In the Shadow of Revenge

by Patricia Hale

  Before dessert, there was a knock at the door. Three uniformed policemen followed my mother back into the kitchen and gave Jarod a familiar nod. He left the room looking relieved. For once they weren’t there for him.

  Shortly after that Amelia and her parents arrived. I wasn’t sure why it was okay for them to be in my house when I was never asked into theirs, but I didn’t much care because it gave Amelia and me more time to be together. My mother poured coffee all around and set out a plate of Oreo cookies and the police asked what three nine-year-old girls were doing in the middle of the woods in an abandoned railcar.

  “It’s our clubhouse,” I’d told Officer Marquette. He was the youngest of the men and the nicest. He had blue eyes and when he put a whole cookie into his mouth he’d winked at me like he was getting away with something. I was glad my mother had set the World’s Greatest Dad mug in front of him.

  “That’s not a safe place for little girls to play.”

  “But we fixed it up.”

  He held my eyes and shook his head. “No more,” he’d said.

  Jarod had walked back into the room then and I got that hard-to-breathe feeling. Ever since the morning I spent tied to the tree in the backyard, I’d avoided my brother whenever possible. He leaned against the wall and looked at me with his “shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you” look. My heart flip-flopped like a fish on sand and I’d squeezed my teeth together ’til they ached, counting the petals on my mother’s daisy print tablecloth. When I looked up, Officer Marquette was studying me. He glanced at Jarod and back at me, and then he put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. His palm radiated heat like the first sunny day after a bitter cold winter and I’d wanted to melt right into it.

  Just then my mother had whirled around to face the people in her kitchen. “It’s the devil in all of them,” she’d said. “That’s why this happened. Little girls shouldn’t be calling on the spirits. It’s that Ouija board they use.”

  “It’s just a game, Mrs. Minos,” Amelia’s dad had told her.

  But my mother turned on him. “It’s no game. It’s what brought all this on.” She’d waved her arm through the air and then turned to me and pointed a finger. “And she’s at the heart of it.”

  I couldn’t look at anyone, not even Amelia. I got out of my chair and walked from the room, my chin pressed so tight to my chest that the back of my neck ached. When I passed by Jarod, I could see from the corner of my eye that he was doubled over laughing. He loved my mother’s rants.

  “Where do you think you’re going, miss?” my mother’s voice stung my back.

  “I—I—” Tears rolled down my cheeks. How could she say that I’d caused what had happened to Hilary? I looked around the room wondering if they all agreed. Their faces blurred into one another and I stood with my mouth hanging open, unable to ask if they thought what she’d said was true.

  Officer Marquette pushed his chair back. “It’s okay, let her go. We’re all set for tonight.”

  “Crazy bitch,” Jarod whispered.

  Everyone got up to leave and I climbed the stairs to my bedroom without looking back. I wasn’t sure if Jarod had meant my mother or me or even my grandmother since that seemed to be where it all started.

  I barely remembered her, but I’d found a picture of her in the attic and put it in the drawer beside my bed. Now when I got to my room, I took it out and stared at my grandmother’s heart-shaped face. Her eyes were shiny and black like the stones we gathered from the Royal River and her hair sprang from her head in hundreds of tiny braids. Aside from her hair, it was like seeing myself in the photograph and the likeness intrigued me. I’d talk to her before falling asleep about things I couldn’t say to my mother. Though she never responded, I liked to believe she was trying. Now I’m convinced that she’s been speaking to me all along.

  Over the next week I’d tried to answer all the questions the police came up with, except the ones from Officer Marquette that had more to do with my home life than with the man in the railcar. I must have had neglect written all over me. One day he handed me a little white card that had his phone number on it and told me to call him anytime. I still have it, and though I’m sure his number changed over the past eighteen years, I’ve never been able to throw it away.

  * * *

  When I woke up the next morning, Ben had already left for work and Amelia was still asleep. I got up and pulled my box of memorabilia out from under the bed. Rocks and shells lay amongst birthday cards and decomposed flowers. I shuffled through the memories until I found what I was looking for, a 2 x 3 white card with Nick Marquette’s name on it. When I’d graduated law school and landed in the DA’s office I’d checked the Portland PD’s roster and was disappointed that his name was no longer on it. Now I tucked the card into my purse and hoped that, as the DA, Michael might shed some light.

  After bagels and coffee I drove Amelia back to Gritty’s and pulled in beside her car.

  “You okay?” I asked, though the answer was obvious from the half-moons under her eyes and the gaunt look on her face.

  She glanced around the lot as though expecting to see him there, waiting. I put my hand on her thigh and shook her slightly. “Go to work,” I said.

  She nodded, still dazed, and got out. I waited until she’d buckled her seat belt and started her engine, then she followed me onto Middle Street where I turned right and she made a left. I watched her for a few more minutes in my rearview and when she made another left turn toward the Green Goods Market, I had to let go.

  I thought about going to see Hilary and considered telling her what had happened, but rehab was voluntary and I knew she’d sign herself out if I did. She was tough and right now I needed some of her ‘fear is not an option’ attitude, but it was more important that she get herself straight. I headed for the courthouse.

  Michael Steele was standing in the foyer watching me as I came through the front door and took my place in line at the metal detectors. He checked his watch.

  “Some holiday I don’t know about, Minos?” he asked.

  “Sorry about yesterday. I didn’t have a court appearance and a friend of mine’s having a rough time. This morning I had to drive her to her car in Gritty’s lot.”

  “Aren’t you getting a little old for that stuff?”

  “Apparently not,” I said.

  “Joe McIntire is in courtroom three. You may have to take over his case if he doesn’t wrap it up this morning—family illness or something. Why don’t you sit in so you’re up to speed if need be.”

  “Sure,” I said and hesitated.

  “Something else?” Michael asked.

  “You don’t remember a cop by the name of Marquette do you?”

  “Nick Marquette?”

  I stopped short and looked at him. “Yeah, that’s him. You know him?”

  “Casual acquaintance, I guess you’d call it. He left the force about fifteen years ago, right after his wife gave him the ultimatum. They moved to Vermont and he went to work for her father running some ski resort. He was miserable, missed the force, the work, you know how it is. It’s in their blood.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “He and his wife divorced a few years ago. He’s back in the area, turned down an opening on the force and started a PI firm. Think he wants the flexibility of making his own hours.”

  “You know how I can reach him?”

  Michael pulled one of his DA cards out of his pocket, scratched a number on the back and handed it to me.

  “You know his number off the top of your head?”

  “We’ve been known to have a beer now and then, share a little information. Do I need your permission for that, Minos?”

  My heart banged against my chest as I reached for the card. I couldn’t name the reason for the tremor in my hand or for the adrenaline rush t
hat caused my scalp to tingle. I was nine years old the last time I’d seen Marquette’s face, but I hadn’t forgotten it. Taut and serious until he smiled at me and offered a rare moment of calm. I slipped the card into my pocket and headed for courtroom three.

  McIntire had his defendant’s mother on the stand. She couldn’t seem to decide whether her loyalty lay with her son or her dirt-bag boyfriend and I prayed that this one wouldn’t become mine. The boyfriend was pressing charges against the fifteen-year-old kid for shooting him after he’d beaten the crap out of the boy’s mother. The mother said the boyfriend hadn’t touched her and that the kid had been cleaning the gun when it went off.

  I saw way too much of this and though most women came in looking a lot worse than this one, even an inch of bruised skin made me crazy. If I ever found myself in an abusive relationship, childhood notwithstanding, I’d be the woman that hacks the guy into a million little pieces or sets him on fire while he sleeps. The legal system might not condone that kind of revenge, but there’s never a doubt in my mind that it’s justified. In this case, the only thing I’d have charged the kid with was not being a good enough aim to kill the bastard. But McIntire did his job and by the end of her time on the stand the mother broke down. Her one percent of maternal instinct shone through and saved the kid’s neck, turning the tables on her boyfriend. Justice is satisfying when it works.

  I congratulated McIntire and headed for the cafeteria gripping the card in my pocket like a kid with a cookie. I was excited about calling Marquette, but apprehensive too. I knew Ben would give me a raft of shit for stepping outside the inner sanctum, but we needed help and because Marquette knew the details of our last encounter with Dobbs, that might be a lure.

  Back at my desk, I forced my mind off Marquette and put through paperwork for two restraining orders, feeling guilty over the work I’d blown off yesterday. At three o’clock I attended a continuation hearing and won my request to keep supervised visitation in place for a full five years. As we all trooped out of the courtroom my client’s ex-husband leaned over my shoulder. “Fucking cunt,” he whispered.

  I turned and smiled at the guy. “Happy to help,” I said.

  It was five o’clock when I finally picked up the phone and dialed Marquette’s number hoping he’d still be in his office. He answered on the first ring, making him either bored or efficient. I hoped it was the latter.

  “Marquette,” he said.

  I realized I didn’t know what to call him, Nick? Officer? “Mr. Marquette,” I said, “this is Cecily Minos. You probably don’t remember me, but I grew up in—”

  “Millers Falls,” he interrupted. “Of course I remember, never caught the guy. Makes it a hard one to forget. What can I do for you?”

  I took a breath. “He’s back,” I said. “The guy with the tattoo.”

  “You sure?”

  I heard the excitement in his voice and my heart picked up its pace. “I saw it. Well, Amelia did. He’s the right age and mentioned that he used to live around here.”

  “Moron.”

  “Yeah, anyway the police aren’t interested because all we have is the tattoo and—”

  “You need help getting more.”

  “Right, will you?”

  “How’s tomorrow, noon?”

  I felt him smile and smiled back. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Ten

  I could hear “Fire and Rain” playing as I slipped my key into the lock, and thought it an odd choice for Ben, not his usual. Amelia came down the hallway holding two glasses of wine and suddenly the music made sense.

  “That’s what I call service,” I said and reached for one of the glasses.

  “Uh, uh, not for you.” She scooted past sideways, her back to me protecting the wine.

  I followed her into the living room where she sat down across from Ben on the floor in front of the fireplace, the Ouija board laid out between their knees and Stitch doing figure eights around them.

  Something sidestepped in my stomach. “What are you doing with that?” I said pointing to the board.

  “We’re playing,” Amelia said. “I found it in your trunk. I was looking for a sweater. Sit down.”

  “Hi, honey.” Ben got up and kissed me on the cheek.

  I shrugged him off. “Put it away,” I said. “Now.”

  “We’re using it to strategize. Amelia thinks it’ll help.” He leaned in close. “Humor her,” he whispered then started toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the bottle and another glass.”

  I looked back to Amelia. “I said, put it away.”

  “Jesus, Cecily, lighten up. Have some wine.”

  I followed Ben into the kitchen. “Why are you letting her play with that?”

  “What’s the big deal? It’s just a game.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Ben laughed. “C’mon, you actually think it tells your future or something?”

  “It doesn’t matter what it does, it’s mine and it was buried in my trunk for a reason. If I wanted people playing with it, I would have left it out.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, handing me a glass of Merlot. “I’ll put it away.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said and walked back to the living room.

  Amelia patted the rug. “Have a seat.”

  I shook my head and knelt beside her. “I’m putting it away.”

  Just as my hand touched the board, Amelia’s cell phone rang. Pain sliced through my head and knocked me off balance. I saw Dobbs hovering over Hilary in the railcar, the skull grinning. I reached out and grabbed Amelia’s arm to steady myself. The moment I touched her the image changed and Dobbs was beneath her on the front seat of a car.

  “Cecily, what is it?” Amelia’s voice was miles away.

  I felt Ben’s hands guiding me off the floor and onto the couch. Stitch jumped into my lap. The phone was still ringing in the background. I knew who it was. I reached for the glass of wine on the table beside me and downed it. The phone rang again. “Answer it,” I said.

  She looked at the caller ID. “It’s him. What do I say?” Her voice cracked.

  “Anything, don’t lose him.”

  “Hello?” Her voice wavered.

  She nodded to us confirming that it was Dobbs. “I can’t tonight,” she said.

  The pain in my head was almost unbearable. I raised my hand, shielding my eyes from the overhead light.

  Ben rolled his arms one over another signaling to keep the conversation going, pique his interest so he’d call again. It reminded me of that childhood song, Nick-nack paddy-wack, give your dog a bone. I suppose she was.

  “This week’s a little busy, next weekend okay? Great,” Amelia said. “Talk to you then.” She ended the connection and reached for her wine. It swayed in the glass, broke against her lips and disappeared in one gulp.

  The moment their conversation ended the pain in my head subsided, disappearing as fast as it came like a midsummer squall.

  * * *

  Amelia and I hit the kitchen at the same time the next morning, both in search of breakfast. I started coffee and grabbed bagels out of a drawer. She started the blender. Green goop splashed against the sides of the glass.

  “Mmm,” I said, “looks delicious.”

  “Healthy,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at me.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and then another for Ben. He came in and slipped onto the barstool beside Amelia.

  “Want some?” she asked when he peered into her glass and made a face.

  “Sure, I’m game.”

  I spooned more sugar into my cup and car
ried it to the bedroom. Opening the closet door, I scanned possibilities for my appointment with Marquette. I wanted to meet him on even ground, not as the damaged little girl he probably remembered. Deciding on professional, I opted for a sage green linen skirt, white lace camisole and a Carole Little linen jacket, then I worked on my spiel.

  When I went back into the kitchen, Amelia had already left for work and Ben was re-arranging paperwork in his briefcase.

  “Sorry about last night,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About the game. I didn’t know it was something special. When she brought it out, I figured it was okay to play. Thought it would take her mind off Dobbs for a while.”

  “Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to freak out.”

  “What happened right before the phone rang? It was like you almost fainted or something. I got sidetracked with the call and forgot about it. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. There was no way I was gonna tell him. He’d think I’d completely lost it. “I was just a little light-headed. Hungry, I guess.”

  He put his arms around me and kissed my neck. “Are we okay?”

  I hated it when he asked me that. It made me feel like I was in charge of the relationship, and if I said it was good then it was, and if I said it was bad then it was. Like he had no emotional gauge to measure the depth all by himself. I sighed and hugged him back, my Ben/Ken.

  At the office, my morning was a wash. I gazed at the stack of briefs on my desk and daydreamed, interrupted only by an occasional glance at the clock. Knowing that I was meeting with Marquette in just a few hours, my mind had slipped into memory mode and there was no pulling it back. I wondered how much information the police actually gathered on the case beyond what we’d told them and if they’d be willing to share it now. At the time, the only thing that had been of interest to them was the tattoo we’d both seen on the man’s rear end. Amelia had concurred with a nod of her head. I knew I’d never forget that skull with the red star on its forehead and jagged row of stitches where its mouth should have been. It took up his whole left cheek. It’s what I remembered most about that day, the skull staring at me and Amelia, threatening us not to move or we’d be next.