Marcia Talley: In Death's Shadow

"Didn't work out the way you intended, did it, Brian?" I pressed. "Valerie got well, Corinne got pregnant. What were you going to do?"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Bromley tapping her cast against her fingertips, making a desperate "time-out" sign. But I was taking no prisoners.

"The only thing I don't understand is how you did it. How did you murder your wife?"

Corinne doubled over and made a mad dash for the rest room at the back of the shop, where presumably she would upchuck her latte. Brian stared after her with a worried look on his face, but although I must have provoked him, he said nothing.

"I wonder what the phone records will show, Brian?"

"I was miles away when Valerie died, in Harpers Ferry, working on a story."

"So you said. The police left a message on your cell phone, didn't they?"

Brian nodded.

"And you returned the call."

"That's right."

"They can track those things, you know, Brian. Cell phones." I mused, "One hundred forty million human-tracking devices. When you place a cellular phone call, your phone seeks out the nearest receiving tower, which serves a distinct area. Know what they call those areas, Brian? Cells. The tower routes the call to its destination. Your cell phone provider keeps a record of that."

Brian blanched.

"I wonder where your cell phone company will tell the police you were when you made that call?"

Everything about Brian was clenched: his teeth, his jaw, his fists.

"How did you do it, Brian? With a pillow? Did you put a pillow over your wife's face and hold it there until she stopped struggling?"

"You are out of your fucking mind." He emphasized every syllable.

"When you laid her out, Brian, you forgot something very important. I shared a hospital room with Valerie. I know how she sleeps. She gets hot, a foot hangs out. She tosses, she turns. Blankets here, blankets there. The nurses were always picking blankets up off the floor in the middle of the night.

"Do you know Miranda found her mother, you worm? Valerie was snug as a bug in a rug with the blankets pulled up neatly under her chin." I shook my head. "You and I both know that's not very likely, is it?"

The way I looked at it, Brian had two choices: he could punch me out, or he could run.

Brian ran. He bolted from the coffee shop, heading south on Maryland Avenue toward State Circle.

Almost at once Corinne appeared, dabbing at her face with a paper towel. "Where's Brian?"

"Brian's gone."

"But-"

"Don't worry, Corinne, the police will find him." I was busily punching Officer Tracey's number into my cell phone. "But I think you'd better find somebody else to attend Lamaze classes with you."

"Fucking bitch!" she screamed.

"Oh, I think you already have that territory all wrapped up."

Corinne had run out of steam. She blinked and sputtered and dashed out of the coffee shop, looking both ways as she reached the sidewalk. She must have spotted Brian, because she hustled off in a southerly direction.

I'd almost forgotten Mrs. Bromley, waiting at the counter, behind which stood a paralyzed and wide-eyed barista. I eased into an upholstered chair at one of the tables. "I think I'll have that cappuccino now, Mrs. B."

I punched the talk button. Mike Tracey picked up. "Officer Tracey? This is Hannah Ives. I have some information I think you will find very interesting."

Proving once and for all that they are certifiably insane, Emily and Dante acquired a puppy, a three-month-old chocolate Labradoodle named Coco. They brought Coco along when they came for the Fourth of July, and we soon discovered that the animal had a three word vocabulary: sleep, eat, and rollick.

Chloe and Jake were nuts about the dog, of course. Children and dog, they seemed to be everywhere. They careened around the yard, rolled about on the lawn, ricocheted off the furniture, and whether the children were chasing Coco or Coco was chasing the children, it was hard to tell.

Who would run down first, I wondered, the children or the dog? My bets were on the dog.

The picnic was in full swing when Brad Perry stuck his head over the fence. "Is this a private party or can anyone come? I can bring my own garbage!"

Paul looked up from the hamburger he was demolishing and grinned. "Sure, come on over. But don't worry about the garbage. We gave at the office."

I used my napkin to wipe the mustard off his chin.

Brad arrived carrying a six pack of Bud and a large white envelope. He handed the envelope to me. "Here, Hannah, this is for you."

The envelope had the Victory Mutual logo embossed in the corner where the return address should have been. "What's this?"

Brad dropped his six pack in the ice chest, then popped a can for himself. "Just a little something. Harrison Garvin wants to show his gratitude."

Chloe scampered up and wrapped both arms around my leg. "Gramma, Coco ticked me."

I tucked the envelope under my arm, bent down and wiped her runny nose with the hem of my bright green, Kiss My Asparagus apron. "That means Coco loves you, Chloe."

"Okay." Chloe twirled away like a ballerina on speed.

"Now, where was I?" I said.

"You were about to open that envelope," Paul reminded me. "We're all dying of curiosity."

I held it up to the sun, trying to see through it. "It's probably a certificate Garvin had Donna Hudgins print out on her computer," I joked.

"Go ahead, Mrs. Ives, open it!" My son-in-law still could not bring himself to call me Hannah.

I sat down at the table and used a plastic knife to slit open the envelope. There was a letter inside, and clipped to the letter was a check. A "little something"? I nearly had a heart attack. The check was for $25,000.

"Well," I said. "Well, well, well."

Brad was grinning like a jack-o'-lantern.

I grinned back. "You knew!"

"Of course I knew. Frankly, it was the least Garvin could do. Two crooked underwriters unmasked, millions of dollars saved."

"Millions?"

"Millions and millions, as it turns out, in fraudulently obtained life insurance policies."

"Can I cook marshmallows, Gramma?" Chloe was back.

I slipped the check back into the envelope. "Later, Chloe, after it gets dark."

When everyone went home, I sat in our backyard swing, gently rocking. A soft breeze caressed my cheek, lifted my hair, then drifted on to coax a tune out of the wind chimes my sister Ruth had hung in our sycamore tree. Across the yard the embers on the barbecue grill glowed a soft orange. For the first time in many weeks I was content. It had been only a month since Valerie and I ran the Race for the Cure®, but it seemed like a hundred years. Next year, I knew, I would run the race in memory of Valerie. She would have liked that.

Paul had gone to the kitchen to fetch "a surprise." He returned almost at once, carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine.

He held up the wine. "Guess what label?"

"I can't imagine."

"Guess!"

"Could it be," I ventured, "a Michael LeBois Pinot Noir Santa Maria Highlands 2001?”

It could.

Holding both glasses in one hand, Paul poured the wine. "I thought you'd like to see what you missed when you dumped this down the drain."

I didn't want to admit that I'd already held an impromptu wine tasting when I took a healthy swig of the stuff down in Steele's ritzy wine cellar, so I simply smiled and plucked the glass from Paul's outstretched hand. I swirled it, I sniffed it, I put it to my lips. "Ummmm," I said, "quite a change from the wine that comes in boxes."

"Enormously complex and concentrated," he agreed, parodying the label. "With a sharply focused core of wild berry and blackberry."

"And don't forget, hints of espresso, hazelnut and smoky oak." I had read the label, too.