Marcia Talley - Tomorrow's Vengeance

From the look on her face, I figured Heather was thinking that God should be the judge of it then, and not Safa Abaza, but it must have occurred to her that arguing with Safa would be counterproductive. With elaborate patience, she smiled, pocketed her stylus, hopped off her stool and said, ‘I’ll go down and make sure Nancy’s all right, OK? Then I’ll see to it that Jerry gets back to his own room.’

‘Do you need help?’ I asked.

Safa shot daggers at me.

‘No, no, that’s not in your job description! Elaine and I can handle it.’ Heather slipped a cell phone out of the holster attached to her belt and tapped a few keys. ‘Why don’t you two call it a day? Come back tomorrow.’

‘What a good idea!’ I said, laying a hand on Safa’s back and gently propelling her toward the door that led into the lobby.

‘Rape must be reported!’ Safa hissed as I punched in the combination that would open the security door that led out into the lobby.

‘We just did,’ I said as the door shushed shut behind us. ‘It’s in capable hands.’

‘Just the sight of that wrinkly, hairy butt… oh, Hannah, I am going to have nightmares !’

I didn’t know how I’d ever unsee that either. I decided the best course of action was to distract her. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I suggested. ‘It’s a beautiful day. It might take your mind off things.’

‘You know what I’d really like?’ Safa said as we wandered past the beauty parlor where two women were installed under hair dryers, one smiling beatifically, the other dozing.

‘Just name it, and I’ll see how I can help.’

She stopped in her tracks. ‘An ice-cream sundae. I haven’t had a sundae in ages.’

‘And I know just the place,’ I said, turning into the Sweet Tooth. ‘Häagen-dazs. Pure. Absolutely no additives.’

When Safa seemed to hesitate, I said, ‘Chocolate ice cream with caramel sauce has been known to cure cancer.’

‘But only with sprinkles,’ she said, following me in.

‘LORD ILLINGWORTH: The Book of Life begins with a man and a woman in a garden.

MRS ALLONBY: It ends with Revelations.’

Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance , Act I, 1893.

I’d been so busy at Calvert Colony over the previous few days that I hadn’t bothered to check our mail. When I remembered it after breakfast early the following morning I found three days’ worth of catalogs, grocery store flyers, unsolicited mail and bills lying in a jumble on the threshold of my front door. A particularly fat catalog from West Marine clogged the mail slot. I pulled it out, set it aside for Paul, and took the rest of the pile directly to the kitchen trash can for sorting.

Time shares in North Carolina? Buh-bye. Ditto a free dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak House, if only I agreed to sit through a retirement seminar sponsored by a local investment counselor. Coupons for Wegmans and Safeway I’d keep, although Paul’s definition of ‘coupon’ was something Hannah stuck to her refrigerator door with a magnet and kept until after the expiration date had passed.

There was a course catalog for Anne Arundel Community College which I tossed away, and an ‘urgent’ message from my congressman, which wasn’t. I was mechanically pitching catalogs into the bin – Christmas, already? No, thanks! – when a trifold brochure caught my eye. It featured a painting of a chubby toddler dressed in blue, blowing bubbles. I grinned. The subject looked a bit like my grandson, Timmy, at that age.

La Bolla di Sapone by Cagnaccio di San Pietro would be one of sixty paintings on display at the Baltimore Art Gallery this weekend as part of a new exhibit entitled, ‘Art in Italy Between the World Wars.’ Immediately I thought of Ysabelle Milanesi. Would she like to go? Although tickets cost fifteen dollars, even for seniors, I was a gallery member and could bring several guests along with me for free. I set the brochure aside, already planning the outing in my head: drive to Baltimore, tour the museum, have a late lunch at the crèpe place next door to the Charles Theater – Apple Crisp! S’mores! Nutella and Banana! ’Nuff said.

When I arrived at Calvert Colony later that morning, though, Izzy was not at home. Naddie was supervising an art class, but when I reached her via her cell phone she agreed to the museum trip at once, and informed me I’d find Izzy in the beauty parlor getting a manicure. ‘Filomena is looking for you, by the way.’

‘Filomena? Why?’

‘One of the residents is about to start chemotherapy. I told Filomena you might have some practical tips about diet.’

‘It’s been a while.’ I winced, remembering. ‘Goldfish crackers and tea. Not a particular challenge, culinary-wise.’

‘Ha!’ Naddie said and hung up.

I trotted over to Blackwalnut Hall. Izzy, fingernails freshly painted with Tutti Fruiti Tonga, was game for the museum trip, too, so it was definitely afoot. We decided on Thursday.

Next stop: Filomena.

As I entered the dining room, the kitchen door swun open and Safa emerged, straightening her hijab.

Framed by the doorway, behind a long, stainless steel prep table, stood Raniero.

Safa braked and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Gosh, Hannah! You startled me!’

‘I’m looking for Filomena, Safa, have you seen her?’

Safa shot a glance, all wide-eyed innocence, over her shoulder. ‘The panzanella will be fine! Thank you very much, Raniero.’

As for Raniero, he seemed to be doing some fancy footwork of his own, chopping away vigorously on a defenseless head of romaine. The door swung slowly shut on his reddened face, whether flushed with embarrassment or the heat of the kitchen it would be hard to say.

To me, Safa said, ‘Raniero wanted to consult about the menu for tonight. There’s been a delay in the halal meat delivery so he’s having to improvise with vegetables.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘He could have asked Masud, of course,’ she babbled on. ‘But he’s at prayer.’

‘Are you playing hooky, then?’ I teased.

Safa flushed. ‘Sometimes I skip asr salat . It is permitted.’

‘Have you seen Filomena?’ I asked again, in case she’d forgotten.

‘What? Oh, no. Sorry. I haven’t.’ She fell into step next to me. ‘Is it important?’

‘Not really.’

As we left the dining room I checked the clock on the wall. Had it really been an innocent consultation with the chef or was Masud justified in his concerns about his wife? Had Safa waited until her husband was busy at prayer before sneaking off to meet up with Raniero? It was a dangerous business, considering the bad blood between the two men.

‘I’m visiting Nancy today,’ I told Safa. ‘Do you still need her iPod?’

Taking my arm, Safa drew me gently into an alcove. ‘No, thank you, Hannah. I shouldn’t have anything more to do with that woman.’

I stared, stunned. ‘What possible reason…?’ I began, but then it dawned on me. ‘The woman has dementia , Safa. You can’t judge her based on what she was before she lost her marbles. As far as Nancy is concerned, Jerry is Frank.’

Safa frowned. ‘I wish I hadn’t seen what I saw, but I did, so there’s nothing to be done. I can’t rewind that tape.’

‘You could try.’

‘Impossible,’ she said. ‘Especially since somebody called our home from the Maryland Office of Health Care Quality asking for me.’

‘What?’

‘I’m supposed to report to the conference room for an interview sometime next week. Masud is not happy about that.’

I was wondering what on earth Masud had to be unhappy about. He wasn’t the person who accidently stumbled across two old folks having wild and wooly sex. But mostly I wondered who had tattled to the health care authorities about the relationship between Nancy and Jerry.