“And you hadn’t.”
“No, because of the stacks. But Dicken, you couldn’t have known anything about the library. That was held in the strictest confidence. Only a few campus security people and the Secret Service knew about it. Nobody else, not even Laurencia. The only way you could have known about it, is if you had been there.”
“I see. How clever. How very clever of you, Congresswoman. I underestimated you. Everyone is always underestimating you.”
The others had arrived now, and she could feel them standing behind her.
And though she could not see, she could feel the guns pointed directly at Dicken Proctor, who said quietly:
“And I suppose you have figured out how I––well, how the voice told me to manage the other thing.”
“Yes. It was coffee. The coffee you always loved to make. The two thermoses of coffee you gave to Thornbloom on the morning of that fatal flight. One for him, one for the pilot. So that they would be sure to drink enough of whatever you put in it.”
“It wasn’t much. Just…something to make them both sleep. Whenever the crash happened, I’m sure they were unaware of it. No pain. I owed old Thornbloom that much, even though he had allowed himself to become an instrument of evil.”
“And the body we found…”
“A nobody. A nothing. Possessed of only one quality that killed him, but that also made him useful to me.”
“He looked like Thornbloom.”
“Yes, remarkably so. I remember being almost thunderstruck by it as I saw him, through the window of that hovel, stumbling out of whatever bar he had come from and going toward the alley he would sleep in. I befriended him, offered him a dry place to sleep…”
“And gave him an overdose of heroin.”
“Yes. It all worked well. And, you must admit, it gave all of you such a sense of relief.”
“Too much of a sense of relief. We let our guard down, just like you must have wanted us to.”
“But it won’t work now, will it? Those people behind you—they don’t hear the voice.”
“No, Dicken, they don’t.”
“Mister,” Moon was saying, “Move away from that window!”
“Oh, I can’t do that!”
“Move away!”
He looked at Nina and smiled:
“The voice wouldn’t allow me to do that!”
“If you touch that rifle, Dicken, they’ll kill you.”
“I know. I know. But if I don’t, the voice will not allow me to live. And so…do you know the Auden poem? Musée des Beaux Arts? All the people…”
He gestured out toward the stadium, where the crowd was cheering madly and Laurencia was mounting the platform.
“…all the people going about their business, not noticing that a little boy had fallen out of the sky..”
So saying, he lurched forward.
He was halfway out the window when Sylvia, as quick as she had been when she dove on Nina and saved her life, reached him, wrapped her strong arms around his upper legs, and pulled him back in
So that only the rifle fell out of the window.
And so that, just as Laurencia Dalrymple was proudly announcing:
“Sisters and Brothers, we did it! Two of the three women candidates running in referenda today WON THEIR RACES!”
Jubilation in the crowd.
“And tonight, NO STRIKE! Go home to your husbands, women! And, as you have learned from Helen Reddington’s magnificent rendering of Lysistrata—let the tips of your shoes point toward the ceiling, wiggle all you want—and even assume the position of the hungry lion! Just remember—women are coming to power—and the power of war is going away!”
So that, just as she was saying these things, the rifle was clattering harmlessly on the top of a closed garbage bin below.
CHAPTER TWENTY: THE NEW VOICE IN CONGRESS
And now it was July 5.
The Lysistrata festival was over.
And Bay St. Lucy could resume its normal life.
A life which centered around the town hall.
Where Nina now found herself, surrounded by a group that include Jackson Bennett, Edie Towler, and Paul and Macy Cox.
But it was to her, Nina, that Jackson was now speaking:
“Nina, two things I guess I need to tell you.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“The first concerns Dicken Proctor.”
“Poor man.”
“Dangerous man. But he’s in Jackson now, at a mental facility. He just sits and stares at the wall. What will happen to him…well, no one is sure. But the whole story is being kept strictly hush hush. No one needs the sensationalism at this point.”
“No.”
“And the second is, we heard from the governor.”
“And?”
“And he goes along with it, but with regrets. He accepts your resignation from the House of Representatives.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Nina, are you sure that we can’t…”
She shook her head:
“It was a glorious adventure, Jackson. I’ll never forget it. Not one minute of it. And I thank all of you so much for making it possible. But I belong here. I knew that the second I stepped off the plane two days ago.”
“All right then.”
“But what about the other request?”
“He’s amenable. Mainly because of all you’ve done. But the expense of another special election…no, he thinks he’s got the backing to appoint the successor you suggested.”
“Thank God.”
She then looked at Paul.
“The Coxes,” she said quietly, “are going to Washington after all.”
Paul smiled:
“I hope you won’t regret your decision, Nina.”
“I know I won’t. I think what we’re looking at here is a long and prosperous political career. And I know you’re going to make us all proud. And I know you’re going to make the state of Mississippi proud. And all I can say is that I am proud to know you, and congratulate you…”
Then she smiled and said:
“Congratulations, Congresswoman Macy Cox!”
EPILOGUE
The following morning at ten o’clock she Vespa’d home from a few hours of puttering at Elementals, to find Jackson Bennett’s car parked in her driveway.
She parked the Vespa, got off it, and walked to the foot of her stairway.
Jackson was coming out of the house.
“Did you bring him home, Jackson?”
“Sure did. The girls are going to miss him though.”
“Thanks for taking care of him.”
“Sure. Hey, I did have one question about this nut Proctor, or whatever his name was.”
“Ask it?”
“How did he smuggle a deer rifle into Bay St. Lucy.”
“Everybody thought it was a golf bag. He was known to be a golf nut. On a commercial flight he would have been checked and caught, but this was just the Senator’s private plane. No one thought to look.
“I see. Well, I guess it’s all clear now. I’m going to take off. And thanks for everything Nina. The country is different now. We don’t know what will happen in November, but...”
“The Lissies will happen, Paul. And they’ll keep happening.”
“I hope that’s true, Nina. I really do.”
“Good bye, Jackson.”
“Bye for now.”
He got into his car, started it, and drove away.
She climbed the stairs and opened the door.
A small furry animal approached her, rubbed back and forth against her ankle, looked up at her, and said:
“Arrrrrgggh.”
Which in cat means:
“Where the Hell have you been?”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Pam Britton (T’Gracie) Reese is an Assistant Professor in the Communication Science and Disorders Department at Indiana/Purdue University at Fort Wayne. Previously, she worked as
a speech pathologist in schools in private practice. She was also a supervisor in communication disorders at Ohio University. She likes nothing better, professionally, than helping small, silent two-year-old boys start talking. She has also published books about autism with LinguiSystems for the last 15 years. The Circle of Autism was previously published online at ken*again e-magazine.
Joe Reese is a novelist, playwright, storyteller, and college teacher. He has published four novels, several plays, and a number of stories and articles. When he’s not teaching (English and German), he enjoys visiting elementary schools, where he tells stories from his Katie Dee novels and talks to students about writing. He and his wife Pam have three children: Kate, Matthew, and Sam.
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Sex Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 6) Page 18
