disguise.'
He would, Sally thought. In a flash. 'I hope not,' she said. “Do you think I should keep wearing the black wig here?'
'No, I wouldn't worry. You're my niece, nothing more, nothing less. No one watches TV except for Thelma Nettro, who owns the bed-and-breakfast, and she's so old I don't even know if she can see the screen. She can hear, though. I know that for a fact.
'No, don't bother with the wig-and leave those contacts in a drawer. Not to worry. We'll just use your married name. Here you'll be Sally Brainerd.'
'I can't use that name anymore, Amabel.'
'All right then. We'll use your maiden name-Sally St. John. No, don't worry that anyone would ever tie you to your dead papa. Like I said, no one here pays any attention to what goes on outside the town limits. As for anyone else, why no one ever comes here-'
'Except for people who want to eat the World's Greatest Ice Cream. I like the sign out at the junction with that huge chocolate ice cream cone painted on it. You can see it a mile away, and by the time you Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
get to it, your mouth is watering. You painted the sign, didn't-you, Amabel?'
'I sure did. And you're right. People tell us they see that sign and by the time they get to the junction their car just turns toward The Cove. It's Helen Keaton's recipe, handed down from her granny. The ice cream shop used to be the chapel in the front of Ralph Keaton's mortuary. We all decided that since we had Reverend Vorhees's church, we didn't need Ralph's little chapel too.' She paused, looking into a memory, and smiled. 'In the beginning we stored the ice cream in caskets packed full of ice. It took every freezer in every refrigerator in this town to make that much ice.'
'I can't wait to try it. Goodness, I remember when the town wasn't much of anything-back when I came here that one time. Do you remember? I was just a little kid.' 'I remember. You were adorable.' Sally smiled, a very small smile, but it was a beginning. She just shook her head, saying, “I remember this place used to be so ramshackle and down at the heels-no paint on any of the houses, boards hanging off some of the buildings. And there were potholes in the street as deep as I was tall. But now the town looks wonderful, so charming and clean and pristine.'
'Well, you're right. We've had lots of good changes. We all put our heads together, and that's when Helen Keaton spoke up about her granny's ice cream recipe. That Fourth of July-goodness, it will be four years this July- was when we opened the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. I'll never forget how the men all pooh-poohed the idea, said it wouldn't amount to anything. Well, we sure showed them.'
'I'd say so. If the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop is the reason the town's so beautiful now, maybe Helen Keaton should run for president.'
'Maybe so. Would you like a ham sandwich, baby?' A ham sandwich, Sally thought. 'With mayonnaise?
Real mayonnaise, not the fat-free stuff?' 'Real mayonnaise.' 'White bread and not fourteen-vitamin seven- grain whole wheat?'
'Cheap white bread.'
'That sounds wonderful, Amabel. You're sure no one will recognize me?' 'Not a soul.'
They watched a small, very grainy black-and-white TV while Sally ate her sandwich. Within five minutes, the story was on the national news broadcast.
'Former Naval Commander Amory Davidson St. John was buried today at Arlington National Cemetery. His widow, Noelle St. John, was accompanied by her son-in-law, Scott Brainerd, a lawyer who had worked closely with Amory St. John, the senior legal counsel for TransCon International. Her daughter, Susan St. John Brainerd, was not present.
'We go now to Police Commissioner Howard Duz-man, who is working closely with the FBI on this high-profile investigation.'
Amabel didn't know much of anything about Scott Brainerd. She had never met him, had never spoken to him until she had called Noelle and he answered the phone, identified himself, and asked who she was.
And she'd told him. Why not? She'd asked him to have Noelle call her back. But Noelle hadn't called her-not that Amabel had expected her to. If Noelle's life depended on it, well, that would be different.
She would be on the phone like a shot. But she hadn't called her this time. Amabel wondered if Noelle would realize that Sally could be here. Would that make her call? She didn't know. Actually, now it didn't matter.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She reached out her hand and covered her niece's thin fingers with hers. She saw where there had once been a ring, but it was gone now, leaving just a pale white mark in its place. She wondered for just a moment if she should tell Sally that she'd spoken to her husband. No, not yet. Maybe never. Let the girl rest for a while. Hopefully there would be time, but Amabel didn't know. Actually, if she could, she would get rid of Sally this very minute, get her away from here before... No, she wouldn't think about that. She didn't really have a choice.
Everything would work out. Besides, what would it matter if Scott Brainerd did find out his wife was hiding out here? So she said nothing, just held Sally's hand in hers.
'I'm awfully tired, Amabel.'
'I'll bet you are, baby, I'll just bet you are.'
Amabel tucked her in like she was her little girl in the small second bedroom. The room was quiet, so very quiet.
She was asleep within minutes. In a few more minutes she was twisted in the covers, moaning.
There was so much daylight in that room, all of it pouring through the wide windows that gave onto an immaculate lawn stretching a good hundred yards to the edge of a copse of thick oak trees. The two men led her in, shoving her forward, nearly knocking her to her knees. They put their hands on her shoulders, forcing her to sit in front of his desk. He was smiling at her. He didn't say a word until they'd left, quietly closing the door behind
