Maggie Dove Read Free Page A

Borders, had a degree in archeology but worked in a law firm. He posted frequent reviews of books in an online reading community. He liked Updike, hated Rushdie.
    Peter looked at her, tired eyes reflecting nothing but love. “No one liked him, Dove. Don’t fret.”
    “I hoped I held myself to a higher standard,” Maggie said, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore because just then the street erupted into sound. The ambulance came whirring down the street, followed by a police car. Joe Mangione got out, no longer wearing his pizza clothes. Followed by the Lindstrom twins in their green ambulance jackets, and a muscular young woman who Maggie hadn’t seen in a while. Thalia Greenburg? Back from London?
    They got to business immediately. Although they were a volunteer force they saw a lot of action; the town was near one of the more dangerous curves on the Saw Mill Parkway and Maggie knew they’d seen some terrible things.
    Noise bred more noise. Out came the piano teacher, Ellis Cavanaugh, along with his little white dog, Fidelio. Then the lights of the Van Dorne house snapped on, though they didn’t come out. They tended to keep to themselves. One of the Lindstrom twins headed over to the Bender house, Maggie assumed to try to locate the widow. Where was she? Maggie wondered. Where was his family? Surely they were home, yet no one had answered when she yelled. No one came out when there was a circus on the lawn.
    “Hey, Mrs. Dove,” Joe said. “You okay, dear?”
    “I’m okay,” she said. “Thanks for calling it in.”
    “We did install a 911 system a few years ago,” he said. “Just for future reference.”
    “Hopefully I’ll never need it again.”
    “So, what, he came for your tree?” Joe said.
    “I don’t know,” Maggie answered, feeling her cheeks warm, remembering how she’d been down at the police station earlier that day, complaining about this man.
    “You call Campbell?” he asked Peter. He looked angry, but Maggie knew that was just the way he always looked. He was a small man who’d gone to great effort to get an ambulance corps jacket to fit him just right. He was the neatest one there.
    “This is no crime scene. I don’t need to disturb him at the ballet for a heart attack.”
    “Disturb him, Nelson.”
    “Let me get Dove inside. Then I’ll call him.”
    “Don’t bring me into this,” Maggie said. “If you’re supposed to call your boss, do it, Peter.”
    “Pish posh,” he said, pushing her toward her house. “I’ll be right back,” he called to Joe. “Someone find that wife and see what she knows. See if she wants to come out and say goodbye.”
    He propelled Maggie up her porch and into her living room and then went into the kitchen to make her some tea. She felt more tired than she expected. Only now did Maggie realize she had on sweatpants and sneakers. She felt embarrassed. She usually dressed more formally, carefully. When you lived in a small town, there was no privacy. She remembered one afternoon, some months ago, running out to the post office without makeup on. That Sunday, at church, Agnes Jorgenson said she was sorry to hear Maggie’d been ill. Now the whole town would be buzzing about her. She could only imagine what people would have to say, and she, a Sunday School teacher. Even she was appalled at herself.
    “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” Jesus said. One of his most important commandments.
    She sank into her couch. The whole room looked so prim and proper. She imagined Bender standing beside her, looking at it, the white curtains, the little china teacups displayed in her hutch, the doilies that her great-grandmother had tatted. She loved that verb. Rarely came up. The picture of her daughter in a silver frame. Juliet dressed as the Princess Anastasia and Maggie’s husband dressed as Tsar Nicholas. They’d gone trick-or-treating in those costumes for years, even as Maggie stayed home, dressed as Rasputin, and made huge batches of hot dogs. Over