Little Death by the Sea (42 page)

“Police!” he shouted again. “Drop it!”

She started to turn to face him, her gun
still level, her finger still pushing the trigger.

He shot her once, in the forehead.

Epilogue

Gerry walked away from the gate and patted
down his jacket pockets. He kept his wife and daughter in view at
all times. In time, I’ll calm down, he thought. After a while, I’ll
be able to relax again.

He watched Darla sitting in one of the long
lines of plastic airport chairs, a roll of magazines in one hand
and little Haley’s mittened hand in the other. She seemed very
animated as she talked to Laurent. Only the clutching hand holding
her daughter told a different story.

“I guess you got everything?” Maggie stood
next to Gerry in the airport gift shop and watched him
anxiously.

He tapped his inside coat pocket. “Passports,
visas, beaucoups American dollars, and a representative sampling of
Kiwi dollars. Want to see them? They’re very pretty.” He stuck his
hand in his jacket and pulled out a few pastel money notes in
purple and pink.

“Very nice,” Maggie said.

“I was tempted to bring Monopoly money, but
Darla assured me the vendors Down Under would be too sophisticated
for that.”

“So, I guess you’ve got everything.”

“Yes, Maggie. I do. Calm down, okay?”

Maggie shook her head. “I just don’t know
what to say,” she said.

“You act like you’re at a funeral.”

“I’m losing a friend.”

“There are daily flights to Auckland.”

“And applications for the next space shuttle
too. Excuse me for thinking neither is a very viable possibility
for me.”

“You choose your own limitations.”

“Oh, thank you, Dale Carnegie. Isn’t it time
for you to go yet?”

“Maggie—“

“No, Gerry, listen. I’m glad for you, I
really am. If this is what you want, then I am just too-happy,
okay?”

“Really.” He looked unconvinced.

“And I officially apologize for that crack I
made in the car.”

“You mean the one about Kiwi fruit causing
cancer? Forget it. Darla will explain Auntie Maggie’s sense of
humor to Haley and I’m sure we’ll get her to eat fruit again.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Maggie. But you’ll visit.
We’ll come back here for visits.”

“Won’t you be afraid of being gunned down in
the concourse if you come back to the U.S.?” Instantly, Maggie
regretted saying it.

“Well, no,” Gerry said slowly. “Not being a
fanatic or obsessive or anything. I think I can handle bringing my
family back for a visit from time to time.”

They were both quiet a moment. Gerry smiled
at Darla and waved to his daughter from where they sat with
Laurent.

“I forgot to ask you how you knew in the
first place that it was Stump,” he said, quietly.

“Well, it wasn’t the ‘first place’
unfortunately,” Maggie said. “But Patti’s scarf ring was what made
it all click for me.”

“Her what?”

“It’s something women use sometimes as an
accessory with scarves. Patti lived by them. Brownie had found it
in the hallway the afternoon Elise was...was killed and he’d
pocketed it. The cops never even bothered to ask him to empty his
pockets. Anyway, he gave it to me later, thinking it might be
important only he didn’t know what it was. I knew it was a scarf
ring, even a familiar one, but it wasn’t until I was sitting in the
cemetery at Montmarte that it finally came to me where I’d seen
it.”

Gerry shook his head.

“Yeah, only about a million times stuck on
Patti’s graceful bosom. And that’s when I knew.” Maggie rubbed her
arms as if a terrible chill had come into the room. “She’d been
there that day. She’d been waiting for me to come home. Elise got
in the way.” She shivered.” Soon as I made the office
connection—Dierdre and all that—well, the rest of it fell into
place.”

“You got the Laurent thing sorted out yet?”
Gerry asked, switching the subject as he paid for his purchases at
the counter. Candy bars, magazines, chewing gum, a paperback
book.

“He’s told so many lies about so many
things,” Maggie said. “It’s hard for me to get past that. He’s got
a lot of good reasons for much of it all, and some very lame
reasons for other stuff.” She made a helpless gesture with her
hand. “My folks like him...”

“I suppose that’s good.”

“He’s not what I thought he was. Not as
wonderful...and not as awful.” She ran a hand through her combed
hair, knocking loose a restraining barrette. “Of all the things
he’s lied about,” Maggie said, watching Laurent as he talked with
Darla, “I do believe he loves me.”

“
Quelle surprise, mon amie
,” he said
smiling.

Maggie smiled too, then gave him a hug.

“Good-bye, boss,” she said. “Show ‘em how to
do real American retail advertising down there.”

“I fully intend to. The starburst price-point
and the use of oversized type is about to arrive in the land of
sheep and honey.” He grinned. “Antipodal advertising will never be
quite the same again.”

“Nor on this side of the pond either,
dearest.”

They smiled fondly at each other.

******

The little dog cocked its head, forcing a
small scruffy ear to flop into one of its eyes. It sat, attentive
and enduring, in Nicole’s lap. The little girl’s small fingers
pressed into the animal’s fur.

“
Grandmère
says she’s got fleas,”
Nicole said, her face screwed into a mask of serious concern.

I’m sure
Grandmère
is delighted about
that, Maggie thought with amusement. Dressed in a forest green
velvet tunic with black leggings, Maggie stood by the fireplace in
the Brymsley library and watched the flames. Christmas was a week
away and she had never remembered her parents’ home—all dressed for
the season—looking or feeling more enchanting. The whole mansion
smelled of fir boughs and toasted cinnamon sticks with the scent of
even greater, impending, wonders wafting on the air. Maggie moved
from her position by the fireplace and sat down next to Nicole on
her parents’ overstuffed settee. The puppy looked at her with
solemn, large brown eyes. She touched its soft fur.

“I have a
cadeau
for you, Nicole.”
Maggie said. “An early present.”

Nicole looked up questioningly into Maggie’s
eyes, her little hands momentarily stopped in their incessant
searching of the dog’s coat.

“Is it from
Maman
?” she asked.

Maggie bit her lip. “In a way.” she said,
placing the glittering bracelet of charms in Nicole’s narrow lap of
swansdown and cashmere. “It belonged to Elise when she was a little
girl.”

Nicole touched the tiny charms with her
fingers, then delicately lifted up the bracelet to watch the
tinkling figurines. An ice skater, a ballerina, a wee gold sailing
ship, a miniature horse and rider, a typewriter, a Cocker Spaniel
dog, an easel.

Nicole looked into Maggie’s eyes and
smiled.

“
Merci
, Aunt Maggie,” she said.

###