she was distracted by a shout.
“Hey! You there, up on the roof!”
The words were carried oddly by the wind, and for a moment none of them knew from which direction the shout had come. Candy opened her eyes and looked around desperately. It took her a few moments, but she finally spotted a figure on the street below. It was a man, dressed in black, standing under a street lamp. He was waving his hands frantically, as if to catch their attention, and shouted again. “What’s going on up there? Is everyone okay?”
Candy knew instantly who it was — Judicious F. P. Bosworth, the town’s sometimes-invisible mystic, who obviously was being seen on this stormy night. She waved back at him, leaning into the side railing and shouting at the top her lungs: “Judicious! Help us!”
“Shut up!” Bertha yelled, turning the gun first toward Judicious, then back to Candy and Maggie. “Shut up!”
“Are you all right?” Judicious called up to them.
Candy jumped up and down frantically. “No! Get help!”
Caught out in the open, and apparently thinking it would be better to get rid of any witnesses first, Bertha swerved, took aim at Judicious, and fired once, twice, just as a car came up Ocean Avenue, its headlights cutting into the darkness. Just before the car reached Judicious, it swerved and bounded up on the sidewalk, its horn blaring... and that’s when Candy saw something she would never forget for the rest of her life.
Maggie, crouched over like a football player, lunged forward with her shoulders lowered. She covered the space between them and Bertha in an instant, tackling Bertha around the waist. They slammed back against the railing on the far side, both of them grunting. The impact knocked the gun from Bertha’s hand. It flew over the side of the widow’s walk and clattered down the roof, falling over the edge into darkness.
Bertha was stunned momentarily but quickly regained her senses. She wrapped her arms around Maggie’s head and squeezed tight. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, kicking and punching.
For a moment Candy was stunned. Maggie? Tackling Bertha? She was sure that hadn’t just happened. She turned to look back down at the street. Judicious had disappeared, but the car door opened and Ben spilled out, looking up at her on the widow’s walk. She waved to him, screamed for help, then looked back at Maggie and Bertha.
They were still fighting, and she realized with a jolt that her friend needed her. She crossed the space in a near dive, landed on her knees beside Bertha, and wrapped her hands around the chairwoman’s thick arms. But rather than being big and flabby, they were strong and muscular. She hadn’t known Bertha had been working out, and was impressed as well as surprised. It was like wrestling with a python, she thought vaguely as she tried to pull Bertha off her friend.
They struggled for a few moments until, temporarily able to free herself, Maggie pulled away. Her hair was a terrible fright, her face red and distorted. Bertha kicked out at her while pushing herself back against Candy, and twisting, she turned her attention from one of her attackers to the other. Her eyes were red with fury as she reached out with thick fingers, wrapping them around Candy’s throat. She hooked her legs around Candy’s, then pushed her back and rolled onto her, pinning her to the floor.
Candy felt the panic rise inside her as Bertha leaned close, breathing into her face. “I waited too long to do this,” she snarled, tightening her fingers. “You’ve meddled in my life for the last time.”
Candy clawed at Bertha’s fingers, trying to break their grasp on her neck, but it seemed an impossible task. She saw spots in her eyes, felt rain pelting her face and fire in her lungs. Panicking, she tried to kick up with her knees, to push Bertha off, but it was like trying to free herself from the grasp of a bear. She felt her air being cut off and let out a raspy breath, her eyes rolling back into her head.
And then she saw another arm move across her face and tighten around Bertha’s neck. Suddenly Bertha was pulled back, off her. Candy sucked in a deep breath. She rolled to her side, rubbing at her throat, trying to get her wind back.
She took several more gulps of air before she looked to see where Bertha had gone. It was Maggie who had saved her, pulling the chairwoman off her. They were involved in a life-and-death struggle now, and Bertha was winning. She was like a cornered creature, inhuman, fighting for its life, trying to lash out at all costs, inflicting what damage it could. The chairwoman punched out with clenched fists, striking Maggie about the face and shoulders, and Maggie, trying to protect herself, could only cover her face with her hands as she curled in on herself and backed up against the wall.
Knowing she had the upper hand, feeling victorious, Bertha rose unsteadily to her feet. She stood glaring down at the two of them. “You’re both pathetic,” she snarled between gasps of breath, her face twisted so that she was nearly unrecognizable. “To think I was worried about you. You have to put up a better fight than that if you want to beat me.”
She looked around for her weapon, apparently unaware that it had gone over the side. When she found it nowhere, she pushed the wet hair back from her forehead, then rubbed her hands together. “Okay, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” She looked from one to the other, then settled on Maggie. “You’re first.”
She stepped quickly to Maggie and lifted her, apparently in an effort to throw her over the side of the building. But Maggie would not go easily. She kicked out at Bertha and flailed at her with her arms, landing a few good punches, which forced Bertha back for a moment. But Bertha would not be denied. She backed away a few steps, then charged at Maggie in an effort to overwhelm her with power and fury.
As Bertha came at her again, Maggie screamed and ducked, her right leg going wide. Bertha stepped on it and lost her balance, just as Maggie came up, trying to throw Bertha off her. Bertha tumbled in the air, her momentum sending her up and over...
Her legs went over the far side of the railing first in an arc as her body dropped heavily. But her arm swung out and she managed to hook the top of the railing with her armpit. She pulled herself back in toward the widow’s walk and bounced, her chin slamming into the railing’s hard stone surface. She almost lost control then and fell back, but her hands flailed about, grabbing two of the rails. She dropped further down as she struggled to hold on. But her fingers were too raw, too cold, and gravity pulled at her. She acted instinctively, self-preservation driving her as she flailed about with one of her hands, reaching through the rails to grab hold of Maggie. She kicked frantically, trying to find a foothold on the slippery roof below her. But the weight of her body was too much for her. Her grip loosened.
Eyes wide and mouth open, she slipped soundlessly over the side. Candy and Maggie heard the thump as her upper body hit the rain-slicked slate roof, then a scraping sound as she slid downward and finally over the edge into the wet, dark night.
Thirty-Eight
The storm blew northeastward overnight, spiraling into the Canadian Maritimes. By ten o’clock Friday morning, when Sapphire Vine was scheduled to be buried at Stone Hill Cemetery, the sun was beginning to break through thin, ragged clouds that reminded Candy of drawn-out balls of raw cotton — all that remained of the fierce storm of the night before.
The ground was still damp, though, squelching under the feet of those who had gathered in this place to pay their last respects. Glassy, shallow puddles that lay scattered across the uneven landscape had to be assiduously avoided unless one wanted well-soaked shoes. More annoying were the few stray drops of cold rainwater that fell without warning on uncovered heads from the glistening summer leaves of maples, elms, and red oaks that inhabited the cemetery grounds.
Standing beside Maggie toward the rear of the crowd, Candy wore a short-sleeve black knit dress and dark gray Birkenstock clogs, which she had thought might be too casual for the occasion but then decided were better than sneakers or her muddy rubber boots. She also had brought along a navy blue raincoat, which she held draped over her folded arms. The day was warming and the worst of the weather was over, so she had decided against wearing it.
Trying not to seem too obvious about it, she glanced first in one direction, then the other, scanning the crowd
