The Last Refuge

by Marcia Talley

  ‘I should tell Amy.’

  Paul reached for my hand. ‘That can wait.’ He escorted me onto the dance floor, my legs feeling as limp as cooked spaghetti.

  We took our place at the head of the line.

  Four steps forward, bow. ‘So, which actor is running around naked tonight?’ I asked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Four steps back.

  Four steps forward, join right hands, turn, turn. ‘Sir Peter Teazle. That’s why I was late. I couldn’t find the mid with the key to the costume room.’ Four steps back.

  Four steps forward, join both hands, turn, turn. ‘I didn’t really think Cornell would try anything here in a room full of people, anyway.’ Paul sounded confident, but then he didn’t know Drew as well as Amy – and I – did.’ Four steps back.

  It was a fragmented conversation, but between the do-see-dos, allemande left and rights, and the promenades, I explained about the note Drew had left in the bottle. ‘I wanted to warn you, call off our plan before somebody got hurt.’

  Paul laughed. ‘Why do you think I spent all these years practicing karate?’

  ‘Karate? Ha! Drew’s a SEAL. He probably knows Krav Maga,’ I said, naming the terrifying, no-holds barred method of self-defense developed by the Israelis.

  The music ended, and Paul escorted me back to where Amy was standing alone, looking around nervously. I introduced her to my husband.

  Paul took her hand, raised it to his lips and gave it a gallant kiss. ‘Delighted.’ He gave Amy the good news/bad news about Drew, and I watched as the tension gradually drained from her face.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s time to enjoy the ball, Miss Cornell.’

  ‘They can’t let Drew get away with murdering Alex, Professor. No matter what the medical examiner says, I know he did it.’

  Paul tucked Amy’s hand under his arm, covered it with his own. ‘And there’s something else they’re going to take into consideration, Amy. Drew’s unauthorized action in Swosa may have resulted in the deaths of his ten teammates, plus a well-trained dog named Cody.’

  ‘A dog, too?’ Amy blinked back tears.

  The music had started again. ‘Shall we dance?’ my husband asked his young companion, and before she even answered, he whisked Amy away.

  I watched from the sidelines.

  For the first reel, Paul flirted, Amy was coy. By the second, Paul held on to Amy’s hand just a second too long; Amy was a coquette. They called a country dance, and by then, Amy was behaving like a card-carrying colonial vamp and I had found a chair, where I seethed quietly. Paul was a damn good actor, but then, he was wearing actor’s clothing.

  ‘Whew!’ Amy trilled when the music finally ended, loud enough for me – and for everyone within a ten mile radius – to hear. ‘I could certainly use a drink, Professor Ives.’

  Paul bowed in my direction – the showoff – and escorted Amy into the banquet room.

  Meanwhile, another dance had begun. Michael took pity on me – he must have thought Paul had lost his mind, but was kind enough not to say so – and I danced with the superintendant, too.

  After a time, Paul rejoined me, minus Amy.

  ‘What was that all about?’ I snapped.

  Paul leaned close. ‘Are you acting,’ he whispered, ‘or are you really pissed off at me?’

  I didn’t answer that. ‘Where’s Amy?’

  ‘In the ladies’ room.’

  ‘Oh.’ After a moment of silence I said, ‘The superintendant saw you acting like an asshole, you know.’

  Paul snorted softly. ‘I’ll explain it all to him later.’

  ‘Better you than me.’

  ‘I thought Amy needed cheering up, Hannah. You’d need cheering up, too, if you’d just learned that I’d been arrested.’

  ‘I simply don’t get where Drew is coming from,’ I said. ‘I know he was determined not to leave without Amy, but it would have been a whole lot safer waiting for her while windsurfing off some beach in Buenos Aires, instead of stirring up trouble here. Look where it got him.’

  ‘Methinks madam could use a drink. Punch?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I felt my makeup crackle, so I suspected I was frowning. But I could use a drink. By that time the ballroom was hot, filled to capacity with merry-makers. The great doors on both ends of the long hall stood open, but there was too little breeze passing through them to even begin to cool the room.

  In the banquet room, a group of gentlemen, a little worse for wear due to the bottomless characteristic of the punch bowl, could be heard toasting everyone in Christendom in voices loud enough to be picked up by a passing space shuttle. To the king, long may he reign. To the queen. To Barack Obama. To his wife, Michelle. To wives in general, and to girlfriends, past, present and future. To absent friends.

  Even the card games were getting rowdy, and I suspected that whist had taken a second seat to poker, although I didn’t know what the players would be using for chips.

  Somewhere someone began singing, ‘Whiskey in the Jar,’ only to be drowned out by someone else belting out ‘Yankee Doodle’ in a drunken baritone.

  I was certain that the following day, the Capital would report that a good time was had by all.

  A jig was called, and somebody said, ‘May I?’

  The guy was in his mid-thirties, I guessed. Solid, tan, fit. He wore the red and white uniform of a Maryland militiaman. I couldn’t tell the color of his hair because it was tucked under a fashionable wig.

  ‘Have we met?’ I asked, as I offered him my hand.

  My partner smiled enigmatically, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight as he led me out of the banquet room and onto the dance floor.

  The jig began. Using a kind of two-step, we jigged around each other for a bit, until another dancer cut in. I jigged with the newcomer for a while, fearing that the old guy – a long-time senator from the Eastern Shore – might drop dead of a heart attack, until I had the opportunity to jig away and cut in on someone else. Eventually my younger partner found me again. ‘I’m Hannah,’ I said, my voice bobbly. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Ed,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Ed.’ Dancers jigged all around us, whooping and laughing. I was beginning to relax, getting swept up in their merriment, too. Perspiration sheened the faces of every gentleman on the dance floor, ran in rivulets between my breasts, but I didn’t care.

  At one point I pivoted and noticed Paul watching me, holding two glasses of punch, one in each hand and looking worried. I waved at my husband, grinned, and jigged madly on. What’s good for the goose, et cetera, et cetera.

  All of a sudden, Ed laughed, grabbed both my hands, and jigged me, bobbing and weaving, through a clot of dancers, toward the enormous bronze doors that led from the twentieth-century annex to the porch on the Lawyer’s Mall side of the building. Party-going couples relaxed on benches in the alcoves on either side of the doors, so my partner steered me out onto the porch. ‘It’s hot, Hannah. Let’s get some fresh air.’

  I reclaimed my hands and fell back against one of the six massive columns that supported the roof of the porch. ‘Whew!’ I flipped open my fan. ‘What a workout!’

  Ed took a step, closing the distance between us. I held out my fan to signal keep-away, but he kept advancing.

  Using one arm, he hooked me around the waist and pulled me close. His lips were warm and moist against my ear. ‘Let’s make Paul jealous, shall we?’

  I recognized his voice then. Cold. Bitter. Pitiless.

  My heart flopped, flopped again. Drew. ‘I heard that you’d been detained. How did you get away?’

  He jerked me closer. ‘Rent-a-cops. Don’t make me laugh.’

  He jerked me again.

  ‘Drew, don’t.’ If it hadn’t been for my corset, I think he might have broken my back.

  Where the hell was Paul? He’d seen me dancing with Drew, he had to have noticed when Drew dragged me outside. Or had Paul been too distracted, making goo-goo eyes at Amy?

&nbs
p; ‘It’s over, Drew. The Navy knows that you’re alive,’ I hissed.

  His forehead was pressed against mine. He shook his head, slowly, dangerously. ‘Who told them that? You? Or the imbeciles that tried to arrest me outside your house?’

  ‘They know you murdered Alex Mueller.’

  His laugh exploded in my ear. ‘That prick.’

  As long as I could keep him talking, I figured I was safe. ‘It was a mistake to come here, Drew. You’ve already been spotted. Why don’t you leave now, before my husband notices I’ve vanished and comes looking for me.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, his voice glacial.

  The hand that wasn’t pressing into the small of my back slid over my breast and up my throat, stroking gently at first, like a lover. ‘Oh, Hannah.’ His fingers closed around my neck, began to squeeze. ‘I could snap your neck right now, you know. You wouldn’t feel a thing.’ His lips touched mine, lightly, then he breathed against my cheek. ‘I should have done it that night in Amy’s room. Saved myself a lot of trouble.’

  Paul, dammit, where was Paul? I tried to scream, but the pressure of Drew’s hand was cutting off my air supply.

  ‘Alex was trouble,’ Drew muttered. ‘And look what happened to him.’

  Suddenly, a costumed couple burst through the door and erupted onto the porch, laughing drunkenly, stumbling over one another in their efforts to reach fresh air. Drew mashed his lips down against mine, hard, so hard that my teeth bit into my lower lip.

  ‘Ooops! Excuse us!’ the girl giggled.

  ‘Mmmmf,’ I tried, but Drew pressed all the harder. He’d dropped his hand, though, so at least I could breathe. I sucked a grateful breath through my nose.

  Drew had no weapon, except his hands, but they were deadly. I had no weapon, except my fan. I considered jamming it into his eye.

  ‘Lovebirds,’ the young man drawled. ‘Sweet.’

  ‘C’mon. Kiss me, honey,’ she said, clawing at her partner’s cravat.

  Desperately, I tried to signal one of them with my eyes, but it was too dark for them to see the desperation written in them.

  Drew’s weight shifted, and something knocked against my hip. Amy’s iPhone was still in my pocket. I moaned, fell limp, dead weight in his arms. My head lolled, and I felt my wig begin to slip, tilting, sliding, until it dropped off my head, hitting the floor with a quiet floof.

  Drew started, giving me the time I needed to reach into my pocket, wrap my fingers around the phone. I pulled it out and jammed it as hard as I could, narrow edge first, into his throat.

  He gasped, tried to draw air, but only succeeded in producing an odd squeaking sound. He crumpled at my feet.

  I didn’t wait to see what damage I had caused. I lifted my petticoats and ran, scrambling down the long flight of stairs that led to the street, hoping to be well away before Drew had time to recover and take off after me.

  ‘We got him!’ A woman’s voice.

  I paused, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leap right out of my chest. Who was that?

  ‘We have him, Mrs Ives,’ she yelled again. ‘You’re safe now.’

  The next thing I knew, Paul was running toward me, stumbling down the steps, crossing the street, folding me into his arms.

  ‘How … ?’ I began.

  He held me at arm’s length, looked me up and down as if checking for damage. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah. We saw Cornell drag you out …’ He paused. ‘They told me they’d handle it.’

  ‘They? Who is they?’

  ‘I told you I’d bring back-up. Even though Jud’s men got hold of Drew, until we knew for sure he was in Navy custody, I thought it better to be safe than sorry. Come with me. I’d like you to meet them.’

  On wobbly legs, supported by Paul, I made it to the top of the long staircase. The first thing I saw was the drunken couple looking remarkably sober. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear and a taser in his other hand. She had a gun. Sitting at their feet, propped up against the wall with his hands behind him, was Drew Cornell. His wig, like mine, had disappeared in the fray and the pale hair underneath was dirty and matted. His head was bowed, so I couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘Agent Loftiss, Agent Waldholm, this is my wife.’

  I simply stared, too stunned to speak.

  ‘NCIS,’ Agent Loftiss explained. She extended her hand. ‘Sorry we waited so long to jump in. We were jigging, too, but lost you for a moment when some rowdy kids blocked our path.’

  Thank God for whomever invented tasers and the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. ‘Glad you made it before he broke my neck. I was scared shitless, if you want to know the truth.’

  Agent Waldholm turned back to his prisoner. ‘Up!’ He hoisted Drew to his feet. I could see that Drew’s hands were bound behind his back with flex-cuffs.

  Drew glared at me then, face rigid, jaw set, shooting shrapnel out of his eyes. ‘I want to see my wife.’

  ‘Later,’ Agent Waldholm barked, propelling Drew ahead of him, down the stairs. I noticed that his hand never strayed far from the automatic weapon strapped to his belt, still partially hidden under his colonial costume.

  Loftiss tucked her weapon into her stomacher, adjusted her hoop, hoisted her skirts and headed down the stairs after her partner, but paused to speak to Paul. ‘Thanks for your help, Ives.’

  ‘I think it’s Hannah you need to thank,’ my husband said. ‘And Drew’s wife, too, of course. Amy Cornell gave up a cool half-million dollars to turn this sonofabitch in.’

  ‘We need more like her, Ives.’

  I gave Loftiss a big thumbs up. ‘Bravo Zulu, Agent Loftiss.’

  ‘All in a day’s work, Mrs Ives.’

  When Loftiss had gone, I tugged on Paul’s arm. ‘Where is Amy?’

  ‘Last time I saw her, she was inside, dancing with Mayor Cohen. I think he’s smitten.’ He stooped, scooped up my wig and helped me settle it back on my head, squinting at it critically, making adjustments. One of the birds had fallen off in the scuffle. He picked it up, too, took careful aim, and jabbed it back into the mound of cotton candy I was wearing on my head.

  ‘Should we tell her … ?’ My voice trailed off. ‘Of course we should,’ I said, answering my own question. ‘From now on, she won’t have to keep looking over her shoulder.’

  After the coolness of the evening, the heat in the ballroom hit me like a wall. ‘Let’s find Amy, then get out of here,’ I said.

  ‘What about Founding Father?’

  ‘Screw Founding Father,’ I said.

  The ladies lounge had a sofa. I took Amy there, told her what happened, and sat with her while she took it all in.

  ‘I should be bawling,’ she told me, ‘but I ran out of tears for Drew a long time ago.’

  ‘Do you want to go home?’

  She stared blindly at the wall. ‘Home? Where’s home?’

  ‘I meant Patriot House, Amy,’ I said gently.

  ‘No, I don’t think I want to do that. Not right now.’

  I swiveled in my seat, laid a hand on her knee. ‘You know what I’d really like to do, Amy?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’d like to go to a bonfire. Would you like to come, too?’

  Her face brightened, then, just as suddenly, fell. ‘What about the children?’

  ‘Melody can take care of herself.’ I leaned closer. ‘She’s got Jason to keep her company. They’re joined at the hip. Tell you what, let’s find Gabe, collect Paul and our wraps, and blow this pop stand.’

  St John’s College had been founded in 1696 on four acres of land. Over the years, the campus had expanded to thirty-two acres, sprawled along the banks of Weems Creek in the heart of Annapolis’s historic district.

  We strolled leisurely down St John’s Street, past the back of the college library, past the state-owned parking garage, heading toward the creek. Several hundred people had gathered along its banks, all dressed in colonial garb. It must have been the price of admission. Somewhere, pork was being bar
bequed, the aroma permeated the air. A large barrel, or hogshead, was the central attraction. ‘What’s in that?’ Gabe wanted to know as we passed by.

  ‘It’s punch,’ Amy explained. ‘For grown-ups.’

  By some miracle, we found Karen and Dex. Karen had spread a quilt out on the lawn, and graciously invited us to share it.

  Just as we got settled down, a series of explosions lit up the sky. ‘Ooooh,’ breathed the crowd. Showers of red and white, fountains of blue, green and yellow, cascaded over our heads. Hot sparks, caught up by the wind, spiraled up, up, and up, then nose-dived, sizzling out harmlessly on the water.

  ‘And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,’ Paul sang in his gravely baritone.

  In the light of a Roman candle, I reached for his hand. ‘That’s “War of 1812,” darling.’

  ‘Whatever,’ my husband said, squeezing my fingers.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘You know, I’m really getting tired of hearing Jeffrey complain about how this isn’t right, or that isn’t how it should have been. We’re not about life as it should have been – without slavery, for example – but how it was! Sure, life sometimes sucked back then, but that’s not because people back then were stupid. Does he think people nowadays are smarter? Frankly, I don’t think that American Idol, JetSkis and high fructose snack foods are evidence that civilization is advancing.’

  Hannah Ives

  Although he’d never actually admit it, at least not to me, Paul had managed just fine in my absence. He’d gotten through exam period and turned in his grades. He’d finished Famous Unsolved Codes and Ciphers and sent it off to Brent Morris for a tough-love critique. And he’d even helped our son-in-law, Dante, build a teakwood deck on the home he shared with Emily and our three grandchildren in Hillsmere Shores.

  Thanksgiving had come and gone, and even if there had been no sprightly renditions of ‘Jingle Bells’ or ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’ to cram the holiday spirit down our throats, the proliferation of TV ads for perfume, aftershave, diamond jewelry and electric razors was a clue that Christmas was just around the corner.

  The promos for Patriot House, 1774 started on December the third following the NCAA playoffs. Long before then, though – thanks to YouTube – people had started to recognize me on the street: ‘Say, aren’t you … ?’ followed by a pregnant pause while they studied every blemish on my face and tried to work it out. At Whole Foods one day, I’m ashamed to say, I confessed to being Susan Sarandon, and autographed the back of the woman’s Baltimore Gas and Electric bill.