the Hilton Hotel, where he was attending a fundraiser for cancer
research. He was lucky. There were more than a hundred doctors
around. They managed to save his life. It was reported that the bullet
was fired from a great distance, by a marksman with remarkable
skill. They had no leads as yet.
When she heard that, she said to the Superman cartoon character
playing soundlessly on the television, “He was supposed to go
to a fundraiser on endangered species.”
That’s when she ran. Her mother was dead and there was nothing
more holding her here.
To Maine, to find sanctuary.
Riptide, Maine
June 22
Becca said, “I’ll take it.”
The real estate broker, Rachel Ryan, beamed at her, then almost
immediately backpedaled. “Perhaps you’re making this decision
too quickly, Ms. Powell. Would you like to think about this for a
bit? I will have everything cleaned, but the house is old and that includes
all the appliances and the bathrooms. It’s furnished, of
course, but the furniture isn’t all that remarkable. The house has
been empty for four years, since Mr. Marley’s death.”
“You told me all that, Mrs. Ryan. I see that it’s an old house. I
still like it, it’s charming. And it’s quite large. I like a lot of space.
Also it’s here at the end of the lane all by itself. I do like my privacy.”
Now, that was an understatement but nonetheless the truth.
“A Mr. Marley lived here?”
“Mr. Jacob Marley. Yes, the same name as in A Christmas Carol.
He was eighty-seven years -when he passed away in his sleep. He
kept to himself for the last thirty years or so of his life. His daddy
started the town back in 1907, after several of his businesses in
Boston were burned to the ground one hot summer night. It was
said his enemies were responsible. Mr. Marley Senior wasn’t a popular
man. He was one of those infamous robber barons. But he
wasn’t stupid. He decided it was healthier to just leave Boston and
so he did, and came here. There was already a small fishing village
here, and he just took it over and renamed it.”
Becca patted the woman’s shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ve thought
about it, Mrs. Ryan. I’ll give you a money order since I don’t have
a bank account here. Could it be cleaned today so I can move in
tomorrow afternoon?”
“It will be ready if I have to clean it myself. Actually, since it’s
summer, I can round up a dozen high-schoolers and get them right
over here. Don’t you worry about a thing. Oh yes, there’s the most
adorable little boy who lives not far from here, over on Gum Shoe
Lane. I’m not really his aunt but that’s what he calls me. His name
is Sam and I watched him come into this world. His mother was
my best friend and I–”
Becca raised her brow, listening politely, but evidently Rachel
Ryan was through talking.
“All right, Ms. Powell, I will see you in a couple of days. Call me
if there are any problems.”
And it was done. Becca was the proud renter of a very old Victorian
jewel that featured eight bedrooms, three spacious bathrooms,
a kitchen that surely must have been a showplace before
1910, and a total often fireplaces. And as she’d told Rachel Ryan,
it was very private, at the end of Belladonna Drive, no prying
neighbors anywhere near, and that’s what she wanted. The nearest
house was a good half mile away. The property was bordered on
three sides by thick maple and pine trees, and the view of the ocean
from the widow’s walk -was spectacular.
She hummed when she moved in on Thursday afternoon. She
even managed to work up a sweat. Even though she wouldn’t use
them, she cleaned the bedrooms just because she wanted to. She
wallowed in all the space. She never wanted to live in an apartment
again.
She’d bought a gun from a guy she met in a restaurant in Rock-land,
Maine. She’d taken a big chance, but it had, thank God,
worked out. The gun was a beauty–a Coonan .357 Magnum automatic,