Classic Revenge

  •

  Mitzi Kelly

  'HOMAS & MERCER

  This title was previously published by Avalon Books; this version has been reproduced from the Avalon book archive files.

  In loving memory of my parents, Lewis and Lucretia Rothman, who gave the gift of humor to all their children and taught us that anything is possible if you have laughter in your heart. I love them and miss them dearly.

  Many, many thanks go to all the people who have encouraged me in my writing career, and to those I have crossed paths with who keep life interesting. First, and foremost, my love and gratitude go to my husband, John, and my son, John Lewis, who support me with understanding and patience and who are the wind beneath my wings. I want to thank my brothers-Lewis, Pat, and Stan-who keep the laughter coming even after all these years and whose love and support I would not want to live without. I'd like to thank my extended family who I feel proud to be a part of: the Michons, Barbers, Fryars, Rothmans, Sheffields, and all the cousins, nieces, and nephews who descended from these families and married to different names. I realize, as family, they couldn't choose me, but I'm honored they kept me!

  A special thanks to my good friend and fellow author, Ronni Hoessli, who has encouraged me to write for years and gave valuable editing tips when I was in a hurry to get to the next scene.

  Huge thanks go to Michael and Celeste Wall who introduced me to Sandra Lucchesi, who introduced me to my intrepid agent whom I adore, Susan Cohen at The Gersh Agency. I value these new friendships and appreciate all the advice and support.

  I wish to extend a very special thank you to my editor, Chelsea Gilmore. She is one special lady. We hit it off right from the beginning and her enthusiasm for this series is something I will always cherish. I thank her for all the advice and hard work and I'm looking forward to our growing relationship.

  To all the others along the way, I thank you for your encouragement and support.

  Patience and careful planning were the keys to success. It would all be over soon. Gone would be the venomous hatred that had been a constant companion for the last several years. It would simply disappear, vanish into thin air, and then life could get back to normal, a life with dreams and goals before it had been so callously destroyed.

  Rubbing gloved hands together made the predawn chill bearable. There was little that could be done, however, for protesting muscles made stiff from crouching behind the cover of landscaped shrubbery and new spring flowers for over an hour. April in Texas was, to state the old axiom, unpredictable. Yesterday the high temperature had reached eighty-four; now it hovered at fortyfive degrees. Proper foresight would have demanded a thick sweater.

  It was the last mistake that would be made.

  The sun finally started to rise, spreading soft, pink light across the dark, cloudless sky. Slowly, the light became brighter, glistening off dew-dipped blooms while birds began to sing out cheerily to one another. There was no appreciation, though, for the glory of a bright, new day, the promise of the kind of day that just made you happy to be alive. Yes, someone was surely happy to be alive, even for just a few short hours.

  Weeks of surveillance had revealed that the movements of the people inside the sprawling two-story stucco house could be monitored simply by observing which lights came on and off. They thought that they were safely tucked away in their home in this upperclass neighborhood. How utterly stupid.

  Like so many of their neighbors whose backyards ran up to the many acres of undeveloped land that ran parallel to the highway, they refused to erect a fence, probably an informal announcement that they owned more property than they actually did. What it announced, in fact, was that they did not have a pet they had to keep enclosed. A pet that could have warned of unwelcome intruders coming right off the highway and through the wooded area into the yards of the unsuspecting residents.

  That knowledge brought a smile, but it was without humor. Anticipation grew as daylight settled in. Any minute now the bathroom curtains would close.

  The soft, sweet scent of lavender filled the bathroom. It was Susan Wiley's favorite bath oil, and today she added a generous amount to the water in the antique claw-foot tub. She then lit the four candles arranged on the vanity. She loved the ritual of preparing and then soaking in a relaxing bath, a time when she was all alone and her mind drifted lazily, reflecting on personal goals, planning a vacation trip, or just enjoying the pure luxury of solitude and quiet.

  With her sleeve, she wiped the fog from the ornate oval mirror and glanced critically at herself. Her face belied her true age, a fact she was modestly pleased about given the years of stress and anxiety she and her husband had endured while running their own business. There had been many hard, lean times, more than she cared to remember, but through hard work and perseverance, and most importantly, by working as a team, she and Sam had succeeded. Yes, it had all been worth it.

  She was slowing down now-there was no point denying it but at seventy-two she figured she had earned the right not to have to race through each day hoping to get through a to-do list. Since their retirement three years ago, though, life had definitely gotten easier. With a full-time housekeeper and a full-time social calendar, she and Sam were enjoying the fruits of their labor. Just as it should be.

  Susan dropped her robe, walked barefoot across the marble floor, and stepped into the tub, sinking into the hot, fragrant water with a sigh. Today was a special day, one she was looking forward to immensely. With their housekeeper, Claire, at the grocery store and Sam at his weekly golf game, she would pamper herself with a long soak in the tub, give herself a facial, manicure and pedicure, and then get her hair done before meeting Shelley Rivers, her sister-in-law, for lunch. But this evening was what she was most excited about. Tonight, she and Sam would be celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary. Sam had told her to dress up for dinner. He would be taking her someplace special. It was amazing to her how, after forty years, every moment with Sam was still special, a fact she thanked God for each and every day. He couldn't have blessed her with a better man.

  Susan leaned back and closed her eyes, her mind aimlessly conjuring up her wardrobe as she wondered what she would wear that night. Maybe she would buy something new, something in blue perhaps, Sam's favorite color. She heard the bathroom door open before she had made up her mind whether it would be a dress or a pantsuit, but she smiled anyway. Sam must have planned an earlier surprise. It would be just like him to cancel his golf game to spend the day with her. An expression of love and welcome softened her face as she slowly opened her eyes.

  At first she couldn't see the shape clearly. The tulip lighting cast shadows onto the velvet-covered wall. Suddenly, her smile vanished and her eyes opened wide in shock. There was a stranger walking toward her. No, not a stranger, her mind registered-this was someone vaguely familiar ...

  Susan sat up straight, the water sloshing over the side of the tub. She tried to release the scream bubbling in the back of her throat as she watched something being plugged into the wall socket. She saw the evil grin and the glittering eyes at the same time that she realized something electrical was going to be tossed into the water. She tried to scramble out of the slippery tub, but there wasn't enough time.

  Why? her mind screamed silently, her mouth forming a word that made no sound-but she would never know the answer to her last question.

  Wth a clarity born out of months of self-deception, Trish Anderson knew the moment of truth had arrived. She either faced her personal demons here and now, or she would forever be wondering what if. She sat quietly at her kitchen table, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze glued to the opening into her living room where it would all begin.

  It was a beautiful clear morning, the sun already warming the air.
Birds chirped their singsong messages, lawnmowers roared across yards that desperately needed care after the weeks of rain the month of May always seemed to bring, and dogs barked ferocious warnings to passersby on the sidewalks. Trish usually started Saturday mornings quite late. She would sit at the kitchen table with coffee and a chocolate doughnut ... or two, still in her pajamas while she struggled with the daily crossword puzzle in the paper. But this wasn't a usual Saturday morning.

  The closed windows shut out the noise and the drawn blinds shut out the light. It was so quiet she could actually hear herself breathe. Her eyes darted quickly to the refrigerator but she pulled them away with a sigh. It didn't take a degree in psychology to know why she was hesitating. It was going to take a lot of sacrificing to reach her goal. And there was no point denying itshe wasn't big on sacrifices.

  Well, time to bite the bullet, as they said. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and rolled her head from side to side to loosen the tension that was beginning to creep up the back of her neck. She could claim a headache, go back to bed, and postpone the inevitable, but the thought of having to mentally gear up for this moment again had her placing one foot in front of the other as she steadily made her way to the living room.

  Trish now stood courageously in front of her tormenter, the cold, black steel contraption, and once more studied the many features of the new exercise equipment. She wasn't stalling. She was downright intimidated. Apparently it did everything from trimming your waist and thighs to performing major organ transplants. But which of the many gadgets attached to the machine did what? Flipping through the accompanying manual last night had been no help; it may as well have been written in Japanese. She preferred the hands-on approach anyway. "Learn as you go" was her motto. Well, now it was time to put her hands on and start learning.

  Trish straightened her spine and strengthened her resolve. First, she'd do the thing where you sat down and pushed the pedals with your feet. It was supposed to tone your calves and thighs while adding muscle. It looked safe-and besides, her legs could definitely do with a workout. Pleased, she nodded to herself and hiked her leg up to maneuver onto the bicycle seat. That's when the loud peal of her doorbell shattered the quiet.

  Startled, she screamed before she could stop herself, the leg she was balancing on almost buckling beneath her. Taking a calming breath, she glared resentfully at the torture device. "Safe and easy, my butt!" she muttered under her breath as she regained her balance. "You were saved by the bell, you lucky heap of metal, but you haven't beaten me. I will be back." Tossing her head defiantly, she turned toward the door.

  Was it fate or just plain coincidence that the minute she decided to knock off a few pounds the doorbell would ring? With her luck, it was probably a cute little Girl Scout selling those mouth-watering mint cookies. Ten boxes, please ...

  Trish closed her eyes tightly for a minute and repeated the mantra, "I will be strong, I will be strong!" But her pep talk was interrupted when the blasted doorbell rang again.

  "I'm coming," she yelled rudely. "Hold your horses!" Flinging the door open, she scowled at a tiny woman wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt, red tennis shoes, and a red bandana tied across her forehead, and another woman, immaculate in a turquoise sweatsuit, not a silver hair out of place. Definitely not Girl Scouts. "What do you want?"

  "Good morning to you too," Millie Morrow, the lady in red, said cheerfully as she pushed her way inside, Edna Radcliff following close behind. "Got any coffee?"

  Trish slammed the door shut. "It's eight o'clock in the morning. You know I have coffee," she said, rolling her eyes and following them into the kitchen.

  "Not since you've gotten on this crazy health kick, I don't. Bet you don't have any doughnuts, though, do you?" Millie opened a cabinet and pulled out two coffee cups.

  "Millie! You are going to undo all the good our walk did this morning if you keep eating junk in the mornings."

  "Hasn't killed me yet" She peered at Edna through silver wire-framed glasses. Her message was clear: Mind your own business!

  "It's a moot point because I don't have any doughnuts," Trish said breezily, sounding anything but sorry as she flopped into a chair, resigning herself to a visit with her friends whom she normally loved but would gladly kill right now.

  Millie glanced in the living room and raised her eyebrows at Trish. "You know, you could go jogging with me in the mornings if you're so gung-ho on this exercise thing. Edna came this morning and she's already talking about how much better she feels"

  Edna nodded eagerly and reached for the coffee Millie brought over to the table. "That's right, dear. I do feel better."

  "Millie, you are eighty years old and-"

  "And proud of it," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "You should hope you look as good as I do when you're my age. Of course, I didn't wait until I was over the hill before I started jogging. Edna is sixtyfive and you're forty-eight-not exactly spring chickens, if you know what I mean."

  Trish sighed. "As I was saying, you're eighty years old, and you don't jog. You just walk fast around the block, and the only reason you do that is to snoop on all the neighbors. You don't need the exercise." Millie was a trim five feet flat and as energetic as a twenty-yearold baseball player, a fact that irritated Trish to no end. Millie was also the neighborhood gossip. Having lived in the area of Grand River, Texas, for most of her adult life, she knew everybody ... and their business.

  Grand River is a small suburb right outside of San Antonio, Texas. An exaggeration, really, because as Millie puts it, you can stand on one block in Grand River and spit, hitting an area legally taxed by the City of San Antonio. The main thoroughfare is a speed trap for the unsuspecting, chaning speed limits every few miles which provides most of the income for the small city.

  Trish had moved there four years before with her nowex-husband because she dearly loved the area. The street she lived on had older, huge southern-style homes and acre-size lots. Giant oak trees lined both sides of the street, their strong branches forming a shady arch that was magnificent in the summer, but a royal pain in the spring when the leaves fell.

  Millie lived right across the street and was the first neighbor Trish had met when she'd moved in. Charmed by the older woman's independent personality, they had become fast friends. Millie was stubborn and opinionated, but loyal to a fault. She had proven that when Trish divorced her husband. And Millie was the one who'd introduced Trish to Edna and Joe Radcliff, the wealthiest-and sweetest-couple on the block; they were thoughtful and easygoing, always seeing the positive side of things and more than willing to offer a helping hand where they could.

  Millie and Edna were as close as sisters, even though Millie teased her unmercifully, calling her a Pollyanna. Yes, they were good friends with a lot in common, except when it came to national politics. In fact, the only time Edna ever lost her patience was when Millie would goad her into a discussion about a political issue. But Millie was a troublemaker-a loveable troublemaker, but a troublemaker just the same.

  Millie stirred sugar into her coffee. "So what do you think about your new miracle inches-off contraption?" she asked, nodding toward the living room.

  Trish shrugged. "I don't know yet. But it's not a miracle-off anything. It's still going to take a lot of hard work to get back in shape. The problem is that I'm scared to death of it. I just know I'm going to climb on the blasted thing and end up doing a back flip off it."

  Millie chuckled. "I know what you mean. I got one of those stationary bicycle things a few years back. Thought I was doing great until the pedals started going so darn fast and I couldn't stop it. I must've lost a hundred pounds on that one occasion alone. I sold it at a garage sale the next month. But, hey, at least you're dressed for the part," she said, her lips twisting into a grin.

  Trish looked down at her new exercise outfit the sales lady at Sears had told her was absolutely perfect, right down to the black leg warmers. "What's wrong with my outfit?"

  "Nothing at all i
s wrong with it," Edna said, patting her arm comfortingly.

  "Oh, come on, Edna," Millie scolded. "Trish needs to hear the truth. Do you really want her going out in public like that? You'd be as embarrassed as I would, and don't bother denying it.

  "Trish, dear, you need to wait to wear those shiny leo tards and that elastic belt until you're over the donelap disease."

  "The what?" Edna asked.

  "The donelap disease-you know, it's when your fat `done lapped' over your waistline."

  "Millie!" Edna exclaimed.

  "It's okay, Edna," Trish said hurriedly before a fullscale war broke out. Edna must have missed the twinkle in Millie's eyes. "We know Millie is exaggerating. She doesn't embarrass that easily."

  Millie laughed. "Of course I'm kidding. I know you want to get in shape and have more energy, but you don't have that big a problem. You've been carrying on like you're a two-ton Annie, and you're not. A little firming up here and there," she said pointedly, peering at Trish's butt over the rim of her eyeglasses, "and you'll be in shape in-no-time."-

  "You look just fine, dear," Edna said, slanting her eyes at Millie in warning. "Anyone who is trying to improve their health can wear whatever they please and I'm proud of you."

  "Yeah, I want to look my absolute best when I'm lying in my coffin having died of exercising," Trish said wryly. No one spoke for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was insensitive."

  Millie cleared her throat. "You didn't mean anything by it, honey. It's natural for the living to go on living. We say things that sometimes bring back sad memories, but we're human."

  Edna looked down at her clasped hands. "I sure do miss her," she said softly.

  Trish and Millie both nodded silently. Edna was referring to Susan Wiley, a neighbor down the street who had died two weeks before in a tragic accident. They hadn't seen much of Sam, Susan's husband, since the funeral. He had withdrawn into himself, completely devastated at the loss of his wife of forty years. They knew it was going to take time for him to deal with his grief, but they were concerned about him. All they could do right now was to provide enough prepared meals to help him get through this difficult period.