Dale Andrews - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 134 & 135, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 817 & 818, September/October 2009

Cora laughed and pretended surprise. “You mean I won’t have to put on lipstick when I go out to empty the trash? I can hardly wait!” Her expression became serious again. “Marty, what does Lynn really know about her father?”

Marty stared at the grass at her feet. It needed mowing. “She thinks he died. What else could I tell her? She doesn’t remember, and I’m glad. Her father is a crazed alcoholic who struck me once too often. He would’ve hurt Lynn, too, if I hadn’t come between them... and she was only three.” The vile words seemed to swell in her throat. “Sometimes, Cora, I honestly wanted to kill him.”

Marty leaned against the staunch oak and looked at the quiet street of older homes. Revived with new paint and hard work, they housed a pleasant assortment of families and provided what she had hoped was a peaceful environment to raise her child. Just looking at her own house, a cheerful yellow with dark green trim and narrow porch, made her want to smile. It was hers — hers and Lynn’s, finally, after moving from one apartment to another, bouncing from town to town every time Paul Rydell had served his puny term in jail, every time the phone rang. The last time he’d been put away for five years for assaulting someone in a bar. It was time enough for Marty to save the down payment while working as an executive secretary, and to be on her way to becoming established as a freelance artist. Her amusing cartoon sketches were especially popular with the greeting-card market, and she was at last able to work out of her own home.

Her home. And she had earned it. This time neither Paul Rydell nor anyone else was going to ruin her life!

“Hey! Why the big frown? I didn’t bring any bills today.” Brad Myrick, their jovial postman, paused to delve into his bag and bowed as he presented his findings to the two women. “Looks like invitations to the big library fund-raising gala...” He dealt the mail like a poker hand. “Catalog for you, Ms. Lundy... and, oh my! Looks like payday for the Vaughns!” He gave Marty her check with a flourish. “Now you can buy a good-looking outfit for that gala — like that little black job in Addisons’ window.”

Marty smiled and shook her head. “Not this time, Mr. Myrick. I’m afraid that’s not in my budget.”

“You should see what Arlene Harrison ordered,” he said. “Kelly green with a handbag to match. Came in yesterday from California. Now that cost a pretty penny!”

Cora rolled her eyes and directed his attention across the street. “Are the Crutchfields on vacation? That grass is as high as the cost of living, and it’s been awfully quiet over there.”

Brad Myrick wiped his moist face with a large handkerchief and shook his head. “It’s Doreen’s mom. Fell and broke her hip — close to eighty, you know. She took the little ones up to Ohio with her. Oughta be back sometime next week though.”

With a weary sigh he shifted his bag and turned to go, pausing at the end of the walk. “How’s my girl coming with that photography badge?” He laughed. “Must be hard up for subject matter. Even took a couple of me. Hope it didn’t break her camera.”

“She should finish the requirements on their camping trip over the weekend,” Marty told him. “Lynn’s really worked hard on this one. She’s only using black- and-white film and some of her photographs are impressive.” She shrugged. “Or at least they are to me, but I guess I’m a bit prejudiced.”

The postman waved as he resumed his walk. “Well, you tell her I’ll be dropping by that book I promised — the one on photography. Maybe it will help.”

Cora turned away to make a face. “Silly old fool! It’s obvious he has a crush on you, and him old enough to be your father.”

Marty laughed. “Oh, he’s harmless enough. Nosy, though. Probably knows everybody’s secrets.”

Cora watched the wiry figure make his way down the street. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said.

He couldn’t possibly know mine, Marty thought as she dropped her daughter off at the Scout Hut after school that day. The inquisitive Mr. Myrick thought she was a widow who, with her ten-year-old daughter, had moved into the house on his route the year before. Or at least that’s what she hoped he thought.

Lynn gave her mother a parting kiss as they collected her belongings for the trip. “Is something the matter, Mom? Don’t look so sad. I’m coming back, you know.”

Marty returned her hug. “Are you kidding? I’m planning a wild party — can’t wait! Here, don’t forget your camera.” She helped load her daughter’s bulky gear into the van and waved as they pulled away.

What was she going to do with herself? It was only four o’clock and she had the entire weekend to spend as she liked. Alone. Any other time Marty would have looked forward to the luxury, but not now. She felt threatened, vulnerable.

And she was even more intimidated when she saw the dead bird on her front steps.

“A cat. Marty, calm down. It was only a cat. It’s the nature of the beast, you know, and there are several in the neighborhood.” Her friend Pam O’Keefe put a cold glass of water in her hand. “Here. Now, drink it slowly and tell me what’s going on.”

Marty glanced out the window of Pam’s small gift shop a block from her home. Nothing bad could happen to her here where the tree-shaded street seemed welcoming and friendly. Seemed. She took a sip of water and a deep breath. “It’s Paul. I know it’s Paul, Pam. It’s just like something he would do!”

Pam was one of the few who knew about Marty’s past and of her fear of Paul’s returning. Now she looked at her watch and grabbed keys from a hook by the door, pausing only to put a Closed sign in the window. “Come on! Let’s walk. The air will do you good.”

The two women had become friends when Pam agreed to sell some of Marty’s watercolors and often walked together in the afternoons after work. Pam was one of the few people she had trusted with her secret, but Marty could tell her friend thought she was overreacting.

Now Pam’s voice was light. “Since Lynn’s deserted you to rough it with the Scouts, I’m treating you to pizza tonight. We’ll start with a glass of wine.”

“But what about your family? Really, Pam, you don’t have to—”

“Just hush! Scott can take the kids out for burgers.” Pam linked her arm through Marty’s and picked up her pace. “After all, we deserve a break now and then, don’t you think?” She lowered her voice as they walked past the Crutchfields’. “I don’t like to sound like a prude, but Doreen shouldn’t have left those kids alone like that even if they are in their teens. Their dad’s gone all day, and that oldest one’s a poor excuse for a sitter.” Pam covered her ears as rock music blasted from a room upstairs. “I’ll bet it was that middle boy who put the bird on your steps. Didn’t you tell me he and Lynn had an argument on the school bus last week? You know how vindictive kids can be.”

Pam grinned. “Now, tell me, has the shutterbug earned her badge yet? When’s my picture going to be in Vogue ?”

Marty laughed. Maybe Pam was right. She needed to lighten up, forget about the broken bottle, the dead bird, and all the other trivial annoyances, and enjoy her brief respite from responsibility while her daughter was away.

Later, driving home that night, Marty thought of Lynn’s excitement on receiving the small camera for her birthday. She had zoomed in on earning the photography badge with enthusiasm, recording outings, making photos that told a story, and had even photographed their street at different times of day to achieve variations in light and shadow. Marty smiled. Maybe Lynn would become a skilled photographer someday.