by Nat Burns
“Wow,” she said quietly.
“I know,” she agreed. “These bills would be interspersed with vitriolic letters of hatred and crazy demands. Isabel said she ignored most of them and just sent her regular monthly cash. This went on for years.”
“I’d say so,” she interjected, “like twenty-five.”
Dorry nodded and drained her cup. “Yes. Oddly enough.”
Silence grew between them. Marya was mulling over the situation. A sudden thought occurred. “And you knew all of this the whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dorry eyed her quizzically. “Oh no, honey. I never knew any of it. Not until the day of the fund-raiser.”
“She kept the secret, even from you, for all those years?” She was amazed.
“Yes.” Dorry’s voice softened. “Even from me.”
“I’m curious. Why didn’t Dallas go through the military?”
“Well, Isabel said she did,” Dorry replied as she studied Marya’s lips. “But he’s an officer and, because of the crazy way she was acting, I believe they just assumed she was some crackpot trying to ruin him and get him in trouble with his wife.”
“Not surprising,” she added sullenly. “The service is pretty much a good old boys network. So what did Isabel say, when she told you about all this?”
“That she was going to tell Nicky and be done with it. That’s why they were here. Are here. So Nicky could meet Thomas.”
“Thomas. He killed Denton, right?”
“Right.”
“And hung the dead birds in the cottage?”
“Yes and wrecked my office too. Seems Thomas paid Rob to leave the back door unlocked.”
Marya eyed Dorry with one eyebrow raised.
“I know,” Dorry said with a scowl. “I’m sorry.”
Marya smiled to show there were no hard feelings. “I bet Dallas erased Denton’s computer files because he had some kind of proof in there about Thomas’s birth.”
“I bet,” Dorry agreed.
“But what about your bracelet? How did it get in my bed? And why?” She paused, one finger to her chin. “Oh my God, Thomas planted it in my room while I was busy with Inspector March. To implicate both of us. He must have gotten it from Dallas.”
“Or from my house. I wonder why he didn’t he bring it to the Inspector’s attention,” Dorry added.
Marya shrugged. “Maybe he just wanted to spook me, make me believe you were guilty.”
“Did it work?” Dorry was watching her closely.
“Almost,” Marya admitted. “And all this time we assumed it was Barnes.”
“Why would we suspect Thomas?” Dorry asked. “Freddy seemed a much more likely suspect. Look at the weird way he was acting.”
Marya looked down at her hands. “Despite what he did to me, I feel badly about what happened to him. What Dallas did. I also hate that she caused that whole Francie thing.”
Dorry looked out the window at the forested, sloping hill behind her house. “I do too, Marya, I do too.”
***
Later that morning there was a knock at the door. It was Isabel.
“Hello, Marya,” she said, extending her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met formally. I’m Isabel Rose.”
Marya took the hand, finding it soft and delicate in texture. “Hello, Isabel. It’s good to finally meet you.”
Marya ushered her in and took her to the screened back porch where Dorry rested, her injured leg propped on pillows. Dorry looked up in surprise. When she saw Isabel, her eyes flew to Marya as if in apology.
“I’ll make some iced tea,” Marya said as she gestured for Isabel to have a seat on the sofa next to Dorry.
In the kitchen, Marya put the kettle on, then leaned her head back against the refrigerator and stared at the ceiling. Would she lose Dorry now?
Scenarios populated her imagination. Had Nicholas left Isabel because she didn’t tell him about Thomas? Was Isabel free and, if so, could she and Dorry take up a life together after all these years? Or would Isabel’s visit here devastate Dorry? Leave her unfulfilled and yearning?
How could Marya compete?
Moments later, as she carried the tray of iced tea onto the porch, she saw Isabel rise and embrace Dorry. She breezed past Marya, thanking her for the tea, which she had to forego because Nicholas was waiting.
“I know you two will be very happy,” she said, looking into Marya’s eyes, one hand on her shoulder. “You are good for one another.”
Marya watched the empty doorway, the tray growing ever heavier in her hands. She finally placed it on the small table next to Dorry and turned to the woman she loved.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“We talked about old loves,” said Dorry. She gazed into Marya’s eyes. “And how old loves make way for new loves.”
Marya moved closer, a bee drawn in by the sweet nectar of Dorry’s loving gaze. “How about it, Marya? Will you be my new love? My last love?”
Marya pressed her lips to Dorry’s and knew that she had found her true home at last. “Yes, my darling. I am your forever love.”
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