Marcia Talley - Tomorrow's Vengeance

‘OK, got that. So, why are we awarding this dude the Nobel Peace Prize?’

‘He got them to settle the whole mess with Nancy and Jerry out of court, but most importantly, Jerry can stay with Nancy at Calvert Colony.’ I brought Paul up to date on all that had happened since last we talked. ‘After the police brought Jerry back to the colony, Tyson called in both families and held a meeting with Nancy and Jerry actually in the room. I have no idea exactly what transpired – Heather wasn’t able to say because of patient confidentiality concerns and all that – but when they came out of the meeting the rape charges had been dropped.’

‘What turned the tide?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe making the families and those bureaucrats at the Maryland Department of Heath all sit down together so they could see how sweet Nancy and Jerry are together, how good they are for each other. Or maybe everyone simply put on their big boy pants and worked out a deal.’

Paul lugged the laundry basket down to the basement with me following behind carrying a load of sheets. ‘How about the nurse friend you were so concerned about. What was her name? Elaine? The one on administrative leave?’

‘That has a happy ending, too,’ I explained while stuffing the laundry into the washer. ‘The Department of Health gave her a formal reprimand, but didn’t yank her license, thank goodness. It might be an issue if she ever decided to look for another job, but as long as she stays at Calvert Colony where everyone worships the ground she walks on, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

I poured liquid detergent into the dispenser and set the dial for a heavy duty load. We left the washer chugging away and adjourned upstairs to the kitchen where I poured us each a cup of coffee.

‘You said Jerry was found wandering around Quiet Waters Park. Isn’t that a long way from Ginger Cove?’

‘Jerry’s son didn’t think that one through very well. He snatched his dad out of Calvert Colony in a fit of pique, really, but Ginger Cove had no vacancies, so he was keeping the old guy at home temporarily. One of the round-the-clock caregivers he hired fell asleep in the Lay-Z-Boy. Zing! Jerry opened the sliding glass door and got out of there. She didn’t call the cops until nearly six hours later. She’d been driving around all that time looking for him.’

‘Art is about family, it is about memory, and it is about history. It is about the history of paintings and drawings and sculptures, but more importantly, it is about the history of people. For many, it is the last tangible connection with a past that was destroyed and with a family that was lost.’

Gideon Taylor, Review of the Repatriation of Holocaust

Art Assets in the United States, Hearing Before the

Subcommittee on Domestic and International Monetary

Policy, Trade, and Technology of the Committee on

Financial Services, U.S. House of Representatives,

July 27, 2006.

It was supposed to be a picnic, but by noon the thermometer had climbed into the mid-nineties and barely a breath of air stirred the leaves. Seniors began to flag in the blistering heat, so when the skies darkened with the promise of rain the Labor Day festivities at Calvert Colony were moved inside.

I’d spent twenty minutes at home searching for the sandals that matched the sundress I’d bought in the Bahamas, so by the time Paul and I got to Blackwalnut Hall the party was in full swing. Uniformed servers carrying trays of wine and platters of canapés roamed the lobby, while classical jazz wafted out of the overhead speakers.

Paul snagged two glasses of Chablis from a passing server and handed one of them to me. ‘Looks like they finally installed a grill on top of the fish tank,’ he observed.

‘Looks nice,’ I said, sipping my wine and watching the kelp undulate. ‘Not that having it in place would have changed the outcome. Richard Kent would be just as dead.’

‘But less wet.’

I scowled at my husband. ‘Behave or I’ll have to take you home.’

We wandered into the dining room, looking for my friends. ‘If this is a preview of the restaurant Raniero plans to open,’ Paul said as he took in the tables, groaning with food, ‘I predict a long and successful career.’

Gourmet salads had been laid out on long, cloth-covered tables, but the platters were still covered with plastic wrap. I browsed along them anyway, rehearsing my plan of attack. Fresh-cut veggies, mushrooms vinaigrette, grilled asparagus, hearts of palm, tabbouleh – twenty hors d’oeuvres in all. ‘This is going to be good,’ I said as I checked out the figs stuffed with pistacios and ricotta.

The French doors stood open. ‘Come on,’ my husband said, and led me out into a carnivore’s paradise. Three barbeque chefs bustled about the outdoor grills tending rumps of beef, legs of lamb, loins of pork and racks of ribs as well as sausages and chicken – burgers and hot dogs, too, if you must. The aromas were intoxicating. It was all I could do to get him back inside when Izzy you-hooed at us from the open door.

‘Your brother-in-law is amazing,’ she cooed. ‘Hutch entered all my father’s paintings into the lost art registry and, voila !’ She waved a hand. ‘One of them has already turned up. A Carlo Mattioli.’

I folded Izzy into my arms and gave her a crushing hug. ‘That’s wonderful! Where?’

When I released her she took a deep breath. ‘Interpol located it at a gallery in Florida. It was part of a traveling exhibit from the Pinacoteca di Parini in Milan. The U.S. Attorneys have seized it, Hannah. It may take a while, but…’

‘But what, Izzy?’ Paul prodded.

‘The Mattioli painting is a tree of some kind, dark and boring. So, I’m thinking that my children will be able to build that swimming pool in their backyard after all.’

While Paul chatted with Izzy about her grands, I escaped to get some more wine. On my return, Raniero breezed up and seized my hand, nearly causing me to dump the wine all over my dress. He pressed my hand to his lips, thanking me profusely in a charming mixture of English and Spanish for saving his career.

I had to laugh, the boy was so earnest. ‘No, you did that all on your own, Raniero.’

A comma of blond hair had escaped from his toque and trembled charmingly over his left eyebrow. He was going to argue with me, I could tell. ‘No, it was you who saw my sister for who she really was. I could forgive her many things, but how could she tell such lies about me? Filomena was taking the kickbacks from the meat man, not me. If I had known…’ He moved so close to me that our foreheads nearly touched. ‘But there was no way I could know. The meat man was using counterfeit stamps. He told the police it was my sister’s idea.’

‘That must have been hard, Raniero. I’m so sorry. How is she doing, do you know?’

‘She has a lawyer.’

‘And?’

‘I do not talk to her, Mrs Ives.’ I could see the sadness behind his eyes. ‘Perhaps one day.’ His eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘I must get back to work, or I will not have a job,’ he said, releasing my hand at last. I flexed it behind my back, trying to restore the circulation.

‘Tell me about the restaurant, Raniero.’

Surprisingly, his face brightened. ‘It will take longer, but it will come. Our investors are solid.’ He drove a fist into his palm to emphasize the point. ‘Now, I must go check on the asado .’

After another twenty-five minutes of schmoozing, Tyson Bennett made the rounds, inviting his special guests to fix their plates and join him in the private dining room. Once we were all assembled, he stood at the head of the table and banged on the side of his water glass with his spoon to get our attention. ‘Calvert Colony has had a rocky start,’ he said when we’d settled down, ‘but thanks to all your efforts, I believe we are over the hump. ‘I’d like especially to thank Hannah Ives, who I’m hereby nominating for the volunteer of the year award.’ He raised his glass and said, ‘Here, here!’