Free Tomorrow's Vengeance by Marcia Talley Page B

time I’d seen that dude, he’d been showing off his tats on a video chat with Christie McSpadden.
    â€˜Apparently Dickie-boy isn’t in Afghanistan anymore,’ I said. ‘I think I better go telephone Angie.’
    I excused myself and slipped out onto the front porch. At first I thought Angie wasn’t going to answer. After four rings my call switched over to her answerphone, but she picked up mid-message with a breathless, ‘Hello.’ Then: ‘You got me down in the basement doing laundry,’ Angie said after I’d identified myself. ‘What’s up?’
    â€˜Thought you’d want to know that Dickie-boy has come to call.’
    Silence stretched out for several long seconds before Angie exploded, ‘Shit! He’s not in Kandahar. No wonder she’s been so concerned over her appearance lately. I should have picked up on that. What should I do, Hannah?’
    â€˜Tell you what, I’ll keep an eye on him while you get yourself over here.’ I watched through the leaded glass on the door while Richard Whatever-his-name-was signed in on the little computer screen at reception. ‘Your mother-in-law hasn’t shown up yet. But Angie,’ I continued, ‘the guy’s got flowers.’
    â€˜Of course he does. And probably a box of chocolate-covered cherries, too.’
    â€˜How soon can you get over here?’
    â€˜I’m on my way.’
    â€˜What if he plans to take Christie out?’ I asked.
    â€˜Well, we can’t stop her. Calvert Colony isn’t a prison camp, and she still has a car and a valid driver’s license, although I wish like hell she wouldn’t drive.’
    â€˜I just watched the guy sign in. Would an ax murderer do that?’ I paused to collect my thoughts. ‘Tell you what,’ I volunteered, Nancy Drew to the rescue, ‘if they leave, I’ll try to follow. We can keep in touch by cell phone, OK?’
    Angie agreed and cut the connection.
    I rejoined Naddie. We had reached the final verse of ‘I Got a Crush on You, Sweetie Pie’ when Christie finally appeared, gliding down the grand staircase like Loretta Young. Loretta would have been wearing a designer ball gown and masses of jewels, but Christie looked smart in a surprisingly age-appropriate blue-checked shirtwaist dress and a pair of black-and-white spectator flats. She’d even dug a chunky gold chain necklace out of her jewelry box, with a pair of matching earrings.
    Clearly, Richard’s visit was no surprise.
    He recognized her at once, took several quick steps forward and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. The flowers were handed over. I wasn’t close enough to hear what the two were saying over the exuberant, off-key singing that was filling the lobby, but their body language was clear enough. Christie pressed her hand against her breast.
For me? How sweet!
Then enveloped him in a hug.
    Oh, it’s nothing
. He accepted the hug a bit stiffly, or so it seemed to me.
    Christie handed the bouquet to the receptionist –
would you put these in water for me, please?
– took Richard’s arm and dragged him over to a loveseat by the fireplace. Never mind that Edith was already sitting there, reading. With an imperial wave, Christie promptly dispatched the poor woman – afghan, paperback, teacup and all – so that she and Richard could sit down on it.
    â€˜I’ll be right back,’ I whispered to Naddie, and scooted off.
    â€˜â€¦ take a taxi?’ Christie was saying to Richard as I crept up casually behind them, feigning fascination with a game of hearts going on at a table in a nearby corner.
    â€˜Cab? You’ve got to be kidding, Christie. I walked the queue, took one look and said no way. Decided to get a rental car. All the cabbies at BWI are Muslims.’
    â€˜Surely not!’ she chirped.
    â€˜It’s the same in New York. I’ll bet you didn’t know that they come