Occasion of Revenge (29 page)

Emily stared at me with troubled eyes. “I guess Virginia got tired of waiting for Darlene to go voluntarily.”

*  *  *

As much as I wanted to hear the bagpipers, we were too exhausted and drained to make it back downtown for the annual Parade to Midnight, or to the laser light show in the tent at City Dock. As the magic hour approached, we wandered from Halsey Field House to the terrace outside the Naval Academy Visitors’ Center which overlooks Annapolis Harbor and Spa Creek. Across the harbor, a large neon crab pot steamed on the roof of the parking garage of the Marriott Hotel. As midnight approached, the countdown began and the blue crab began its inexorable descent.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen …

My cancer behind me, my family safe around me. A new millennium, I thought, and a new beginning for everyone.

Twelve, eleven, ten …

Daddy standing side by side with Cornelia Gibbs. However “accidentally” Cornelia had run into him at the fast-food concession in Halsey that night, he would negotiate a postponement of his cruise until March so that he and Cornelia could sit in adjoining deck chairs on the
Wind Star
off Belize.

Nine, eight, seven …

Emily nestled in the shelter of Dante’s arm with Chloe napping, open mouthed, on his shoulder. Years later Chloe’s parents would tease that she slept through the new millennium on the very night her baby brother was conceived.

Six, five, four …

Ruth sat alone on the seawall, feet dangling over the water. Before the week was out, her financial problems would be over, when Darryl Donovan was arrested and charged with ten counts of grand theft, theft over five hundred, theft under five hundred, and
credit card theft. Now the lawyer handling her case seems to be taking more than just a professional interest in his client. Ruth calls him “Hutch.”

Three, two, one …

Paul kissed me once, curling my toes. And later? Well, you can imagine.

Happy New Year!

The millennium crab plunged the final few inches into the pot, flashing from blue to red. Cheers erupted from points all over the harbor as a salvo of fireworks was launched into the night. In the first flash, I caught sight of LouElla, her cheeks glistening with tears. I was filled with shame. In my happiness, I had nearly forgotten about her. In the past year this woman had lost her only son, had pulled my father from the depths of alcoholism, had thrown herself between my daughter and the bullet that was meant for her. With Darryl going to jail, I planned to put in a good word with Deirdre so that LouElla could keep Speedo, at least. I reached for LouElla’s hand, gathered it up into mine, and squeezed.

“Do you know something, LouElla?”

“What?” she said dreamily.

“J. Edgar Hoover would have been very proud of you today.”

She beamed as red-white-and-blue pinwheels exploded over our heads. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

“He’d pin a medal on your chest.”

She bowed her head and concentrated on finding something in her bag while I watched the double hoops in her ears revolve like iridescent Catherine wheels. “You know, everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

I swallowed my denial. Even LouElla wouldn’t have believed it.

She pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to me. I slid my finger under the flap, withdrew a piece of paper, unfolded it, and squinted at it in the dark. Some sort of form. In the next second, brightly illuminated by a burst of white chrysanthemums, I saw that I held a discharge certificate in the name of LouElla Van Schuyler from the Upper Shore Mental Health Center.

“I carry it with me everywhere.” LouElla lifted her face to the night sky. Sparks rained down on us like spangled confetti. “Virginia’s the crazy one, not me. And I have a paper to prove it.”

In Memoriam
Thomas Chester Dutton
1918–1984

Daddy

Acknowledgments

So many wonderful people helped me while I was writing this book that I hardly know where to begin with my thank-yous.

To my family—my husband, Barry, and my daughters, Laura Geyer and Sarah Glass—you were always there when I needed you. Really, I couldn’t have done it without you.

To my sisters—Susan Woythaler, Alison Jacobs, Deborah Kelchner, and Katherine Carstens—who will know why.

To friends and family who gave me a warm bed, hot meals, and a quiet place to write while I toured—Alison and Joe Jacobs, Susan and Saul Woythaler, Betty Lou and David Walsman, Terri Ryburn-LaMonte, and Elizabeth Talley—I can come out and play now.

To Chief Wayne M. Bradley and Captain Robert A. Edler, Jr., of the Chestertown Police Department, Chestertown, Maryland; and to Corporal Arthur Griffies of Maryland State Police Barracks “J” in Annapolis, Maryland, for cheerfully answering my questions. If I got it wrong, it’s entirely my fault, not theirs.

To Suzanne Fischer of Chestertown, Maryland, for so generously inviting me into her home and for allowing me to put a body in her bathtub.

To Janice Gary, Executive Director, and the staff of First Night Annapolis—especially Jan “Red” Adkins—for their courtesy and for letting me paw through their archives.

To Luci Zahray, “The Poison Lady,” who proves every day how dangerous a home can be!

To S. Brent Morris, Charles Mylander, and Chuck Hanna, because I’ve never been very good at math: Thanks 10
⁶
.

To Jackie Cantor—editor, advocate, and friend, above and beyond—and to Abby Zidle, a rare gem.

To my agent, Jimmy Vines, for believing in me.

To my writers’ groups—Sujata Massey, John Mann, Janice McLane, and Karen Diegmueller in Baltimore, and Janet Benrey, Trish Marshall, Mary Ellen Hughes, Ray Flynt, Bonnie Settle, Caroline Buppert, Christiane Carlson-Thies, and Sherriel Mattingly in Annapolis—for tough love. Sherriel, if you should ever tire of librarianship, I am sure there’s a job waiting for you at Hallmark Cards.

To Linda Sprenkle, fellow adventurer, location scout, and dear friend.

To Barbara Parker, friend, feng shui consultant, and Web maven, extraordinaire.

(
http://hometown.aol.com/mardtal/homepage.htm
)
.

And to Kate Charles and Deborah Crombie—dearest of friends, confidantes, and advisers—the reason why ten-cents-a-minute long-distance services had to be invented.

Also by Marcia Talley

Sing It to Her Bones
Unbreathed Memories

About the Author

Marcia Talley’s first Hannah Ives novel,
Sing It to Her Bones
, won the Malice Domestic Grant in 1998 and was nominated for an Agatha Award as Best First Novel of 1999.
Unbreathed Memories
, the second in the series, appeared in 2000. Both were Featured Alternates of the Mystery Guild. She is also the editor of a collaborative serial novel,
Naked Came the Phoenix
, where she joins twelve bestselling women authors to pen a tongue-in-cheek mystery about murder in an exclusive health spa. Her short stories have appeared in magazines and collections.

Marcia lives in Annapolis, Maryland, with her husband Barry, a professor at the U.S. Naval Academy. When she isn’t writing, she spends her time traveling or sailing. Marcia and her husband recently returned from the Bahamas, where they lived for six months on
Troubadour
, their thirty-seven-foot sailboat.