Marcia Talley - A Quiet Death

‘Would you ask Emily to help you scan love letters from Paul?’

I thought about the letters Paul had written when we were separated one summer – both the letters and the summer sizzled – and said, ‘No way.’

‘OK. So do we agree? If Lilith is still alive, Skip probably stole them.’

‘That’s my working theory, too. Especially since somebody broke into our house looking for them.’

Ruth gasped, offended. ‘When? You didn’t tell me that!’

After I shared the gory details, Ruth said, ‘That creeps me out! You must feel so violated.’

‘I do. We’d been putting off installing a security system, but this pushed us over the edge. A consultant’s coming to talk to us about it this weekend.’

Ruth and Hutch had installed a security system in their Conduit Street home, so Ruth educated me on the finer points of ADT until we reached Kent Narrows, at which point she suddenly switched horses to ask, ‘So, what’s your plan, Hannah?’

I pointed to a six-by-nine manila envelope propped up on the console between us. ‘I made copies of two of the photographs of Lilith. I plan to show them around and ask if anybody’s seen her.’

Ruth hooked a thumb through the chest strap on her seatbelt, tugging it out a couple of inches so she could turn in the passenger seat to face me. ‘And what street corner are you planning to stand on, pray tell?’

‘Think about it, Ruth,’ I said as I took the exit toward Cambridge at the 50/301 split. ‘If Lilith is still living around here, she has to buy groceries somewhere. Send and receive mail. Get her car serviced.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot, anyway. And if that doesn’t pan out, I’ll ask at some of the local art galleries. Lilith was an artist, remember.’

‘Well, frankly, I think it’s a long shot, Hannah. I’m just along because you promised me lunch. And the tomatoes, of course. Where are we going for the aforementioned lunch, by the way?’

‘Portside in Cambridge.’

‘That place right on the water?’

‘Yes.’

Ruth clapped her hands like a four-year-old. ‘Goody, goody.’

An hour later, we crossed the bridge that took us over the Choptank River, turned right into Cambridge, and pulled into the parking lot at Portside. Soon, Ruth and I were sharing an order of the restaurant’s award-winning hot crab dip, followed by fish and chips for me and spinach salad for Ruth.

On the off chance that Lilith might have dined at Portside, I showed her picture to the waitress when she came to refill our glasses with iced tea.

The waitress held the picture by the corner between a French-manicured thumb and forefinger, studied it briefly, then glanced back at me. ‘You a private detective or something?’

‘She’s Nancy Drew,’ said my sister.

The waitress grinned, displaying a full set of pearly whites. ‘Get out!’ She looked at the photo again. ‘Wish I could help you, but I can’t. Don’t think I’ve ever seen this girl before, and I’ve worked here pretty much every day since the place opened.’ She handed the photo back.

‘Thanks anyway,’ I said, tucking the photo into its envelope.

Ocean Gateway. Sunburst Highway. Route 50 to you and me. A strip of unrelenting concrete, bordered on both sides by gas stations, fast food restaurants, cut-rate motels, and big-box drug stores. From the CVS you could hit the Rite Aid with a well-aimed prescription bottle.

No surprise, then, that I decided to avoid Route 50 altogether and head out into the countryside the back way. I drove Ruth across the Market Street bridge, then took a slow loop through the historic colonial town before heading south on Race Street. We were driving through farmland in no time. Where Church Creek Road intersected with Golden Hill Road at the Church Creek community proper, I pulled into the parking lot in front of the tiny post office and stuck my nose in.

When the postmistress finished with a customer, I approached the counter, trotted out my high school reunion story, and showed her Lilith’s picture. ‘Her name is Lilith Chaloux, at least it was when I knew her.’

The postmistress shook her head. ‘She doesn’t keep a box here. If she did, I’d certainly know about it.’ She handed the picture back. ‘You might try Woolford.’ She pointed west. ‘Continue on that way. From this point on, it’s Taylor’s Island Road. Winds around a bit, but in about two miles you’ll get to the Country Store. It’s on the right. If your friend lives anywhere around there, that’s where she’ll do business.’

I thanked the woman and headed back to the car.

Five minutes later, Ruth and I pulled into the parking lot of the Woolford Country Store, a three-story, white-frame structure with dark chocolate trim. I recognized the post office by the American flag flying from a pole out front, otherwise I might have missed it. The single-story building was attached to one side of the store like an afterthought, which it probably was.

While Ruth popped into the store to see if she could hook up with an Eskimo Pie, I ducked in to the post office.

The woman on duty behind the counter looked up from a form she was filling out and asked if she could help me.

‘I’m trying to find this woman,’ I said, handing her Lilith’s picture.

The postmistress studied it for a moment, then said, ‘She’s older now, of course, but this looks a lot like Lilith Chaloux.’ She pronounced the name Shall-locks. ‘She’s such a pretty girl, isn’t she? Absolutely enchanting.’

My heart flip-flopped inside my chest. ‘How long has Lilith lived here?’

‘Oh, quite a while.’ She handed the picture back across the counter. ‘More than twenty years, I’d say. Isn’t that right, Penny?’

The postmistress was addressing a woman standing at a chest-high table near the window, patiently peeling stamps out of a booklet and applying them with scientific exactness to the upper right-hand corner of a pile of bright orange envelopes. In the bad old days, her tongue would have been heavy with glue, and she wouldn’t have been able to answer so quickly. ‘Lilith? The artist? Oh, I say twenty years at least!’

‘Can you tell me where I might find her?’

The postmistress frowned, but not in an unfriendly way. ‘It would be against federal regulations for me to tell you any more than that, now wouldn’t it?’ She brightened. ‘But you could write her a letter and I could slip it into her post office box. You’ll need to stamp it, of course.’

‘Well,’ Penny interrupted, mashing her fist down on top of one of her stamps like a hammer. ‘I certainly don’t operate under federal government regulations. Why are you looking for Lilith? Do you mind telling me?’

‘We went to the same high school, but we’ve lost track of one another. I’m trying to find her for our fortieth reunion.’ With one eye still on the helpful postmistress, I added, ‘I’d love to talk to her in person, of course. It’s been too long.’

Penny pushed her stamped envelopes through the Outgoing Mail slot, then said, ‘Lilith keeps pretty much to herself, always did, but when she comes to town, she’s friendly enough. She lives off Deep Point Road, in a cottage that looks out over Fishing Creek. Woods all around. Very isolated. Haven’t seen her recently, though.’

‘Have you ever been to the cottage? Is it easy to find?’

Penny managed a crooked grin. ‘It’s up the road just a bit. Keep looking for Deep Point. It’ll turn off to the right. You can’t miss it. There’s a green street sign. The cottage, now, it’s on a dirt lane that turns off to the left between two fields. If you get to Deep Water Road, you’ve gone too far.’ She whirled her index finger in the air. ‘Just turn around and come back.’