Brazen Virtue

the streets that were so familiar. But now, living in this quiet suburban neighborhood, she felt the need.
    It was a .32, small and snub-nosed. It looked like it meant business. She’d handled guns before. Research. She’d even spent time on the firing range so she would understand what it felt like when you pulled the trigger. She’d been told she had an excellent eye. Even when she bought it, Grace had serious doubts about whether she could fire one of those neat little bullets into a living thing.
    She tucked it into her nightstand and tried to forget it.
    The morning passed while she served the man from the phone company coffee and kept an eye on the window. She didn’t want Ed to get back before it was a fait accompli . He couldn’t do anything to stop her, of course. It helped to repeat that a few times. Still, Grace watched the window as she sipped coffee and listened to the installer talk about his son’s Little League prowess.
    As she’d told Ed, people always talked to her. Usually within minutes of an acquaintance they were telling her things reserved for family or the closest of friends. It was something she’d always taken in stride, but now, just now, she thought it would be wise to analyze it.
    Did she have that kind of face? Absently Grace ran a hand over her cheek. That might be part of it, she decided, but it probably had more to do with her being a good listener, as Ed had suggested. She often listened with half an ear while she worked out a plot complication or characterization. But because she listened well, half was apparently enough.

    People trusted her. She was going to exploit that now. She was going to harden herself and make Kathleen’s killer trust her. When he trusted her enough, he’d come to her. She moistened her lips and smiled as the installer told her about his son’s phenomenal play at second in his last game. When he came to her, she was going to be ready. She wasn’t going to be taken by surprise like Kathleen and the others.
    She knew exactly what she was doing. Hadn’t she spent most of her life structuring plots? This was the most vital story she’d ever manipulated. She wouldn’t make a mistake.
    She and the installer were on a first-name basis by the time she led him downstairs and through the front door. She wished him luck on his son’s game that afternoon and said she expected to see Junior in the majors in a few years. Alone, she thought of the shiny new phone sitting on the little desk in the corner of her bedroom. In a matter of hours it would ring for the first time. She had a great deal to do before that.
    Making the call to Tess helped. Perhaps the approval hadn’t been without reservations, but Grace had more ammunition now. Satisfied, she picked up her sister’s keys and held them tight in her hand. It was right; she was sure of it. All she had to do was convince everyone else.
    She wasn’t shaking when she drove to the station this time. Her strength was back and with it a determination to finish what she’d started at Fantasy. Out of habit, she turned the radio up loud and let Madonna’s latest pouty number blast through her head. It felt good. She felt good. For the first time in weeks she could really appreciate the full-fledged spring that had burst on Washington.
    The azaleas were in their glory. Yards had violet and scarlet and coral bushes bunched together. Daffodils were beginning to fade as tulips usurped them. Lawns were green and receiving their Saturday trim. She saw young boys in T-shirts and old men in baseball caps pushing mowers. Baby’s breath and Dogwood added fragile white.

    Life renewed. It wasn’t really corny, she thought. She needed badly to hang on to that. Life had to do more than go on, it had to improve. It had to justify itself year after year. If weapons were being tested somewhere in a desert, here the birds were singing and people could worry about the important things: a Little League game, a family barbecue, a spring wedding; those were important things. If Kathleen’s death had brought her grief, it had also brought her the belief that the everyday was what really mattered. Once she had justice, she could accept the ordinary again.
    Pretty suburbs gave way to concrete and testy traffic. Grace swerved around other cars with a natural competitiveness. It didn’t matter that she rarely found herself behind the wheel. Once she was there, she drove with a breezy kind of negligence that had other drivers