Tomorrow's Vengeance by Marcia Talley

Everything all right over there?’ the orange-sweatered woman wanted to know.
    â€˜Fine!’ I caroled from a prone position in the zinnias.
    â€˜Peachy,’ Lillian replied with a conspirational glance in my direction.
    â€˜Those men?’ Lillian said as I got to my feet, dusted off my red slacks and began to pick cedar chips out of my hair. She bobbed her head, indicating the wall. ‘My eyes are no good, but there’s nothing wrong with my ears.’
    â€˜You heard something interesting, Lillian?’
    â€˜Uh huh.’
    She was making me work for it, and judging by the sly grin lighting her face, Lillian knew it, too.
    â€˜One man said, “I’m going to kill you, you mother fucking son of a bitch.”’
    â€˜Which one?’ I asked, trying hard not to laugh at the poster image of a grandmother standing before me, swearing like a longshoreman.
    She shrugged then smiled beatifically. ‘Dunno, lovey.’
    Which left me wondering whether it really was the graffiti artist who’d threatened to kill Masud. Could it have been the other way around?

EIGHT
    â€˜O Prophet! Tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to draw their cloaks (veils) all over their bodies. That will be better, that they should be known (as free respectable women) so as not to be annoyed.’
    Quran, 33:59
    W hen I met Naddie for lunch in the dining room half an hour later, as hard as it was not to mention the attack on Masud that I’d come within sixty seconds of witnessing, I kept my promise. My head was spinning with thoughts as to who the balaclava man might have been – sadly, there were a few potential suspects. Naddie was an investor in Calvert Colony so she’d find out about the incident eventually, but I owed Masud the courtesy of allowing him to report it to The Powers That Be himself.
    â€˜Who is that?’ I asked, as we tucked into our starters.
    â€˜Who?’ Naddie considered my question over a bowl of
vichyssoise
.
    I pointed with my soup spoon. ‘That guy talking to Raniero, over by the kitchen door. Light brown hair. Blue suit, yellow tie. He looks like a lawyer.’
    She turned her head. ‘Oh, I should introduce you. That’s Tyson Bennett. He’s the executive director of Calvert Colony. A hands-on kind of guy who really seems to care about the residents.’
    Ah ha, I thought. The Powers That Be himself.
    Naddie waved in Tyson’s direction but he was too engrossed in his conversation with the chef to notice. ‘Tyson used to be a lawyer but after he won some sort of long-running, high-profile liability case and got a whopping settlement for his client, he decided to retire from practicing law.’
    I blew on a spoonful of clam chowder to cool it. ‘Must be nice.’
    â€˜Everyone thought Tyson was going into politics,’ Naddie continued, ‘but he disappointed everyone by applying his considerable clout and expertise to community work. After he uncovered Medicare fraud on a massive scale at a national nursing home chain where, basically, the company was giving patients rehab they didn’t need and billing the government for it, he found himself on the board of several hospitals, so when the investors were looking for somebody squeaky clean to run Calvert Colony, his name shot to the top of the list.’
    â€˜I haven’t talked to all the staff, of course, but from what I’ve heard, I really like Tyson’s philosophy.’
    She smiled. ‘We all do. That’s why he’s in charge here.’
    The server had just delivered our sandwiches – tuna melt for me and a BLT for Naddie – when Tyson Bennett made a pit stop at our table. After Naddie introduced me, he said, ‘Ah yes. Mrs Ives. I hear you’re volunteering in the memory unit. Thank you for that.’
    â€˜No secrets around here, then,’ I joked. ‘And please, call me Hannah.’
    â€˜I