No Cure for Death

TWENTY-NINE

John was killed in 1975, while flying with Air America, during the evacuation of Vietnam.

Sy Norman died the same year; he left his house to the city, assuming the place would be turned into a museum. He should have so stipulated in his will, because when the new high bridge went in, in 1979, the city had the house torn down and a small open park put in its place, overlooking the river. A small plaque mentions Doc Norman and his cancer clinic and radio station; a larger plaque mentions Mark Twain and his penchant for Port City sunsets-the park is named Mark Twain Overlook.

Harold was remembered well in Norman’s will; and Rita-who is teaching full-time now, at a community college in Elgin, Illinois-says he’s opened a big-and-tall men’s shop in suburban Chicago.

Brennan is still sheriff; Jack Masters, Lori and the rest are still in the area, like me.

And as for me, I finally got around to writing that mystery novel, didn’t I?