Occasion of Revenge

by Marcia Talley

  “You could always ask her,” Paul suggested.

  “That would be insensitive.”

  “I’ll bet LouElla knows,” offered Deirdre. “She knows everything.”

  I remembered LouElla’s dining room lookout post and was sure she knew a lot about a lot of things. The problem was sifting the truth out of the fantasy. I sat there in a haze listening to the banter going on around me—the subject had shifted to Super Bowl XXXIV—but I couldn’t have cared less about the Rams or the Titans. In my right ear, Ruth’s voice was insisting that the Rams were from Los Angeles and on my left Paul was saying St. Louis, St. Louis, while a voice in my head kept repeating Prentice, Prentice, Prentice, Julia Prentice. What if Virginia Prentice’s daughter had been married to Carson McPhee and Darlene had broken up the marriage? That would give Virginia a powerful motive to bump off Darlene. Revenge.

  Then there was the funny business with the mailboxes. Something I’d overheard at Darlene’s party was gonging loudly in my head. Hadn’t Marty O’Malley, the charming retiree, mentioned something about getting his prescriptions by mail?

  Ruth was conceding that the Titans were from Tennessee when I excused myself and took the stairs to the second floor. I parked myself in the hallway next to the cigarette machine, reached into my bag, and pulled out the cell phone. I dialed four-one-one and asked directory assistance for Marty O’Malley’s number in Chestertown. For an extra thirty-five cents I let the operator connect me, then waited impatiently through the rings, praying that Marty was spending the waning hours of 1999 at home in front of his television set.

  On the sixth ring, someone picked up. “O’Malley.”

  “Marty, this is Hannah Ives. Remember me? From Darlene’s party?”

  He remembered me, down to the sweater I was wearing.

  “Sorry to bother you tonight of all nights but I was just wondering something. You get your prescriptions by mail, right?”

  “Saves me money.”

  “Has any medicine ever gone missing?”

  “Once or twice a shipment got lost, but they always replaced it.”

  “What medicine did you lose?”

  “Vitamins once. And my stress medicine.”

  “What do you take for stress?”

  “I can’t remember. Just a minute.” Marty clunked the receiver down. While I waited, listening to his TV playing softly in the background, I paced the hallway outside the rest rooms. It seemed like forever before he returned, rattling the pill bottle in my ear.

  “Something called Compres.”

  I swore softly and sagged against the wall. Must be a brand name. “What do they look like?” I asked.

  Marty rattled the bottle again. “Little orange buggers with a seven on ’em.”

  My heart did a rat-a-tat-tat on my ribs. Clonodine hydrochloride! I thanked Marty and wished him a happy New Year. I leaned against the wall, still holding the phone, trying to catch my breath and wondering what to do next. Circumstantial evidence, I told myself. Nothing that would hold up in a court of law. But Captain Younger needed to know about this. I rummaged in my bag, looking for the card he had given me. You’d think I’d have the blasted number memorized by now. I couldn’t find it in any of the pockets or nooks and crannies so I called 911, asked to be connected to the Chestertown Police, and left a message for Younger to call me. I was putting the cell phone back in my bag when Darryl appeared at the top of the stairs.

  He swaggered in my direction, his lips twisted into a half smile, half sneer. “Hannah! We can’t go on meeting this way.”

  I looked for an escape route, but I was standing in an alcove next to the cigarette machine. Now Darryl hovered between me and the emergency exit on the landing. He was so close I could tell he’d had garlic for dinner. I lifted my bag and clutched it to my chest, like a shield, fighting the urge to clobber him with it. “I had to make a phone call.”

  He loomed closer. “Calling the boyfriend, huh?”

  I hugged my bag even closer. “Do you mind if I tell you something?”

  He folded his arms and leaned toward me. “What?”

  “You are disgusting.”

  “That’s no way to talk. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

  That wounded, as he knew it would. I yearned to slap that triumphant look off his face. “Get out of my way, Darryl.”

  He touched a finger to my cheek. “I could have been your brother.”

  My head was so far back against the wall that I had to duck to one side to escape. “But now, happily,” I shot back at him, “that doesn’t seem very likely.”

  “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

  I prayed somebody would show up to use the rest room soon. Usually there was a line a mile long. If nobody came, I might have to get physical with this irritating creep. “If you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to start screaming.”

  He ignored me. “Didi is such a stuck-up bitch. Thinks she knows everything.”

  I put my hand against his chest and pushed him away. “Move!”

  Darryl raised his hands, palms out, and took a step backward. “OK, OK. Don’t get all bent out of shape.”

  I scurried around him and bolted for the stairs.

  “Don’t you want to know about Julia Prentice?”

  As much as I wanted to put twenty-five miles, maybe even an ocean, between me and the Dearly Departed’s son, his question pulled me up short. Halfway down the stairs I turned and looked up at him.

  “I thought so.” He leered.

  “What about her?” I asked, hoping that he wouldn’t ask me to do him any favors in exchange for this information.

  “Come here.”

  “If you can’t say what you have to say from up there, forget it.”

  He shrugged. “OK. Just thought you’d be interested to know that Julia Prentice killed herself.”

  I swallowed my revulsion long enough to ask “How?”

  “Jumped off the Mount Hope Bridge.”

  I shuddered. “Does anybody know why?”

  “Couldn’t deal with the divorce, I suppose, and the prospect of raising her baby alone.”

  “She had a child?”

  “Sort of. She was seven months pregnant when she took the plunge.”

  I staggered back, catching myself against the wall. Poor Virginia. If she held Darlene responsible for her daughter’s death and that of her grandchild …

  “Mother considered it a lucky break,” he continued, peering down the staircase and studying my face as if to gauge my reaction. “Carson not having to go through the trauma of divorce and all.”

  Maybe my father had a lucky break, too, then. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I remembered I was supposed to be a grown-up. I clamped my lips tight and forced myself to look at Darlene’s poor excuse for a son. “My father is devastated by your mother’s death.”

  Darryl leered. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that.” He started down the steps. “I can think of a lot worse things than being your stepbrother, sis.”

  I’d have a better chance of being struck by an asteroid than ever being related to a troglodyte like you. With admirable self-control, I managed a grim smile. “As I said, Darryl. I don’t think that’s very likely.”

  “Don’t count on it, Hannah. I’ve seen how your father’s been looking at Deirdre lately.” His teeth gleamed white in the shadows at the head of the stairs. “How does Uncle Darryl grab you?”

  The duck I had eaten for dinner rose to the back of my throat, and I thought I might do a Linda Blair all over the loathsome toad. Rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled, I turned and fled down the stairs, into the lights and comforting din of the crowded restaurant.

  And ran smack dab into Ruth, who had been appointed head of the search party sent to find out what was keeping me. “Hannah! You’re red as a beet. Are you OK?”

  “That Darryl is a creep.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me.” She peered into the dept
hs of my eyes as if more information were hidden there. “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you later. C’mon, let’s get back to the others.”

  Paul, looking relieved, stood up when we appeared and held my chair out until I’d settled down into it. He kissed my cheek. “Thank God. I thought maybe you’d fallen in.”

  I patted his cheek and managed a smile. “It took longer than I thought.” I’d fill him in later. Paul, who took care of business in men’s rooms as if they had revolving doors, always claimed to be completely baffled by why women took so long to accomplish the same thing, so he accepted my explanation without question.

  Deirdre was staring at me curiously. I wondered if my cowlick was misbehaving again, or if I had spinach on my teeth. How old was she, anyway? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? How would I feel having a stepmother fifteen years younger than I was? I shook away the thought. The hell with Darryl; he was just rattling my cage. I sprinkled some salt and pepper on my duck and took a bite, surprised to find it hadn’t grown cold, and consoled myself by picturing him behind bars.

  Deirdre pushed her soup bowl toward the center of the table and stood. “Well, sports fans. Gotta go.”

  Daddy and Paul rose politely. Daddy extended his hand; when Deirdre took it, he covered both their hands with his left. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay and see in the New Year with us?” I held my breath, hoping she had other plans. Like having to alphabetize her spice rack. Or neuter her houseplants.

  “No, sorry. I’ve got to get back to Bowie. My roommates are having a party and I’m expected to make the pizza.” She turned to us. “Bye. Happy New Year.”

  We watched her go, Daddy looking wistful, whether from melancholy over what might have been with Darlene or for some hope of a new relationship with her daughter it was impossible to tell.

  I worried about this through the rest of my roast duck, but by the time Mary Ellen cleared the dishes and began hovering tableside for our dessert order, Daddy had remained so cheerful that I knew Darryl was full of baloney.

  When my cell phone rang again, catching me in mid–Key lime pie, I hurried to answer it, thinking it had to be Captain Younger.

  But I was wrong.

  “Hannah, thank goodness I got you!”

  I closed my eyes. “Hi, LouElla.”

  “No time to chat! Hurry! You’ve got to find Emily and warn her!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” All eyes at our table and several pairs from the adjoining tables glommed on to me.

  “Virginia’s gone crazy! She just came over here and demanded my log book.”

  That was the silliest thing I ever heard, but there was no use telling LouElla that. “Why would she do that?”

  “She hit me in the face. Knocked me over,” LouElla whimpered. “I’m going to have a black eye.”

  “I’m sorry, LouElla, but what can I do to help?”

  “She’s going to destroy it, obliterate it, wipe it off the face of the earth! Oh, my poor log book!”

  An alarm clanged in my head. “What does all this have to do with Emily, LouElla?”

  “Emily?” LouElla paused, as if she’d lost her train of thought.

  “Yes, Emily. What were you saying about Emily?”

  “Oh! It was Emily who told Virginia about my log book. I’m sure Emily didn’t mean any harm by it, and I certainly don’t hold anything against the dear girl, but Virginia says that now Emily’s seen what’s written in it, she’ll have to be stopped.”

  I sighed. Another one of LouElla’s loopy conspiracy theories. “That doesn’t make any sense, LouElla. You wrote the log book and she didn’t stop you.”

  “That’s what I told her, but Virginia said that nobody’d believe a crazy old witch like me.” She snuffled noisily. “Except she used the B-word.”

  “I’m sure you’re overreacting.”

  “No, I’m not. You should have seen her face! All red and purple and the veins in her neck popping out.”

  I needed to drag LouElla back on track before she wandered down a divergent path. “You said she went looking for Emily?”

  “She blames you, Hannah, for messing up her plans. She said there was only one way to make you understand why she had to do it. You were going to find out, firsthand, how it feels.”

  How it feels? Adrenaline suddenly shot through my veins, cold as ice water, but I had to ask. I had to be sure. “How what feels, LouElla?”

  “How it feels to lose a child.”

  I leapt up from my chair, clutching the cell phone to my ear with both hands. “LouElla! Look out your window. Is Virginia’s car still parked in the lane?”

  “Just a minute.”

  I filled the time with silent prayer: please, oh, please, oh, please, oh …

  “She’s just leaving!” LouElla seemed suddenly focused. “But don’t you worry! I’ll follow her. I’m good at it.”

  “Don’t hang up!” I shouted. “Wait a minute!”

  “It’ll be OK,” LouElla soothed. “I’ve trained with the best.”

  “What makes Virginia think she can find Emily, LouElla? It’s New Year’s Eve. The city is packed with people.”

  “Emily told her where she was going.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “And, Hannah?”

  “What?”

  “I know for a fact that Virginia owns a gun.”

  The phone went dead in my ear.

  chapter

  19

  Everyone stared—Ruth’s mouth ajar, Paul’s brow deeply furrowed, Daddy’s eyes like slits—as if trying to determine if I’d lost my mind. “We need to find Emily and Dante,” I blurted at last. “Virginia’s come unglued. LouElla thinks she’s on her way here to kill Emily!”

  “That’s crazy!” Paul said.

  “Maybe so, but there’s usually an element of truth in what LouElla says.” I smiled grimly, thinking about my father. My eyes locked with Paul’s. “Can we afford to take that chance?”

  Ruth grabbed my hand and jerked me back into my chair. “But where do we look?”

  Paul’s chair screeched against the floor as he scooted closer to me. “Hannah, can you remember where the kids were going?”

  “I didn’t ask! Oh, God, I didn’t ask.” Panic seized me. Where did they go? Oh, Lord, where did they go? I shook my head violently, trying to drive the random bits of memory that were ricocheting around inside my skull into their proper slots. “The magic show finished at four-thirty, so that’s out. After the face-painting, there was the Punch and Judy Show …”

  “Wait a minute!” Daddy nearly knocked over his coffee cup as his hand shot across the table in front of him. “How will Virginia find Emily in all these crowds?”

  “Emily told Virginia where she’d be going, Daddy! When she called Virginia to warn her about LouElla.” I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, how did things get so bass-ackwards?”

  I peeped out through my fingers. “We need a plan.” I pulled the First Night Annapolis program out of my bag and spread it on the table. I scanned the program, looking for events marked with a balloon indicating their suitability for children. “There’s a comedy juggler at St. Mary’s. Ruth, you take that. And there’s some sort of sand craft workshop at Annapolis Elementary. You can check that out, too—”

  Paul shook his head. “No, forget that, Ruth. Chloe’s too young for sand crafts.”

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “What, then?”

  Paul stabbed his finger at a green section of the program: Zone 5, the U.S. Naval Academy. “There. The Harlem Wizards.”

  “A basketball game? With Chloe?” I thought Paul had lost it. “What makes you think so?”

  “Dante’s a nut for basketball, Hannah. Trust me. After watching puppets duke it out and having his face painted, he’ll be ready for something like this.” He tapped the program where a balloon was drawn next to the event. “Besides, this is an event for kids. And it’s practically at the Visitors’ Center where we agreed to meet and
watch the fireworks.”

  A wave swept over me, half of sadness, half of shame, that I had distanced myself so much from my son-in-law that I didn’t even know he enjoyed basketball.

  I checked my watch. “If LouElla is right, it will take Virginia an hour to get here, another twenty minutes or so to park …” I turned to Paul for reassurance. “The game doesn’t start until nine-thirty, so that gives us plenty of time to find them. Doesn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I certainly hope so.”

  My cell phone burbled to life. With frantic fingers, I fumbled for the talk button. It was Captain Younger, returning my call. I blurted out my suspicions about Virginia Prentice and about Marty O’Malley’s missing Compres tablets, then babbled on about LouElla.

  “Whoa! One thing at a time, Mrs. Ives.”

  “That’s just it!” I was practically shouting. “If LouElla’s right, we don’t have much time!”

  Captain Younger’s voice took on such a soothing tone that I wondered if I’d reached Dial-a-Shrink. “I hear what you’re saying, Mrs. Ives, and we’ll check into it, of course. Your immediate concern is for your family, I know, but I’m certain there’s virtually nothing to worry about. Just in case, however, the minute I finish talking with you, I’ll notify the Annapolis police to be on the lookout for Mrs. Prentice.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you.”

  “I’ll have to warn you, though, that LouElla Van Schuyler isn’t going to be a very credible witness.”

  “I know she’s a little kooky, but—”

  “Not just a little, Mrs. Ives. Last year we charged Mrs. Van Schuyler with assault when she got into a brawl with a clerk at the grocery store over the sale price of a canned ham. Both women ended up in the emergency room at Kent Queen Anne’s Hospital. In the hospital, Mrs. Van Schuyler became irrational and kept threatening to kill herself, so we got a court order to commit her.”

  I let that soak in. “Commit her where?”

  “To the Upper Shore Mental Health Center.”

  Just great! I was about to send my family running all over Annapolis chasing the paranoid schizophrenic fantasies of a character right out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. But for some reason, I believed LouElla, and to my great surprise, I found myself defending her. “But they released her, didn’t they?”