sat forward eagerly. "Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect. The obituaries usually have ages if not birth dates. That will help picking out appropriate names since we should try to look for women about our age, as bizarre as that sounds."
"I know," Joanna said. "It's creepy. They also have to be women who have died relatively recently."
"Getting the Social Security number is going to be more difficult," Deborah said.
"Maybe I'll have to break down and ask Carlton for help," Joanna said. "The chances are, any woman our age who's passed away will have been a patient in a local hospital. If she'd been in the MGH, and if we could come up with some plausible reason why we want the Social Security number that won't make Carlton suspicious, maybe he'd help."
"That's a lot of ifs and maybes," Deborah commented.
"I suppose," Joanna agreed.
"I've got it," Deborah said. She slapped her palm against the tabletop. "A couple of years ago when my grandfather died, my grandmother had to get a death certificate to take his name off the deed to the house."
"How does that help us?"
"The death certificate is public information," Deborah said. She laughed at herself. "I can't believe I didn't think about this right off. The death certificate has the Social Security number."
"My gosh, that's perfect."
"Absolutely," Deborah said. "First we hit the library, then City Hall."
"Wait a second," Joanna said. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "We've got to make sure that the Social Security number hasn't been retired. Knowing government bureaucracy I'm sure it takes a while, but we have to be sure."
"You're absolutely right," Deborah said. "It would certainly blow our cover if we get out there to the Wingate and a background check turns up that one or both of us are dead." She laughed hollowly.
"I know what we can do," Joanna said. "After we go to City Hall, we stop at the Fleet Bank. We'll open up savings accounts with both names. As American citizens we'd have to supply the Social Security numbers, and they'll run a check on them straight off, so we'll know."
"Sounds good," Deborah said. "What time do you think the library opens?"
"My guess would be nine or ten," Joanna said. "But there's one other thing we should discuss. What about altering our appearances a bit more? I think our different hairstyles are quite effective and probably enough under the circumstances, but why not go a step further just to be sure."
"You mean like hair color."
"Hair color is one thing, but I'm also talking about our general style, our look. We're both rather preppy. I think we each ought to aim for another type."
"Well, I'm all for changing my hair color," Deborah said. "I've always wanted to be a blond. I've heard you guys have a lot more fun."
"I'm trying to be serious here," Joanna said.
"Okay, okay," Deborah said. "So what else do you have in mind: strategic facial piercings and a couple of wild tattoos?"
Joanna laughed in spite of herself. "Let's try to be serious for a moment. I'm thinking in terms of clothes and makeup. There's a lot that we could do."
"You're right," Deborah said. "Occasionally I've had a fantasy of dressing up like a hooker. I guess I have an exhibitionist streak; I've just never acted on it. This could be my big chance."
"Are you mocking me again or are you serious?"
"I'm serious," Deborah said. "We might as well make this fun."
"I was thinking about going in the opposite direction," Joanna said. "The prudish librarian stereotype."
"That will be easy," Deborah joked. "You're practically there already."
"Very funny," Joanna said.
Deborah wiped her mouth with her napkin and tossed it onto her pastry plate. "Are you finished?"
"I certainly am," Joanna said.
"Then let's get this show on the road," Deborah said. "On the way here we passed a grocery store. Why don't we stop in and get some staples so that we don't have to come out for every meal? By then the library should be open."
"It sounds like a perfect plan," Joanna said.
THE WOMEN WERE STANDING ON THE FRONT STEPS OF THE old Boston Library building gazing at the Trinity Church across the busy Copley Square when the library's custodian unlocked the front door. It was nine o'clock. Since neither of the women had been in the Boston Library before, they were, in Deborah's words, blown away by the grand architecture and the vivid John Singer Sargent murals.
"I can't believe I lived in the Boston area for six years and never came in here," Deborah said as they walked through the echoey marbled halls. It was as if her head were on a swivel as it pivoted from side to side to take in all the details.
"I have to agree," Joanna said.
After inquiring where they could go to view old Boston Globe newspapers, the women were directed to the microfilm room. But once there they learned that there was a delay, sometimes as much as a year, before the papers were microfilmed. Consequently they were sent to the newspaper room. There they found the newspapers themselves.