In Death's Shadow

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Brian was avoiding me. He didn't return my phone calls. My e-mails went unread.

I was taking it personally, working myself up to a full-blown sulk until I telephoned Kathy Carpenter. "Oh, Brian's been away," his next door neighbor told me. "He's in New Jersey, visiting with Miranda."

So, Brian had gone over to the Dark Side. I decided to wait until he returned to Annapolis before tackling him about Valerie. After hobnobbing with the country club set, it'd take about a week of beer and crab cakes to deprogram him.

Besides, I'd volunteered to help Mrs. Bromley with her art show, and the day was fast approaching. Naddie had promised to call with details, but I still didn't know much more than what I'd read on the postcard I'd received in the mail. Saturday, eleven to four, Markwood Gallery, Maryland Avenue. And it was Thursday already.

Considering Naddie's broken arm, I was wondering if the show was still on.

"Hey, Naddie," I said when she answered my telephone call. "Sorry to bother you when you must be so busy, but isn't your show this weekend?"

"So it is, and I'm so glad you called! Didn't you say, in some rash moment, that you wouldn't mind helping me out?"

"It wasn't a rash moment, and I don't mind a bit. So, are you feeling okay?"

"Much better, thanks."

Naddie had prevailed upon the local Ginger Cove talent to load the paintings into her station wagon, but needed help unloading the paintings once she got to Markwood Gallery.

"Sure, just tell me what time and I'll be there."

"How about an hour?"

I laughed. "When were you going to call me? When you pulled out of the parking lot?"

"Well, the last time I saw you, you looked a little the worse for wear."

"I still do, thank you very much, but I'm feeling fine. See you in about an hour."

I was bored, and restless, and a little bit glum. As I puttered around the kitchen I turned the radio to WBJC, but it's hard to sing along to Bach, and the Barber "Adagio for Strings" made me feel like jumping off the Bay Bridge, so I switched to WINX Shore Country radio. Stompin' songs from Jimmy Buffett, Alabama, and the Soggy Bottom Boys can perk me up every time.

I was polishing the copper bottoms on my pots when they started playing selections from a Dixie Chicks album. I wasn't very familiar with the Dixie Chicks, but I was really getting into the twangy guitar and the plunky mandolin that introduced the song. Then I froze. Natalie Maines was covering "Landslide," a Stevie Nicks hit from the Fleetwood Mac album that Valerie and I had loved.

"Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides," Natalie crooned. Instinctively, I opened my mouth to sing along, but nothing came out but a strangled whimper. How many times had we sung those words together, Valerie and I, harmonizing on the "uh, uhs" and "well maybes," wondering if, like the singer, we'd survive to grow older, too? I sat down at my kitchen table, wet hands and all, and started to bawl. I felt like the landslide the Chicks were singing about had brought us all down.

My heart ached for Brian and Miranda. I cried for the wedding that Valerie would never see. I wept for the sailboat that Gail would never sail. I wept for my lost breast, all kidnapped children, and the AIDS-afflicted people of Africa.

I was caught in a downward spiral, and if I didn't get out of the house, pronto, I'd cry until my eyelids swelled shut.

I splashed cold water on my face, blew my nose and dried my eyes as best I could, then walked briskly out my front door, down the street to Maryland Avenue. While I waited for Mrs. Bromley, I tried a little retail therapy, but many of the shops had not opened yet, so I was unable to give my Visa card the workout it deserved.

Parking is tough on Maryland Avenue; the street is narrow and cars are allowed on the east side only. When a parking place opened up directly across from the Markwood Gallery, I borrowed a chair from Mimi at Aurora Gallery, centered the chair in the parking spot, and sat down in it, reserving the spot for Mrs. Bromley, much to the dismay of one urban warrior in her monster SUV.

Mrs. Bromley arrived several minutes later, saw me sitting there and grinned. She waved her broken arm, which was encased from elbow to wrist in a cast of bubblegum pink.

"You look spiffy," I said, peering at her through the open passenger side window. "The cast matches the stripes in your blouse."

"Chosen for the occasion," Mrs. Bromley said. "When they change the cast in a week or two, I'm getting lavender."

I glanced into the back of the station wagon. It was loaded almost to the ceiling with canvasses, wrapped in bubble wrap and cardboard. As Mrs. Bromley took the parking space, I moved the chair onto the sidewalk. I patted its seat. "You sit here and supervise," I ordered when she emerged from the car.

"You are a tough taskmaster," she said, grinning, but she sat down as instructed.

"You look tired, Hannah," Naddie commented as I passed her with an armload of paintings.

So, she'd noticed my eyes. I decided not to mention my little spell. "Bumps and bruises," I said. "A little stiff." I rolled my shoulders. "I don't feel much different from the day after I started taking aerobics. All that exercise was probably good for me."

Inside the gallery, I located the owner and one of Mrs. Bromley's art students who was only too happy to help me unload. Once the station wagon was empty and all the paintings were leaning against the walls in a back room of the gallery, Mrs. Bromley came in.

"Oh, let's not do that now," she said to my suggestion that we start unpacking. "I don't think I could make one more decision today, Hannah. We still have tomorrow. Let's do it then."

As we left the gallery, Mrs. Bromley turned to me and asked, "Would you like to get coffee?"

“Twist my arm," I said.

Arm in arm we walked across the street to City Dock Coffee, one of Annapolis's hidden treasures, always a welcome relief from the cookie-cutter sameness of Starbucks. City Dock Coffee occupied an old storefront, and every square inch had been put to good use.

In the display window on the left, burlap bags of coffee, boxes of tea, cups, teapots, and other decorative crockery had been arranged. In the window on the right, the owner had installed a comfortable sofa, slip-covered in a fabric with a coffee cup design. Two people were sitting on the sofa, coffee cups in hand, but they weren't paying much attention to their coffee.

I recognized the girl, or to be more precise, I recognized her shoes. The last time I'd seen that set of red shoes and slim ankles had been from the vantage point of a four-year-old while kneeling on the floor of the ladies' room at

Kramer's Funeral Home. Now, though, some guy with short blond hair had his nose buried in her neck.

"For heaven's sake," I said. "And on a public street no less."

"That's Corinne Winters," Naddie volunteered, "one of my students." She checked her watch. "Corinne was supposed to be at the gallery today, helping out."

"Looks like she got distracted," I said.

Naddie turned to me. "Corinne is always distracted."

I looked at the girl again. She had closed her eyes, and her companion had begun some major-league nuzzling. "Get a hotel room!" I muttered.

“Too late," Naddie said. "Corinne's pregnant."

I could see that now. Under her stretchy black top the girl's belly gently swelled.

Naddie tugged on my arm. "Don't gawk, Hannah!"

I stood firm. "If they don't want people to see them, why the hell are they sitting in the window?"

Mrs. Bromley punched me playfully with her cast, then reached for the doorknob of the coffee shop with her good arm.

Before I could follow Mrs. Bromley through the door, Corinne opened her eyes and noticed me standing on the sidewalk. She straightened, adjusted her top with one hand and shoved her companion away with the other.

The neck nuzzler turned. He had cut off his ponytail, but there was no doubt about it. The nuzzler was Brian Stone.

Hot rage boiled up inside me as I did the math. Corinne was showing. That meant she was four to five months gone. Four to five months ago, Valerie Stone had still been alive.

I rapped on the window. Brian started. He blushed from the pale curly hairs sticking out of the neck of his shirt all the way up to his scalp, where the hair was thinning.

I knocked again. I waggled my fingers.

Brian stood up, tucking in his shirt.

The door had already closed behind Naddie, so I yanked it open and stalked into the coffee shop. I don't know what I planned to do. Punch Brian out, maybe?

"Hannah! Good to see you." He'd decided to play it cool.

Behind him, Corinne was struggling against her low center of gravity, trying to get up from the sofa.

Brian turned and offered Corinne a hand. "You remember my friend, Corinne Winters?"

I glared at Brian as pieces of the puzzle began tumbling into place.

"Coffee, Hannah?" Mrs. Bromley was saying behind me. “Tea?" If she was hoping to distract me, she'd need something more than coffee. A bomb, maybe, with a short fuse, placed directly under my feet.

Corinne was Brian's "friend"? Give me a break! I skewered the creep with my eyes. "Valerie didn't die soon enough for you, Brian?"

He took a step backward. I took one forward, closing the gap.

I poked a finger, hard, in his chest. "Thought you'd have all that glorious money to yourself, did you?" I poked him again. "Thought you'd be able to spend it all on Corinne here and… and-” I waved in the direction of Corinne's bulging midsection. "… and little Whatsitsname.

"When's the baby due, Corinne?" I held up my fingers and counted them off. "Let's see. June, May, April, March, February… am I getting close?" Corinne's face was colorless.

"January!" I crowed. "That means you and lover boy were having it off even before he took Valerie on that cruise. How did you feel, Corinne, when he took his wife away on the QE2 instead of you. Jealous?"

"Bitch!" Corinne had found her tongue a last.

I turned to Brian. "So, this is the woman you've chosen to be the mother of your children? The woman who'll be Miranda's stepmother? Excellent choice!"

Brian held up his hands defensively. If he hoped to deflect my words, he was dead wrong. "You don't understand-" he began.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. So does Mrs. Bromley here." I turned to Naddie, who was standing silently next to the pastry case.

"Valerie was sick. She was dying!” Brian choked. "She was so weak. We couldn't… we didn't-"

"How fortunate that Corinne was there to comfort you in your hour of need."

"You don't understand," he whimpered.

But I understood perfectly, more than he knew. During my own chemotherapy, Paul had been desperate to comfort me, but I'd kept him at arm's length. By some perverse logic, I'd convinced myself that I was damaged goods, that he was being nice to me only out of pity. I'd actually suspected Paul of being unfaithful, but when the opportunity-in the form of an attractive student-had come his way, Paul had resisted.

"Didn't work out the way you intended, did it, Brian?" I pressed. "Valerie got well, Corinne got pregnant. What were you going to do?"

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Bromley tapping her cast against her fingertips, making a desperate "time-out" sign. But I was taking no prisoners.

"The only thing I don't understand is how you did it. How did you murder your wife?"

Corinne doubled over and made a mad dash for the rest room at the back of the shop, where presumably she would upchuck her latte. Brian stared after her with a worried look on his face, but although I must have provoked him, he said nothing.

"I wonder what the phone records will show, Brian?"

"I was miles away when Valerie died, in Harpers Ferry, working on a story."

"So you said. The police left a message on your cell phone, didn't they?"

Brian nodded.

"And you returned the call."

"That's right."

"They can track those things, you know, Brian. Cell phones." I mused, "One hundred forty million human-tracking devices. When you place a cellular phone call, your phone seeks out the nearest receiving tower, which serves a distinct area. Know what they call those areas, Brian? Cells. The tower routes the call to its destination. Your cell phone provider keeps a record of that."

Brian blanched.

"I wonder where your cell phone company will tell the police you were when you made that call?"

Everything about Brian was clenched: his teeth, his jaw, his fists.

"How did you do it, Brian? With a pillow? Did you put a pillow over your wife's face and hold it there until she stopped struggling?"

"You are out of your fucking mind." He emphasized every syllable.

"When you laid her out, Brian, you forgot something very important. I shared a hospital room with Valerie. I know how she sleeps. She gets hot, a foot hangs out. She tosses, she turns. Blankets here, blankets there. The nurses were always picking blankets up off the floor in the middle of the night.

"Do you know Miranda found her mother, you worm? Valerie was snug as a bug in a rug with the blankets pulled up neatly under her chin." I shook my head. "You and I both know that's not very likely, is it?"

The way I looked at it, Brian had two choices: he could punch me out, or he could run.

Brian ran. He bolted from the coffee shop, heading south on Maryland Avenue toward State Circle.

Almost at once Corinne appeared, dabbing at her face with a paper towel. "Where's Brian?"

"Brian's gone."

"But-"

"Don't worry, Corinne, the police will find him." I was busily punching Officer Tracey's number into my cell phone. "But I think you'd better find somebody else to attend Lamaze classes with you."

"Fucking bitch!" she screamed.

"Oh, I think you already have that territory all wrapped up."

Corinne had run out of steam. She blinked and sputtered and dashed out of the coffee shop, looking both ways as she reached the sidewalk. She must have spotted Brian, because she hustled off in a southerly direction.

I'd almost forgotten Mrs. Bromley, waiting at the counter, behind which stood a paralyzed and wide-eyed barista. I eased into an upholstered chair at one of the tables. "I think I'll have that cappuccino now, Mrs. B."

I punched the talk button. Mike Tracey picked up. "Officer Tracey? This is Hannah Ives. I have some information I think you will find very interesting."