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At a narrow Midtown lot at 1050 Sixth Avenue, construction is moving forward on a slender 24-story residential tower penned by New York's most beloved architect, Gene Kaufman. Rising behind the landmarked Bryant Park Studios Building (aka The Beaux-Arts Building), Kaufman's oft substance-less style will likely stand in sharp contrast to the charming 1901 structure. Skyline Developers, the New York division of Jersey-based Garden Homes Development, are the developers. The Orin Wilf-led firm owns the adjacent art-deco office tower at 1040 Sixth Avenue, and their new venture here will replace two turn-of-the-century walk-up buildings.
Approved plans show there will be a total of 61 residential units and a retail space at ground level. There will be four apartments per floor along levels four through 12, and a variation of two units per floor and full-floor apartments above. The tower will rise 294 feet high, and mid to upper floors will possess superb views of Bryant Park. Higher units will have balconies, and the penthouse residence will have its own private terrace.
Interior renderings posted on Kaufman's website show that the lobby will be decorated with iconic elements<|fim_middle|> its apex, and its lower floors are now being covered in custom made aggregate terrazzo. Asking prices for the units stand at $2,692 per square foot, with now- available one bedrooms starting at $1.96 million and a 30th floor three-bedroom priced at $6.7 million.
Other recent developments include the 43-story Bryant Park Tower where 10 floors of condominium units are pitched above a Marriott Residence Inn Hotel. Over the past year, the seven units sold in the building have closed at an average price of $1,624 per square foot. Its seven units now on the market are priced at an average of $1,703 per square foot and range from an $825,000 studio to a $1.895 million two-bedroom.
Be the first to see future listings at 1050 Sixth Avenue at CityRealty. | of the surrounding area. Bathrooms will be sheathed in marble, and kitchens will boast a typical modern and clean aesthetic.
Construction continues forward on the David Chipperfield-designed condominium, The Bryant.
The area near the southern edge of Bryant Park, along the boundary of the Garment District and Times Square, has received a fair amount of development over the past decade, most of which has been chiefly commercial hotels and offices. The largest recent project is Hines' 28-story office tower named 7 Bryant Park. The building was recently purchased by the Bank of China who will lease out 60% of the space to other tenants.
On the residential end, HFZ Capital Group's 32-story condominium The Bryant is nearing | 149 |
Crazy Jerseys: Come buy your Crazy Jersey during lunch at the Bruin. Only $25 Today and Friday!
Little Mermaid Tickets: Tickets for the musical, The Little Mermaid, are $5 in the financial office and $7 at the door.
Bruin Strong T-shirts: Hey Bruins!<|fim_middle|> movie. We will also be enjoying yummy snacks and talk about Italy. Come and have fun with friends, eating an watching a movie. | We will be selling Bruin Strong T-shirts everyday during lunch. We will donate the money we earn from them to the families of the injured students from Tuesday. Please come down to the Bruin during lunch an buy a T-shirt to show our support for these amazing families. They will be sold for $7.
Library: If you're a Harry Potter fan, come visit the library this month! We gave a number of different activities and contests leading up to the new "Fantastic Beasts and Where t Find Them" movie. There's scavenger hunts, trivia, and more! You're competing individually and with your Hogwarts House! Muggles are welcome as well.
Travel Club: Travel Club is having a movie party on Tuesday November 22, from 2:30-4:00. We will be watching a fun | 171 |
RichardHorsman.com
Made a career swimming against the tide in Radio and Higher Education. Maverick. Passionate skills trainer.
Mediaskills Training
What a Journalist Isn't
I'm sick and tired of the abuse journalists are getting at the moment. They don't deserve it, at least real journalists don't - ...
I'm sick and tired of the abuse journalists are getting at the moment. They don't deserve it, at least real journalists don't - but that's the problem.
The title has become devalued, muddy, imprecise because basically anyone with a keyboard and a wifi connection can call themselves a journalist. Is it any wonder the punters have become confused?
Rather than trying to define what a journalist is, it's probably more useful to start by making clear what a journalist isn't.
A controversialist is not a journalist. This is the biggest issue at the moment. Reporting is expensive. Chasing fire engines, or going to the press bench of a Court, costs money and isn't very sexy. Local reporting has been cut back to the bone, and with the endless pages of the infinet to fill it's much easier to employ an egotist with an opinion (real or feigned) and a reasonable grasp of writing.
Get them to say something outrageous, and watch those social media notifications spike.
Journalists don't have opinions. Actually, of course, they do; but a professional leaves those opinions at home when reporting and does the best time and resources allow in relaying a wide range of opinions in the most effective way they can. Making an interviewee sound good, even if their opinion is very different from your own, is one of the most satisfying aspects of the job. When you've actually met and interviewed the person, of course, because ...
Journalists don't cut and paste. A news release is a tip off that a story exists, not a story in itself. The most interesting quotes come from interviewing around the release, not simply repurposing the content of a pre-prepared statement.
Just try speaking the quote in the release aloud. Chances are that particular sequence of words could never be uttered by an animate human being, ever. Too many "quotes" have been drafted, revised, amended, approved by a committee and finally given a gloss by a publicist. On which point ...
Journalists are not employed to speak on behalf of organisations .. especially in the public sector. A lot of hacked-off former hacks have ended up as PRs for councils, police and other public bodies, effectively writing the same stories they always have, but then syndicating them for the actual media outlets to cut and paste, as in the par above.
It's possible to argue that there is a public benefit in a well written version of the story originating from the original source, if the reality of the marketplace is that it's going to be recycled without scrutiny anyway. The difficulty comes when such "comms professionals" become defensive or obstructive when external journalists try to probe beyond the statement, query assertions or try to get to question the actual decision makers directly.
I have<|fim_middle|> the questions their listener, viewer or reader would want to know the answer to. That's the end of it.
A journalist is tenacious in probing for answers, but is never tedious by way of haranguing an interviewee. Trust the audience; the punters are a lot more intelligent than we often give them credit for, a lying bore or a charlatan will come over as such if questioned directly and politely.
Tomorrow morning, a few hundred tired souls across the UK will haul themselves out of bed before dawn to deliver the best possible breakfast radio news they can, serving communities the length and breadth of the UK. They're not well paid. I'd challenge you to name more than a handful, they're not famous.
They do it because it matters. Local journalism matters in all its guises, but it's swamped and drowned out by the noise of the controversialists.
Wake up. They're not journalists, whatever they call themselves. Remember that.
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After spending my early working days as a producer and journalist at Pennine Radio I ended up as News Editor at the time the station evolved into The Pulse of West Yorkshire.
I'm also proud to have helped more than 400 broadcast journalists enter the profession over the past 23 years with the innovative Postgraduate course I helped establish at Leeds Trinity University. It was a particular honour to receive the BJTC's Special Recognition Award for services to Journalism and Broadcast Training in November 2017.
I'm also one of just three BBC 'Developing Talent' Achievement Award recipients. I've served on the Accreditation Board of the Broadcast Journalism Training Council and I've been a judge four times for the BBC Gillard Awards.
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All thoughts are my own and do not represent the views of any employer. Please share nicely. Picture Window theme. Powered by Blogger. | a simple rule in training journalists. I tell them they are an insignificant worker ant in the edifice of news, and their job is to minimise their own personality in their reporting. I ban the word "I" from copy, except in direct quotes. No-one cares what you think.
The job of a reporter is to hold power to account by asking | 71 |
Canyons Radio is the new pet project of the COC Media Entertainment Arts department. During the course of writing a story about this project I became the story.
The idea was conceived during the summer of 2016 by the newly formed MEA Premiere Club. The idea was to create a place for the students to gain some work experience.
I learned about the project from Jon Amador, my instructor. What started as a simple interview for the Cougar News, quickly spiraled into an opportunity for myself to make a difference.
I learned that the station was a new bold initiative that needed help. It was and is a fledgling looking for its wings.
This was when I hopped on board, initially to help with hosting shows but later to assist making this something permanent.
I learned that we did not have a direction to go. We had a goal but we did not have the plan on how to get there.
We sat down and figured out plans for the future and what we would need to do.
We created a roster, developed permanent show plans and figured<|fim_middle|> this is the first time its tried too.
Here is where the nightmare comes for Canyons Radio. The decision had to be made as to whether Canyon Radio should break away from the MEA Premiere Club and become its own nonprofit organization? If so, how? Or does it stay the course and figure out a new way to make it all work out?
Only time and a lot of work on this reporter's end will tell. | out how to work with COC to find sponsors.
Coming up with a roster was first and eventually, after much trial and error, our template was complete.
Show plans and scripting was next on the list.
They are Film Reel, College of the Canyons Talk, We The Few, Tech Talk, Gaming Greatness, Late Night Talk and Skumcast.
Realizing that this isn't enough to complete a day let alone a week, the decision was made to add Radio Drama's.
The long-term goal is to have students write scripts to be aired, however until that is accomplished there are dramas that were created in the 1920's that are no longer copyright protected that we will be using.
Campy and corny these dramas will add a breath of fresh air to a rather dull day.
Here is where the station hits its ultimate nemesis, the law.
The question of legality comes into play for the fledgling station, how do you take in money as an extension of a club.
The answer is there is no answer, this is a first for COC. COC is not the first junior college to host a radio station but, at the very least, | 243 |
Jonny Hayes shares his memories of Aberdeen 2014 League Cup run and says younger players can handle huge Hampden occasion
Hayes was a part of the last Dons team to lift a trophy back in 2014 when they defeated Inverness on penalties, and has recalled his memories of that cup run
Anthony EvansTrainee Live Sports Writer
Jonny Hayes with the 2014 League Cup after the Dons beat Inverness at Celtic Park (Image: PA)
Jonny Hayes has looked back on Aberdeen's successful League Cup campaign in the 2013/14 season, and says that the squad's younger players will fully embrace the occasion on the big stage at Hampden in Sunday's semi final clash against Rangers.
Jim Goodwin's side are gearing up for their first appearance at the national stadium in over two years, with the club aiming to reach a domestic final for the first time since 2018.
Hayes was on the opposite team on that occasion, and was an unused sub as his Celtic team narrowly defeated the Dons 1-0 at Hampden to take him the trophy.
He had swapped Pittodrie for Parkhead in the summer of 2017, and went on six trophies with Celtic, before returning to the Granite City in 2020.
But Hayes picked up the first major silverware of his career in his first spell with Aberdeen, where he helped Derek McInnes' men lift the 2014 League Cup.
READ MORE: Aberdeen icon Stewart McKimmie urges Jim Goodwin to throw off the shackles and take the game to Rangers in Hampden semi final showdown
In the showpiece final at Celtic Park, the Dons overcame Inverness on penalties, although unfortunately for winger Hayes,<|fim_middle|> Sunday."
Despite coming into the latter stages of his career, Hayes says he is still learning about the game, and reckons Aberdeen's young squad have what it takes to handle the immense pressure that will be on their shoulders at Hampden.
Asked about the importance of the senior players in the squad going into the game on Sunday, he responded: "I'm not sure about that. I'm 35 and still learning. The only way to really learn is when you make a mistake and the coach or a teammate highlights it in a positive way.
"We are quite a young team with Jack Mackenzie, Connor Barron, Leighton Clarkson and Jayden Richardson and so on. They are starting to learn from experience rather than just from the training pitch. The old cliché is people want experience from playing in those occasions and learning from them.
"Sometimes a young team will see a big occasion, have no fear of it and they embrace it and perform really well. That's what we're looking for next weekend."
Aberdeen loanee Dean Campbell scores last gasp winner in Stevenage FA Cup shock at Aston Villa
Former Dons star Calvin Ramsey shown controversial red card in Liverpool U23s defeat to Spurs
Aberdeen new boy Patrik Myslovic given glowing review by ex teammate and urges Slovakian to grasp opportunity
Aberdeen's win over St Johnstone in pictures as a brace from Duk secures morale boosting victory
Aberdeen player ratings as Duk at the double in victory over St Johnstone
Jim Goodwin
Pittodrie Stadium
Aberdeen FCAberdeen's January transfer window round-up as six new faces arrive whilst Anthony Stewart and Vicente Besuijen depart on loan dealsThe Dons have made big changes to their squad in the window with six new additions, with three players heading out the exit door on loan deals for the remainder of the season
Dave Cormack requests minute applause for 90-year-old Dons fan
The applause is in honour of Dave's cousin, Uncle Kenny Courage Kenny had been supporting the Reds for over eight decades and attended the 1947 Scottish Cup final against Hibs.
Aberdeen v St Mirren: referee, TV channel and live stream as Barry Robson takes charge
Interim boss Barry Robson will look to steady the ship at Pittodrie on Wednesday night as the Dons gear up for their first game following the sacking of Jim Goodwin.
Aberdeen next manager latest as Dave Cormack draws up shortlist with Pittodrie board planning patient search
Dave Cormack
The Dons are searching for fourth manager in two years after Jim Goodwin's 11-month tenure was brought to an end following heavy defeats to Hearts and Hibs and their shock Scottish Cup exit.
Aberdeen FCAberdeen side to face St Mirren as Barry Robson hands out two debutsThe former Dons midfielder has been placed in charge temporarily once again, and will be desperate to get Aberdeen back to winning ways tonight against St Mirren at Pittodrie | his contribution in the game was only short, as he had to be replaced after picking up a shoulder injury just six minutes into the match.
However the Irishman has particularly fond memories of the Reds run to the final that season, and shared a funny story about the dramatic penalty victory in the second around against lower league side Alloa Athletic.
Speaking in a Q&A for the official Red Matchday programme, he said: "I enjoyed the run to the final, if not the final itself. We could have got knocked out against Alloa. I got clattered on the head and woke up later to the good news that we had gone through.
"Unfortunately, the bad news was that Mark Reynolds had scored the winner with a top corner penalty, and he's never let me forget about it!"
Lewis Ferguson recalls Hampden winner against Rangers and calls on Dons to have 'positive mindset' in Sunday's semi final
Striker Scott Vernon then netted a hat trick in the 5-0 victory at Falkirk in the next round, but it was the performance of two young players that really impressed Hayes. "Against Falkrik we were excellent", he added. "Cammy Smith and Nicky Low were excellent that night."
Aberdeen then defeated Motherwell at Fir Park to reach the semi final against St Johnstone at Tynecastle in Edinburgh, with Hampden being prepared for the Commonwealth Games later that year. The Dons ran out 4-0 winners to reach their first cup final since the Scottish Cup in 2000.
Hayes said: "The Motherwell game was one of my favourite memories in an Aberdeen shirt. And then in the semi-final at Tynecastle, the atmosphere was incredible, and I scored a couple."
Hayes scored a brace as Aberdeen smashed St Johnstone 4-0 in front of an electric Red Army at Tynecastle that night (Image: PA)
The veteran Irish winger has won four League Cups in total during his career, and whilst he admits the medals don't mean that much to him, there is one that he holds dear to his heart. He added: I've got four winner's medals, although in 2017/18 I played in all the rounds and then I was the 19th man for the final against Motherwell - I got a medal though!
"The first win was with Aberdeen in 2014, then I was on the bench for Celtic against Aberdeen in 2018/19 and played against Rangers in 2019/20. I'm not one for sentimental stuff, so the medals themselves aren't really that important to me, it's winning that matters.
"When I got the medals, they were normally straight around my son Jackson's neck. Then when my daughter Charlotte got a bit older, she wanted them as well!! They're definitely in their toy room somewhere. The most cherished one is the Aberdeen medal. I have looked after that one!"
Join our Aberdeen FC Facebook group for all the latest Dons news
Although he won major silverware playing for Celtic at the national stadium, Hayes suffered cup final heart break twice at Hampden while playing for Aberdeen, losing both the League Cup and the Scottish Cup to his future side Celtic in the 2016/17 campaign.
And whilst the Irishman doesn't think the structure of Hampden allows for an electric atmosphere, he admits that you feel the importance of the occasion as soon as you enter the stadium.
He said: "Hampden is a ground where I've enjoyed some successes and I've had some tough defeats. When it's full and when it's a big occasion it's a good ground, but for me, as somebody that enjoys the atmospheres of football matches, I don't think the layout of the stadium and how far away the fans are from the pitch lends itself to having a top atmosphere.
"I've enjoyed some good games there and had one or two terrible games, so it's a mixed bag of feelings when I go to Hampden. But there's no getting away from the fact that whenever you go there, it's a big occasion.
"You go into the bigger changing rooms, it always has a sense of being a big occasion, regardless of the fixture. I'm really looking forward to next | 882 |
Multi-Thematic
Interactions and Gameplay Mechanics
Narrative and Dialogue in Games
Multimodality in Gaming
Serious Games and Games-Based Learning
Games that Change Behaviour
Cultural and Social Interactions
Multi-Institutional
The University of Waterloo
Multi-Modal
Theme 1, Interactions and Gameplay Mechanics, considers how game systems interact with the player experience and effect immersion. Traditionally, gameplay mechanics have consisted of 2D display systems and hand-held controllers. Late 20th century games up to the present reflect a move toward more experimental game mechanic designs. Developers have been integrating more complex systems, experimenting with delivery devices, smart tables, distributed or shared displays, 3D, and S3D experiences to enhance interactions. Research in Theme 1 explores the influences that these technologies have on player experience—how it shapes gameplay, encourages new modes of interaction, and contributes to immersion.
Questions explored in theme one speculate about these technologies in relation to the player experience:
How do new interfaces, technologies or interaction devices influence the player's experience? What modes of interaction do different game technologies afford, and how do these change the player's experience?
Research in Interaction and Gameplay Mechanics was coordinated by Dr. Jacques Carette, the leader of the Gaming Scalability Environment (G-ScalE)<|fim_middle|> Conference - IEEE-GEM 2015, pp. 1-8.
IMMERSe - The Research Network for Video Game Immersion
© 2023 Immerse The Research Network for Videogame Immersion | Powered by Beaver Builder | lab at McMaster University. Dr. Carette led a research team in a series of projects related to the impact of game interfaces and platforms – known as the "delivery device" – of various game types. Researchers in this theme looked at emerging devices and techniques like smart tables, shared displays, and 2D and 3D/3SD game experiences.
A seminal work of Theme 1 is Drachen, Mirza-Babaei, and Nacke's book "Games User Research." Written and edited by members of the Games User Research Special Interest Group, this book provides an in-depth look at the science of understanding and analyzing game user experience. Readers gain insight into different approaches for optimizing and testing player experience in games and learn the specific considerations and requirements for conducting game user research. The authors outline various research methodologies for conducting Games User Research and outline benefits and downfalls of each based on specific use cases (Drachen et al. 1-11).
In regards to immersion, games user research was previously understudied. IMMERSe research in theme 1 addressed this gap in the literature with many studies that look at nuances of interactions between games and players. For example, it is well known that players often seek out games for an immersive experience, but IMMERSe research went further and explored how design elements of games contribute to the overall experience, and what the potential implications are for social interaction, learning, addiction, sales, and the overall play experience.
In their paper "Diagetic vs. Non-Diagetic Game Displays," IMMERSe researchers Margaree Peacocke, Robert J. Teather, and Jacques Carette, examined the concept of player immersion within the context of first person shooter games—a genre of video game that positions the player as a shooter in a proportional world-map to give them an immersive, personal experience. The authors developed a study that would measure the effect of communication systems in FPS video games, including representations of the player health-bar, ammunition count, or current weapon. They looked at how these communications systems differed when they were diagetic – meaning the communications appeared to be directly in the game world – compared to when they were non-diagetic – conversely, when they were apart from the game world such as when they existed in the heads up display bar (Peacocke et al). The results of the study were realized in a follow up paper "Evaluating the Effectiveness of HUD and Diagetic Ammo Displays in First Person Shooter Games." Participants were asked to play a first person shooter game developed for the purposes of the study that used either diagetic or non-diagetic game displays. The results of the study suggested that players performed better and were more immersed when playing a game with diagetic game-displays (Peacocke et al. 8).
Although this topic fits well within the domains of games user research, there are many aspects of game mechanics and player interaction that benefit from research in the humanities. For instance, in Jennifer Whitson's essay "Foucault's Fitbit: Governance and Gamification" she takes a more philosophical approach to the study of games. In her text, Whitson looks at Fitbit in relation to Foucault, examining the complications of a game in which the subject of surveillance (and of gamification) is the player themselves. Through feedback mechanisms such as leaderboards, damage meters, and point systems, Whitson contends that gamification systems like "Fitbit" create a structure that allows users to willingly govern and regulate themselves in the pursuit of self-improvement. She contends that there is an inherent tension in uniting play and governance in this way, as games are built upon a precedent for player autonomy: to push against and reshape the boundaries they encounter (Whitson 339-358).
Whitson, Jennifer. "Foucault's Fitbit: Governance and Gamification." The Gameful World—Approaches, Issues, Applications, edited by Steffen Walz and Sebastian Detarding, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2014, pp. 339-358.
Drachen, Anders, et al. "Introduction to Games User Research." Games User Research, Oxford University Press, 2018, pp. 1-11.
Peacocke, Margaree, et al. Diagetic vs. Non-Diagetic Game Displays. McMaster University.
Peacocke, Margaree, et al. "Evaluating the Effectiveness of HUDs and Diegetic Ammo Displays in First-person Shooter Games." Proceedings of the 7th IEEE Consumer Electronics Society Games, Entertainment, Media | 952 |
Plaza Premium: Catering To The Millennial Traveller
CHANGING PERCEPTIONS
Logistics Doesn't Have to be 'Boring'
The challenging nature of the logistics industry means it's hard to attract and retain talent, especially the younger workforce. But Datuk Michael Tio of PKT Logistics has perfected a formula to making logistics an attractive career choice, by first, keeping employees' work-life balance in check.
Logistics has a reputation for its dirty, grimy and dangerous working environment where workers do low skill and back breaking job.<|fim_middle|>ANI and AWANI Review.
Follow @cynthiaawani
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Copyright © 2018 Astro Awani Network Sdn. Bhd. All rights reserved. | It is not an attractive career choice, particularly for the young - a problem recognised by homegrown logistics provider PKT Logistics that found it difficult to hire and retain talent.
"We have an acute shortage of talent in the market because the industry is deemed to be very boring, dirty and hot. It's not a very sexy title to hold," says Datuk Michael Tio, Chief Executive and Managing Director of PKT Logistics.
Tio has set out to change the weak perception on the logistics industry by first, raising the standards of facilities, and work culture at PKT Logistics. He started by introducing 'cool' workplaces where employees can relax, enjoy the corporate facilities like gym, spa, gaming room, while feeling at home.
Malaysia should be the next ASEAN logistics hub but in order to do so, we need to change a lot of things. We want to change first
"We decided to build iconic buildings and concept warehouses," says Tio. "It's like walking into a Google office." PKT's One Logistics Hub development in Shah Alam comprises three nautical-themed buildings called The Ship, The Waves and The Lighthouse - a homage to the company's history as trading house, founded by Tio's father in Port Klang.
Tio is committed to building environmentally friendly warehouses. The Lighthouse, equipped with LED lighting, solar panels and rainwater harvesting, is certified under the Green Building Index as a Gold Standard Warehouse. "We want to play a role to transform the logistics industry in Malaysia. Malaysia should be the next ASEAN logistics hub but in order to do so, we need to change a lot of things. We want to change first," says Tio.
"So when our competitors want to build another warehouse, they will want to benchmark against PKT."
To attract young talent, PKT Logistics also offers flexible working hours to help keep employees' work-life balance in check. According to Tio, the company puts health as the company's core culture, proposed by his 1000-strong workforce. "We decided that 'healthy lifestyle at work' would be our first culture in the company. I made big investments towards that direction by setting up gyms at every office."
"The gyms overlooks the best view and have nice changing rooms. That shows how serious we are in taking care of their health," says Tio.
Employees are encouraged to use the gymnasium at any time of the day. "Once your work is finished, you can go to the gym or anywhere - you don't have to pretend to be at work. We want to create a happy working environment, and a flexible one. We have two working hours. You can start at either 8:30am or 9.30am." PKT has many incentives in place to encourage a healthy workforce. For instance, employees who clock in 12 hours of a month in the gym are eligible for a day off on Saturday.
"Students who come here for tours are impressed," says Tio. "They end up following us on Facebook." Tio has one million followers on Facebook while PKT Logistics, over 300,000.
"We tell them about our office culture, our growth and how cool our warehouses are. So, when they graduate, they would want to work for us. Our corporate story travels by word of mouth," says Tio. "Even our pantries have fun concepts!" Unique themes like Lake Agnes Teahouse, Kirawira Tea Tent and Taku Glacier Lodge are inspired by the company's annual management trip, another corporate perk offered by PKT Logistics.
PKT Logistics is also looking to transform the transport industry by making trucking a professional career option through its Smart Trucker programme. 'We employ graduates to become truck drivers where they make RM4000 to RM6000 a month, for four years." At the end of the duration, the graduates would be promoted to an executive position. The main objective of this program is to transform the transport industry by promoting graduates as truck and prime mover drivers.
We employ graduates to become truck drivers where they make RM4000 to RM6000 a month, for four years
Tio took over PKT Logistics from his father Datuk Tio Sook Keo in 1996. Since then, PKT Logistics has undergone transformation programmes as the company targets to hit RM1 billion revenue by 2020.
One of its key vision in the transformation programme is Wawasan 60:40, aimed at capturing revenue ratio between automotive (60%) and non-automotive (40%) segment. Non-automotive is primarily being driven by fast-moving consumer goods (FMCG), food and beverage (F&B), e-commerce, renewable energy and education sectors. PKT Logistics owns Peninsula College.
Meanwhile, the Wawasan ASEAN 30 vision is aimed at obtaining revenue contribution from automotive logistics of 30% by countries outside Malaysia. PKT Logistics has presence in South Korea, Taiwan, India and in most ASEAN countries. In February 2019, the group signed a service agreement with Japan's Daiso Industries to operate the latter's regional distribution centre in Port Klang.
Tio says the company is still mulling to list on the local-bourse but stopped short of giving a time frame.
Cynthia Ng
Cynthia Ng is anchor and news editor at Astro AW | 1,115 |
The more years pass the more of a wonder it is that some of your friends never grow old. Unfortunately, they're the ones that died young.
That collection of<|fim_middle|> police raid on the deOccupy Honolulu encampment in the beginning and background, layered in some music and mixed it to final.
limp by . . .
And even that's not the end. Hamasaki plans that these recordings will serve as soundtracks for phase two of The Westlake Project: 27 movies/videos for "Down on the sidewalk in Waikiki."
Some people never grow old. Some people never die. | poetry, Westlake Poems, was published by the University of Hawaii Press in 2008, after Hamasaki mounted a fundraising effort (and most excellent party) at ThirtyNineHotel. No grant apps, no nonprofit blah blah, just a bunch of people putting funds together to accomplish something worthy.
And that's not the end of the story. Chris King of St. Louis (Poetry Scores), and UH-Hilo art professor Michael D. Marshall initiated The Westlake Project. Phase one of the project calls for the recording of 27 of Westlake's poems. Hamasaki invited poets, singers, and musicians from around the world to each record record one or more of the 27 poems from Westlake's "Down on the Sidewalk in Waikiki." Among those responding were people who were friends, people who didn't know him, people who were born only after Westlake was dead.
The line up for the recording is really mind boggling: Hawaii artists like Imaikalani Kalahele step up to the mic on several poems, Augusto Alcalde from Argentina, Teresia Teaiwa from Aotearoa, Sia Figiel from Samoa, Wendell Ing from the Big Island of Hawaii, Jazz musician Fred Ho of New York, and many more.
The recording is complete and The Wayne Kaumualii Westlake Project is ready for mastering and digital release. In an effort to create physical artifactuality (I just made that word up), Hamasaki is making a limited number of CDs and for that there is another fund raising effort in place. He hopes to raise a modest $1,250 on Indiegogo for that purpose. There are various perks for contributors: $20 gets a complete CD mailed to you; $150 gets an original print by artist Mark Hamasaki. You can check out the Indiegogo project here, and you can read all 27 poems at the red flea blog.
I helped on one track myself and the process was interesting. Hamasaki recorded poet Sia Figiel of Samoa in a room at the University of Hawaii during one of her visits here. He gave me the recording which wasn't a dry recitation, but a very impassioned song a capella. I put some ambient sounds recorded during a | 475 |
HomeKangana Ranaut<|fim_middle|>aranaut)
On the work front, Kangana Ranaut's upcoming project is Thalaivi, which is based on the life of the late chief minister of Tamil Nadu Jayalalithaa. She is currently shooting the last schedule of the film. Her next film is Tejas in which she is portraying the cop character. Even she has bagged the Dhaakad film which will be released next year.
Also Read: Deepika Padukone Wishes Kartik Aaryan On His Birthday With A Tricky Message.
Also Read: Vedhika's Sensuous Pictures Raising Heat As She Is Chilling On The Beaches Of The Maldives.
Also Read: Taapsee Pannu Working On Tracks As She Preparing For Rashmi Rocket.
Bollywood Kangana Ranaut | Kangana Ranaut Says "Her Nephew Asked Not To Leave Him" Penned A Emotional Note.
Kangana Ranaut Says "Her Nephew Asked Not To Leave Him" Penned A Emotional Note.
Kangana Ranaut is currently busy in the shooting of her upcoming trilingual film Thalaivi. The shooting is going on in Hyderabad. Recently, Kangana shared pictures from the sets in which she was practising for the action sequence. However, before joining the shooting Kangana has attained the brother's wedding in her hometown Manali.
On the occasion of Bhai Dooj, Kangana Ranaut shared the picture of her Nephew Prithivi. Now again, Kangana Ranaut shares an adorable picture of her with Nephew in which she is giving the kiss to him. She captioned this picture remembering the moments in which his nephew asked Kangana to don't go for the shoot. She wrote a heartwarming note as "When we left for the shoot, he said don't go, I insisted I need to work, he looked thoughtful and immediately sat in my lap and said smilingly....ok you go but let me sit with you for two mins.... still get tears thinking about his face ❤️".
A post shared by Kangana Ranaut (@kangan | 268 |
The District of Columbia Council adopted an emergency act entitled the Nationwide Mortgage Licensing System Conformity Emergency Act of 2014 (the "Act")<|fim_middle|> those statutory provisions and laws.
"Conference of State Bank Supervisors" or "CSBS" means the professional association of state officials responsible for chartering, regulating, and supervising state-chartered commercial and savings banks and state-licensed branches and agencies of foreign banks.
"Nationwide Mortgage Licensing System and Registry" or "NMLS" means a mortgage licensing system developed and maintained by the Conference of State Bank Supervisors, the American Association of Residential Mortgage Regulators, or their successors for the licensing and registration of persons engaged in the state-regulated financial service industries.
"State Regulatory Registry, LLC" or "SRR" means the entity which owns and operates the NMLS, or its successors.
"Unique identifier" means a number or other identifier assigned by protocols established by the NMLS.
Each licensee and registrant under the Banking Code must register with, and maintain, a valid unique identifier issued by the NMLS.
An application must be filed on a form prescribed by the Commissioner, including all information required by the Commissioner as set forth by statute or regulation.
For purposes of participating in the NMLS, the Commissioner is authorized to waive or modify in whole or by part any statutory or regulatory requirements for applications in any provision of the Banking Code, and to establish new requirements as are reasonably necessary to participate in NMLS.
The Commissioner may use the NMLS as an agent for requesting information from, and distributing information to, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Department of Justice, any governmental agency, or any source as directed by the Commissioner.
Contract with a third party, including the SRR, the CSBS, or their affiliates or subsidiaries, to perform any functions, including the collection of licensing, registration, and processing fees, collection of contact information and other identifying information, fingerprints, written consent to a criminal background check, personal history and experience, and conduct of examinations-related activities covered under the Banking Code, that the Commissioner may consider appropriate.
A license or registration issued under this law will expire on a date to be determined by the Commissioner. A license or registration may thereafter be renewed for one-year term extensions.
Submits to the Commissioner a renewal application on the form that the Commissioner requires.
When filing an application, each applicant must pay the applicable fees prescribed by the Commissioner and any third-party fees. Any fees paid in connection with the processing of an application will be non-refundable.
The Commissioner may, from time to time, increase or decrease the fees set forth in this section. The fees will be fixed at such rates, and computed on such bases and in such manner as may, in the judgment of the Commissioner, be necessary to defray the approximate costs of carrying out the regulatory functions set forth in the Act and the Banking Code. These fees may not be abated or refunded by surrender, suspension, cancellation, or revocation of a registration.
The Commissioner will regularly report violations of the Banking Code, as well as enforcement actions and other relevant information, to the NMLS. The reports will be subject to the confidentiality provisions previously indicated.
The Commissioner will establish a process whereby applicants, licensees, and registrants may challenge information entered into the NMLS by the Commissioner.
The Commissioner may issue rules to implement the provisions of the Act.
The Act will remain in effect for no longer than 90 days, as provided for emergency acts of the Council of the District of Columbia.
In our March 28, 2014 memorandum, we discussed the Department's emergency amendments to its rules governing foreclosure mediation. The Department has finalized those rules, adopting the regulations without change from the emergency implementation. | and pertaining to standardized licensing through the Nationwide Mortgage Licensing System ("NMLS"), effective July 10, 2014. This emergency act expires on October 8, 2014. The District of Columbia Department of Insurance, Securities and Banking ("Department") also finalized rules governing foreclosure mediation effective June 27, 2014.
"Commissioner" means the Commissioner of the Department of Insurance, Securities, and Banking.
"Applicant" means a person filing an initial or renewal application for licensure or registration under the Banking Code.
"Application" means an initial or renewal application for licensure or registration under the Banking Code processed through the Department or its designee such as the NMLS or any other person or third party prescribed by the Commissioner.
"Banking Code" means the statutory provisions concerning banking and financial institutions which are codified in Title 26 of the District of Columbia Official Code, laws administered by the Commissioner, and rules and regulations promulgated under | 203 |
People that make it a point to have the best vacation period possible often find that the greatest option to consider can be found in Florida's very own South Beach area. Not only is South Beach a fabulous beach resort destination, it is also the perfect place for people who want to experience luxury at its finest.
Also dubbed as SoBe, the South Beach area is a neighborhood city located in Miami Beach in Florida that offers people with an excellent range of options which cover just about everything from high-rise home spaces to extensive beaches that allow people to immerse themselves in the beauty of Florida, and everything in-between, including sports, entertainment, and even nightlife options.
Being surrounded by so much brilliance, South Beach is the type of place that needs to be experienced in full. But just as much as being able to indulge in the outdoors is important to being able to make the most of your experience, it is also important to be able to find the<|fim_middle|> is for you to do is find out for yourself.
Of course, there is more to the W South Beach than just the fact that they will ensure that anyone and everyone that steps in as a resident or as a guest will be given exactly what they seek to achieve in the area. Get in touch with a real estate agent in the area if you would like to find out more about the W South Beach and the options that are available to you today! | perfect place to call home while you are in the city, and that is where the W South Beach steps in to serve you with the best of their features and services.
The W South Beach is premier waterfront oasis set amidst the famous beaches of the area. It doubles as a residential condo community as well as a hotel establishment; both of which are delivered with truly remarkable excellence.
Speaking of delivery, it is worth mentioning that one of the most controversial aspects that people can look forward to in the event that they decide to stay at the W South Beach building is the "whatever whenever" approach that the establishment takes on when it comes to providing people with what they need. And when it comes to living up to this degree of service, the W South Beach is dead serious because if you want something, you can count on being able to get it no matter what time of day it may be. If you aren't fully convinced, then the only thing there | 190 |
Tragedy in Arizona
I don't have much to say about what happened this weekend other than the obvious: it's a tragedy, and I hope we are making adequate provision to care for victims who may now face decades of disability. But as to the rest--we still don't know why he did it. Many of the people who rushed to blame this on their political opponents made themselves look like first class jerks, an impression that was not improved when we got more information, and they doubled down rather than simply admit that they had perhaps jumped to conclusions.
At this writing, it seems as though the violent rhetoric this guy was listening to came from the voices in his head, not the radio or cable TV. There is no evidence that his ideas were significantly influenced by anyone, left or right, or that saying mean things about Giffords made his fixations worse; we're talking about someone whose main grievance seems to have been that she wouldn't address his concerns about<|fim_middle|> course. But it's far from clear that this knowledge would let us do what we want, which is to prevent this sort of thing from happening again. We are not going to prophylactically lock people up, and there is no "seems a little, well, off" list to which we can add people we don't want to have guns. Even extended magazine bans wouldn't have done much good, as he was carrying lots of spares. As I understand it, he was essentially stopped because one of his spare magazines malfunctioned, something which may be more likely to happen on larger capacity magazines. Anyone who practices a little can swap magazines faster than others can notice and decide to tackle them.
Blame is a way of simulating control: if we can just identify who was at fault, we can stop it. The problem is, when we can't identify any very plausible target, we too readily go after implausible ones: Freemasons poisoning the wells, or Federal Reserve bankers plotting to monetize the national debt. At worst, this tendency is dangerous, corrosive; at best, it leads us to make unproductive policy choices.
A terrible thing happened. We live in a universe in which terrible things happen. That's no one's fault--or maybe, everyone's fault. Either way, I don't see much in the way of solutions coming out of this--only terrible, terrible sadness. | a conspiracy to control the grammar of American Standard English.
This never looked much like an assassination, which usually targets a single politician, not nine-year-old girls who happen to be standing near them. And after reading his ramblings, it's pretty clear that he was some kind of crazy, and that his community turned away from his craziness rather than trying to intervene. But even that judgement may be premature. And anyway, it's not enough to say that he was crazy--even paranoid schizophrenia does not elevate the risk of violent behavior by that much. Most mentally ill people do not attack other people.
I'm not sure why it is so necessary that we identify a culprit in all of this. What good does it do us to know that he is, say, a paranoid schizophrenic? It may matter in his sentencing, of | 167 |
Day 1 Yangon Arrival Welcome pickup and half day city tour to visit the magnificent Shwedagon Pagoda and Sule Pagoda..
Day 3 Golden Rock - Bago - Yangon Visit local markets and Shwe Maw Daw pagoda, the biggest and tallest Pagoda in Southern Myanmar..
Day 5 Bagan - Mount Popa-Bagan Drive to Mt. Popa, the extinguished million-year-old volcano. Also Popa is the abode of Myanmar Nats, the Spirits worshipped by some weak Buddhists.
Day 6 Bagan-Mandalay-Amarapura-Mandalay Trip to U Bein Bridge believed to be the longest wooden bridge in the world that spans Taung Thaman Lake. Take a walk on the bridge and enjoy a photo opp..
Day 10 Inle Lake-Indein-Inle Lake Full-day Sight-seeings of Inle Lake, start with a morning 5-day traditional market at a village on the lake, then visit the Phaung Daw Oo pagoda which is the Holiest Religious Stupa ..
Day 11 Inle-Heho-Thandwe-Ngapali Beach Enjoy Ngapali Beach, the most beautiful beach in Myanmar. White Sand and Clear Water are the attributes of Ngapali..
Day 12/13 Ngapali Beach - Free and easy Free for beach and personal activities at one of the most beautiful beach of the World.
Day 15 Yangon departure Yangon airport transfer for departure flight.
Arrive in Yangon where you will be welcomed by your local tour guide and transferred to your hotel to drop off you luggage. In the afternoon, a walk through "downtown" Yangon, a diverse mix of faded colonial architecture from the British times, and high-rises built by more recent investors; Sule Pagoda, built in the early 3rd century is a landmark in the city centre. Late afternoon visit the magnificent Shwedagon Pagoda of Rudyard Kipling fame and one of Myanmar's most sacred places. The massive bell shaped stupa is plated with gold and the tip of the stupa is set with diamonds and rubies, sapphires and topaz - a stunning sight as the sun sets and a most fitting place to begin our<|fim_middle|> in the process of drying fish, and so on! Your hotel can arrange short-time boat trip to nearby lonely island visit. A-few-hour Snorkelling Trips can be arranged with your hotel for those who like to have a look at the sea creatures and underwater weeds at the nearby lagoons.
End of Leisure at the beach. After breakfast, the car from your hotel will transfer you back to the Thandwe Airport for the flight back to Yangon. If the time permits, you can visit National Museum with the last Royal Lion Throne which was sent back by Lord Mt. Batten after Myanmar got her independence from British Imperialist in the year 1948, the Royal Regalia, Paintings of the best Artists from pre and post-independence era. | trip in this "Golden Land". Overnight in Yangon.
After breakfast, drive to Kinpun Base Camp via Bago, approx; 4 hours. Bago was once the ancient Mon Kingdom as well as the seat of second Myanmar Dynasty. On the way, you can stop and visit Htauk Kyant Allied War Cemetery, the biggest war cemetery in the country maintained by the Commomwealth War Grave Commission.
After Bago, you will reach Kyaik Hto, the junction town to go up the Golden Rock. Upon arrival at Kin Pun Base Camp, transfer by open-truck up to Hermit Hill. From there, walk about one hour to reach the Golden Rock. The trekking from Hermit Hill to the top is not very difficult cheering with Myanmar pilgrims on the way, encouraging each other.
After check-in at the hotel, walk to Golden Rock. Enjoy the marvel of the situation of the Rock and view the evening activities of many Myanmar Buddhist pilgrims. After sunset on the Golden Rock, walk back to your hotel.
After breakfast, walk down to Hermit Hill and by open truck transfer to Kin Pun Base Camp. From there, drive to Kyaik Hto. You can visit Kyaik Hto Morning market where you can see a lot of local foods, seasonal fruits and vegetables, fish and prawns. Walk around in the market and take pictures. Talk to the vendors who are very friendly and not accustomed to the visits of foreigners. Then, proceed to Bago. On the way you may stop from time to time to take the photo opportunities at some villages.
Upon arrival at Bago, visit Shwe Maw Daw pagoda, the biggest and tallest Pagoda in Southern Myanmar, Bago Central Market, Shwe Thar Lyaung(Reclining Buddha) which dates back to centuries and which has the astounding history of its recovery from the bushes, and finally on the way to Yangon, visit the Kyaik Pun pagoda with four Giant Buddhas sitting in back-to-back position. Then drive on to Yangon. Upon arrival, transfer to your hotel for check-in.
In the early morning, transfer to the Yangon airport for the flight to Bagan (Picnic breakfast can be arranged from your hotel!). Hundreds of Ancient Stupas, Temples, Monestaries, Libraries and Buddhist Universities welcome you to the then Heart of Buddhism. On arrival, drive to a temple to have a glimpse of Bird's eye view tasting a bit of its marvel. Then you may visit Nyaung U morning market which is known as Market On The Floor with a variety of local vegetables and products such as typical snacks, food, Handicrafts, Thanakha the most adorned Burmese Make-up, and so on. Then, visit the most sacred stupa Shwe Zi Gon built in 11 Century by the most outstanding Buddhist King, Anawrahta, Gu Byauk Gyi Temple to see the mural from 12 Century, the massive red-colored Htilominlo Temple, and lastly before check-in at the hotel, visit most beautiful Ananda Temple built in late 11 Century housing giant Standing Buddhas which give the viewers illusion of Smiling-or-Serious facial expression of the Enlightened One.
In the afternoon, a visit to famous Lacquer Wares Workshop is worth enough to see its hand-made black products that come in a variety of household items from the smallest one of tea-cup to the Giant Sun Oak, the food container to be sent to the Buddhist monasteries in the yester years. Then, drive to the jetty of Mighty Ayeyawaddy river to enjoy sunset by boat.
After breakfast, mount a bicycle touring around in the monument zone taking the snap-shots here and there among the ruined temples occasionally climbing some climbable pagodas to have the different panoramic views. Meet with local Sand Paintings sellers, Lacquered Items hawkers, etc and learn the local culture.
In the afternoon, drive to Mt. Popa(approx) one and a half hour, the extinguished million-year-old volcano. Also Popa is the abode of Myanmar Nats, the Spirits worshipped by some weak Buddhists. No wonder that the poor mind may seek the shelter under which one can feel certain of high-yield harvest, safe life. The name Popa represents the abundance of flowers and you can see seasonal flowers and fruits once you enter the small town at the foot of the extinct volcano. On the way to Mt. Popa, you may stop at a palm tree collection workshop to see the ways of living of AnyarThar people. Visit central Nat Shrine at the foothill of Mt. Popa. Going up 777 steps is optional but the view from the top makes tired-feet quite relaxing. Mount Popa houses not only Nats but also Asian monkeys along its steps uphill. Feeding the poor Gibson, Baboon costs not much money and you may gain some merits to add a step towards Nirvana. In the afternoon, drive back to Bagan.
After breakfast, drive to Bagan(Nyaung U Airport) for the flight to Mandalay, the last Capital City of the 3rd Myanmar Dynasty. On arrival at Mandalay International Airport, drive to Amarapura aka the Southern City, the ancient Royal Capital before Mandalay. In Amarapura, visit one of the biggest monasteries with more than 1200 Buddhist monks where under the strict tight-scheduled Rules the monks study very hard the Buddhist Canons day and night in order to be able to carry on the Budda's teachings verbally like the Noble Theras did after the Buddha's demise in the 6th Century B.C. Then visit the Silk-Weaving workshop. Here, Amarapura hand-weaving silk Designs are very famous as Lun Yar Kyaw Cheik, More-than-hundred Loom Design, in which many small colorful silk thread looms wave through the weft creating the unique Myanmar Ceremonial silk longyis. Depending on the designs, to finish a longyi with a hundred or so looms, it can take at least a month! Then drive to U Bein Bridge believed to be the longest wooden bridge in the world that spans Taung Thaman Lake. Take a walk on the bridge and enjoy a photo opp!
Then drive to Mandalay, upon arrival check-in at the hotel and take a rest for a while. In the afternoon, visit Kuthodaw Pagoda which is known as the world biggest book of the world, Golden Palace Monastery where you can see the best wood-carvings. The monastery was at first in the Palace City wall and 5 years before the British Annexation, it was dismantled and reassembled to the present site to be donated to the venerable monks. The Golden Palace so called because the interior and exterior surfaces of wood structure have been gilt with millions of Gold Leaves that are fabricated in Mandalay. Finally, go up Mandalay Hill to enjoy the panoramic view of the city with sunset.
After breakfast, drive to Kywe Sun Jetty on the western bank of River Ayeyawaddy. Walk a little along the bank for photos. Then, take a private boat to visit a small village of Mingun. Visit Migun Stupa unfinished due to the mysterious beliefs of its builder. Then, visit Mingun Bell weighing over 90 Metric Tons that is believed to be the world heaviest hanging bell in the world. Just in front is the very first Home for The Aged founded purely by a Burmese Lady. Meeting with the long-term nurse who speaks fair English at the Center of Old Age pays a lot. Finally visit Mya Thein Dan Pagoda which represents famous Mt. Meru according to Buddhist Cosmology. Getting on Mingun Taxis, that is, the Oxen-drawn Carts makes a visit to Minguy memorable! After that, take the boat back to Mandalay.
In the afternoon, visit Mahamuni Buddha Image situated on the outskirts of Mandalay City highly venerated and adored by Mandalay Citizens. The Image is believed to have been here from Arakan State, another Kingdom in 18th Century situated at Western Coastal Line as a war trophy. As if all the gold leaves beaten in Mandalay came upon the image, Gold leaves offered by the worshippers form the lumps on the robe of Buddha. Then visit the Handicrafts Workshops such as Gold Leaf Beating, Stone Carvings, Bronze Casting, Marionette and Wood Carvings and so on. Mandalay having built as new Royal Capital City, the king gave plots for the Arts and Craftsmanship around the Palace City and so Mandalay has become the center of all of Myanmar Traditional Handicrafts.
After breakfast, transfer to Mandalay International Airport for the flight to Heho, Shan State. Upon arrival at Heho airport, drive to Kalaw (approx 1 and a hlaf) on the way stop at Aung Ban, stop at a local Market selling typical foods, wines, traditional handcrafts, and you may try Shan Noodles there at one of Myanmar Traditional Teashops. Besides those items, the small street market has Myanmar Orchids Selling stalls and fruits. Shan Dried Tea there is the best of Myanmar. Then, continue to Kalaw, a British Hill Station, a small town with ethnic minorities, such as Pa-O, Palaung, besides the Shan People. In the town, you can still feel the colonial atmosphere with the colonial buildings and the houses with the chimney indicate the weather of the lovely town which is over 1300 meters above sea-level.
After check-in at the hotel, in the afternoon drive to the west of the town where you start your half-day Trekking to Palaung village of Pain Hgne Pin. Before, this tribal minority used to live in Wooden long houses for a big family. And now with the growing wealth on farming they demolished their typical long houses and use cement and Adobe bricks to construct the houses and for the roofing, corrugated iron instead of thatch grass. Visit a household in the village and your local trekking guide will introduce you to the tribe. In the afternoon, walk back to another meeting point where you will see your car and then transfer back to your hotel.
After breakfast, drive to Pindaya(approx; 2 hours), a small peaceful town situated at the base of Shan Mountains and the end of very fertail plains. On the way to Pindaya from Aung Ban is really picturesque and you can make many stops for photographing and introducing to the local farmers working in their fields cultivating a variety of crops such as Sesame, Cabbage, Coliflower, Mustard Oil, Wheat and so on besides the perennial orchards like Mandarin Oranges and Tea. Upon arrival visit Paper Umbrella Cottage industry where you can see the Shan Paper production, Process of Umbrella Making only by hands. Then, drive up to Pindaya Lime-stone Natural Caves with more than 8000 Buddha Images. Get lost yourself in the cave taking pictures of most beautiful Shan Style Buddhas.
In the afternoon, drive to Nyaung Shwe (approx; 3 hours) another Shan town bordering famous Inle Lake on the northern end. On the way, you can visit Shwe Yan Pyay monastery built mainly of teak wood in 1882 and it's pagoda with colorful mosaics decorated on the interior walls around the central pagoda constructed 2 years before its adjacent monastery. Then continue to Nyaung Shwe where you embark on the long boat to reach your hotel at Inle Lake.
Full-day Sight-seeings of Inle Lake, start with a morning 5-day traditional market at a village on the lake or on the shore of the lake. Here at Inle Lake, the markets come on 5-day basis. Besides the Inthars, some tribal ladies such as Pa-O, Pa Laung can also be seen at the market selling their farm produce and afterwards they go back to their villages on the mountain with the purchase of what they need for the household. The market is a photo opportunity for you. Then visit the Phaung Daw Oo pagoda which is the Holiest Religious Stupa housing 5 buddha images, Silk Weaving village (lotus fabrics weaving technique can also be seen unique only in here!), Blacksmith, Cheroot or Myanmar Cigar factory, the nature of Inthars, Lake Residents with their Floating Gardens and finally visit the Jumping Cat monastery which is the oldest one with antique Shan-style Buddhas and Buddhas' alters. Enjoy the cat show at the monastery.
In the afternoon, continue by boat to Indein Ruined Pagoda Complex along a small river that sustains Inle Lake by flowing into it. Passing the Large green Myanmar Bamboo forests on the way, you will reach the Ruined Indein pagodas that stand on the hill slope providing a panoramic view to the lake.
After breakfast, transfer by boat to Nyaung Shwe. Then from there by car to Heho airport for the flight to Thandwe airport, at Ngapali Beach, the most beautiful beach in Myanmar. White Sand and Clear Water are the attributes of Ngapali in addition to the fresh sea-foods and little amount of Tourist Visit compare to the other beaches in South East Asia. Ngapali beach is believed to be discovered firstly by the Italians who worked for the British Government during the colonial era and the beach seemed to them so fascinating that they gave the name, Napoli, and the time passed and now it is called Ngapali. Enjoy the first-day sunset at the beach.
You are free for personal activities here. You can relax at the beach enjoying the sea-foods to your heart content or grasp a bicycle to explore nearby fishing villages along the motorway to a little far end of the beach line introducing you yourself to the very friendly natives. Sometimes, you may enjoy Serendipity such as taking part in pulling the fishing nets together with the cheerful fishermen, seeing how they prepare | 2,907 |
Kevin J. Walsh Way (Staten Island)
Location:Intersection of Midland Avenue and North Railroad Avenue
Honoree: Kevin J. Walsh (1951-2011) established Walsh Electrical Contracting in 1976. He helped churches, schools and non-profit groups including Habitat for Humanity and Homes for Heroes, for which he donated materials and labor to build a house for a quadriplegic veteran of the Iraq War.
Marie Walsh Corner (Brooklyn)
Location:Southwest corner of 84th Street and 7th Avenue.
Honoree: Marie Dinu Walsh (1934-1994) was a civic leader in the Bay Ridge-Dyker Heights area, active on issues such as public safety, education, and libraries. She served as president of the Dyker Heights Civic Association. She was also a charter member of the Kings County Conservative Party and later a member and treasurer of the Edmund Sterrace Republican Club. From 1968 to 1993 she was a member of the NYC Health Systems Agency. She died in 1994 in the<|fim_middle|>uestros Ninos. She organized and participated in street clean-ups and rent strikes to call attention to tenants' rights. She founded the Immigration Program of the Southside Community Mission, which was recognized by the Federal Board of Immigration and Appeals of the U.S. Department of Justice, and provided legal counseling and assistance yearly to thousands of immigrants going through the legalization process throughout the City. She also assisted Central Americans during the 1980s by providing training sessions and workshops so that people could benefit from the Amnesty Program established in 1986. (Reynoso and Levin) | home at 936 84th Street where she had been born and lived her entire life.
Police Officer Francis X. Walsh Street (Manhattan)
Present name:W 171st St
Location:Between Amsterdam and Audubon Avenues.
Honoree: Francis X. Walsh (1932-1951), a Korean War veteran, was Boxing Champion of the Mediterranean Fleet in his weight category. He joined the NYPD in 1957 and was assigned to the 34th Precinct. On September 4, 1961, he surprised a gunman who was attempting to rob a grocery store He was shot several times and died of his wounds.
Robert "Pudgie" Walsh Way (Brooklyn)
Location:At the intersection of East 36th Street and Avenue P
Honoree: Robert "Pudgie" Walsh died at 82 in 2016. After serving in the U.S Navy, he began a career with the New York City Fire Department, rising to the rank of Lieutenant. After his retirement from the FDNY in 1996, he became a full-time coach of the semi-pro Brooklyn Mariners football team. With 621 wins over 60 seasons, he won more games than any college or pro football coach in America. He was also one of the founders of the FDNY's own football team, the Bravest, in 1972. The Bravest is a semi-pro football team, made up of FDNY members, whose games raises money for various charities. (Williams)
Sister Peggy Walsh Way (Brooklyn)
Location:Northeast corner of Hewes St. and Marcy Ave.
Honoree: Sister Peggy Walsh (1934-2019) joined the Sisters of St. Joseph in 1952 and in 1959 began teaching at Transfiguration Parish. She taught 7th and 8th grade there for the next 60 years. She managed the summer program for recreation, education and spiritual growth and also helped establish an after-school program and community daycare center called N | 452 |
Experience inspires the Cleveland Blue Raiders
By Chole Sanchez Last updated Aug 7<|fim_middle|> threw four touchdowns without practicing. So it's like he's just a natural QB. "
The Blue Raiders are hoping for their first win record since 2017.
Thomas: "Nobody believes in us. We are the team that nobody believes in. We have been bad for years. But I'm not going to say nothing, just know that we will be that team next year. I tell you, we will be that team. "
Announcer: "Now watch 30 teams in 30 days at 11 am on the news 12. brought to you from the food city. ">
Previous articleBraves match longest winning streak of the season after beating Washington 8-4 Rick Nyman grew up in Anniston, Alabama and attended the University of Alabama. His television career began at WJSU-TV in Anniston, where he had the opportunity to cover SEC football with Alabama and Auburn. Anniston is only 20 minutes from Talladega Speedway, so NASCAR has been a big part of its sports coverage. Because of this, he was able to interview Davey Allison, Dale Earnhardt, Jeff Gordon, and several other well-known NASCAR drivers. Rick's next television job was in Savannah, Georgia, covering basketball player Kwame Brown (now with the Washington Wizards) who would later become the first high school player to be selected as a top pick on the NBA draft. He covered the annual swing of the PGA Tour through Hilton Head and also had the opportunity to cover the performance of the Atlanta Falcons Super Bowl in Miami in 1999. Rick particularly enjoys the atmosphere, tradition, and drama of college football. He also likes to portray sports personalities and learn what drives them on and off the pitch. When he's not reporting on sports, he watches Seinfield or David Letterman, plays golf, reads, or exercises. What he likes about Chattanooga is the people's passion for the sport. The mountainous region of Chattanooga reminds him of his hometown Anniston, which also has large, beautiful trees and lots of hills. You can contact Rick at [email protected]
Which athletes with Cincinnati ties collected medals?
The BLU-tique Hotel in Akron is postponing the opening | , 2021
Cleveland ended last season with a 5-6 record after a tough first-round playoff loss. But now that the Blue Raiders are bringing back a bunch of veterans, that is getting their juices flowing.
Cleveland enjoys the 30-in-30 treatment.
Reporter: "How many seniors do you have this year?"
Said, running back, Tetoe Boyd: "We have a lot. The majority of the team consists of seniors. We're all really coming back, so we're all used to everything. "
And when you have so much experience, how can you not feel safe?
Recipient Destun Thomas said, "Honestly, that means we don't lose. We don't lose. We're going to go. This is meant."
Quarterback Drew Lambert said, "A lot of leadership is coming back. Almost all of our attacks are back from last year, so that's good. "
Head coach Marty Wheeler said: "Now the guys understand a lot better what we want to achieve. I think the execution will likely be ahead of schedule a year ago for sure. "
Quarterback execution should be better as Drew Lambert played a lot last year.
Wheeler: "From a player's point of view, our team really believes in Drew. You have a lot of self-confidence and so do our trainers. "
Thomas: "Drew came in when he had barely practiced QB. He would do QB in practice, but he wasn't really a QB. So he came in the first game and | 315 |
An intelligence engine is a type of enterprise information management that combines business rule management, predictive, and prescriptive analytics to form a unified information access platform that provides real-time intelligence through search technologies, dashboards and/or existing business infrastructure. Intelligence Engines are process and/or business problem specific, resulting in industry and/or function-specific marketing trademarks associated with them. They can be differentiated from enterprise resource planning (ERP) software in that intelligence engines include organization-level business rules and proactive decision management functionality.
History
The first intelligence engine application appears to have been introduced in 2001 by Sonus Networks, Inc. in their patent US6961334 B1. Applied to the field of telecommunications systems, the intelligence engine was composed of a database queried by a data distributor layer, received by a<|fim_middle|> context data at different stages of the business process with business process outcomes to be presented to end users.
LogRhythm Inc. advanced the concept in 2010 by adding event managers to the end of the intelligence engine's process to determine reporting, remediation and other outcomes.
In 2016, professional service company KPMG continued to advance the concept by commercializing intelligence engines with the introduction of Third Party Intelligence, which is differentiated from past intelligence engines in its increased use of embedded intellectual property, diversity of global data inputs and focus on predictive analytics to mitigate risk and yield cost savings.
Traits
As a system that combines human intelligence, data inputs, automated decision-making and unified information access, intelligence engines are an advancement in business intelligence tools because they:
integrate structured data and unstructured content in a single index
provide advanced workflow automation that can trigger multiple business processes
project future impact of data such as supply chain threats
recommend best actions / highlight opportunities for process improvement
leverage business intelligence from a variety of experts
combine human expertise with the power of technology to deliver actionable intelligence
scale data visualization capabilities with the number of users
Applications
Attivio Active Intelligence Engine
KPMG Spectrum Intelligence Engine(s)
Salesforce Service Cloud Intelligence Engine
FireEye Threat Intelligence Engine
Factiva Intelligence Engine
Parasoft Process Intelligence Engine
See also
Business intelligence (BI)
Business intelligence tools
Business rule management system
Data mining
Data science
Decision management
Enterprise information management
Predictive analytics
Prescriptive analytics
References
Data management
Information management
Big data
Business terms
Business intelligence
Information systems | telephony management layer and acted upon by a facility management command & control layer. This combined standalone business intelligence tools like a data warehouse, reporting and querying software and a decision support system.
The concept was reinforced in 2002 in patent application US20030236689 A1 which applied predictive quantitative models to data and used rules to correlate | 76 |
Football: Middletown South defense sets tone against Howell
The Middletown South defense was relentless on Friday night.
Football: Middletown South defense sets tone against Howell The Middletown South defense was relentless on Friday night. Check out this story on app.com: https://on.app.com/1LmXDA2
Sherlon Christie, @sherlonapp Published 11:20 p.m. ET Oct. 9, 2015 | Updated 12:33 p.m. ET Oct. 10, 2015
It was the Cole Rogers show in the first half for Middletown South. IPHONE VIDEO BY SHERLON CHRISTIE
NFL footballs sit on the sidelines before an NFL football game between the New York Jets and the Chicago Bears, Monday, Sept. 22, 20<|fim_middle|> A North victory.
The Middletown South defense finished with three sacks, three interceptions and one fumble recovery against two Howell quarterbacks.
Football: Middletown South vs Howell boxscore
Meanwhile, the offense was clicking in every way imaginable
Senior running back Cole Rogers had 15 carries for 201 yards and he scored rushing touchdowns of five and 10 yards in the first half. His second rushing touchdown pushed Middletown South's lead to 34-0. Rogers finished with 15 carries for 201 yards for the Eagles (5-0, 3-0).
Lights go out at Rumson, but not before dominating Long Branch
Junior running back James McCarthy only had two carries in the game but he made them count big time. His first carry was good for an 11-yard touchdown with 16.8 left in the second quarter which gave Middletown South a 40-0 lead. His second carry was for nine yards and it came with 9:39 left in the fourth quarter and it pushed Middletown South's lead to 47-0.
Senior quarterback Cole Rogers went 4-for-8 for 86 yards and had two touchdowns passes. He connected with senior Tom Marron for a 12-yard strike with 6:28 left in the first quarter. Then he connected with senior Tom Coffey for a 40-yard score with 11:53 left in the second quarter.
The Eagles have now scored 40 or more points in five straight games this season. Overall, the Eagles have outscored their opponents 221 to 35 in five games this season.
Howell (2-3, 1-3) has now lost three games in a row. The Rebels defense did block an extra point attempt byMosquera late in the second quarter.
Red Zone Road Show: Long Branch vs. Rumson-Fair Haven
KEY PLAY: It was the opening kickoff. Junior defensive back/wide receiver Jeff Lewandowski took the opening kickoff 83 yards in 14 seconds to give the Eagles a 7-0 lead even before the offense took the field for the first time.
OFFENSIVE GAME BALL: Senior running back Cole Rogers had 15 carries for 201 yards and scored two touchdowns to lead the Middletown South offense.
DEFENSIVE GAME BALL: The entire Middletown South defense as the Eagles had three sacks, three interceptions and one fumble recovery.
UP NEXT: Middletown South hosts Manalapan on Oct. 16 and Howell hosts Middletown North on Oct. 16
Sherlon Christie: schristie@gannettnj.com
Download our apps & get alerts for local news, weather, traffic, more. Search "Asbury Park Press" in app store or use these links on your device: iPhone app | Android app | iPad app. Subscribe for full access. Follow us on Facebook | 14, in East Rutherford, N.J. (AP Photo/Julio Cortez)(Photo: Julio Cortez, AP)
MIDDLETOWN - The Middletown South defense was relentless on Friday night.
The Eagles held Howell to only 82 yards of offense in the first half (147 yards for the game) while they scored touchdowns with regularity in a 47-0 Class | 86 |
3Doodler Partners with Office Depot for Launch of Juku 3D Printing Pen and STEAM Activity Kits
May 30, 2019 by Sarah Saunders 3D PrintingEducation
In February, New York-based technology company 3Doodler introduced a mobile app and several new activity kits for its extremely popular 3D printing pens. This week, the Kickstarter darling company announced something new – the 3Doodler Juku pen. The<|fim_middle|>, having been shipped a sample unit for review. I'm excited to put this product through its paces, so keep posted for my future review of the Juku.
Discuss this story and other 3D printing topics at 3DPrintBoard.com or share your thoughts in the Facebook comments below.
[Source/Images: 3Doodler]
Tagged with: 3D printing educational • 3d printing pen • 3doodler • 3doodler 3d printing pen • coding • collaboration • Juku • Office Depot • Office Max • OfficeMax • programming • Scratch • STEAM | company has partnered with Office Depot, and this collaboration includes the launch of the Juku as part of an exclusive new STEAM educational kit series, which are now available for purchase in Office Depot and OfficeMax stores.
"3Doodler has cultivated a market for handheld 3D printing products that make this exciting new technology accessible for everybody. This partnership will introduce Office Depot customers to the magic of 3D printing pens and their infinite creative possibilities through Juku," stated Nicole Lord, Senior Director, Private Brand Growth for Office Depot, Inc.
3Doodler was interested in partnering with Office Depot because it's one of North America's largest education retailers, with many years of experience in direct sales of educational products to schools, their districts, teachers, and students. The company's position in the education sector aligns with 3Doodler's goal of expanding the use of its products into the classroom.
Over 8,000 classrooms across North America already use 3Doodler products, and by partnering with the popular educational supplier, even more school districts will have access through their existing relationships with Office Depot.
3Doodler's CEO Daniel Cowen said, "Office Depot's access to and passion for the education market is something that made a partnership extremely attractive to us. As we strive to inspire and enable everyone to create with the 3Doodler, Office Depot offered a truly unique relationship which we're excited to build upon in the coming years."
While 3Doodler has been focused on STEM and STEAM education for quite some time, its new collaboration with Office Depot is the company's first partnership that's focused on EDU products.
The 3Doodler-specific Juku pen kit, which includes two packages of PLA filament, retails for $74.99 and is available to purchase online and at one of Office Depot's over 2,000 stores; class pack discounts are available on bulk orders to the company's Business Solutions Division educational customers. The new 3D printing pen, designed for users ages 12 and up, is not dissimilar to the design of last year's Create+ pen, with the ability to draw in ABS, Flexy, and PLA plastic and dual drive functionality. In addition, the Juku is also compatible with wood filaments from 3Doodler.
Three other Juku-branded activity kits make up Office Depot's new educational series. The Juku STEAM Making Music Coding Kit teaches users to build their own instruments, and includes cables so the pen can be connected to the computer, where Scratch programming language can be used to create unique melodies.
The Juku STEAM Light Games Coding Kit uses Scratch programming language so users can make their own games and bring them to life, while the Juku STEAM LED Light Show Coding Kit teaches users how to code LED lights in order to perform various effects and animations.
This summer, Office Depot will display its new Juku line at several of the top educational conferences, including PTA and ISTE. In addition, I just so happen to have the 3Doodler Juku 3D printing pen in my possession | 644 |
Teach Fetch to Your Dog!
Playing fetch with your fellow companion is a gift for both the dog and for you. They get the exercise they need, while they also spend some precious time with their master. On the other hand, you can relax and play a bit with your pet. This is a true gift for all dog lovers!
In this article, you can find some tips on how to teach your dog to play fetch, I hope you will find them useful.
Does Your Dog Have a Natural Instinct for It?
First, you should explore whether your pup has the natural inborn ability to play fetch or not. Some breeds have a natural instinct, while some others have no intention to do this. Retrievers and herding dogs especially have the instinct to fetch almost anything they see. Breeding through the decades brought this ability to them. Meanwhile, others that have no innate ability can be taught.
Choose his favorite toy, it doesn't matter if it is a ball or a plush toy.
While inside the house, where are less distractions, try to get their interest by waving and tossing the toy in front of them, and then toss it away not too far from you.
Then, say "Fetch!" Now examine: What does the dog do?
Get a ball (a tennis ball will be the best) and cut a slit into it (3-4 cm will do).
Put a few, smelly treats into the hole. Choose his favorite treat, if it is possible.
Now show the ball to him. If he sniffs it, then praise them with a treat.
Try to catch his interest. If you got it, continue to step two.
Now, put the ball down, and try to have your dog to pick it up.
Show the ball several times and have him sniff it if needed. Also give some treats to praise him for this.
If he finally picks the ball up, then continue to step three.
Toss the toy away. If he does nothing, you must go and get the toy, and try to have your dog get there as well.
If he is next to you, praise him. Then toss the ball again. Do this several times, until he picks up the toy alone.
Use peanut butter and smear the toy if it is needed to get the dog's interest. Praise them after that of course. Now continue to step four.
If your dog now has the toy in their mouth but never brings it back, you must toss the ball and say "Fetch!"
If he does nothing, then pick the ball up<|fim_middle|> family dog stayed in Hungary with my parents - sadly, he passed away in January, he was 13 years old), but I am unable to imagine my life/my future without animals around myself. I love my sweethearts like they were my children.
I am happy I was able to share my knowledge in this hub :).
I am a devoted dog owner and lover. My dog is a miniature schnauzer and loves to play fetch. I didn't teach her, she just loves her tennis ball. I have a Shih Tzu who only wants to play with her bone: NO ball.
I voted this Hub UP and will share.
This is quite interesting hub on dogs. | and do this again. Try to have him go with you to the toy. Hand it over to the, and after they grab it, praise them with a treat.
Do this a few times until the dog goes for the ball and picks it up, then call them back to you and give a treat.
Toss the ball further each time after that. If he does it, try to leave with giving them a treat every time.
Praise them, but only give a treat for the second time, then for the third time, then for the fourth time they bring it back.
Your dog is now able to play fetch! Now continue to step five.
Congrats, your dog is a genius; they know how to play fetch!
Move outdoors and have them play there as well. If the dog is distracted, then quickly run through the upper steps with him. Now, enjoy playing fetch outdoors as well!
I'm sure that later you can completely forget about giving treats for your dog during the play, because they will soon realize that playing fetch with their master is a great fun!
Please feel free to comment on this article, your feedback is very much appreciated!
Was this guide useful for you?
The info was very nice, it is wonderful when others who know what works and share.
According to the late Dr Leon F Whitney, DVM, teaching a dog to play fetch is probably the most creative thing you can do with him. He also states that for dogs, retrieving is the best exercise of all, and that 15 minutes of retrieving is better exercise than hours of strolling around the neighborhood on leash.
What an awesome job! I love the way you listed the steps as what to do if and when. What a cute photo of that puppy. AWWWW!
Thank you a lot for sharing :).
At the moment I 'only' have two cats (our | 380 |
Israel, The Church and Spiritual Harlotry.
on to what is good.
The scriptures that Paul was speaking of were the Hebrew Scriptures or what the 'Church' commonly refers to as the 'Old Testament'. With that in mind let us review our history.
Gen 10:6 The sons of Ham were Cush, Mizraim, Put and Canann.
Genesis 10:8-9 Cush begot Nimrod; he began to be a mighty hunter before the Lord. And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, Erech, Accad and Calnech, in the land of Shinar.
This shouldn't be viewed of as being mythological. Archaeological discoveries over the past 200 years specifically have confirmed the existence of such cities. A fantastic book to read on this subject is Dr Werner Keller's 'The Bible as history' if you are interested. What the Bible doesn't go on to reveal is that Cush married a woman, more commonly known as Semiramis – This according to Dr. Herman Hoesh's 'Compendium of World History' and supported by the British Museum in London. Indeed, the mass of archaeological evidence supports the existence of the cities mentioned above and also the celebration of both Nimrod and Semiramis within both Sumerian cultures and the occultic religions they bore. Following the death of Cush, it is recorded that Nimrod married his own mother Semiramis. He became a god-man to the people while Semiramis, his wife and mother, became a powerful queen of ancient Babylon.
Genesis 11:2 And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Sinar, and they dwelt there.
1 Thessalonians 5:21 but test everything that is said. Hold on to what is good.
As we have previously seen in Gen 10:10 Babel within the land of Shinar was part of the kingdom of Nimrod. The word Nimrod in Hebrew means rebellion, as the tower itself became synonymous of. This was an expression of mans rejection of the very God who gave him life and freedom. I do not believe that it is by coincidence that the European Union headquarters in Strasbourg which was constructed in design based on Brueghels Babel, which has obvious implications of rebellion towards God in mind.
According the Jewish historian Josephus, Nimrod was killed by Noah's son Shem who cut his body into many pieces and sent his body across his kingdom as a warning of rebellion against God. Following the death of Nimrod, Semiramis fled underground which is where the ancient pagan religion of mystery Babylon began – Rev 17. Semiramis had all of His body parts gathered together, except for one part that could not be found. That missing part was his reproductive organ, and so she ordered phallic symbols or obelisks to be set up everywhere, as a reminder to the people to mourn for Nimrod. It is here that many symbols that are today associated with Easter gain their understanding as symbols of fertility, including eggs and rabbits.
Under the title, 'mother of the gods', the goddess queen of Babylon Semiramis became an object of universal worship. The mother of the gods was worshiped by the Persians, the Syrians, and with the most profound religious veneration by all the kings of Europe and Asia. When Caesar invaded Britain, he discovered the Druid priests worshiping the mother of god as Virgo-Patitura.
Judges 2:11-13 Then the children of Israel did evil in the sight of the LORD, and served the Baals; and they forsook the LORD God of their fathers, who had brought them out of the land of Egypt; and they followed other gods from among the gods of the people who were all around them, and they bowed down to them; and they provoked the LORD to anger. They forsook the LORD and served Baal and the Ashtoreths.
During the time of the prophet Jeremiah, the Jews worshiped the 'queen of heaven' so devoutly that they could not be convinced to give up this paganism even after Jerusalem had been burnt and the land desolated due to this very pagan worship.
Ezekiel 8:14-17 So He brought me to the door of the north gate of the LORD's house; and to my dismay, women were sitting there weeping for Tammuz. Then He said to me, "Have you seen this, O son of man? Turn again, you will see greater abominations than these." So He brought me into the inner court of the LORD's house; and there, at the door of the temple of the LORD, between the porch and the altar, were about twenty-five men with their backs tow ard the temple of the LORD and their faces toward the east, and they were worshiping the sun toward the east. And He said to me, "Have you seen this, O son of man? Is it a trivial thing to the house of Judah to commit the bominations which they commit here? For they have filled the land with violence; then they have returned to provoke Me to anger. Indeed they put the branch to their nose.
Again it is worth noting that from culture to culture although the name of the goddess changed, the characteristics she portrayed remained the same. Is it not remarkable that the very things we read of are being carried out within the house of God today?
E<|fim_middle|> now we can understand its fulfilled message.
So should Gentiles as well as Jews celebrate the Passover? Well let us first remember that we are not under the law. But there are amazing truths from coming to understand the fulfilment of the Jewish feasts – specifically Passover, the celebration of freedom. Our God's design is beautiful.
John 1:29 The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, "Look! There is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.
1 Corinthians 5:6-7 How terrible that you should boast about your spirituality, and yet you let this sort of thing go on. Don't you realize that if even one person is allowed to go on sinning, soon all will be affected? Remove this wicked person from among you so that you can stay pure. Christ, our Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed for us.
once for all, having obtained eternal redemption. For if the blood of bulls and goats and the ashes of a heifer, sprinkling the unclean, sanctifies for the purifying of the flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself without spot to God, cleanse your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?
points to our need of a saviour?
Galatians 3:22-24 But the Scripture has confined all under sin, that the promise by faith in Jesus Christ might be given to those who believe. But before faith came, we were kept under guard by the law, kept for the faith which would afterward be revealed. Therefore the law was our tutor to bring us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith.
We now have now been truly delivered into freedom by grace through faith. Our God is awesome! What a plan of salvation but what an amazing story of its coming, into total fulfilment. Of course an understanding of the Passover also allows us to understand the context things are spoken within. We may thus come into a greater understanding of our faith which gives glory to God. Let me share an example with you – An appreciation of the Lords supper. The two main elements of the Passover table are the bread and the wine. The bread used at Passover – 'The Matzos', by Jewish Law must be unleavened, stripped and pierced! – What a picture of our Messiah.
Isaiah 53:4-5 Surely He has borne our griefs, And carried our sorrows; Yet we esteemed Him stricken, Smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; We have turned, every one, to his own way; And the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
That is what our Lord would have demonstrate to His disciples.
This is not a picture of transubstantiation but of the Passover lamb.
Luke 22:20 Likewise He also took the cup after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is shed for you.
The third cup drunk at the Passover table is the cup of redemption. In His blood we have redemption.
I could go on and on about the depth of teaching within the Passover supper. It is in this respect however that if Jewish people are to come to now Yeshua as their messiah, I believe that the church needs to be effectively witnessing to them in truth and in spirit. Few Jewish persons are going to listen to a witness based on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday, Its alien and lets be truthful, its apostate.
Many may argue that in terms of Christians celebrating Easter that 'God is bigger than that'. The problem with this rationale is that you could justify any action or deed in that way. Why did God judge Israel for the golden calf? Why did God not accept Cain's offering? God desires Holiness BECAUSE of the grace He has gifted us with and for us to bring worship as He wishes.
1 Kings 12:31-32 He made shrines on the high places, and made priests from every class of people, who were not of the sons of Levi. Jeroboam ordained a feast on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, like the feast that was in Judah, and offered sacrifices on the altar. So he did at Bethel, sacrificing to the calves that he had made. And at Bethel he installed the priests of the high places which he had made.
Whether or not Jeroboam sought to do evil in the eyes of Lord is irrelevant. We read that this action was regarded by God as a sin (1 Kings 12:30). The consequences of Jeroboams actions upon the kingdom of Israel were huge. Israel was led into spiritual darkness. Within our country our leaders, both governmental and within the established church are defying God's commands and are bringing strange fire before God. It is not worshipping God in spirit and truth. Consequently as with Israel during the reign of Jeroboam, the unsaved are being lead astray because 'believers' are not standing for truth. This is a time when the church needs to be returning to orthodox Christianity. As we read so many times in scripture spiritual harlotry will lead to a loss of anointing.
Hosea 4:6 My people are being destroyed because they don't know me. It is all your fault, you priests, for you yourselves refuse to know me. Now I refuse to recognize you as my priests. Since you have forgotten the laws of your God, I will forget to bless your children.
Many believers in this country are becoming puffed up, ironically they are becoming 'leavened'. They cannot see the errors of their ways and their need for repentance. That is what God requires. Not empire building or purpose driven crusades, but the church to repent, THEN GOD will build HIS church, not man. We must be mindful of not living and serving God as we did when we lived in ignorance. Let us be radical in our love and obedience to our God at this time, in this age.
1 Peter 1:14-15 Obey God because you are his children. Don't slip back into your old ways of doing evil; you didn't know any better then. But now you must be holy in everything you do, just as God—who chose you to be his children—is holy.
I have written what I have written in love, love for Yeshua, love for my brothers and sister in Christ and a love of the truth. Lets us become wise to the whole council of God. | cclesiastes 1:9-10 That which has been is what will be, That which is done is what will be done, And there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which it may be said, " See, this is new"? It has already been in ancient times before us.
The practices that are gathering pace in front of our very eyes within the house of God are not new. Long ago Israel worshipped the 'The queen of heaven', now so does the Roman Catholic Church.
and death." (Catholic Catechism 966).
There are three titles that have been given to Mary by The Vatican Council II held in the mid-1960s. These titles are inter-related and deeply rooted both in devotion and doctrine in the Catholic Church, and are becoming increasing tolerated within protestant Christendom: the Co-Redeemer ("the Mother Suffering"), Mediator ("the Mother Nourishing"), and Advocate ("the Mother Interceding").
As previously stated the Church of Rome declares that Mary is 'preserved free from all stain of original sin' (Catholic Catechism 966). The Catholic Encyclopaedia states of this: 'In the Constitution Ineffabilis Deus of 8 December, 1854, Pius IX pronounced and defined that the Blessed Virgin Mary "in the first instance of her conception, by a singular privilege and grace granted by God, in view of the merits of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the human race, was preserved exempt from all stain of original sin."' Of course to say Mary is free of original sin clearly contradict Holy Scripture.
And Mary herself acknowledges her need of a saviour.
Luke 1:46-47 And Mary said: "My soul magnifies the Lord, And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Saviour.
The leaven which Paul here speaks of is the leaven of sin. We must be watchful of sin not only in our own lives, but also within the fellowship of believers as it will corrupt. Unfortunatly Church history has shown that in an attempt to Christianise paganism, Christianity has become paganised.
Arch of Triumph of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It is expected to be the world's tallest monument, 70 storey's high, standing on the waterfront of Lake Erie in Buffalo, New York. It will overarch a shrine for the Holy Innocents (www.archoftriumph.org).
This project is being endorsed by The National Clergy Council which represents a network of church leaders from Catholic, Evangelical, Orthodox and Protestant traditions.
It is shocking to see that the emergent church continues its march away from orthodoxy. More and more major denominations are seeking to break down barriers to unity after years of "dialog" with Rome. Doctrinal purity is being sacrificed on the altar of unity. This should concern every believer who values and honors the Word of God.
So how should we celebrate what Jesus has done for us at this time of the year? The beauty of the fulfilled Passover is the way in which the work of Yeshua is so wonderfully displayed in the symbolism of its tradition and within all that is carried out around the Passover table. To think also it is celebrated in the homes of Jewish people all around the world, its quite amazing! And after all did God abandon the feasts He ordained? Maybe | 710 |
Written for practicing teachers and administrators, teacher candidates, and scholars<|fim_middle|> are quite different from the majority of their teachers. | who work in the fields of pre-service and in-service teacher education, Beyond the Classroom Walls: Teaching in Challenging Social Contextsprovides a richly descriptive, research-based inside-look at formal education in some challenging international socio-political and ethno-cultural settings. Based on data from three ethnographic studies conducted over a three-year period, this book illustrates the daily challenges and complexities that educators face in trying to meet the needs of their students in some the world's more challenging contexts. In an era of increased forced migration and refugee resettlement, supporting teachers' and school-based administrators' global understandings of the teaching profession and what constitutes teaching is a vital first step in being able to relate with a diverse school population whose experiences of schooling | 149 |
Sourcing the right funding solution for your business can be very challenging. UK SMEs need access to flexible credit to enable overseas trade and thereby open up new markets. If you need finance for purchasing goods internationally, Ebury's Trade Finance might be able to help. We offer credit of up to £1,000,000 for up to 120 days and the service is backed by a dedicated team of professionals.
In this spotlight, we catch up with Roman Itskovich, VP of Financial Products, on the current position of the UK SME, his experience tailoring financial solutions to suit their needs and his own startup company.
Q: How long have you been working within Financial Services?
A: I've been involved with finance and financial services more or less since university where my undergraduate degree was in economics and accounting. I spent two years with Mckinsey & Company, where one of my major successes was streamlining branch operations for a large bank. During my time at Bain Capital and Foundation Capital, I was analysing business plans of small businesses, large multinational corporations and everything in between.
Q: Why do you have such an interest in SMEs in particular?
A: When I was building Qweek, a workforce management startup, I spent a considerable time understanding small business operations. You can't do that and not appreciate how much time and effort entrepreneurs put in their businesses, and how hard it is to succeed. The combination of my finance experience and, as someone who knows what it means to run a small business, made me want to help SMEs. I've faced the same challenges they go through; I understand which services have the potential to make a huge difference to their business and I'm in a position to enable them to succeed. On the financial front, I also think that SMEs are a big market that larger banks don't really understand, so it presents a good business opportunity – we've created the right product for SMEs and it has the capability to really help.
Q: Why are SMEs so key to the UK economy?
A<|fim_middle|> more than 60% of employment in developed countries, so for many economies they are vitally important. In the UK in particular, there are over 5 million SMEs so this sector is not to be overlooked and supporting their needs with the right services is vital to ensuring economic growth for the country.
Q: What are the main issues SMEs face?
A: There are numerous issues and potential pitfalls for SMEs, which includes access to finance, a lack of local market knowledge to support their international trade and a lack of attention to their particular needs. SMEs need to focus on sales and operations, they shouldn't be spending all their time assembling documents for financing. Banks don't seem to appreciate this factor.
Q: How can Trade Finance help?
A: Ebury's Trade Finance has a sole aim, which is to help businesses grow faster by financing trade. It provides business funding for the supply chain by lending to UK buyers and by providing accelerated, non-recourse cash payments to suppliers. The facility can offer SMEs business up to £1,000,000 for up to 120 days. The facility is free to setup and maintain, simply providing a finance line for business opportunities and seasonal cash lows. It can also reduce lead time as SMEs are able to fund reliable repeat orders.
Q: What are the benefits of combining credit and currency?
A: For an SME, gaining funding for its supply chain is a huge step but it's important to consider how the payments to the supplier are going to reach their destination and in what form they might be. Combining credit and currency means UK SMEs who benefit from Ebury's Trade Finance can pay their suppliers directly in their local currency by drawing on Ebury's Currency Services. This means there is one less thing to worry about. Paying in the suppliers' local currency has shown to achieve discount supplier prices as the suppliers no longer need to price currency hedging into their costs. Risk management for this currency exposure is also entirely taken care of through Ebury's comprehensive risk capabilities.
Q: How long does it take for an SME to register with Ebury?
A: It typically takes 1-2 weeks from initial enquiry to financing the first trade. The process ensures that Ebury's compliance and regulatory requirements are met and includes qualification with our credit insurer.
To find out how Ebury Trade Finance can benefit your business, apply online now. | : SMEs account for 95% to 99% of registered businesses depending on the country and constitute | 23 |
The Emil A. Blackmore Museum of The American Legion is located on the fourth floor of National Headquarters in Indianapolis, between the library and the National Executive Committee Room. The museum occupies two rooms: one a display of military<|fim_middle|>'s namesake, served as the Legion's national adjutant from July 1, 1956, until his death on April 21, 1967. A virtual tour of the museum is available at www.legion.org/museum/tour.
The delegates at the Legion's first convention empowered the National Executive Committee "to make suitable provision for the collection of war photographs, equipment and such other paraphernalia of war as would preserve our knowledge of the Great War for all time." Today, the Emil A. Blackmore Museum honors this tradition by collecting and exhibiting artifacts associated with the history of The American Legion and the wars its members have fought. The museum is free of charge and open to the public weekdays from 8:30 a.m. – 4 p.m. | and Legion-related items and the other a fine-art gallery. Emil A. Blackmore, the museum | 20 |
Research Assistant/Associate in Health Data Science
University of Cambridge Department of Public Health and<|fim_middle|> to live and work in the UK. | Primary Care
An exciting opportunity has arisen for a key analytical role in the Department of Public Health and Primary Care, University of Cambridge, funded by Cancer Research UK. A key responsibility of the post holder will be to utilise population-wide electronic health records to investigate the generalisability and transportability of models for the early detection and diagnosis of cancer.
The post-holder will contribute to the development and application of statistical and machine learning approaches to adapt models for the early detection and diagnosis of cancer for clinical use in real world settings. The research will have translational and methodological impact.
The preferred candidate will have a PhD (or equivalent) in Health Data Informatics, Data Science, Computer Science, Mathematics, Statistics, Operational Research or other related quantitative subjects. Otherwise, if the candidate can demonstrate an outstanding fit to all the other criteria, a good Masters degree in one of the relevant fields will also be considered. They will have strong computational skills in at least one of R, Python, SQL or Pyspark; experience of working with electronic health records; and a good understanding of and experience in statistics and machine learning.
This position is full time and available immediately. The funding for this post is available for 12 months from commencement in post.
Location - University of Cambridge Heart and Lung Research Institute, Biomedical Campus, Papworth Road, Trumpington, Cambridge CB2 0BB (approx 2 miles south of city centre).
The University is developing a hybrid working policy so we would welcome applications on a flexible or hybrid basis.
Informal enquiries can be made via email to Dr Samantha Ip (hyi20@medschl.cam.ac.uk)
Closing date: 12th February 2023
Interview Date: To be confirmed
Click the 'Apply' button below to register an account with our recruitment system (if you have not already) and apply online.
Please ensure that you upload a covering letter and CV in the Upload section of the online application. The covering letter should outline how you match the criteria for the post and why you are applying for this role. If you upload additional documents that have not been requested, we will not be able to consider these as part of your application.
Please include details of your referees, including e-mail address and phone number, one of which must be your most recent line manager.
Please quote reference RH35070 on your application and in any correspondence about this vacancy.
The University actively supports equality, diversity and inclusion and encourages applications from all sections of society.
The University has a responsibility to ensure that all employees are eligible | 521 |
posted by organizer: rgiot || 1320 views || tracked by 3 users: [display]rgiot, Kirushika_J, jesemarcos [hide]
BGMV-XAI 2022 : Vis&ML for XAI - Bridging the Gap between ML and Visualization communities for eXplainable Artificial Intelligence -- Special Session of ICPRAI
Link: https://bgmv-xai.labri.fr/
Jun 1, 2022 - Jun 3, 2022
Categories XAI visualization machine learning deep learning
The rise of machine learning approaches, and<|fim_middle|> '22 – HCI-XAI 2022 IHM '22 – Human-Computer Interaction and Explainability in Artificial Intelligence
EXTRAAMAS 2022 EXplainable and TRAnsparent AI and Multi-Agent Systems | in particular deep learning, has led to a significant increase in the performance of AI systems. However, it has also raised the question of the reliability and explicability of their predictions for decision-making (i.e., the black-box issue of the deep models). Such shortcomings also raise many ethical and political concerns that prevent wider adoption of this potentially highly beneficial technology, especially in critical areas, such as healthcare, self-driving cars or security. It is therefore critical to understand how their predictions correlate with information perception and expert decision-making. The objective of eXplainable AI (XAI) is to open this black-box by proposing methods to understand and explain how these systems produce their decisions.
Research work in XAI is currently carried out in parallel by the Machine Learning and the Information Visualization communities using methodologies and competencies from their own field. This special session hosted by the ICPRAI conference, endorsed by IAPR, is an opportunity to fill the gap between Machine Learning and Information Visualization communities and to promote new joint research paths.
Here are the main, but not limited to, topics of interest:
- Trust, Uncertainty, Fairness, Accountability and Transparency
- Explainable/Interpretable Machine Learning
- Information visualization for models or their predictions
- Interactive applications for XAI
- XAI Evaluation and Benchmarks
- Human-AI interface and interaction design
- Sample-centric and Dataset-centric explanations
- Attention mechanisms for XAI
- Pruning with XAI
We expect papers written by researchers from both communities, with a preference for works that imply a joint research (e.g., visualization experts with machine learning experts). Paper selection will be achieved by a program committee of experts in Machine Learning and experts in Information Visualization; additionally, each paper will be reviewed by at least one expert of the two communities.
ICML 2022 39th International Conference on Machine Learning
XAI_Bias_Trust@FLAIRS 2022 FLAIRS Special Track on Explainability, Bias, and Trust in Artificial Intelligence
xai-swj 2022 Semantic Web journal Special Issue on The Role of Ontologies and Knowledge in Explainable AI
MLDM 2022 18th International Conference on Machine Learning and Data Mining
XAI 2022 JISYS (OA) - Explainable Artificial Intelligence and Intelligent Systems in Analysis For Complex Problems and Systems
IHM | 493 |
Pennsylvania expands Emerald Ash Borer quarantine
Emerald Ash Borer beetles have been found near Graceville in Bedford County, Pa., making it 12 Pennsylvania counties where the ash tree-destroying pest has been identified, according to the state's agriculture secretary Russell C. Redding.
In response to this latest discovery, Redding said a state-imposed quarantine is being expanded to include Bedford County. He reminded residents and visitors to use only locally harvested firewood, burn all of the firewood on-site and not move it to new locations.
The Bedford County infestation was discovered at the intersection of Tannery Road and Route 30 near Graceville, which is less than one mile east of Breezewood and less than one mile from the Fulton County line, after Department of Conservation and Natural Resources staff noticed extensive tree damage due to woodpeckers. Such damage often indicates that trees may be infected as the birds injure the trees while trying to eat the beetle larvae.
State and federal Emerald Ash Borer quarantines restrict the movement from the quarantine area of ash nursery stock, green lumber and any other ash material, including logs, stumps, roots and branches, and all wood chips.
Because of the difficulty in distinguishing between species of hardwood firewood, all hardwood firewood and wood chips - including ash, oak, maple and hickory - are considered quarantined.
The invasive beetle was first detected in Pennsylvania in summer 2007 in Butler County, and subsequently was found in Allegheny, Armstrong, Beaver, Indiana, Juniata, Lawrence, Mercer, Mifflin, Washington and Westmoreland counties.
Emerald Ash Borer is a wood-boring beetle native to China and eastern Asia. Typically, the beetles will<|fim_middle|> www.agriculture.state.pa.us.
May 2010 4th
Emerald ash borer threat heightens in Pennsylvania
Walnut quarantine issued in Pennsylvania
New policy for combating emerald ash borer
CMA will hold regional event in Pennsylvania
Demand for ash is rising from the depths
Bicentennial Ash tree gets second life
Remodeling association adds central Pennsylvania chapter
Stiles adds service team in Pennsylvania
Stiles expands regional facility | kill an ash tree within three years of the initial infestation. Adults are dark green, one-half inch in length and one-eighth inch wide, and fly only from early May until September. Larvae spend the rest of the year beneath the bark of ash trees. When they emerge as adults, they leave D-shaped holes in the bark about one-eighth inch wide. There is no known practical control for this wood-boring pest other than destroying infested trees.
People who suspect they have seen Emerald Ash Borer should call the department's toll-free pest hotline at 866-253-7189. For information about the quarantine, contact Walt Blosser at 717-772-5205, and for information about Emerald Ash Borer, contact Sven-Erik Spichiger at 717-772-5229.
Additional information is also available at | 191 |
The production overheads calculated for each production department after going through apportionment and allotment are used to calculate overhead absorption rate. There are six basis (methods) to calculate an overhead cost absorption rate.
On 31 December 2016 the following estimates relate to ABC Ltd for the year ending 30 June 2017.
Use the above data to calculate overheads to<|fim_middle|> and is not distorted by factors like varying wage rates, overtime or bonus payments.
The use of this method requires a record of the direct labor hours expended on each job, product or cost unit in order to determine the share of overhead, it should bear.
This method is in frequent use as it gives consideration to time factor, moreover in contrast to different efficiency and skill levels of workers the machines normally give equal output. However this method has a drawback as it is quite difficult to estimate machine hours in advance.
Which Method is better for Calculating Overhead Absorption Rate?
There is general acceptance that the time based methods (direct labor hours, machine hours and to some extent direct labor cost) are more likely to reflect the load on a cost center as production overheads also tend to be incurred on a time basis so even in exams students should use these methods unless questions requires to use some other methods.
In respect of capital intensive operations or machine related departments, machine hours' base is more appropriate since most of the overheads in these departments would be closely related to machine hours. However, for labor intensive operations direct labor hours base is the most appropriate method. | be absorbed to calculate total cost of the job by using six basis (methods) for overhead absorption.
When the historical records of a company reveal that in the past, there was a correlation between raw material costs and factory overheads then they may use a rate as a percentage of raw material cost to absorb production overhead costs into the product or cost unit.
The material cost base normally has a limited use as fluctuations in price of materials are not accompanied by similar fluctuation in overheads; moreover cheap quality material has a low material cost but has more overheads and opposite is true for better quality material. There are instances that one product using high priced material and another is made from low priced material but go through the same manufacturing process and as a result incur approximately same amount of factory overheads. In this case by using direct material cost base the product using expensive material will be charged more overheads than its share.
This is frequently used rate in practice and is easy to apply as amount of direct wages is readily available. This is recommended as unlike material prices; labor rates are relatively stable moreover there is direct relationship between direct labor cost and factory overheads on the basis that both are related to time.
Certain objections are raised for using this method as no distinction is made between skilled and non-skilled workers and differences of their pay scale. It may also ignore time factor as when workers are paid on piece rate basis or when business makes higher overtime payments whereas overheads do not increase at the same rate.
This method is usually recommended as it combines the weaknesses of both direct material cost and direct labor cost base.
This method is more appropriate in a labor intensive cost center where there is insignificant role of machines involving low machine related expenses and relatively high labor costs. This is considered as a better method for overhead absorption than direct labor cost method as is only based on time factor | 370 |
Home/Academy/Chronic Lymphoproliferative Disorders/Description
Descriptioncyt-cytouser2019-12-03T11:58:43+01:00
Evaluation of disease
MRD assessment
What are Circulating Tumor Plasma Cells?
Evaluation of the disease
Immune Monitoring
The EuroFlow™ SOPs
The EuroFlow™ workflow
Oncohematology panels
Immunology panels
What is flow cytometry?
What is an antibody?
Applications of flow cytometry
The flow cytometer
Acoustic foccusing
Multiparametric analysis of flow cytometry data
Last update: October 1st, 2019
Chronic Lymphoproliferative Disorders are a heterogeneous group of diseases characterized by (mono)clonal expansion and accumulation of mature-appearing lymphocytes which carry a proliferative and/or survival advantage over their normal counterparts in different organs such as bone marrow, blood and lymph nodes. This translates into progressive accumulation of clonal cells and their products causing PB lymphocytosis, BM lymphoid infiltrates, enlargement of one or multiple other tissues (for example, lymphadenopathy, splenomegaly or other organomegalies), or emergence of a serum monoclonal component.
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), which reflects international consensus and it is based on pathological, genetic and clinical factors, lymphoid neoplasms are classified according to the stage on maturation and the lineage where the neoplastic transformation occurs:
Mature Lymphoid Neoplasms:
T and NK-cell Lymphoma
Determination of the subtype and the stage of the disease is very important, as they are factors that affect prognosis (chance of recovery) and treatment options.
1. Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma
Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma (NHL) is a cancer that affects the lymphocytes of the body's lymph system and represents the 3% of all cancers. Depending on the type of lymphocyte affected, there are 2 main types of NHL:
B-cell Lymphoma: accounts about 90% of the NHLin western countries
T and NK-cell Lymphoma: make up between 10-15% of NHL and are more frequent in Asian countries.
In addition, NHL can also be grouped based on how quickly they grow and spread, either "indolent", which grow and spread slowly; or "aggressive" which grow quickly, and usually need to be treated right away so it cannot spread to other parts of the lymph system such as the liver, brain, or bone marrow.
2. Hodgkin Lymphoma
Hodgkin Lymphoma (HL) usually starts in the B lymphocytes of lymph nodes. The different types of HL can grow and spread differently and may be treated differently:
<|fim_middle|>Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL) is the most frequent leukemia in adults, which starts in the lymphocytes of the bone marrow. The most common form of CLL starts in B lymphocytes, but there are other rare. It often builds up slowly but over time, the cells spread to other parts of the body, including the lymph nodes, liver, and spleen; what gives rise to two different types of CLL, the one that grows very slowly, and the one that grows faster.
National Cancer Institute (USA)
Costa ES, et al. A new automated flow cytometry data analysis approach for the diagnostic screening of neoplastic B cell disorders in peripheral blood samples with absolute lymphocytosis. Leukemia. 2006 May; 20:1221-1230. Go to publication.
van Dongen JJ, et al. EuroFlow antibody panels for standardized n-dimensional flow cytometric immunophenotyping of normal, reactive and malignant leukocytes. Leukemia. 2012 Sep; 26(9):1908-75. Go to publication.
Costa ES, et al. Automated pattern-guided principal component analysis of B-cell chronic lymphoproliferative disorders. 2010 Nov. Leukemia; 24(11): 1927-33. Go to publication.
Arber DA, et al. The 2016 revision to the World Health Organization classification of myeloid neoplasms and acute leukemia. Blood. 2016 May;127(20):2391-405. Go to publication. | Classic Hodgkin lymphoma (CHL) makes up more than 9 in 10 cases of HL in development countries and has four subtypes.
Nodular lymphocyte-predominant Hodgkin lymphoma (NLPHL) accounts for about 5% of cases.
3. Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia
| 69 |
Jacksonville, FL - The 1938 Mercedes-Benz 540K Autobahn-Kurier and 1957 Ferrari 335 S were crowned this year's Best in Show on March 10, 2019 at the 24thannual Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance. The event once again brought together the best of the automotive<|fim_middle|>-known musicians. In addition, John Oates sang a moving rendition of The National Anthem.
THE AMELIA will be held March 12-15, 2020 at The Ritz-Carlton, Amelia Island and The Golf Club of Amelia Island. For the Amelia's full events schedule, including Saturday's Cars & Coffee at the Concours and Sunday's premier Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance, visit www.ameliaconcours.org. The show's Foundation has donated over $3.45 million to Community Hospice & Palliative Care, Spina Bifida of Jacksonville and other charities on Florida's First Coast since its inception in 1996. | world, including 2019 honoree, "Mr. Le Mans" Jacky Ickx.
The legendary Ickx is a six-time Le Mans winner, 1979 Can-Am Champion, a Formula 1 victor and a Daytona, Sebring and Paris-Dakar winner.
1938 Mercedes-Benz 540K Autobahn-Kurier. 2019 Best in Show, Concours d'Elegance.
It is in The Amelia's innovative nature to present new classes and the 2019 event did not disappoint. This year's Concours included "Cars of the Rock Stars," a class specially curated by John Oates of Hall & Oates. Pairing specific vehicles with guitars, the class consisted of Oates' personal collection and featured additional vehicles owned or closely associated with well | 176 |
At Nelipak quality, safety and efficacy are designed or built into each product. Each step of our manufacturing process<|fim_middle|> batch records, production log books, lot records, control charts, test and inspection results.
Using customer driven templates or Nelipak custom designed versions, our quality engineering team provide everything from the validation plan to the final reports using industry standard methods conducted to ISO 13485 standards and 11607 part II guidelines. | is controlled to assure that the product meets all specifications. During manufacturing, product quality, in the context of process validation means that product performance is consistent from batch-to-batch and unit-to-unit.
Process validation may be conducted at different points during the life cycle of a product.
Prospective validation is conducted before a new product is released for distribution or, where the revisions may affect the product's characteristics.
Retrospective validation is the validation of a process based on accumulated historical production data. This data may be found in | 103 |
The Compaq Airlife 100 is one of the first so-called smartbooks to make<|fim_middle|> well Android is doing. Also, why some of these large devices are slapping Chrome on for the browser is beyond me.
I have emailed Chippy to findout if the device works without a sim. Do you guys know? | it to market. The 10 inch mini-laptop combines some of the best elements of a netbook with those of a smartphone. Unfortunately, Chippy at Carrypad has determined that the Airlife 100 doesn't quite live up to its potential.
In a detailed review, he concludes that the 12-hour battery life and always-connected nature of the smartbook are excellent features. But he says the web browser isn't up to snuff and the lack of access to the Android Market makes installing third party apps a hassle. He's also less than impressed with the device's multimedia capabilities.
The Android Market isn't the only thing that's missing. The Airlife 100 also ships without the basic Google apps that you get on most smartphones including Gmail, contact sync, maps, and Goggles.
Chippy likes the design of the Airlife 100, which weighs just 2.2 pounds and has a large and quiet keyboard. He's disappointed that the screen doesn't open to a wider angle though.
You can find more photos and details at Carrypad.
Any chance that you can clarify what you mean by "promise" when you say the Airlife 100 doesn't live up to it? Do you mean "promise" as its potential, or "promise" as the manufacture's claims? For the record, I agree with your summary of Chippy's review and am merely confused by how you're couching it.
I was just looking at Android's multimedia capabilities yesterday and see if any good apps are coming. . . couldn't find any. This is an area lacking especially for how | 337 |
Home > Support > Process and Theory
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Arc welding is one of several fusion processes for joining metals. By applying intense heat, metal at the joint between two parts is melted and caused to intermix - directly, or more commonly, with an intermediate molten filler metal. Upon cooling and solidification, a metallurgical bond is created. Since the joining is an intermixture of metals, the final weldment potentially has the same strength properties as the metal of the parts. This is in sharp contrast to non-fusion processes of joining (i.e. soldering, brazing etc.) in which the mechanical and physical properties of the base materials cannot be duplicated at the joint.
Fig. 1 The basic arc-welding circuit
In arc welding, the intense heat needed to melt metal is produced by an electric arc. The arc is formed between the actual work and an electrode (stick or wire) that is manually or mechanically guided along the joint. The electrode can either be a rod with the purpose of simply carrying the current between the tip and the work. Or, it may be a specially prepared rod<|fim_middle|> of electrode, the arc atmosphere, and the metal being welded.
View more Arc Welding Process and Theory articles
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SessionID: xzdvpiih5ve4edkpl3r02mtr | or wire that not only conducts the current but also melts and supplies filler metal to the joint. Most welding in the manufacture of steel products uses the second type of electrode.
Basic Welding Circuit
The basic arc-welding circuit is illustrated in Fig. 1. An AC or DC power source, fitted with whatever controls may be needed, is connected by a work cable to the workpiece and by a "hot" cable to an electrode holder of some type, which makes an electrical contact with the welding electrode.
An arc is created across the gap when the energized circuit and the electrode tip touches the workpiece and is withdrawn, yet still with in close contact.
The arc produces a temperature of about 6500ºF at the tip. This heat melts both the base metal and the electrode, producing a pool of molten metal sometimes called a "crater." The crater solidifies behind the electrode as it is moved along the joint. The result is a fusion bond.
Arc Shielding
However, joining metals requires more than moving an electrode along a joint. Metals at high temperatures tend to react chemically with elements in the air - oxygen and nitrogen. When metal in the molten pool comes into contact with air, oxides and nitrides form which destroy the strength and toughness of the weld joint. Therefore, many arc-welding processes provide some means of covering the arc and the molten pool with a protective shield of gas, vapor, or slag. This is called arc shielding. This shielding prevents or minimizes contact of the molten metal with air. Shielding also may improve the weld. An example is a granular flux, which actually adds deoxidizers to the weld.
Fig. 2 This shows how the coating on a coated (stick) electrode provides a gaseous shield around the arc and a slag covering on the hot weld deposit.
Figure 2 illustrates the shielding of the welding arc and molten pool with a Stick electrode. The extruded covering on the filler metal rod, provides a shielding gas at the point of contact while the slag protects the fresh weld from the air.
The arc itself is a very complex phenomenon. In-depth understanding of the physics of the arc is of little value to the welder, but some knowledge of its general characteristics can be useful.
Nature of the Arc
An arc is an electric current flowing between two electrodes through an ionized column of gas. A negatively charged cathode and a positively charged anode create the intense heat of the welding arc. Negative and positive ions are bounced off of each other in the plasma column at an accelerated rate.
In welding, the arc not only provides the heat needed to melt the electrode and the base metal, but under certain conditions must also supply the means to transport the molten metal from the tip of the electrode to the work. Several mechanisms for metal transfer exist. Two (of many) examples include:
Surface Tension Transfer® - a drop of molten metal touches the molten metal pool and is drawn into it by surface tension
Spray Arc - the drop is ejected from the molten metal at the electrode tip by an electric pinch propelling it to the molten pool (great for overhead welding)
If an electrode is consumable, the tip melts under the heat of the arc and molten droplets are detached and transported to the work through the arc column. Any arc welding system in which the electrode is melted off to become part of the weld is described as metal-arc. In carbon or tungsten (TIG) welding there are no molten droplets to be forced across the gap and onto the work. Filler metal is melted into the joint from a separate rod or wire.
More of the heat developed by the arc is transferred to the weld pool with consumable electrodes. This produces higher thermal efficiencies and narrower heat-affected zones.
Since there must be an ionized path to conduct electricity across a gap, the mere switching on of the welding current with an electrically cold electrode posed over it will not start the arc. The arc must be ignited. This is caused by either supplying an initial voltage high enough to cause a discharge or by touching the electrode to the work and then withdrawing it as the contact area becomes heated.
Arc welding may be done with direct current (DC) with the electrode either positive or negative or alternating current (AC). The choice of current and polarity depends on the process, the type | 898 |
Should not have any expertise, then simply mention faculty pursuits or ideology interests. Once you are aware of how much practical experience you need and the type of experience you require, you're in a fantastic place to find that experience by pitching potential customers. In the event you have no a work experience to record your own first resume, it really is nonetheless feasible to prove your self with your education and abilities like a way to acquire your dream project. These days, it is overly problematic for somebody with work experience to receive noticed at a really competitive job-hunting marketplace. Occasionally, you might not actually have the essential perform experiences which can be relevant with the occupation that you're applying for. By getting a good understanding of everything you will be doing regular on the job you must know exactlywhat that the great pre-interview job ought to be on demonstrate that you would certainly be the best fit. As an alternative, you must tailor your resume for every work that you apply for. Usually jobs together with non minimal conditions are jobs that'll give the firm the opportunity to instruct them into the way a firm does business. Apart from presenting yourself to a specific hiring manager, it's a means to highlight training and skills which make you the correct match for your own project. It helps to add skills that you have over a restart. As you learn abilities and make knowledge from inch endeavor, you will be able to interpret that expertise into another standing before you operate up your way into the ideal bookkeeping job. Around the reverse side, soft abilities, also known as interpersonal or social talents, will be the people that you possess as personal traits or you undergo professional experiences. Prior to generating any sudden modifications for your resume, then you should be more in a posture to comprehend what sorts of skills, qualifications and adventures your potential employers are seeking. Remember , your resume should continually subtract the abilities, knowledge, and accomplishments that are relevant to your job targets. Your resume has an objective rather than an expert overview Objective statements describe your specifications, rather than how you're going to meet the requirements of an employer. It's a fact that resumes are the<|fim_middle|> will need to customize your resume for that specific job which you're searching for. For instance, in the event you are asking to get a UX task, then it may be developing experiences to get products that are utilized by thousands of an individual. | only most crucial tool that you may use whenever looking to turn into an application for work. The resumes published for changing livelihood are created by placing some spending and work extra moment. A meeting isn't the ability to seem tired or disinterested. Attempt to remember that even when you feel you're ready for a meeting, you aren't. If you're fortunate enough to obtain an interview, don't allow the very simple fact which you were not aware be why you neglected to become employed. The greater that your practical grip of the project, the more inclined you should be hired. Such jobs today account for most of the economy. Tend not to list every technology you applied to each and every job. Being a principle, to get every single work application that you just apply to, you | 157 |
The Weather Underground exceeded my expectations for a documentary piece about the sixties. For some reason, that era has never been an inspiration to me, and I always thought of it as a reign of anarchy, drugs, and promiscuity.
But, when I left the theater, I was charged with the energy of their cause; an attempted revolution and a demand for drastic changes toward a more humane society. A society that promotes life over death for vague causes.
Then, I felt somewhat miserable for the people of that time. They had ideals, they fought against what they believed was evil and what restricted the people's innate desire for peace and self discovery. Because in my time, it seems that crude materialism is the perpetual force that motivates and satisfies. For this I am sorry.
I thought the directors, Bill Siegel and Sam Green, did an excellent job of incorporating the story of the political activist group the Weathermen during the Vietnam War, with commentary from the participants and leaders of the organization<|fim_middle|>, they did not succeed. Their lonely revolution did not make the world a better place (maybe the US a little). But what really counts is the try and the belief that every person, every nation is entitled to the right to live in peace, and no tyranny should ever interfere with the pace or the creative power behind the human development. | thirty years later.
The enthusiasm these heroes displayed was just contagious. I also valued the presentation of all sides involved in the conflict, from the activists themselves, to the bad FBI agent with the triple chin and dull facial expression; The people who today still criticize the group's activities as being destructive, brainless, and unnecessary. To imagine the audacity of a group who believed they could overthrow the American government, only decadents would even think about it.
Well | 92 |
Primitive framed gameboards designed after old vintage boards are always available at The Barnyard Shoppe. Made from half-inch pine, they are hand-painted—never stenciled!—in rich country colors and painstakingly taken through many steps from start to finish to enhance the feeling of age—with crackled finishes, dirt buildup in corners and heavily worn surfaces where play would have been most intense. Joints are intentionally allowed to "drift" within the frame to encourage the<|fim_middle|> and come in the same designs as the big boards with the addition of Chinese Checkers. Custom-built game tables and chairs are also available by special request and add to the Teddy Bears' fun. | cracks inevitable with age as wood lives, moves, dries, and breathes. The above photographs are examples of available designs; stars and geometric shapes in beautiful contrasting color combinations are used to enhance the playing field. They make very striking wall decorations but can also be used for family fun. Parcheesi, backgammon and two styles of checkerboards—three if you count the Canadian version of Draughts —are available.
Especially charming—but just for show—are Barbara's TEDDY BEAR GAMEBOARDS™ which are miniature versions of the full-size varieties, just right for entertaining your favorite doll or teddy bear. They range in size from 3 to 5 inches square | 140 |
"I understand the clients and they understand me"
Joachim Mathe completed the graduate trainee programme as well as the fuel programme. Today, he works as the CEO of our branch in Madrid<|fim_middle|> of my team and much more.
"The essence of my work lies in assessing all aspects of the situation facing my clients and going through all plausible scenarios in advance. After all, insurance comes down to statistics in the end and the more accurately we are able to determine the probability and nature of a claim, the more we can tailor the products and services we offer. This also lets us help our clients to avoid risks more effectively. | .
"I discovered my passion for the world of risks working as a banker in credit analysis, and took the chance and made the move to reinsurance where I have since gathered experience as graduate trainee, underwriter, executive assistant and client manager. My tasks include expanding our customer base, developing and deploying market and client strategies, the professional and disciplinary guidance | 70 |
A great place to live and work.
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<|fim_middle|>, Rockwell and Miller Brewing, the state is also a leader in manufacturing.
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Located in America's heartland, Wisconsin is a place of abundant natural beauty, diverse recreational activities, progressive educational institutions and developing economic opportunity.
With 15,000 inland lakes, two Great Lakes, three National Park Service properties and 57 state parks and forests, Wisconsin is blessed with stunning natural resources. Not surprisingly, it is one of the top tourist destinations in the Midwest, popular with visitors during all four of its distinct seasons.
Wisconsin's appeal isn't limited to rural areas. The state's towns and cities have a long history of supporting arts and cultural activities, offering visitors a wide variety of museums, galleries, events and historic sites. Milwaukee's Summerfest is recognized as the "World's Largest Outdoor Music Festival."
The state also boasts top-flight sports teams including the Green Bay Packers, world-class entertainment and incredible restaurants and nightclubs. The state also has nearly 500 public golf courses, ranking it among the top states for its ratio of golfers to courses.
The Badger state's economy is as diverse as its attractions. Long known as "America's Dairyland," Wisconsin ranks at or near the top in a number of food production categories, including milk, cheese, cranberries, ginseng and beer. Home to companies like Harley-Davidson | 414 |
The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee: Less Stats, More Cats!
We've been all about the numbers tonight, so I thought I would end the day with just one picture, of our lovely little litter.
Ohmigosh, what a lovely picture of the itty bitty kitties! It still amazes me how you can get these group shots!
Goodnight sweet darlings. Rest up, 'cause we've got lots of fundraising to do tomorrow.
A friend is fostering five kittens and I tried over and over again to get a group picture but I failed. I don't know how you do it, simply amazing.
Oh, Louise. I can't stop looking at your silly kitten beard.
Ask for my money, Anderson-Ericksons, my bank account is powerless against you.
I am so in love with Ferris and Emory! Black kittens with white whiskers always look so surprised.
Sigh - those AE's are awesome and charming!
Once I return from a short trip...<|fim_middle|> CAUSE!
OMC! Amazing! How did yoo get them to all sit still for long enuff? Are yoo a kitten-whisperer?
Ahaha, I can't help thinking of the two chefs and four waiters when I look at group photos of them. What cuties!
Is it wrong to be sad that they're getting so big so quickly?
Once July 2nd rolls around, I'll be donating! First paycheck, new job!
OK everybody, first we each make a big fat pledge, then every time we check out this blog we send $5 more. Your smiling heart is worth every penny.
This bunch is just the best little posers for pics, aren't they? | I will be supporting THE | 5 |
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A review of literature is a critical analysis of a portion of the published body of knowledge available through the use of summary, classification, and comparison of previous research studies, reviews of literature, and journal articles (Subject Guides, n.d.). This handout discusses the reasons for writing a literature review and presents its various requirements. It examines what a literature review is, as well as what it is not; it distinguishes between the literature review and the annotated bibliography. Like many academic writing assignments, there is not one universal standard for writing a literature review. Its format can differ from discipline to discipline and from assignment to assignment. There is, however, an overall structure that is commonly used across various disciplines, and this format is examined in more detail. The handout concludes with some helpful "tips and tricks" for preparing a literature review.
Disclaimer: The content of a literature review may vary from discipline to discipline and from assignment to assignment. The literature review content recommended in this handout is that which is most commonly included. If in doubt about what you should include in your literature review, please consult your professor.
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Literature Review Handout
What is a literature review? A literature review examines the current scholarly work available on a particular subject, perhaps within a given time period ("Writing Center Handouts," n.d.). It is not merely a summation of the existing work; its purpose is to analyze critically the applicable "published body of knowledge" ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.) in order to establish the current knowledge of that topic ("Subject Guides," n.d.). The literature review is more than a survey of various sources, but it is not a book review ("Subject Guides," n.d.). It is the summary and synthesis of material gathered from various sources and organized to address an issue, research objective, or problem statement ("Writing Center Handouts," n.d.). A well-written literature review may even state what research has yet to be done ("Writing Center Handouts," n.d.). A literature review, then, must do these things: ? ? ? ? be organized around and related directly to the thesis or research question being developed synthesize results into a summary of what is and is not known identify areas of controversy in the literature formulate questions that need further research (Taylor and Procter, n.d.).
Why do a literature review? A literature review gives an overview of a specific field of inquiry ("Writing a Literature Review, n.d.). It asks questions concerning the prevailing theories and hypotheses, the key researchers, the current state of the research, and the methods and methodologies being used ("Writing a Literature Review, n.d.). The literature review helps the potential researcher identify the research question, focus the topic of inquiry, understand the makeup of a particular research question, understand an idea's genetic roots, and understand the "current conceptual landscape" ("Literature Review," n.d.). In other words, the literature review shows the potential researcher how prevailing ideas fit into his/her own thesis and how his/her thesis agrees or differs from them ("Writing a Literature Review, n.d.). It also points out major methodological flaws or gaps in research, inconsistencies in theory and findings, and areas or issues pertinent to future study ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.). What are the differences? How does a literature review differ from other<|fim_middle|> for breaks. Use specific language and support your arguments with concrete examples. Paraphrase, don't quote. Evaluate what you report. Avoid plagiarism.
If done well, your literature review should show other researchers that you have done your homework and are qualified to contribute to the field. Further information on writing a literature review may be found in the resources listed in the Reference List.
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Fitness Hub by Acme Themes | writing assignments? A literature review is not a research paper, although, like other forms of expository writing, it does use well-formed paragraphs and a logical structure. However, where a research paper uses relevant literature to support the discussion of the thesis; "in a literature review, the literature itself is the subject of discussion" ("Writing a Literature Review, n.d.). The literature review may be a self-contained unit, that is an end in itself, or
it may be preface to engaging in primary research ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.). The literature review itself does not present any new primary scholarship ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). How does a literature review differ from an annotated bibliography? A literature review is also not an annotated bibliography, although it may be produced from an annotated bibliography ("Literature Review," n.d.). An annotated bibliography is a listing of references, which includes a single paragraph descriptive analysis of each work listed ("Literature Review," n.d.). On the other hand, a literature review is an essay in itself, which summarizes and evaluates already published arguments about a certain topic ("Difference Between Annotated Bibliography and Literature Review," n.d.). A literature review is a piece of "discursive prose, not a list describing or summarizing one piece of literature after another"—that is an annotated bibliography (Taylor and Procter, n.d.). A literature review is also not to be confused with a book review, as the literature review offers an overview of significant literature published on a topic ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). Nor is a literature review a literary review, which is a "brief, critical discussion about the merits and weaknesses of a literary work, such as a play, novel, or book of poems" ("Researching and Writing Literature Reviews," n.d.).
Writing a literature review requires four stages: problem formulation, literature search, data evaluation, and analysis and interpretation ("Researching and Writing Literature Reviews," n.d.).
The purpose of problem formulation is to define which topic or field is being examined and to identify its component issues ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). This stage is similar to the development of a thesis statement for a research paper. The researcher must identify the specific thesis, problem, or research question that the subsequent review of literature will help to define. According to Spiller (n.d.), one should choose a current, well-studied, specific topic.
The literature search finds materials relevant to the subject being explored ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). This step may sound easier than it actually is. The Columbia University Writing Center suggests the following strategy: 1. Identify and find the "big names" and best publications in the research area. 2. Conduct an online literature search. 3. Look in bibliographies of the most recent books and journal articles. 4. Avoid the popular press, such as the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Wikipedia ("Writing Center Handouts," n.d.). As always, make sure to write down the full bibliographic details of each book or article as soon as you find a reference to it. Many abstracting journals and electronic databases are available through the University Library. The minimum number of references needed depends upon what the review is for and what stage you are in in your studies. As a general rule, an undergraduate review should use between five and twenty titles, depending on the level. A master's thesis should use over forty, and a doctoral dissertation should use over fifty ("Writing a Literature Review, n.d.).
Data Evaluation
Data evaluation involves determining which literature makes a significant contribution to the understanding of the topic ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). According to the American University Library, ask the following questions about the material you are including: 1. "Has the author formulated a problem/issue? 2. Is it clearly defined? Is its significance (scope, severity, relevance) clearly established? 3. Could the problem have been approached more effectively from another perspective? 4. What is the author's research orientation (e.g., interpretive, critical science, combination)? 5. What is the author's theoretical framework (e.g., psychological, developmental, feminist)? 6. What is the relationship between the theoretical and research perspectives? 7. Has the author evaluated the literature relevant to the problem/issue? Does the author include literature taking positions she or he does not agree with? 8. In a research study, how good are the basic components of the study design (e.g., population, intervention, outcome)? How accurate and valid are the measurements? Is the analysis of the data accurate and relevant to the research question? Are the
conclusions validly based upon the data and analysis? 9. In material written for popular readership, does the author use appeals to emotion, one-sided examples, or rhetorically-charged language and tone? Is there an objective basis to the reasoning, or is the author merely 'proving' what he or she already believes? 10.How does the author structure the argument? Can you 'deconstruct' the flow of the argument to see whether or where it breaks down logically (i.e., in establishing cause-effect relationships)?
11.In what ways does this book or article contribute to our understanding of the problem under study, and in what ways is it useful for practice? What are the strengths and limitations? 12.How does this book or article relate to the specific thesis or question I am developing?" ("Literature Review Tutorial" (n.d.)). Spiller (n.d.) suggests the following strategy: read the easier articles first; scan the article for key points; then read for depth; and finally, allow enough time.
Analysis and Interpretation
This stage involves discussing the findings and conclusions of pertinent literature ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.). Apply the principles of analysis to identify unbiased and valid studies; specifically, compare and contrast information or arguments between sources ("Annotated Bibliography & Literature Review," n.d.). All pertinent facts need to be organized in a systematic way. Columbia University's Writing Center suggests the following steps to critically assessing the material: "List three questions you want answered by the material. 1. Summarize the major points the author makes. 2. How does the author support his/her position (specific facts, details, etc.)? 3. Were the three questions raised concerning the article answered? List answers. If not, what questions did the author subsequently raise and answer? 4. Evaluate the article, with consideration for the following: 5. What are its strengths and/or weaknesses? 6. Is the subject covered adequately? 7. Is the author's position adequately supported? 8. Is it biased, balanced, etc.? 9. Do you agree with the author's position and why?" ("Writing Center Handouts," n.d.). "In assessing each piece, consideration
should be given to: ? Provenance—What are the author's credentials? Are the author's arguments supported by evidence (e.g., primary historical material, case studies, narratives, statistics, recent scientific findings)?
Objectivity—Is the author's perspective even-handed or prejudicial? Is contrary data considered or is certain pertinent information ignored to prove the author's point? Persuasiveness—Which of the author's theses are most/least convincing? Value—Are the author's arguments and conclusions convincing? Does the work ultimately contribute in any significant way to an understanding of the subject?" ("Write a Literature Review," n.d.).
Structuring the Literature Review
While there is no general standard for structuring a literature review, most formats contain common elements organized in a particular manner; this handout offers that structure. Remember that this is not a "boilerplate" format that can be used in every situation, but rather one that has widespread use among the various disciplines. Be sure to contact your professor concerning any differences between the format shown here and that of your individual assignment.
The purpose of the introduction is to define or identify the general topic, issue, or area of concern, thus providing an appropriate context for reviewing the literature ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.). The introduction must present the specific research hypothesis, purpose of the research, or questions about the topic under consideration. The thesis statement or statement of significance must be specific to the topic under consideration. The use of first person is permitted ("Subject Guides, n.d.). The introduction should also point out overall trends in what has been published
about the topic; or conflicts in theory, methodology, evidence, and conclusions; or gaps in research and scholarship, or a single problem or new perspective of immediate interest. Finally, it should establish the writer's reason (point of view) for reviewing the literature; explain the criteria to be used in analyzing and comparing literature and the organization of the review (sequence); and, when necessary, state why certain literature is or is not included (scope) ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.).
The purpose of the body is to group research studies and other types of literature (reviews, theoretical articles, case studies, etc.) according to common denominators such as qualitative versus quantitative approaches, conclusions of authors, specific purpose or objective, chronology, etc. ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.). The body of the review should be presented in essay form and should not be a list of the resources used in researching the topic ("Subject Guides, n.d.). The following is one example of how various sources should be summarized and synthesized in a narrative form:
This is one point of my paper. Here is sour ce A and how it relates to this point. Source A additionally states this, this, and this. Source A contributes this to the field. However, Source A does not cover that, that, and that. Source B refutes A's conclusion. Source B's conclusion points to th is, that, and the other thing. Source B also points this out and supports my point. Source C corroborates with B in the following ways. Additionally, Source C says this and that. However, Source D disagrees with Source C, attributing another cause. In fact, Source D supports Source A's conclusion by stating that this causes that and not the other way around. But Source D… ("Annotated Bibliographies," n.d.) The body of the review should report the findings of the previous research on a topic, not just the methodologies and measurements used in the research. It should point out trends and themes, as well as gaps in the literature, that is, it should synthesize results into a summary of what is and is not known and formulate questions that need further research (Taylor and Procter, n.d.). Direct quotations should be
used sparingly. Details of the literature being cited should be reported sparingly, as well ("Subject Guides," n.d.). It should provide the reader with strong "umbrella" statements at beginnings of paragraphs, "signposts" throughout, and brief "so what" summary sentences at intermediate points in the review to aid in understanding comparisons and analyses ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.). In other words, it should address how the material contributes to the understanding of the problem under study, how it is useful for practice, and how it relates to the specific thesis or question being developed (Taylor and Procter, n.d.).
The conclusion should summarize major pieces of significant studies and articles to the body of knowledge under review, maintaining the focus established in the introduction. It should also evaluate the current "state of the art" for the body of knowledge reviewed, pointing out major methodological flaws or gaps in the research, inconsistencies in theory and findings, and areas or issues pertinent to future study. Finally, it should conclude by providing some insight into the relationship between the central topic of the literature review and a larger area of study such as a discipline, a scientific endeavor, or a profession ("The Writer's Handbook," n.d.).
Spiller (n.d.) provides the following tips for writing the literature review: Make yourself comfortable. Don't start writing too early. Leave time | 2,467 |
They "... explained to him the way of God more accurately,"
he might bring them bound to Jerusalem,"
The words above show that the teachings of Christ and the Kingdom had spread out from Jerusalem. And the men and women who believed and followed Jesus were described as people "of the Way".
How did the name come about? Believers know Jesus as The Way, The Truth, The Life (John 14'6) who preached, taught and lived God's Kingdom life.
He referred to the reality of the Kingdom of God and demonstrated it. And the Father sent the<|fim_middle|> they desired to glorify their heavenly Father.
The Lord was their example. He took the earthly position of being the first, and foremost, citizen of the Kingdom of God. | Holy Spirit for Christ's Called-Out Ones to do the same.
Consequently, Christ's people were like their Lord and expressed the Kingdom to the world (and to the powers of darkness!). Also, like Jesus, | 43 |
WSP unveils next-generation breath test instrument
Written by Lt. Rob Sharpe, WSP
Agency spent nearly four years making Draeger Alcotest 9510 units ready for deployment
(Seattle)—The Washington State Patrol today unveiled the next-generation of breath testing instruments designed to help remove impaired drivers from the streets and highways we all share.
The Patrol has spent nearly four years making sure the Draeger Alcotest 9510 instruments would be ready to fit into an already effective program of DUI enforcement.
"This is another step in our agency's long-standing effort to remove dangerously impaired drivers from our state's highways," said Chief John R. Batiste. "We've made great strides toward our goal of zero annual traffic fatalities, and this device will help move the needle even further."
The Draeger instruments will replace the National Patent Analytical Systems DataMaster that has been in use since the 1980s. They are no longer being manufactured, and even getting parts has been difficult.
"The Draeger instrument will produce the same accurate results as our previous instrument, but with far less maintenance," said Lt. Rob Sharpe, commander of the Patrol's Impaired Driving Section. "They are also easier for officers to operate, and help speed the processing of DUI suspects."
The biggest difference from previous generations of breath testing devices is that the Draegers utilize a dry gas standard instead of a liquid solution to verify that the instrument is working properly. For years, liquid solutions have had to be mixed locally by scientists, monitored for temperature, and checked regularly by technicians. The Draeger's dry gas contains a known concentration of alcohol, allowing the instrument to verify that a suspect's breath alcohol is being measured accurately and reliably.
The Patrol received legislative approval in 2010 to switch to the dry gas and work began immediately so that the new instruments would fit into our state's DUI<|fim_middle|> as the suspected impaired driver swerved across all three lanes from shoulder to shoulder as he ascended Snoqualmie Pass from Highway 18. Kathy called 911 to report the vehicle and stayed behind the vehicle while Troopers responded to contact the vehicle. Kathy used her emergency flashers to warn other motorists of the dangerous impaired driver in front of her. This got the attention of David McDaniel, an off duty fire department Battalion Chief. He also called 911 and joined Kathy in warning other vehicles. The pair stayed behind the erratic vehicle, providing updates on location to responding Troopers. With the help of Kathy and David the impaired driver was arrested and removed from the highway just prior to the vehicle reaching an active construction work zone. Their actions that date helped make the roads of Washington safe for all to travel.
If you see erratic driving and you believe it is an impaired driver, it is an emergency, and 911 is appropriate.
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Memorial Day weekend will bring extra patrols
Manson Girls Softball vs Lake Roosevelt 4-29-14
WSP Chief Does Not Order Crackdown on Dangerous Motorcycle Behavior
Man drowns in Wenatchee River while attempting to save pig
Meth bust in Waterville
Fighting and shots fired in Bridgeport
Motorcycle fatality near Plain
Public notice of proposed RV park at Mill Bay Casino
East Wenatchee vehicle pursuit ends in collision | program. The Patrol now believes the instruments are ready to win the confidence of judges and juries who will rely on them in court.
"The Draegers would have been fine right out of the box for simply testing breath alcohol levels," Sharpe said. "We wanted to make them fit into our state's DUI enforcement program so that officers can produce better reports, faster, and get back into service."
One challenge in reducing impaired driving fatalities is the time it takes to process a DUI arrest. If that time can be shortened, police officers can get back on the road and spot additional impaired drivers.
As a result, a great deal of effort went into the user interface. For example, developers added drop-down menus that officers will be familiar with from using Microsoft Windows. In Washington, breath testing instruments also contain the state's database of licensed drinking establishments, so troopers can include that information in their DUI report.
Ease of maintenance is also a big plus with the Draegers.
"If the device detects a problem, it shuts itself down and sends an e-mail to our office," Sharpe said. "The test can't proceed, and a technician can be dispatched to fix the problem."
Technicians will also no longer need to make as many routine visits simply to check the status of the liquid solution used by the older instruments. When a Draeger unit's tank of dry gas starts to run low, it sends an e-mail alert.
The Patrol expects to begin deploying the new Draeger instruments in time for the December holiday season. The first instruments will be deployed in Whatcom, Island, San Juan, Skagit and Snohomish counties. The Patrol owns and maintains all the state's breath testing instruments used by police for DUI enforcement.
In 2013, 440 people were killed in traffic collisions. Of those deaths, 188 involved a driver who was impaired. Washington's Strategic Highway Safety Plan is called "Target Zero," and aims to completely eliminate all traffic fatalities by the year 2030.
Amber Alert Leads to Child'S Safe Recovery
Written by Lieutenant Ron Mead, WSP
Suspect arrested minutes after issuance of Wireless Emergency Alert
Officials from the Washington State Patrol (WSP) were celebrating the quick recovery of an abducted and endangered child as a result of this morning's AMBER Alert and applauding the public involvement that proved crucial to the child's safe recovery.
The Thurston County Sheriff's Office initiated the AMBER Alert for 18-month old Mason A. Wilhelm, which was issued at 10:23 a.m. The Wireless Emergency Alert (WEA) system was then activated, which was sent at 10:41 a.m. An alert motorist, receiving the WEA on their phone, called 9-1-1 at 10:42 a.m., reporting they were following the vehicle. Deputies then stopped the suspect vehicle at 10:49 a.m. and the child was safety recovered.
The AMBER Alert program is a critical tool that has aided in the safe recovery of over 700 abducted children nationwide since its inception. "The public may often be our best resource in locating these abducted children and the quick dissemination of this critical information using the WEA system enhances getting these alerts out to the public. As demonstrated with this morning's quick and safe recovery, a mere 8 minutes passed from the WEA being seen by a motorist and the child's safe recovery," said Lieutenant Ron Mead of the Washington State Patrol. "The system works and this recovery demonstrates the value of the AMBER Alert program and the invaluable role of the Wireless Emergency Alerts system in alerting the public", added Mead.
Additional information on the circumstances surrounding the child's abduction and recovery are available from the Thurston County Sheriff's Office.
Additional information on the AMBER Alert program can be found at http://www.missingkids.com/AMBER or the Washington State AMBER Alert plan at http://www.wsp.wa.gov/crime/amber.htm.
Additional information on the Wireless Emergency Alert system can be found at http://www.fema.gov/wireless-emergency-alerts.
State Patrol Detectives Seek Witnesses to Fatality Collision
Written by Trooper Darren Wright, WSP
At the request of the Grant County Sheriff's Office, the Washington State Patrol's Major Accident Investigation Team (MAIT) has assumed primary investigative responsibility for the fatal traffic collision involving an on-duty Grant County Sheriff's deputy and a Jeep Cherokee. The crash occurred at approximately 9:35 a.m. on Saturday, September 20, 2014, at the intersection of Dodson Road and Road 5 NW. The deputy was traveling south on Dodson in a 2013 Chevrolet Silverado pickup when he collided with the eastbound 1996 Jeep. The driver of the Jeep suffered fatal trauma and the deputy sustained non-life threatening injuries.
The MAIT is a specialty unit in the State Patrol that responds to collisions statewide from their office in Monroe. The unit is staffed with collision reconstruction detectives and will be investigating the crash event using the human, vehicle, environment (HVE) model to determine the causal factors.
As part of the investigation, detectives are seeking witnesses that may have seen any events leading up to or the actual crash. If you have any information or know someone who does, please contact Detective Sergeant Jerry Cooper at (360) 805-1192 or Detective Ed Collins at (360) 805-1195.
Washington State Fire District Receives National Fire Prevention Award
Written by Deputy State Fire Marshal Lysandra Davis
The Office of the State Fire Marshal is proud to congratulate the Marysville Fire District for receiving the national Life Safety Achievement Award for 2013. "The Marysville Fire District should be commended for their outstanding leadership, determination, and active pledge to enhance public safety," said State Fire Marshal Chuck Duffy.
Since 1994, the National Association of State Fire Marshals Fire Research and Education Foundation along with Grinnell Mutual Reinsurance Company have recognized fire departments for their accomplishments in promoting fire prevention in the pursuit of saving lives by awarding the Life Safety Achievement Award to those fire departments in our nation that experienced zero fire deaths in their jurisdiction, or a 10 percent reduction in fire deaths during the previous calendar year.
State Fire Marshal Duffy encourages all local fire departments to apply for the Life Safety Achievement Award for their fire prevention efforts conducted in 2014. A list of criteria and an application for the 2014 award will be available on www.grinnellmutual.com in the spring of 2015.
Fire Safety Tips for College Dorm Living
Written by Deputy State Fire Marshal Melissa Gannie
Summer break is quickly coming to an end and many students will be moving in to dormitories or other college housing. State Fire Marshal Chuck Duffy recommendsthat, "Fire safety should be reviewed as students settle into their new spaces. Understanding the safety features of a building and knowing your escape routes can significantly increase your personal safety."
The United States Fire Administration reports an estimated 3,800 university housing fires occur each year. The leading causes include cooking, intentionally set fires, careless smoking, unattended candles, and overloaded electrical wiring. State Fire Marshal Duffy suggests the following tips to reduce the risk of fire and increase student safety:
Cooking should only be done in a location permitted by the school's policies. Never leave your cooking unattended. If a fire starts in a microwave, leave the door closed and unplug the unit.
Alcohol, drugs and fire do not mix. The combination can make an individual sleepy which could result in them falling asleep with a lit cigarette. Smoking outside the building is recommended. Only use noncombustible, deep, wide, sturdy ashtrays to extinguish smoking materials.
Candles may be prohibited from use in college housing. Students should familiarize themselves with the applicable policies regarding open flames. If candles are permitted, never leave them unattended while they are burning. Ensure the container/holder is noncombustible and made of sturdy material. Using a flameless candle is recommended.
Fire sprinklers and smoke alarms are built in safety devices designed to respond quickly if a fire were to start. Never disable or hinder their operation. If a smoke alarm sounds, immediately evacuate the building and do not assume it is a false alarm.
The Office of the State Fire Marshal is a Bureau of the Washington State Patrol, providing fire and life safety services to the citizens of Washington State including inspections of state licensed facilities, plan review of school construction projects, licensing of fire sprinkler contractors and pyrotechnic operators, training Washington State's firefighters, and collecting emergency response data.
WSP receives credible tip on location of wanted man
Written by Lt. Shane Nelson, WSP
Victor Barnard, wanted on 59 counts of sexual misconduct with children, possibly in Raymond
(Olympia)—Detectives with the Washington State Patrol have received what they believe is a credible tip as to the location of Victor Barnard, a former minister from Pine County, Minnesota, charged with 59 counts of sexual molestation of children.
Earlier today Barnard, 52, was reportedly seen leaving the McDonalds restaurant on SR 101 in Raymond heading towards Aberdeen. He was seen driving a dark blue Audi 2 door with tinted windows and a spoiler. The witness indicated the vehicle "looks like a Porsche." There was a white female riding with him at the time.
Additional information was developed that places Barnard in the Raymond and Aberdeen areas for approximately the previous week.
On April 11, the Pine County, MN, Attorney's Office issued a criminal complaint against Barnard. The charges result from a multi-year investigation by the Pine County Sheriff's Office into Barnard's behavior while he was ministering to a religious group in Northern Pine County.
Later that same day, the Pine County Sheriff issued a nationwide warrant for Barnard, who was last known to be in the Spokane, Wash. area. The Pine County Sheriff's Office is coordinating with the State of Washington and Homeland Security for the apprehension of Barnard.
Anyone who may have information as to the whereabouts of Victor Barnard, please call 911. Local police agencies are assisting in the search and will be ready for your call.
I-90/94 Challenge: 5,681 Miles, Four Days, Zero Fatalities
Law enforcement officials in 15 states conducting enhanced traffic enforcement Aug. 1-4
(Olympia)-- Motorists will notice an extra law enforcement presence when driving on two of the country's most highly traveled interstates during a four-day enforcement campaign in early August.
The Washington State Patrol and law enforcement officials in 14 other states are joining together with a goal of zero deaths on Interstates 90 and 94 between Washington state and New York Aug. 1-4. That's more than 5,600 miles of road.
This combined effort is known as the "I-90/94 Challenge." It's not a competition between states, but a challenge to drivers to stay safe on one of the country's busiest highways.
"We will have zero tolerance for the violations we know cause the most deaths and injuries," said WSP Chief John R. Batiste. "Speed, DUI and the failure to wear seat belts continue to cause preventable tragedies and rip families apart."
Batiste urged drivers to answer the challenge by tweeting "#9094challenge" when they've arrived safely at a destination.
Coordinated by the Minnesota State Patrol, the challenge will use education, awareness and strict enforcement to save lives and remind all motorists to drive safely and obey important traffic laws.
Traffic crashes kill more than 33,000 people each year in the United States. Local, state and national traffic safety officials agree too many of those fatalities are happening on I-90 and I-94.
In Washington, regularly scheduled troopers will focus their work time on I-90. A few additional troopers are being brought on specifically for the emphasis patrol. I-90 splits into two highways, 90 and 94, in Montana. I-94 does not exist by that name in Washington State.
"The first weekend in August is the mid-point between two other driving holidays- Independence Day and Labor Day," Batiste said. "We'll use this emphasis patrol to help drivers maintain good driving habits."
I-90/94 Challenge is intended to help the International Association of Chiefs of Police reach its goal this year of reducing U.S. traffic fatalities by 15 percent.
More information on is available at www.trafficsafetymarketing.gov or follow the hashtag #9094challenge.
Need locals to support the Mountain View Summer Music Series
Written by Norm Manly
Five of the eleven concerts at Leffler Field (next to Mountain View Lodge) in Manson are in the history books. The event has been a wonderful experience for those in attendance but we are concerned about the lack of local participation.
There are several reasons Sundays were picked for our concerts. First we hope to have folks stay over one extra day, which means more hotels, more food and more wine. Also we didn't want to be in competition with local businesses and their events. And we wanted to offer our locals something to do on Sundays, usually a dead day.
We have also offered local non-profits and community groups the opportunity to make money for their organization. We call these groups "Partners" and they can make some serious money for their cause. For each ticket our Partner sells they receive $4, half the ticket price. So if you have an organization than would like to raise money please contact us 509-293-0225. So far we have had the Manson High School Class of 2015, Chelan Valley Hope and this week North Shore Bible Church.
We have a great show for Sunday, July 20th starting at 7:00.
Our Opening Act is Tim Snider and Caio AndreattaSnug - Unbridled energy, intensity, and musical eclecticism! Tim Snider plays and loops the electric violin, guitar, cajon, and vocals creating aural landscapes that are forceful, confessional, and raw. Coming from Reno, Nevada, Tim picked up the violin when he was just three years old. Over the years, exposure to rock music, songwriters, like Ben Harper and Paul Simon, inspired him to play the guitar. His sojourns in Spain and Cuba introduced flamenco, salsa, and Afro-Cuban rhythms into his repertoire. His music can be described as a world-folk-rock hybrid that is aimed at the heart, the brain, and the feet.
Snug Harbor, our headliner is a 9 piece funk-soul revival group, tucked away in the corner of the Northwest in the city of Bellingham, WA. From original compositions to classic covers, Snug Harbor is raw,high-energy soul musicand each live show contains elements ofimprovisation over heavy funk grooves. After six years of recording, performing, and touring this band has really hit its stride. In 2014, with the addition of three new members, Snug Harbor has been regarded as a top performer in the contemporary funk and soul market. Follow them online to find out more information on music related releases and tour dates.
Besides all the great music you can park for free at Leffler Field. Tickets are only $8 and remember $4 goes back to our community. You can enjoy our beer and wine gardens and each week we have different food, hamburgers, subs, etc. Also snow cones and popcorn are available. And there is more!!!!! We have a drawing each week for some pretty neat prizes.
So please join us and support your community. Tickets can be purchase at many local businesses including the Chelan Chamber of Commerce. You can purchase tickets online or at the gate.
More information visit our website or call Norm Manly 509-293-0225.
Mountain View Summer Concert Series
Whether you live in the Chelan Valley or on the west side of the mountain this post is for you. Concert #1 of theMountain View Summer Music Series will be on Sunday - June 15 from 7:00 to 10:00. This is a new event for Manson and it is shaping up to be a super fun time. I now have tickets, only $8 for 13 and over and free for 12 and younger.
Opening band for the June 15 concert is Sammy Witness & the Reassignment with the feature band Cody Beebe & the Crooks.
There will eleven concerts this summer and you can learn more or purchase tickets atMountain View Summer Music Series.
Dedicated citizens help catch impaired driver
A potential tragedy was avoided when two motorists teamed up and helped get an impaired driver off the road. On May 15, Kathy Cruz was driving along I-90, when she observed what she thought was an impaired driver. She watched | 3,553 |
Home › 528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation - Transformation & Miracles - MP3 Download
528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation - Transformation & Miracles - MP3 Download
Transform your life, repair DNA and create miracles.
Glenn Harrold's calming voice guiding you into a completely relaxed state of mind & body.
A guided meditation healing cellular emotional blocks.
A state of the art production with unique sound frequencies and music tuned to 528 Hz, created by Ali Calderwood.
Soothing background sounds recorded in specific musical keys and frequencies to deepen the relaxation effect.
Hypnotic echoed affirmations which pan from ear to ear across the stereo range - a deeply relaxing, unique effect.
528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation - Transformation & Miracles (MP3 Download)
This is one of a series of six meditation recordings by Glenn Harrold and Ali Calderwood, which are based upon the ancient solfeggio musical scale. Each note in this scale has specific healing properties and this recording uses the third note, which resonates to a frequency of 528 Hz and is associated with the colour gold and the element of fire. This frequency is described as the love frequency as it has the potential to bring about transformation and create miracles as well as repairing broken DNA. It can also help to overcome problems like fatigue, anxiety, control issues and negative thought patterns, all of which exist within the same vibrational energy.
Interestingly, 528 Hz is the exact frequency used by genetic biochemists to repair broken DNA so our ancestors who used this scale for healing and transformation knew the power these frequencies held.
Glenn Harrold's skilled vocal delivery<|fim_middle|> Sleep iPhone - Android - Windows - Amazon | and guided meditation combined with Ali Calderwood's deep and moving soundscapes tuned to 528 Hz combine to create an amazingly powerful meditation recording. By combining these sounds with a guided meditation, you also have the potential to release deep-rooted blockages. These compositions also contain an array of sacred instruments and sounds such as crystal bowls and didgeridoo and sacred chants, which work to further enhance the effects of the solfeggio tones.
This recording contains two tracks, the first you can use in the daytime as it will guide you back to full waking consciousness at the end. The second track will guide you into a deep sleep state at the end, which makes it ideal for using before you go to sleep at night. When you are instructed to repeat affirmations, connect with positive feelings (e.g. happiness, joy, love), this will help you absorb the suggestions on a deeper level. You don't have to repeat the affirmations out loud but do make a strong connection with them.
You will be guided into a deep state of mental and physical relaxation and it is recommended that you listen through headphones while lying or sitting somewhere comfortable where you won't be disturbed. Listen every day initially for 21 days and then as and when you wish. However, this is purely a guideline and you can listen to the recordings as often as you like. It is important to remember that you are being guided, so you will always be in full control of the whole process. This powerful recording is a completely safe and effective way of helping you to clear away deep-rooted blocks on a cellular level and find peace.
MP3 Track Listing:
1. 528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation (awake) 37:11 mins
2. 528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation (sleep) 42:42 mins
Please note: The first track has an awake ending and will gently bring you back to full waking consciousness, making it ideal for daytime use. The second track has a sleep ending and will guide you into a peaceful sleep at the end, making it ideal for night-time use
CD Version Also Available
This item can also be purchased as a CD. Click here for more information.
About the Ancient Solfeggio Scale and Healing Sounds
Modern science is now beginning to recognise what the ancient mystics throughout time have been saying; that everything is in a constant state of vibration, and therefore everything that is vibrating has a sound (even if it's not audible). Everything also has its own optimum rate of vibration, and this is called resonance. When we are in resonance, we are in balance and harmony with creation.
Emotions and mental states also have their own optimum resonance and with the recognition that every organ, and every cell, absorbs and emits sound, we can therefore understand how specific sounds and frequencies can be used as powerful healing tools. This is how the ancient Solfeggio frequencies work and is why the Gregorian monks used this specific scale for chanting and healing.
These incredible tones each resonate to specific frequency that our original blueprint is composed from. Exposing ourselves to these frequencies helps to bring our bodies, cells and DNA back into balance. Different parts of our bodies and organs all have specific frequencies of optimum resonance (perfect state of health), and therefore listening to these tones allows the body to absorb and remember (know) its original blueprint, moving it back towards its prefect state of alignment and resonance (health).
The music with this series of mediations has been specially crafted and precisely tuned to transmit each of the solfeggio frequencies. By combining these sounds with a guided meditation, you also have the potential to release deep-rooted blockages. These compositions also contain an array of sacred instruments and sounds such as crystal bowls and didgeridoo and sacred chants, which work to further enhance the effects of the Solfeggio tones.
Glenn Harrold and Ali Calderwood acknowledge the pioneering work of Dr. Joseph Puleo and Dr. Leonard Horowitz in decrypting the ancient Solfeggio and advancing Healing Codes for the Biological Apocalypse and 528Records.com.
Glenn Harrold Glenn Harrold is one of the worlds most successful hypnotherapists. He has helped thousands including many celebrities in a 20 year career and has sold over 6 million hypnosis CDs and downloads. His hypnotherapy titles are well established as the UK's best selling self-help CDs and downloads of all time and consistently top the self-help audio charts on Amazon, iTunes, Audible and Apple's App Store. In May 2011 he was made a Fellow of The British School of Clinical Hypnosis in acknowledgement of his achievements in the world of hypnotherapy.
Ali Calderwood Ali is an accomplished musician and producer, whose compositions contain illuminating depths of harmonic sound. His work is highly influenced by 15 years of immersion in ancient ways of shamanic knowledge, and the development of new approaches for modern day healing. Ali is recognised as a skilled shamanic healer, and now with 7 albums under the name of Anima, his work with sound has received international acclaim for its profound effect of aligning the listener with the higher states of consciousness. For more information visit his website - www.animacreations.co.uk
528 Hz Solfeggio Sonic Meditation MP3 ISBN: 9781905835430
528 Hz Solfeggio Meditation iPhone - Android - Windows - Amazon
Solfeggio Relax & | 1,135 |
All posts tagged motorsport circuit
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Daytona Rising: Reimagining an American Idol
Tags: motorsport circuit
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DAYTONA Rising is a US$400m reimagining of an American icon, the Daytona International Speedway.
The major redevelopment will see the addition of five expanded and redesigned entrances or "injectors", which will lead fans to a series of escalators and elevators, transporting them to three different concourse levels. Each level will feature spacious social areas or "neighbourhoods" along the nearly mile-long frontstretch.
At the conclusion of the transformation, Daytona International Speedway will have approximately 101,000 permanent, wider and more comfortable seats, twice as many restrooms and three times as many concession stands. In addition, the Speedway will feature over 60 luxury suites with track side views and a completely revamped hospitality experience for corporate guests, as well as a new PA system to ensure fans can hear announcements and play-by-plays.
Renovation highlights include:
For fans with four-day tickets, a special club experience will be available behind the seating area. Accessible from the 3rd and 4th levels, the club will feature a dedicated bar area overlooking the Midway, 21-inch seats and high-end food and beverage options.
Numerous upscale hospitality options with seating for more than 500 fans will also be available, along with high-end food and beverage options and premium lounge areas.
At the heart of the grandstand experience is the new World Center of Racing – a fan area that offers premium food, entertainment and merchandise options, while paying tribute to the past, present and future of racing's most recognizable venue.
A total of 1,600 video monitors will be positioned throughout the facility, ensuring that fans can follow all the action. All suites and hospitality areas will also include video monitors.
Each neighborhood will include public WiFi access, helping fans stay connected and enabling them to use their smart devices that enhance the race experience. In addition, multiple interactive technology experiences will be found throughout the facility.
The project officially broke ground in early July, 2013, and is expected to be completed in time for the 2016 Rolex 24 At Daytona and DAYTONA 500.
For the full project details, go to: http://www.daytonainternationalspeedway.com/Vanity-Pages/2013/Daytona-Rising/DAYTONA-RISING.aspx
To help enhance the race experience, the Speedway is installing a new public address system that will allow fans to more easily hear announcements and play-by-play, both in the grandstands, as well as in the restrooms, concession areas and throughout the concourses.
The grandstands have been completely redesigned to help maximize views of the speedway. The front row will be up to 12ft higher across the entire grandstands; all lower-level seats will have improved sight lines. New, upper-level seats will continue to have views similar to the upper levels of the current Petty, Earnhardt and Sprint Towers.
Daytona envisions stadium atmosphere for motorsport
<|fim_middle|> honeymoon.
Race Makers stand out from the crowd.
Silverstone Circuits awards trackside hospitality facilities contract
Tags: hospitality design, motorsport, motorsport circuit, sports hospitality
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Following a competitive tender, Silverstone Circuits has appointed Detail for three years to design, manage and construct the circuit's official trackside hospitality facilities.
Detail was commissioned to design a vibrant yet relaxed environment for over 7,000 covers at Lakeside Terrace, Silverstone Six and Club Silverstone. The latest designs for 2013 build on the success of previous events and incorporate a new look and feel to the settings using Detail's unique walling and continuous length graphic systems.
Richard Phillips, Managing Director of Silverstone Circuits said:
In the recent tender process Detail demonstrated their ability to produce strong creative designs that are cost effective and meet our objectives. Silverstone have enjoyed a long and healthy working relationship with Detail and I look forward to continuing with this to 2015.
James Mason, Managing Director of Detail Ltd added:
I know our team see this as a natural progression of our working relationship that spans many previous Grand Prix at Silverstone. At Detail we care passionately about the design, attention to finish and the overall guest experience whilst being ever conscious of tight timescales and dependable delivery.
The sole supply agreement for 2013 – 2015 formalises the former separate arrangements for management of Silverstone's technical implementation by Detail and the hospitality design and construction work.
Silverstone has chosen Detail to create its trackside hospitality spaces. | Tags: fan experience, main grandstand, motorsport circuit, sponsor activation
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International Speedway Corporation (ISC), parent company of historic Daytona International Speedway, is transforming the nearly mile-long grandstand into a brand new experience for fans, media, sponsors, drivers and employees. The project, dubbed DAYTONA Rising: Reimagining an American Icon, is scheduled for completion in January 2016 and being carried out in partnership with the design build team of ROSSETTI and Barton Malow.
ROSSETTI began working with ISC through extensive visioning workshops to determine new design themes, programming of the grandstand and master planning of the site. Barton Malow joined the team to lead the design build project. The challenge: transition 50 years of history at the venue into a modern venue for the next 50 years.
According to ROSSETTI Principal in Charge, Jim Renne, the firm analysed extensive customer research to develop the key components for the redevelopment:
What fans want from their in-venue experience has changed dramatically in the last 15 years. Besides the modern amenities, they want to experience a sports community and social atmosphere that they can't get anywhere else. We will give them that experience.
Daytona International Speedway President Joie Chitwood III said:
The team of ROSSETTI and Barton Malow make ideal partners for the historic DAYTONA Rising project – the single largest investment in our company's history. We will work together over the next three years to bring our fans, partners, community and the industry a unique experience unmatched in motorsports. We're looking forward to the kick-off of this project and its completion in 2016.
The vision for the DIS redevelopment emphasises a complete street-to-seat fan experience.The architectural design of the grandstand is a visual and experiential interpretation of racing itself that will immerse fans in the experience. In place of the current grandstand will be a modern, 120-feet high structure that spans nearly a mile along the front straightaway. The design creates a modern stadium-like atmosphere by using contemporary forms and materials.
Sponsors will have the opportunity to create a brand immersion experience at each of the five new entrances ('injectors') along International Speedway Boulevard. Escalators will deliver fans to 'neighbourhood' social areas – each the size of a football field. The central neighbourhood, the World Center of Racing, will celebrate the history of Daytona International Speedway and its many historic moments throughout more than 50 years of racing.
The DAYTONA Rising project provides a series of construction challenges with the replacement of seating, re-construction of the Sprint tower, added amenities throughout the concourse, and improved access/egress walkways for fans – all of which will take place in between hosted race events over the next three years.
Daytona Rising facts and figures.
Circuit of Wales granted outline planning approval
Tags: motorsport circuit, venue development
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A full Blaenau Gwent County Borough Council meeting has decided in favour of the building of a £280 million motorsport circuit near Ebbw Vale. The developer Heads of the Valleys Development Company will now continue to seek public and private finance, having secured a £2 million loan from the Welsh Government. The developer promises a low carbon automotive centre of excellence, the creations of thousands of jobs and £50m annually to the UK economy.
The first phase of this multi-purpose development will be the construction of an international specification motor racing circuit, including hotel, commercial and retail complexes. It will include a 3.5 mile track, Motocross and international karting tracks, and off-road driving facilities. A racing academy will also nurture the finest up-and-coming talent in Wales and the UK.
The developer aims to make the automotive park one of the world's leading sustainable developments targeting the growth of low-carbon industries and events. It will be a hub for research and development companies who are seeking to push the boundaries in environmental technology and energy solutions.
Silverstone strengthens corporate team
Tags: corporate sales, motorsport circuit, non-matchday
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Amanda Macchi has joined Silverstone as Head of Corporate Sales.
She brings a wealth of experience to the role, having previously worked for a number of international hotel companies. She was Director of Sales and Marketing at The Belfry from 1991 to 2000 and has been actively involved in a number of international golf events, including the Ryder Cup in 1993, 2002, 2006 and 2010.
Macchi will oversee the corporate sales team, building on The Wing's success in its first two years and establishing it as a go-to venue in the corporate sector.
Macchi said:
Silverstone's award-winning conferencing, exhibition and event facilities are a fantastic proposition for business clients. Working with the sales team to build on the venue's presence in the corporate events sector is an exciting challenge, and I'm relishing the opportunity to continue driving the business forward.
Amanda Macchi.
Silverstone Race Makers for motor sport summer
Tags: fan experience, motorsport circuit, volunteering
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Inspired by the success of the London 2012 Olympics Games Makers, Silverstone has recruited 105 volunteers to lend their support at two of the biggest motor sport events on the UK sporting calendar: the 2013 FORMULA 1 SANTANDER BRITISH GRAND PRIX (28 – 30 June) and the 2013 Hertz MotoGP British Grand Prix (30 August – 01 September).
The recruitment process saw applications from enthusiastic volunteers across the British Isles, who were keen to get involved and help out at their favourite motor sport events. As with the Olympics, the Race Makers will take on a variety of invaluable support roles over the course of both race weekends, including greeting fans, directing attendees around the circuit, checking tickets and offering help and information where needed.
Richard Phillips, Managing Director, Silverstone Circuits Ltd, commented:
We received over 1,000 applications which were narrowed down to a select group of 105. The Silverstone Race Makers will help us to ensure the smooth running of these fantastic events and add to the atmosphere at both British Grands Prix. It is a great opportunity for motor racing fans all over the country to get involved in their favourite motor sport events and the Race Makers can't wait to get started.
While not strictly part of the recruitment criteria, many of the Race Makers – aged from 18 to 70 – are motor sport fans themselves, with interesting stories to tell – one couple even came to the Formula 1 British Grand Prix for their | 1,431 |
How do you use the Binomial Theorem to expand #(x + 2)^4#?
Precalculus The Binomial Theorem The Binomial Theorem
#(x+2)^4" "=" "x^4+8x^3+24x^2+32x+16#.
The Binomial Theorem says that, for a positive integer #n#,
#(x+b)^n= ""_nC_0 x^n + ""_nC_1 x^(n-1)b+""_nC_2 x^(n-2)b^2 + ... + ""_nC_n b^n#
This can be succinctly written as the sum
#(x+b)^n= sum_(k=0)^n ""_nC_k x^(n-k)b^k#
To see why this formula works, let's use it on the binomial for this question, #(x+2)^4#. If we were to write out all the factors side-by-side, we'd get
#(x+2)^4=(x+2)(x+2)(x+2)(x+2)#
Multiplying this out means making all possible products of one term from each binomial, and adding these products together. Sort of like FOIL-ing to the next level. (In FOIL-ing, there are #color(blue)2# binomials, so there will be #2^color(blue)<|fim_middle|> of ways to make that term.
Thus, the binomial expansion of #(x+2)^4# is
#""_4C_0 x^4 + ""_4C_1 x^3 * 2 + ""_4C_2 x^2 * 2^2 + ""_4C_3 x * 2^3 + ""_4C_4 * 2^4 #
#=1x^4+4x^3(2)+6x^2(4)+4x(8)+1(16)#
#=x^4+8x^3+24x^2+32x+16#.
What is the binomial theorem?
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How do I use the binomial theorem to find the constant term?
How do you find the coefficient of x^5 in the expansion of (2x+3)(x+1)^8?
How do you find the coefficient of x^6 in the expansion of #(2x+3)^10#?
How do you use the binomial series to expand #f(x)=1/(sqrt(1+x^2))#?
How do you use the binomial series to expand #1 / (1+x)^4#?
How do you use the binomial series to expand #f(x)=(1+x)^(1/3 )#?
See all questions in The Binomial Theorem
15051 views around the world | 2=4# terms; with #color(green)4# binomials, there will be #2^color(green)4=16# terms.)
After (tediously) multiplying it all out, we'll get some terms with #x^4#, some with #x^3 * 2#, some with #x^2 * 2^2#, and so on. But how many of each?
Since there is only #""_4C_0=1# way to pair up all four #x#'s, we'll only get a single #x^4# term.
There are #""_4C_1=4# ways to make an #x^3 * 2# term—using the #2# from binomials 1, 2, 3, and 4 (multiplied with the #x#'s from the others).
Continuing this way, there will always be #""_4C_k# ways to make an #x^(n-k) * 2^k# term. So this is where the combination notation in the Binomial Theorem comes from. For #k=0,...,4#, the #x^(n-k) * 2^k# bit (from the sum above) represents the different terms we can make, and the #""_4C_k# bit is the number | 286 |
Onboard Systems International, Inc., a leading provider of innovative helicopter cargo hook equipment, today announced that it has received a 2008 Boeing Performance Excellence Award (BPEA) for quality and on<|fim_middle|> Gold composite performance rating for each month of the 12-month performance period, from Oct. 1, 2007, to Sept. 30, 2008.
This year, Boeing recognized 411 suppliers who achieved either a Gold or Silver level Boeing Performance Excellence Award. Onboard Systems is one of only 86 suppliers to receive the Gold level of recognition.
Onboard Systems International, Inc. designs and manufactures a complete line of innovative helicopter cargo hook equipment under its TALON™ brand, including belly hooks, cargo hook suspension systems, Onboard Weighing Systems and remote hooks. Its low-weight, high quality products provide helicopter operators with increased cost efficiencies and safety through customer-driven designs, responsive service and support, and low on-going maintenance costs. Founded in 1975, Onboard Systems is a US corporation located in Vancouver, Washington, with an international sales office in the UK. | time delivery. The Boeing Company issues the award annually to recognize suppliers who have achieved superior performance. Onboard Systems maintained a | 24 |
GOG's Next Free Game Is Akalabeth, The Grandfather of RPGs
Get Richard Garriott's Ultima predecessor free today from The Witcher developer's online store, GOG.com.
By Eddie Makuch on December 24, 2014<|fim_middle|> fighter or a mage, battling through a series of enemy-filled dungeons. Akalabeth is now available on GOG for Windows, Mac, and Linux.
Alongside the arrival of Akalabeth today on GOG, the store is putting the full Ultima catalog on sale for up to 80 percent off. This timed promotion runs through the morning of December 26.
For more on Akalabeth, check out the image gallery below. | at 3:16AM PST
Akalabeth: World of Doom
Before Richard Garriott created the acclaimed Ultima series, he made Akalabeth: World of Doom, now considered to be the grandfather of modern role-playing games. This classic game, originally released in 1980 for the Apple II, is now available to download for free from The Witcher developer CD Projekt Red's GOG.com. It has been added to GOG's library of free games.
"Originally, the creator wrote Akalabeth for his own entertainment but was persuaded by a friend at a local computer store to try selling it," CD Projekt Red says about Garriott and Akalabeth.
Garriott released Akalabeth 35 years ago in a way that now seems absurd. He made copies of the game himself and put them in ziplock bags, complete with instruction sheets (pictured at left).
The game itself lets you play as a | 192 |
12-Year-Old Mateus Asato Nails John Petrucci's "Universal Mind" Lick
Los Angeles-based Brazilian guitarist Mateus Asato has long been one of the internet's favorite shredders. He has played with Tori Kelly, been praised by John Mayer and—if this video is any indication—has been<|fim_middle|> Asato posted on his Instagram page last week, shows him—at the tender age of 12—absolutely nailing John Petrucci's "Universal Mind" lick. You can check out the clip above.
"Universal Mind" is taken from the first album by Liquid Tension Experiment, Petrucci's short-lived prog metal supergroup with former Dream Theater bandmate Mike Portnoy, former King Crimson bassist Tony Levin and keyboardist Jordan Rudess. Portions of the song have for years been incorporated into Dream Theater's live performances.
For more on Asato, be sure to follow him on YouTube. | blowing minds since he was a child.
This brief but remarkable clip, which | 15 |
Archive for the 'Courtroom access' Category
Need FOIA help?
By Lynn Walsh | January 8th, 2018
Filed a federal Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request, but ran into a few bumps? The Society of Professional Journalists wants to help.
We know the process can be challenging, frustrating and sometimes confusing. We also know sometimes your only option is to obtain services from an attorney. Now, help from a FOIA attorney is just an email away. Send the following information to foia@spj.org:
Your best contact information
Copy of your original FOIA request
Current status of your request
Once you send the email, SPJ leaders will work with FOIA attorneys to connect you with a FOIA expert and resources to help.
The FOIA is a cornerstone of openness in our government; it compels federal agencies to yield millions of documents relating to government operations and performance. News organizations, scholars, and public interest groups use the FOIA to report information significant to public health and safety, and good governance.
SPJ hopes that by offering this resource, more journalists will be given the assistance they need to continue working as government watchdogs.
Lynn Walsh is a freelance journalist, creating content focused on government accountability, public access to information and freedom of expression issues. She's also helping to rebuild trust between newsrooms and the public through the Trusting News Project. Follow her on Twitter or send her an email to collaborate on a possible project.
Posted in College FOI, Constitution, court records, Courtroom access, FOI strategies and tips, FOI wins, FOIA How-To, Freedom of Information, Must reads, Open government, public disclosure, rights | Comment »
Indiana court recording remains concealed from public
By Alex Veeneman | November 3rd, 2017
The Indiana State Court of Appeals has ruled that a judge did not violate guidelines by state law or within the US Constitution that prohibited the broadcast of an audio recording during a sentencing hearing this past April.
WPTA, the ABC affiliated station in Fort Wayne, filed a motion to appeal with the Court after Huntington Circuit Judge Thomas Hakes cited a judicial conduct rule. Hakes confirmed the audio was an official record by the court but did not allow its broadcast, citing a potential citation of contempt of court.
The audio included an excerpt from the sentencing hearing of Dr. John Mathew, who pled guilty to two counts of felony sexual battery on an employee who worked at his clinic. A plea deal reduced charges from initial counts of rape, battery and sexual battery.
WPTA's motion was supported by a coalition of groups, one of which was SPJ.
The court ruling, written by judge Patricia Riley, indicated concern on Judicial Rule 2.17, which prohibits the use of cameras or recording devices used by third parties.
"Permitting the audio of a proceeding to be broadcast to the public in general by way of any type of media, would have an intimidating impact, not only on the behavior of the witnesses and other actors — causing possible fear and reluctance to testify — but also on the openness and candidness of any trial testimony," Riley wrote. "We perceive no difference between the effect of broadcasting a hearing ex post facto versus the contemporaneous dissemination of the proceeding."
According to WPTA, Indiana's lower courts bans outside recording devices, while the Court of
Appeals and the Indiana Supreme Court broadcast proceedings as they happen and archive them online.
In a telephone interview, Jonathan Shelley, news director of WPTA, said he was consulting attorneys as to whether to appeal to the Indiana Supreme Court.
The ruling in Indiana comes a couple of days after the Georgia Supreme Court ruled that the public could not obtain or copy recordings made by those Court's stenographers.
While that ruling, written by Justice Nels Peterson, does not bar court reporters from sharing recordings of court proceedings with members of the media, it gives court officials the right to turn down requests at any time, according to a report from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Shelley said he was not surprised by the ruling in Georgia, saying that they are working with different judges with different approaches to working with the media. Shelley adds that in Indiana there have also been differences in interpreting the release of audio of 911 calls, as city and county agencies differ on policies.
"We see varying interpretations," Shelley said. "Some are stonewalling, some are declining, others are cooperating."
In this case, Shelley said he was surprised that a record of the court was being subjected to a ban, as it was not a third party recording.
Shelley said that the need for transparency with the public was important. He encourages people to broaden their horizons, saying that you may not have an interest now, but you may be in a position where you have an interest in an event later.
"Something is best understood when it's impacting someone directly," Shelley said.
Shelley encourages journalists and news organizations also to know the laws in their area, so they can know what their up against. But Shelley encourages persistence, and says it's possible no two circumstances can be alike.
"It allows judges and local agencies to interpret as they choose," Shelley said. "One may put up a road block, another one may not."
Ultimately, it is down to the access of unfiltered information, something Shelley wants to continue to promote, no matter the circumstances, in order to inform and engage audiences on issues. "Technology is only as good as the information that is available," Shelley said.
Alex Veeneman is a freelance journalist in Minneapolis and a member of SPJ's Ethics and Freedom of Information Committees. You can interact with him on Twitter @alex_veeneman.
Posted in court records, Courtroom access, Open government, open meetings, public disclosure | Comment »
Judging the Freedom of Information Act in environmental court
By Ashley Mayrianne Jones | July 27th, 2015
One misstep, one decision, one instant can unleash consequences that last a lifetime. Consider April 20, 2010, when the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion created an environmental catastrophe in the Gulf of Mexico, the fallout from which is still making news. While the first reports were made from the coast, the story has now moved into the courtroom.
Headlines scream breaking environmental news when an oil tanker or truck has a major spill, when a factory is found to be releasing toxic chemicals, or when a wildlife trafficker is caught and arrested (remember the man who tried to smuggle parrots in water bottles?) But what happens after the fact is sometimes overlooked. The court cases, the cash settlements, and the criminal punishments are as interesting as the original stories, and the Environment and Natural Resources Division (ENRD) of the Department of Justice makes reporting on them possible.
ENRD handles cases dealing with civil and criminal statutes related to the Clean Air Act, Clean Water Act, Superfund, and other lesser known environmental laws. It also handles conflicts over Native American rights and eminent domain actions to obtain private land for federal ownership. The Division is split into several categories, including Prevention and Cleanup of Pollution, Environmental Challenges to Federal Programs and Activities, Stewardship of Public Lands and Natural Resources, Property Acquisition for Federal Needs, Wildlife Protection, Indian Rights and Claims, and Appellate and Policy Work. The department is split into ten geographic sections nationwide, and is currently managing 7,000 active cases in state and territorial courts.
I personally love looking into court proceedings and digging into legal issues. But there are a few reasons why it's not attractive to everyone. For one, it takes an incredible amount of patience. The processing time between an original formal complaint and the final decision (then appeals, sentencing or settlement, etc) is months at best, never-ending at worst. During an ongoing case, lawyers, judges, and witnesses fall silent. And the best cases involving big-name companies will likely be settled in private behind closed doors, where confidentiality agreements and sealed documents are no match for FOIA. Of the nine FOIA exemptions, at least five can be used to block a request for information that might come out during a court proceeding: including company trade secrets, witness medical records, law enforcement information, and internal agency personnel rules and practices. Finally, few people enjoy reading through the hundreds of pages of legal jargon that may accompany a case file.
One way to skirt this is to visit ENRD's online press room, where releases include name of offender, prosecuting agency, details of the crime, and final decision and sentencing. In the last month, ENRD has published the outcomes of BP civil claim settlements, as well as environmental crimes committed by a Norwegian shipping company and an order to reduce emissions at a New Mexico power plant.
However, the press releases alone don't give journalists a chance to dig deeper. It's better to get your hands on court documents and sometimes, this can even be done without using FOIA. The Department of Justice puts out documents called "proactive disclosures" under subsection (a) 2 of FOIA, which are posted online automatically without any request from the public, and listed in the FOIA library. This includes final opinions, agency policy statements, FOIA request records, and certain administration staff manuals. Proposed consent decrees awaiting public comment are<|fim_middle|> transparent.
Posted in Courtroom access | Comment »
FOI Fail of the Week: Ala. judge seals court records in professor's murder trial
By Morgan Watkins | June 13th, 2011
This week's FOI Fail award goes to Madison County Circuit Judge Alan Mann, who sealed court records in the capital murder case of Amy Bishop. She is charged with killing three employees during her time as a biology professor at the University of Alabama in Huntsville.
Bishop is accused of killing three biology department colleagues during a Feb. 2010 meeting and shooting three other employees. The court seal will keep information about the case from public view.
Mann already issued a gag order in March on both parties involved in the case. He did, however, reject a request from Bishop's lawyers to keep pretrial court proceedings closed to the public.
The Huntsville Times and WHNT News 19 are both considering potential legal actions that could re-open public access to the sealed court records.
– Morgan Watkins
Morgan Watkins is SPJ's summer Pulliam/Kilgore Freedom of Information intern and a University of Florida student. Reach her by email (mwatkins@spj.org) or connect with her on Twitter (@morganwatkins26).
Tags: Alabama, Amy Bishop, courtroom access, FOI Fail, Huntsville Times, murder, public records, University of Alabama, WHNT News 19
Posted in Courtroom access, Freedom of Information | Comment »
FOI Fail of the Week: Unclassified docs kept secret in Drake trial
By Morgan Watkins | June 3rd, 2011
Classified information is obviously meant to remain secret. But apparently, unclassified documents should stay secret too.
At least, the prosecution in the Thomas Drake whistleblower court case thinks so. And on Thursday, U.S. District Judge Richard Bennett agreed.
Unclassified but "sensitive" information will be withheld from Drake's trial because, under the National Security Agency Act of 1959, prosecutors can request that classified and unclassified information can be kept secret from the jurors and replaced with other substitutions.
This legal privilege has been used by the government to refuse releasing records under FOIA, but this is the first time it has been used in criminal trials.
Although the court has decided keeping the unclassified information undisclosed in the trial is acceptable and will not affect Drake's defense, his lawyers argued otherwise in a May 30 response to the prosecution's request.
The substitutions agreed to by the court will "signal to the jury that the Court and the government believe information in the document was so potentially damaging to national security that it had to be withheld from the public — the very fact they must decide."
Tags: classified, court case, FOI, leaker, NSA, Thomas Drake, trial, whistleblower
Senate Judiciary Committee passes cameras in courtroom and FOIA-monitoring bills
By SPJ | April 7th, 2011
Today, most media eyes are on Washington, D.C. following the news (or lack thereof) of a possible deal to prevent a federal government shutdown. But as House Speaker John Boehner and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid go back and forth in press conferences, there was "meat and potatoes" work being done on the Hill.
The Senate Judiciary Committee met today, referring several bills and judicial nominations to the Senate floor. Among those bills passed were two of particular interest to freedom of information and open government-access watchers.
S410, the Sunshine in the Courtroom Act, passed 12-6. The measure would permit broadcasting, televising and other recording of court proceedings in federal appellate or district courts. However, it's not a blanket mandate, as written. The bill gives discretion to a presiding judge to authorize such activities. It's sponsored by Iowa Republican Chuck Grassley. Read the bill text and summary.
S627, sponsored by Vermont Democrat Patrick Leahy, would expedite Freedom of Information Act requests made of federal agencies. Called the Faster FOIA Act, the bill would create a commission to examine processing delays in records requests. The commission would also explore why use of federal government FOIA exemptions in denying records requests increased in fiscal year 2009. Read the bill text and summary.
SPJ and the Freedom of Information Committee will follow the progress of both bills.
– Scott Leadingham
Tags: Cameras in Courtroom Act, Chuck Grassley, Faster FOIA Act, Patrick Leahy, S410, S627
FOI FYI is part of the Society of Professional Journalists Blogs Network. Visit spj.org to learn more about the Society, its missions and programs, and how you can become a member.
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Whistle-blower (13) | also available through the site and notices published in the Federal Register. Eleven cases are currently open for public comment, including U.S. v. District of Columbia Water and Sewer Authority and U.S. v. Alabama Power Co. Frequently requested records, final opinions and orders, and yearly summaries of litigation accomplishments dating back from 2004, can be found on the Selected Publications site (although no opinions are currently listed). However, that's not to say all information is readily available.
FOIA @ ENRD
If you do need to file a FOIA request with ENRD, what can you expect? The Justice department handles upward of 60,000 requests per year, but only 70 to 80 of those fall under the Environmental and Natural Resources category. The small number of requests means processing time is slightly quicker than the average for DOJ requests; about 30 days for simple requests, a year for complex, and 10 days for expedited requests. Only 6 ENRD requests were pending at the end of 2014, despite the division having only two full-time FOIA employees.
ENRD has traditionally granted 30% of FOIA requests in full, and given partial grants in another 30%; consistent with the DOJ response overall. Only a small portion (generally less than 5 cases) are denied based on exemptions, while most are denied listing the reason as "no records." Denials made last year were based on exemption 3, citing 5 U.S.C. § 574 and 28 U.S.C. § 651, and withholding information about dispute resolution communications and confidential mediation documents.
To file an ENRD open records request, contact Sarah Lu, FOIARouting.enrd@usdoj.gov.
Decreasing Wildlife Trafficking, Increasing Web Traffic
In the past few years, a joint DOJ task force has been focusing on wildlife trafficking cases, and publishing summaries of the cases in a new online database. I find this particularly interesting, not only because some of these stories can involve off-beat characters (i.e. water-bottle bird man), but because illegal ivory/rhino horn/shark fin trading are big problems in developing countries. And it's not easy to get a look into the black market. More info about each case can be found in the FOIA library or by a records request, including a case caption or name, civil action number, judicial district, and date or year of filing.
WILDLIFE TRAFFICKING PROSECUTIONS
BLACK MARKET TRADE IN RHINOCEROS HORN ILLEGALLY IMPORTED PROTECTED BLACK CORAL
ILLEGAL IMPORTATION OF SOUTH AFRICAN LEOPARD HIDES AND SKULLS AFRICAN ELEPHANT IVORY SMUGGLING
ILLEGAL IMPORTATION OF ENDANGERED SPECIES NARWWHAL TUSKS AND TEETH
SAFEGUARDING PROTECTED SPECIES
Final note: In addition to the DOJ, there are several other sites that keep searchable court records, although access might require a paid subscription. A few of the most frequently used sites are:.
Public Access to Electronic Court Records (PACER)
PACER is a national database for federal cases from U.S. district, appellate, and bankruptcy courts. You can search by party involved, by court locale, or with the case locator tool. Documents are available immediately after being electronically filed. PACER requires its members to register for an account, and may charge up to $3.00 for a document. The downsides are that some personal identification information, like name and address, are removed before the record becomes public, and that there are no pre-2004 criminal case documents.
Lexis Nexis is another pay-to-use service, but searches also include documents such as newspaper articles and company information related to a specific query. There is a professionals option, which contains documents, dockets, and litigation histories, but users must have a subscription to access. On the other hand, there is Lexis Nexis Academic, which is free, and can search cases by specific citation or parties involved. I've usually found this strategy to be hit-or-miss when it comes to how much information is provided, but on the plus side, it's free.
Free Law Online
This is an incredibly comprehensive and helpful site put out by the Gallagher Law Library at the University of Washington. It contains a list of databases including laws, bills, court opinions on the federal and state levels (not just Washington state); there are links for each provided by the National Center for State Courts and American Libraries Association. The site also gives suggestions for online law reporters and digests, and publishes a legal research guide for non-lawyers.
How would you judge your Department of Justice or court stories experience? Share your thoughts by contacting amayrianne@gmail.com or tweeting @amayrianne.
Tags: court case, courtroom access, courts, Department of Justice, environment, FOIA, Freedom of Information, online records, public records
Posted in court records, Courtroom access, FOI strategies and tips, FOIA How-To, Uncategorized | Comment »
Must read FOI stories – 7/25/14
By David Schick | July 25th, 2014
Every week I do a roundup of the freedom of information stories around the Web. If you have an FOI story you want to share, send me an email or tweet me.
TOP MUST READ: How an activist journalist's commitment to a poor Chicago community led to a big FOIA win.
FOIA requests to Federal Election Commission about the Internal Revenue Service Tea Party targeting scandal results in backlogs. What's more, IRS emails reveal huge loophole in federal open-records practices
Speaking of which: Want public documents from the IRS? OpenSecrets.org has a handy flow chart to show you how.
In the world of delayed FOIA response excuses: Dozens of public information requests filed with a New York City's county sheriff went unseen because they were being diverted to outdated email addresses.
A lawsuit filed by Florida's largest teachers' union and the case of a local teacher accused of producing and distributing child pornography have put a spotlight on a controversial statewide program that allows students to attend private schools on the public's dime — but doesn't hold those schools to the same standards and level of transparency required of public schools.
The argument for why philanthropic non-profit foundations for colleges — designed to supply the school extra funding in times of state budget cuts — should open their books. This editorial is why the University of Connecticut Foundation should be more transparent.
Journalism groups appealed a decision Thursday that is keeping thousands of pages of documents from full public view in litigation over an investigation into groups supporting Gov. Scott Walker.
A rejected FOIA request gives ProPublic reporters a whole other scoop.
The Electronic Privacy Information Center has sued the United States Customs and Border Protection to compel the agency to produce documents relating to a relatively new comprehensive intelligence database of people and cargo crossing the U.S. border.
New Jersey judge rules that state agency wrongly denied an open records request for open records request logs.
All the critical material in an 81-page 2011 Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court's opinion on NSA surveillance has been declassified and made public, a federal judge ruled, rejecting the Electronic Frontier Foundation's request for an unredacted copy.
The Des Moines Register wins access to video and audio records of a Taser death incident under a settlement reached Tuesday with the Iowa Department of Public Safety.
Small business websites being sued for publishing open records.
Clerks in one central Illinois town got so bogged down with requests from one person that they spent most of their days searching for and copying records.
House Republicans and Senate Democrats may finally have found something on which they both agree needs improvement: transparency.
David Schick is the summer 2014 Pulliam/Kilgore Freedom of Information intern for SPJ, reporting and researching public records and FOI issues. Contact him at dschick@spj.org or interact on Twitter: @davidcschick
Tags: Electronic Frontier Foundation, FOIA, Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court, Internal Revenue Service, IRS, personal email, reporters co, transparency, university of connecticut
Posted in court records, Courtroom access, Document story ideas, FOI strategies and tips, FOI wins, Freedom of Information, Loony denials, Must reads, NSA leak, Open government, public disclosure, Uncategorized | Comment »
FOI Daily Dose: High fees in California and stress over a school survey
By Kara Hackett | May 29th, 2013
Journalists and open government advocates in California are riled up about Gov. Jerry Brown's budget proposal they fear could limit access to public documents.
California courts already charge $15 for court records searches lasting longer than 10 minutes. Under the new proposal, the courts could charge $10 for every name, file or information that comes back on a search, regardless of the time spent—a small fee some fear will come at a large price if it limits public access.
Initially, opponents such as California Senator Loni Hancock, D-Berkeley, thought the fees would stifle investigative reporting in newsrooms where journalists are already pinching pennies.
According to a Courthouse News Service report, a California Assembly committee rejected the fee increase, and the state Senate committee approved it with the stipulation of an elusive press exemption. But what that exemption looks like is anyone's guess.
Jim Ewert of the California Newspaper Publishers Association told Courthouse News Service the exemption was added before the hearing on Thursday, and he just found out about it that morning.
"No one involved us in any of those conversations," he said.
Even with the exemption, Ewert thinks any price for free information is too high, especially when the public is under-educated about government court activities in the first place.
"Number one, we don't know what the exemption does. Number two, it's just a bad idea to deny access to records that the public has already paid for, and shield the public from an institution that it already has very little understanding about," Ewert said.
On a less FOI (but still relevant) note, a high school teacher in Batavia, Ill., faced scrutiny for reminding students about their constitutional rights before administering an allegedly self-incriminating school survey, according to the Daily Herald.
The survey, meant to measure students' social-emotional well-being, included questions about their drug and alcohol use. When social studies teacher John Dryden noticed his students' names were printed on their surveys, he told them they had the Fifth Amendment right to avoid incriminating themselves by not answering the questions.
But administrators deemed Dryden's decision unprofessional because he did not consult authority before he spoke. Sources say the school board met Tuesday to discuss disciplinary actions against Dryden in closed session, but so far the outcome of the meeting (if it even happened) is mum.
Since the survey was administered in mid-April, students and parents who support Dryden have started an online petition yielding more than 4,200 signatures to "Defend and Support" the teacher they say is simply trying to "make his students aware of their rights as citizens."
And in the heat of the First Amendment issues of late involved the Obama administration, teaching students about their constitutional rights might be more considerate than criminal.
That's all for now, folks. But as you know, First Amendment issues are all around us, so tell me what's going on in your neighborhood.
Kara Hackett is SPJ's Pulliam/Kilgore Freedom of Information intern, a freelance writer and a free press enthusiast. Contact her at khackett@spj.org or on Twitter: @KaraHackett.
Tags: Batavia, California court, California Senator Loni Hancock, copy fees, Courthouse News Service, Fifth Amendment, First Amendment, Gov. Jerry Brown, Jim Ewert, John Dryden, Sen. Loni Hancock
Posted in budget, Constitution, court records, Courtroom access, First Amendment, Freedom of Information, Open government, rights, Uncategorized | Comment »
Utah to permit television cameras in court.
By Donald W. Meyers | November 20th, 2012
Starting in April, criminal and civil trials can be televised in Utah.
The Salt Lake Tribune reports that the Utah Judicial Council voted 9-3 to allow a single television camera in trial-level courtrooms. Since 1997, television cameras have been allowed in the appellate level.
The rule states that videorecording is presumed to be allowed, unless there are specific circumstances why it should not be allowed.
The new rule also allows laptop computers, tablets and smartphones to be used in courtrooms as well. The changes should make Utah courts more | 2,656 |
Vidhya Alakeson
Vidhya<|fim_middle|> that affect low and middle income families.
Vidhya is a board member of More in Common, a global initiative seeking to reduce polarisation in developed societies, and a trustee of the Young Foundation which aims to develop better connected and more sustainable communities across the UK. She regularly advises organisations, including local and national government, on the role of community business in promoting regeneration, and writes and speaks regularly on issues relating to community-led development and inclusive growth.
Follow Vidhya on Twitter @vidhyaalakeson | is the founding Chief Executive of Power to Change, the independent trust established in 2015 to support the growth of community businesses across England to create more prosperous and cohesive communities.
Vidhya has extensive policy experience, having worked in a number of think tanks and in government in both the UK and US. Prior to setting up Power to Change, Vidhya was Deputy Chief Executive at the Resolution Foundation, a leading public policy think tank working on issues | 91 |
It is pretty well accepted that equestrians should be the leaders in their relationships with horses. However, the term "leader" means a lot of different things to different people, making it easily misunderstood. As with governments, there are many different ways in which we can be leaders to our horses. I think when most people describe leadership in the horse world they think of a strong, fair leader that the horse should naturally want to follow. In practice I think we often see people ruling over their horses like dictators or being walked all over while they pretend to be in control. Neither of these extremes are ideal, yet they seem very common.
There isn't a well-described version of what a good leader looks like in the horse world or how someone would achieve this. Most equestrians are muddling around somewhere between the two extremes frustrated that they don't get it. Through this article I am hoping to bring clarity to the subject and help you understand what a leader should look like in a detailed way that you can emulate with your horses.
The first quality that any good leader needs to have is respect. I don't mean that in the sense that many of you will read it. Respect is a bit of a loaded word, especially among natural horsemanship circles, where it is often used to describe a fear of disobeying. I mean respect like the respect you have for someone older, wiser, and kinder than you. A respect that is earned over time because you wish you could be as great as this person you respect.
This brings us to another important point – you can't just assume leadership over a horse. It is something that has to be earned and developed over time. When natural horsemanship trainers say that you must "make sure the horse respects you," they aren't building the kind of respect we want. This is the equivalent of "showing the horse who is boss," with softer words. These phrases encourage the handler to cue the horse for something and then punish until the horse abides by their rule. When the horse fails to give the correct response the next time he is asked, the handler is encouraged to punish the horse even more so that the horse will stop "testing their leadership." You can tell I don't really care for that phrase either. Often times the horse isn't testing the handler's leadership, he is trying to determine the parameters of his freedom.
The first problem here is that the horse wouldn't even be searching for these parameters if he didn't feel threatened. If the horse kicks out at you and you give him a big consequence he will move on. It you ask the horse for something, he doesn't do it, and you punish him he will feel threatened. There is a big distinction between the two. There is no place for punishment in horse<|fim_middle|> it doesn't happen overnight. It takes time and a respect for the process to develop the leadership role you want. If you aren't quite there yet, it's okay. Take your time refining your skills so that you are more consistent, fair, patient, and respectful. Your horse will notice the difference!
If you try your best to be respectful, patient, and fair you will notice your relationship with your horse improving. Your strong leadership will help your horse feel safe and happy to follow you. He will go with your ideas in a softer way and be more respectful because you have proven you deserve to be the leader. This is what we should all be striving for in our role as leader to our horses. | training. Let me repeat it again for those of you trying to think of all the reasons you might need to punish a horse: there is no place for punishment in horse training. Consequences are fine, but punishment is not because punishment is an emotional response that outlasts the action. Instead of punishing a horse for not giving the correct response you should continue to ask for the response and deal with the incorrect responses as necessary until the horse figures it out. If you don't punish, threaten, or otherwise scare the horse he won't feel the need to test the parameters of his freedom.
As the horse learns to respect you for your kindness and fairness he will willingly give you more and more of his freedom knowing that you won't take advantage of it. Again, this takes time, trust, and respect. This is the leadership role that you want to develop.
In order to achieve this leadership role, you need to first respect the horse. I don't mean fear the horse, but respect him as another living breathing being with his own will and ideas. If you fear the horse you will often respond to the horse emotionally and forcefully in subconscious self defense. If you don't respect the horse you will have a tendency to feel entitled and respond emotionally to the horse's lack of obedience. Once you have committed to respecting the horse you will be more understanding when he has his own opinions.
The next important part of becoming a leader is being fair. This means you must remove all emotion from your interactions with and training of the horse. When you are upset because the horse didn't give you the response that you wanted and you lash out at him you are teaching the horse that he can't trust you. This destroys any respect the horse may have had so you will have to start from square one. When you hesitate to correct an aggressive horse's behavior because you "don't want to be mean" you are telling the horse he is allowed to push you around. You can and should have rules that you enforce. Without rules for how the horse interacts with you you are putting your safety and leadership at risk. The horse is not going to respect someone who doesn't demand it. Being fair in every instant builds the horse's respect for you, which makes you a strong leader.
The last important piece of establishing a leadership role is having patience. As with everything else in horsemanship, | 479 |
Select a City All Cities Chicago New York
Richard Fleischner
Hammarskjold Plaza Sculpture Garden
Sod Construction's tightly disciplined space at Hammarskjold Plaza gave little ground to anyone not willing to move in and on it. Richard Fleischner's 95-foot platform began a few inches off the ground at its west end and rose, assisted by a drop in the plaza level, to 9' 6" at its east end. Five feet wide and sodded on top of a four-inch deep soil bed, the structure stood like an aircraft launcher or diving board, fairly remote from the recessed office building with which it shared the northwest corner of the plaza.
Viewed up its tilt from the low end, the strip of sod stuck out like a green thumb against the East River miasma a few blocks away. Seen on ground level from any other angle, the maze of pine supports took precedence. 4 x 4s every five feet provided the basic supporting posts. Longitudinal runners and transverse ties linking parallel posts were laid out on the ground surface, and diagonal struts provided reinforcing support. Ducking under the struts, I walked along until the sloping roof made further progress impossible. The crossbars and posts had entrapped me.
But walking up the ramp transforms the roof into a platform, prisoner into potential conqueror. Halfway up the sod, however, the platform shook inauspiciously, despite its steel reinforcing, under my footsteps. In going any higher I'd be closing off the option of blandly jumping off the construction should all else fail. Though the platform's end lacked a Minotaur, a piece of laboratory cheese, a swimming pool, or a breathtaking view of New York, I took my ego in my hands, made the ascent, then retreated posthaste.
Mazes—from experimental lab to Robert Morris' Labyrinth, 1974—generally compel spatial involvement. Once you're in, fear, boredom, hunger, or intellectual curiosity teach the way out. Fleischner's mazes are known for short-circuiting such pressure: the maze-traveller has the option of moving across rather than with the maze pattern, to savor environment without adrenal sauce. His Sod Maze at the 1974 Monumenta exhibition in Newport, Rhode Island, led the visitor through low winding hummocks of sod in the garden of Château-sur-Mer; his<|fim_middle|> were proffered in space, but linked in the mind. Compare this with Sod Construction: a vertical maze, like escalator tiers, rigidly walled by bars on the bottom and gravity on top, offering no options beyond a self-made dare.
In their extreme approaches, both these pieces are the special kind of maze which doesn't appear to be a maze until the participant is already in its toils. Unfortunately, exploring Sod Construction in functional Hammarskjold Plaza felt tantamount to public exhibitionism. Maybe after its three-month stand Fleischner will find means to reassemble it in other surroundings.
—Barbara Barack
— Barbara Baracks | Bluff, 1972, in Rehoboth, Massachusetts, was grown out of soft walls of Sudan grass, in which the maze was created by preventing grass growth with strips of masonite and plastic. Escape from Sod Maze gave the pleasant vantage of height; escape from Bluff invoked the mild adventure of thrusting one's way through this artificial veldt of Massachusetts. In either case, the escapee began with the anticipation of passage through a maze.
But Fleischner's very recent work escapes preconceived notions of a maze. Sited Work, exhibited this autumn at the "Sculpture Sited" show of the Nassau County Museum of Fine Arts, was a maze as loose in its demands as Sod Construction was tight. Pairs of photographs were exhibited at over twenty different sites: one photograph was of the site itself, the other photograph of another location or object elsewhere in the world. The maze's worldwide interstices | 199 |
The Rudicks Sibling Tour
Mark Ridley's Comedy Castle
310 South Troy Street
Royal Oak, MI, USA
7:30 p.m.-9 p.m.
2023-03-0<|fim_middle|> comedian based in Los Angeles. Her viral comedy and character videos have amassed her nearly one million followers and over 15 million likes on TikTok & Instagram. Her first standup special, Everything is Fine! can be seen on the Seed & Spark streaming platform. Her standup was also featured in the most recent season of Comedy Dynamics' Coming to the Stage, (Amazon, Pluto TV). Recent comedy festival appearances include SF Sketchfest, Laughing Skull, All Jane Comedy Festival & Flyover Fest. She is the co-creator/co-star of the critically acclaimed web series Made to Order which was featured as one of "6 Brilliant Web Series" in Marie Claire. She also co-starred and co-wrote the indie feature Sweet Parents, which received top prizes on the festival circuit and is currently available to stream on all major platforms. Favorite TV credits include HBO's High Maintenance and IFC's Commuters.
Andrew Rudick is a nationally touring standup comedian, writer and actor. One of the fastest rising comedians in the Midwest, his comedy can be heard regularly on SiriusXM and his debut comedy album opened near the top of the Apple Music charts. Combining a midwestern charm and high-energy absurdism, Rudick's stand-up is a frequent hit both on stage and across social media on Tik Tok and Instagram. His relatable energy also earned him an appearance on HGTV's "Design Fails." Rudick also loves Fleetwood Mac and doesn't care who knows it. | 8 00:00:00America/DetroitThe Rudicks Sibling TourLeah Rudick is an actor and comedian based in Los Angeles. Her viral comedy and character videos have amassed her nearly one million followers and over 15 million likes on TikTok & Instagram. Her first standup special, Everything is Fine! can be seen on the Seed & Spark streaming platform. Her standup was also featured in the most recent season of Comedy Dynamics' Coming to the Stage, (Amazon, Pluto TV). Recent comedy festival appearances include SF Sketchfest, Laughing Skull, All Jane Comedy Festival & Flyover Fest. She is the co-creator/co-star of the critically acclaimed web series Made to Order which was featured as one of "6 Brilliant Web Series" in Marie Claire. She also co-starred and co-wrote the indie feature Sweet Parents, which received top prizes on the festival circuit and is currently available to stream on all major platforms. Favorite TV credits include HBO's High Maintenance and IFC's Commuters. Andrew Rudick is a nationally touring standup comedian, writer and actor. One of the fastest rising comedians in the Midwest, his comedy can be heard regularly on SiriusXM and his debut comedy album opened near the top of the Apple Music charts. Combining a midwestern charm and high-energy absurdism, Rudick's stand-up is a frequent hit both on stage and across social media on Tik Tok and Instagram. His relatable energy also earned him an appearance on HGTV's "Design Fails." Rudick also loves Fleetwood Mac and doesn't care who knows it.Mark Ridley's Comedy CastleChristina Oswaldinfo@comedycastle.com
Contact: Christina Oswald
info@comedycastle.com
Leah Rudick is an actor and | 359 |
Societies and authorities weave an intricate, complex web. Unwind into what is simple, pure, and unadulterated!
[This is a reddish Harvestman. Notice the shadow of the Havestman upon the leaf. Harvestmen are arachnids,<|fim_middle|>). I had plenty of tears in my eyes last night, remembering him and his radiant love for the small and the helpless. | but they are not spiders and do not make webs to catch insects. Harvestmen are also called Daddy-long-legs. There are 200 species of Harvestmen in North America… 4,500 to 5,000 worldwide. They are harmless to human beings (and eat many pests, such as flies).
I suggested to a lady who was terribly frightened of spiders that she start addressing each one she saw as "Charlotte" (after Charlottes Web) and she says it works….takes the fear away!
I'm glad that that works! Any little bit helps! It's unreal how so many people are conditioned to be full of hatred, fear, and disgust for the poor little creatures! Education (and re-education) is the key. (Steve Irwin was such a master at "re-education"; he had such a contagious passion for all animals that really glowed | 184 |
Nokia partners with London based tech incubator for launch of augmented reality job-seekers app
Vince Cable – "I hope this will inspire even more young people to start their own business"
This week MEF member Nokia launched a new app, JobLens, in the UK for its Lumia Windows phones and announced a collaborative partnership with London based tech start-up incubator, Entrepreneur First.
The JobLens app allows jobseekers to peruse job vacancies according to standard<|fim_middle|> mobile industry reaction » | criteria; company, keyword, salary and so forth, but adds some innovative features into the mix, such as local demographic information based on the job location, integration with social networks and HERE maps, and can even use the phone's camera to "see" nearby job opportunities in an augmented reality heads-up display.
The app took centre-stage at an innovation day at Entrepreneur First's offices that MEF went along to, where a graduate audience were also invited to brainstorm tweaks and improvements for the platform to adapt it to specifically meet the challenge of UK youth unemployment, and come up with their own new business ideas.
Nokia's Bryan Biniak was on hand to introduce JobLens to the 30 strong Cohort of graduates
With an opening address from Secretary of State for Business, Innovation and Skills, Vince Cable, the event marked the start of an ongoing partnership between Nokia and Entrepreneur First, with the launch of a competition for UK universities where prize money will be awarded to the best ideas around adapting the job seeking app.
Matt Clifford, co-founder and CEO of Entrepreneur First commented: "We're thrilled to be announcing our partnership with Nokia… We're particularly excited that this announcement coincides with the launch of JobLens, which we believe can revolutionise the way young people find jobs. With youth unemployment and skill shortages such a critically important issue, it's great to see Nokia tackle this head on by providing job seekers with an incredible new way to view and find jobs."
Nokia's Bryan Biniak, VP & GM Global Partner & App Development added: "Through the Entrepreneur First Cohort, Nokia is honoured and excited to engage some of the most innovative and agile minds in the UK. We want to challenge these young minds to imagine how JobLens can be enhanced and refined to address UK unemployment."
Take a look at the app in action ↓
Filed Under: News Tagged With: augmentedreality, JobLens, London, Nokia, Vince Cable, Windows Phone
« Global News Round-up – Week 22nd July
Security of SIM cards under threat? – | 418 |
#ScreenOpps #ScreenOppsAug17
Women in the Arts & Media Coalition,
and WomenArts present
#ScreenOppsAug17
Submission opportunities for women in film/video.
##Opportunities with hashtags are for selected populations.
**Opportunities starred are for women only.
Special Opportunity
Special Opps will continue again in September, but<|fim_middle|>�
Senior Producer, Audio
Vox Media builds smart media brands people love, empowering trusted digital voices with proprietary technology to create and distribute stories to an audience of hundreds of millions of young adults worldwide. Vox Media is eight distinct brands: The Verge (Technology and Culture), Vox (General News), SB Nation (Sports), Eater (Food and Nightlife), Polygon (Gaming), Racked (Shopping), Eater (Food and Nightlife), Curbed (Real Estate and Home), and Recode (Technology and Business).
Eligibility: Experience as the editorial/creative lead for a successful podcast or broadcast program. Experience managing a production team tasked with meeting daily deadlines. A portfolio that demonstrates an ear for great tape and inventive approaches to audio storytelling. A track record of developing stories that draw on diverse perspectives/source lists. Strong collaborative skills, as well as the ability to delegate and prioritize effectively. A strong news background/journalism chops. Proficiency in audio mixing. Experience coaching and developing host talent.
Sesame Studios YouTube Channel
An All-New YouTube Destination for Kids, From the Makers of Sesame Street! Sesame Studios features the same educational goodness as Sesame Street, but completely different. We are looking for fresh creative talent to dazzle and delight preschoolers.
Position Type: Flexible
Eligibility: Must be 18 years or older and be submitting original content
Method Studios is currently in search of a Production Coordinator to join its Production team. The Production Coordinator is responsible for the assignment and tracking of tasks for assigned area of responsibility. They will facilitate the movement of shots between teams, coordinate daily reviews, and communicate status updates ensuring the delivery of shots on schedule.
Position Type: Full-time
Eligibility: BA or BS in film, art, communications, or related field strongly preferred. Minimum 3 years experience in visual effects production or feature animation
**Digital Bolex Grant for Women Cinematographer**
The Digital Bolex Grant for Women Cinematographers offers approximately $10,000 worth of gear and accessories loaned on a rolling basis to any narrative short, music video, or feature film project to be shot by a female cinematographer. Recipients of the grant receive a loaned camera package for up to 21 production days.
Application Fee: Free
Eligibility: Grant is open only to productions that engage a female director of photography. Grant is only open to films shooting in the Continental United States.
Address: Digital Bolex, 707 S Broadway Suite #1223, Los Angeles, CA, 90014
Contact: +1 213 628 3191
NW Documentary Artist in Residence
As a center for non-fiction storytelling, NW Documentary seeks to encourage and foster documentary storytellers. The success of a creative, thriving environment is based on a variety of artists of different experience levels, working under one roof. The center is a place where upcoming storytellers gain inspiration, insight, and encouragement from experienced and established professionals. Likewise, active professionals benefit from a lively community consisting of support, creative exchange, and resources that would not be available to them as solo artists working from their homes. In addition to our regular workshops, internships, and volunteer opportunities, NW Documentary offers the Artist-in-Residence program to fulfill this need.
When: Ongoing
Eligibility: The Artist-in-Residence is an opportunity for non-fiction storytellers who have demonstrated a passion and commitment to their craft, an original artistic vision, and a desire to develop their work within a creative community. The term "non-fiction storytellers" is not exclusive to a single documentary medium, but may include: film/video, audio, photography, literary non-fiction, multi-media or other.
Address: 6 NE Tillamook, Portland, OR 97212
Contact: info@nwdocumentary.org
18th Street Arts Center
18th Street Arts Center values art making as an essential component of a vibrant, just, and healthy society. Its mission is "to provoke public dialogue through contemporary art making." Founded in 1988, 18th Street Arts Center has fostered and supported the work of many of Los Angeles' most engaging artists, and has built bridges to artist communities around the globe.
Application Fee: Yes
Eligibility: The Visiting Artist Residency Program accepts applications from working, professional artists who demonstrate a deep commitment to their practices. The program is open to artists of all generations, nationalities, and disciplines. Applicants are required to cover studio rental costs themselves. Although we primarily support visual artists, 18th Street Arts Center will consider applications from performing artists, writers, and filmmakers as well.
Address: 1639 18th Street Santa Monica CA 90404
CHECK OUT OUR NEW FUNDING RESOURCES PAGES!
Labels: #ScreenOpps, Coalition, Film & Video, Film/Video Funding, Funding Newsletter, Submission Opportunities, WomenArts
#StageOpps #StageOppsAug17 | please watch this space (and our website) for upcoming info on Submissions to our next Collaboration Award--coming soon--deadline December 31.
Borrego Springs Film Festival
We are a young vibrant festival that takes place in one of the most beautiful locations in the United States: Borrego Springs, CA. Our community supports the BSFF with enthusiasm and always sells-out our festival passes. Packed houses and a lively Q&A are all part of the event. We're an old-school film festival. You'll meet and greet your audience, have a blast, lounge with other filmmakers, and interact with everyone. We also have homemade cookies. C'mon, homemade cookies, y'all.
When/Where: January 11-15, 2017, Borrego Springs, CA
Deadline: August 15, 2017 (Regular); September 30, 2017 (Late); October 15, 2017 (Extended)
Submission Fee: $20-$45
Eligibility: Films completed on or after July 1, 2016 are eligible. Entrant confirms and warrants required legal authority to submit the entry into the festival and to use all music, images, and content in the entry.
All films must be in English or subtitled in English.
Categories: Narrative Feature, Narrative Short, Documentary, Latino, Animation
Address: PO Box 756, Borrego Springs, CA 92004, United States
Contact: borregospringsfilmfestival@gmail.com
Highland Falls Film Festival
The fifteenth High Falls Film Festival, a five-day event celebrating the achievements of women in all aspects of filmmaking, will be held November 2 – 6, 2017 in Rochester, NY. Founded in 2001, the High Falls Film Festival honors the artistry and innovation of women in film — behind the camera, in leading roles on the screen, and at the heart of storylines.
When/Where: November 2-6, 2017, Rochester, NY
Deadline: September 3, 2017
Submission Fee: Free
Eligibility: We welcome films targeted to an adult audience. All films must be made by, or feature, women in a strong leading role, or films that focus on women and their life experiences. Preference will be given to films made by women in a leadership role(s); including director, screenplay writer, producer, cinematographer, etc. All genres including live action narrative, live action documentary, animation, experimental, hybrid, etc. may be submitted.
Categories: Full-length Narrative or Documentary, Short Films
Address: High Falls Film Festival Office 45 East Avenue, Suite 400, Rochester NY 14604, USA
Contact: kateh@highfallsfilmfestival.com
Shorts That Are Not Pants
Established in 2012, Shorts That Are Not Pants is a quarterly screening series for short films that takes place in Toronto, Canada. Screenings take place in January, April, July, and October. We've screened more than 150 films from 26 countries so far, and we're looking for more undiscovered gems to show our shorts-savvy Toronto audiences. Members of our programming team have experience working for some of the biggest and best festivals in the world (TIFF, Sundance, Hot Docs) and travel to festivals around the world seeking out the best films and the brightest filmmakers to support.
When/Where: January 3, 2018, Toronto, CA
Eligibility: We are currently accepting submissions of short films up to 20 minutes in length. We screen from digital files ONLY. Films not in English must contain English subtitles.
Categories: All genres are welcome, and we don't care about premiere status or whether the film is already available online.
Address: 20 Carlton Street Toronto, Ontario M5B 2H5 Canada
Contact: james@shortsnotpants.com
Festivals of Patience –Feature Film
Casting "Festivals of Patience," an indie rock and roll musical drama set in New York City, about a young writer who meets the girl of his dreams, and strives hopelessly to save her from her tragic past and inner demons.
Roles: Sarah (Caucasian; 18-23; Lead)
Audition: August 2017
Shoot Dates/Location: Music rehearsals late August, with studio recording the second week of September; choreography and blocking rehearsals in September; shoots October in NYC.
Union: Non-Union
Pay: Deferred pay possible, plus equity points in film for main cast. Equity and other actors welcome; not a SAG-AFTRA project.
Goof Off- Student Film
Casting "Goof Off," an independent feature film. Director states: "This film is made by a director whose previous film opened at Sundance and played at the New York Museum of Modern Art. The project requires some improvisational exploration from the actors. The cast is upwards of ten people; Stet and Della are leads."
Roles: Della (Caucasian; 24-45; Lead)
Shoot Dates/Location: Shoots in August in Northampton, MA.
Pay: TBD
Remnants– Student Film
The ghost of 18 year old Jenn lingers on the road where she was killed. When discovering an injured hiker who can see her, she struggles to help him for that he is a new found friend she doesn't want to let go of.
Roles: Jen (All Ethnicities; 18-28; Lead)
Audition: August 30, 2017
Shoot Dates/Location: Callbacks and Table Read dates TBA
-SHOOT DATES are October 5th-8th in Northern New Jersey (with rain dates as 12th-15th
Pay: No
For more OnScreen opportunities, visit Backstage.com; ActorsAccess.com; or Playbill.com.
First Assistant Director
Murmur Pictures is looking for an experienced First A.D. for the short film / pilot "Museum Mile", to shoot on location in New York mid October. This is a non union, paid position, with compensation to be negotiated with the chosen candidate.
Position Type: Contract
Eligibility: Previous experience required. Must be able to locate to New York City.� | 1,359 |
Insights from the Focus Groups are located here.
Numerous changes underway in the U.S. energy sector challenge the reliability and resilience of the existing grid infrastructure. Increasing peak-to-average demand ratio, and aging infrastructure create opportunities for cleaner distributed technologies that can increase the population's independence and support local resilience. The rapid integration of intermittent and non-uniformly distributed energy resources can also increase local grid congestion due to the mismatch between uncontrolled generation and local demand.
To increase the resiliency of local populations to unplanned and catastrophic events that could bring the grid down,<|fim_middle|> practices targeted. Curtailment (turning off an appliance that enables an activity with very short or no notice) has the greatest impact, while shedding (reducing energy use and level of service by an appliance) can hardly be noticeable.
Everyday routines often have a distinct electrical signature, and demand response could be designed around those routines to maintain grid stability while minimizing disruption to households. Those routines are, in turn, the result of the sustained replication of collective practices, and what is collectively acceptable can be changed.
Under what circumstances do individuals accept automatic demand response of critical infrastructure in their homes?
What level of incentives are necessary? What level of service is expected?
Ultimately, we will apply the deeper understanding of peoples' practices and behaviors to improve the design of residential demand response programs and increase their efficacy.
We applied datamining techniques to evaluate the electric load shapes for 1600 homes in Los Alamos, NM. This identified distinct load shapes for two groups of people (Fig.1). Structured interviews will help understand the characteristics of each group. The combination of the quantitative and qualitative research will contextualize the datamining results. In parallel, focus groups provide insights into the flexibility of key residential routines in multiple states (Michigan, Massachusetts and New Mexico). The end product of this research effort will be "personas", or behavioral models that will feed the agent-based models for grid resilience developed by University of New Mexico.
We have designed focus groups and surveys to explore what households located in different climatic regions describe as everyday routines, and to determine the flexibility of those routines under typical and highly stressed grid conditions.
Figure 1: 12 hour versus 24 hour periods.
Customer's acceptance to automatic demand response is not uniform, and is shapped by their circumstances. For example, we observed there is no universal standard of comfort that holds across jurisdictions.
People moving to different locations adopt and replicate local social practices. This means, for example, that people living in New Mexico originally from New England learn to use local tools to keep their homes comfortable, such as swamp coolers, along with air conditioners. Local strandard practices can be changed, which can impact how people use energy at that scale.
Peoples' concerns about utility-controlled automated demand response events are also variable. We observed that people generically compare utility control with government control. They trust reputable brands to manage their electrical use, keep their homes comfortable and safe, and reduce electrical bills.
What individuals are willing to accept can change. Whereas before they would not be comfortable with utility control of their household circuits, when explained that it can prevent local brownouts or to keep essential infrastructure operational, they are more willing to allow it.
Reference: "NSF 1541148: CRISP - The Focus Groups"
Publication: "Collaborative Research: CRISP Type 2: Revolution through Evolution: A Controls Approach to Improve How Society Interacts with Electricity" Blog Publication: " Fraunhofer CSE to Collaborate with University of New Mexico on 2015 NSF CRISP Grant" | it is necessary to simulate and model the behavior of energy consumers and generation assets in the community. Fraunhofer's role in the project is to develop models of residential acceptance to third-party load control under grid conditions such as normal everyday, highly stressed, and critical.
The impact of demand response (DR) on households depends on the | 67 |
HomeAudiobooksHistorical Fiction
Unsheltered: A Novel
Written by Barbara Kingsolver
Narrated by Barbara Kingsolver
The New York Times bestselling author of Flight Behavior, The Lacuna, and The Poisonwood Bible and recipient of numerous literary awards—including the National Humanities Medal, the Dayton Literary Peace Prize, and the Orange Prize—returns with a timely novel that interweaves past and present to explore the human capacity for resiliency and compassion in times of great upheaval.
Willa Knox has always prided herself on being the embodiment of responsibility for her family. Which is why it's so unnerving that she's arrived at middle age with nothing to show for her hard work and dedication but a stack of unpaid bills and an inherited brick home in Vineland, New Jersey, that is literally falling apart. The magazine where she worked has folded, and the college where her husband had tenure has closed. The dilapidated house is also home to her ailing and cantankerous Greek father-in-law and her two grown children: her stubborn, free-spirited daughter, Tig, and her dutiful debt-ridden, ivy educated son, Zeke, who has arrived with his unplanned baby in the wake of a life-shattering development.
In an act of desperation, Willa begins to investigate the history of her home, hoping that the local historical preservation society might take an interest and provide funding for its direly needed repairs. Through her research into Vineland's past and its creation as a Utopian community, she discovers a kindred spirit from the 188<|fim_middle|> How to Reclaim Your Life and Raise Healthier Children in the Process
Dr. Sheryl Ziegler
The Music Shop: A Novel | 0s, Thatcher Greenwood.
A science teacher with a lifelong passion for honest investigation, Thatcher finds himself under siege in his community for telling the truth: his employer forbids him to speak of the exciting new theory recently published by Charles Darwin. Thatcher's friendships with a brilliant woman scientist and a renegade newspaper editor draw him into a vendetta with the town's most powerful men. At home, his new wife and status-conscious mother-in-law bristle at the risk of scandal, and dismiss his financial worries and the news that their elegant house is structurally unsound.
Brilliantly executed and compulsively listenable, Unsheltered is the story of two families, in two centuries, who live at the corner of Sixth and Plum, as they navigate the challenges of surviving a world in the throes of major cultural shifts. In this mesmerizing story told in alternating chapters, Willa and Thatcher come to realize that though the future is uncertain, even unnerving, shelter can be found in the bonds of kindred—whether family or friends—and in the strength of the human spirit.
Publisher: HarperAudioReleased: Oct 16, 2018ISBN: 0062684566Format: audiobook
More Audiobooks By Barbara Kingsolver
Prodigal Summer
The Bean Trees
Animal Dreams: A Novel
The Lacuna
Pigs in Heaven: A Novel
High Tide in Tucson
The Ensemble: A Novel
Mrs. Fletcher
The Friend: A Novel
Sigrid Nunez
Everything Here Is Beautiful
Mira T. Lee
Where the Crawdads Sing: A Novel
All the Lives We Never Lived: A Novel
Washington Black: A Novel
Hiro Arikawa
Fruit of the Drunken Tree: A Novel
Ingrid Rojas Contreras
Elise Juska
The Affairs of the Falcóns: A Novel
Melissa Rivero
The Map of Salt and Stars
Jennifer Zeynab Joukhadar
Christine Mangan
Clock Dance: A Novel
Once Upon a River: A Novel
Gingerbread: A Novel
Helen Oyeyemi
The Incendiaries: A Novel
R. O. Kwon
Warlight: A Novel
The Lost Girls of Paris: A Novel
A Place for Us: A Novel
Fatima Farheen Mirza
I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death
The Summer Wives: A Novel
The Deal of a Lifetime: A Novella
Waiting for Eden: A Novel
Bowlaway: A Novel
Elizabeth McCracken
Behold the Dreamers: A Novel
Stay with Me: a novel
Ayobami Adebayo
Mommy Burnout: | 577 |
Serebral 360º Blog What Women Do 48% More Often Than Men, And What We Can Learn From It by Forbes – Entrepreneurs
What Women Do 48% More Often Than Men, And What We Can Learn From It by Forbes – Entrepreneurs
Serebral360° found a<|fim_middle|> of behavior becomes toxic in a culture, especially as the individual moves toward leadership roles.
Communicate consistently and authentically: Finally, for your culture of shared responsibility to stick, the leaders (including you) have to walk the talk. You can't put yourself on a planning committee then skip the meetings. You can't say you value shared responsibility then promote Selfish Stan over equally qualified candidates who are better community contributors.
Why this matters
You probably don't need us to connect the dots, but just in case: creating a culture of shared responsibility matters for your team. It's fairer for everyone. Rather than taking advantage of the kindness of a few teammates, a culture of shared responsibility says it is everyone's job to serve the team. That is about more than just getting the breakroom refrigerator cleaned out; it's about having each other's back, sharing each other's burdens, and moving the organization forward faster, together.
At the Center for Values-Driven Leadership, we're believers in the importance of collaborative work environments. (See here for information on leading collaborative change, for example.) In these environments, people feel more respected and heard, are more engaged, deliver better results, and stay with your company longer. That's worth focusing on.
https://www.forbes.com/sites/amberjohnson-jimludema/2019/07/08/what-women-do-48-more-often-than-men-and-what-we-can-learn-from-it/ | great read by Forbes – Entrepreneurs article, "What Women Do 48% More Often Than Men, And What We Can Learn From It."
Women volunteer 48% more often than men for non-promotable tasks, like taking notes during a meeting. It's time our work cultures address this imbalance.
In our consulting practice, we often facilitate large group events that bring whole organizations or divisions together. Participants are seated at round tables of six people each. Because we work with a lot of software, engineering, and manufacturing teams, it's an environment that is dominated by men; there are often only one or two women at each table.
With each activity, we ask the groups to select a recorder to write notes on the flip charts that are at each table. Because the participants are 16-20% women, you would expect that women are selected as the recorder no more than 20% of the time. Right?
Wrong. No matter where we are working in the world, women end up taking notes about 85% of the time.
Why? The reason is historic. Traditionally, women have been expected to take on caretaker and administrative support roles, so it seems natural for a woman to volunteer or be volunteered for this role. Most of us don't think to question it.
Non-promotable tasks
In the workplace, these sorts of responsibilities are called "non-promotable tasks." Leaders don't move up a rung on the ladder because they take good meeting notes, remember to unload the dishwasher in the breakroom, or keep the paper stocked in the copy machine. Other common non-promotable tasks: planning holiday parties or birthday celebrations and cleaning up after them; filling in for a colleague who is on vacation; serving as a representative on an unimportant committee; and taking on other tasks that are needed but not high-profile.
Traditionally, these tasks have fallen to women, both because they volunteered (48% more often than men), and also because the men around them assumed the women would do it.
Lesson #1: Men, step it up. Lead by doing your fair share of the non-promotable tasks.
Lesson #2: Leaders, create a fair process for rotating these tasks.
Lesson #3: Leaders, build cultures of shared responsibility. Non-promotable tasks aren't going away: they are often a large part of what makes work fun, functional, and meaningful. To find a sustainable solution that is fair to all, we need to address this issue at the level of the organization's culture.
Women are 48% more likely to volunteer for thankless office tasks. Encouraging shared responsibility via @ValuesDriven
Creating a culture of shared responsibility
If you've read our column before, you know we use the "find it, flip it, elevate it" process of addressing problems. If our problem is non-promotable tasks aren't being shared evenly, we can flip it to say that what we want is a fair distribution of tasks. We can elevate that to say, "we want a culture of shared responsibility." That means we want to know that everyone will pull their weight when it comes to non-promotable tasks. We can do our share willingly, because we know our colleagues will as well. That seems fair, right?
Shaping a culture in one direction involves making adjustments to the building blocks of culture. We've identified 10 building blocks in our previous columns. Here, we'll use just four to illustrate.
Hire for culture fit: If you want teammates who value shared responsibility and will take on their portion of the non-promotable tasks, then add a question like this to your hiring interviews: "Can you share an example of when you've contributed to the community life of your workplace, outside of the specific responsibilities of your role?"
Develop people for culture and performance: There are some people on your team who need help identifying ways they can share responsibility. Assign them to a committee, ask them to take on kitchen duty every Friday, or request that they be on the holiday party clean up team. Be direct and make your request clear.
Others may need permission to focus more on performance; for these people, make it clear that non-promotable tasks should only take up X percentage of their time. Recommend they recruit a partner for rotating responsibilities, or that they take a year off the party planning committee.
Build these conversations into your check-in meetings and your annual goal setting processes. "Demonstrates shared responsibility" can become a metric on your scorecard. This is important, because once it's part of the expectations and competencies for your team members, you can move to the next step.
Recognize, reward, and promote for culture: Celebrate those who are great at lending a hand; celebrations don't have to be big: an email of appreciation with the next-level leader copied, a shout-out at a staff meeting, or an invitation to take the afternoon off in appreciation for the extra hours worked. People who excel should also be recognized during annual performance reviews, and it should be included as a factor in promotions they receive.
The inverse needs to be true as well: do you have a team member who isn't pulling his or her weight? Write that into performance reviews, include it in development plans, and "dock points" when considering this person for a promotion. It may be an indication that the person isn't a team player; that sort | 1,112 |
Robots Should Go Where Man Hes<|fim_middle|>media.com/blog/robots-should-go-where-man-fears-to-tread/ | itates to Tread
When America collectively performs its morning ablutions and looks into the bathroom mirror, what sort of image do we see staring back at us?
Are we still the bold explorers who bravely stride where angels fear to tread? Or have we become a nation of slothful couch potatoes, doomed to settle for the status quo as we sit on the sofa munching cheese puffs and watching the world pass us by? This is the essence of the question posed by former NASA administrator Michael D. Griffin in his July 19 editorial on the anniversary of man's first historic steps upon the moon.
Griffin complains that the descendants of the pioneers who blazed the Oregon Trail, built a continental railroad, and flew across the Atlantic "gave up the frontier of our time." In general terms, much to our well-deserved credit, he makes a valid point. America has always been a nation of explorers, pushing back boundaries and tackling death-defying odds to see what lay over the next mountain range.
However, after citing the great exploratory conquests of mankind on our home planet, the author paints a relatively cheap and easy picture of our bid to beat the Soviets to the lunar surface.
The United States spent eight years and $21 billion -- around $150 billion today -- to develop a transportation system to take people to the moon. We then spent less than four years and $4 billion using it, after which we threw it away. Not mothballed, or assigned to caretaker status for possible later use. Destroyed. Just as the Chinese, having explored the world in the early 15th century and found nothing better than what they had at home, burned their fleet of ships.
The facts and figures are accurate enough, but they fail to tell the entire tale. True, the soup to nuts idea of moving from the initial planning phase to the Eagle landing on the moon in only eight years was a technological miracle which shall likely never be repeated. But the reckless risks involved in our burning desire to one up the Soviets would be completely beyond the pale in today's safety conscious environment.
In his incredible book, Failure is Not an Option, Gene Kranz -– the iconic voice of Mission Control through most of the space age -– described many of the hazards which were never revealed to the public. The families of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were told in no uncertain terms by NASA that they were realistically looking at nothing better than a fifty-fifty chance that we could get them back home alive, assuming they ever made it outside for a walk on the moon.
The ascent engine in the lunar lander, for which there was no backup, had been tested less than a dozen times on Earth and fully half of them had either failed to fire or hadn't delivered enough thrust to get the astronauts back up off the surface. President Nixon even had a speech prepared in the event that the two explorers found themselves stranded there, watching their oxygen supplies slowly bleed down and awaiting the coldest, loneliest, most remote death imaginable by man.
https://pj | 627 |
Home » Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs
Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs
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Railroads and streetcars
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American Indians of the Pacific Northwest
Washington Localities
Other photograph collections
The Klondike Gold Rush
The Great Seattle Fire
Klondike Gold Rush: The Perilous Journey North
The Evergreen State..in Black and White
Northwest of the<|fim_middle|>; the family moved to the Puget Sound area (Washington State) in 1888. His older brother, Edward S. Curtis, opened a photo studio in Seattle in 1892, and Asahel began working there in 1895. He went to the Klondike in 1897 to take photographs for the studio. Differences over credit for this work later led to a break with his brother. By 1901 Asahel Curtis had joined with scenic photographer William P. Romans to form the Curtis & Romans studio. After a brief period in San Francisco and Tacoma, working sometimes as a photoengraver, Curtis returned to Seattle as a newspaper photographer. From about 1907 to 1911, he worked for Romans Photographic Co., becoming president and manager of the firm. A partnership with Walter Miller as Curtis & Miller lasted for several years before Curtis returned to the Romans Photographic Co. In 1920, this became the Asahel Curtis Photo Co., under which name it operated until his death in 1941.
Curtis was an active outdoorsman and mountaineer, an advocate of roads and highways, and instrumental in the development of Mt. Rainier National Park--interests which are reflected in his photography.
Photographs in this collection were selected by the studio to represent its work in documenting Pacific Northwest activities and scenes. Subjects include fishing, mining, logging, and other industries; building and road construction; maritime activity; railroads and streetcars; agriculture and irrigation; hydroelectric power generation; street scenes, schools, churches, hotels, office buildings, regrading, and harbor development in Seattle; and Washington state scenic views. Most of the photographs were taken by Asahel Curtis or his staff in the period 1901-1940. On occasion, Curtis purchased the work of other photographers, and he also copied historical photographs taken by others. Some of these other photographers are also represented in this collection, with photographs taken as early as 1853 being included.
Makah Indians cutting up a whale, 1910
This set of photographs was purchased by the University of Washington Libraries in 1940. The selection was apparently made by Curtis himself and was intended to provide a pictorial, historical overview of the region as documented in the company's work. The original prints are cataloged as Photograph Collection 482 in the Special Collections Division.
The descriptive data on the images in Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs comes from information supplied by the company in 1940 and from research undertaken by UW Libraries staff in 1997-98. Writing, research and image scanning were done by Richard Engeman and Kristin Kinsey. The information was entered into a Microsoft Access database and then transferred to the UW CONTENT software, where it was linked to the digital images. Most of the Curtis photographs are approximately 8.0"x10.0" in size, and are printed on heavyweight, cream-colored paper stock, 10.4"x12.0". A brief index accompanied the collection, and a caption appeared on each print and on file cards arranged by number. The photographs were scanned on a Hewlett Packard ScanJet 4p and saved in .jpg format.
The digitized Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs have new titles, supplied by library staff after extensive research. Many of the assumptions inherent in the original captions (e.g., knowledge of geographical features and their locations, terminology related to the lumbering and fishing industries, etc.) proved to no longer be adequate in an environment where researchers may see the collection from anywhere in the world. In some cases, the original caption or a portion of it has been copied in the "Notes" field, where it appears in quotation marks ["like this"]. In other cases, the original caption was a short essay on a historical topic; these have not been transcribed, but they are still available on the original prints and index cards.
Automobiles at 100 Mile House, British Columbia
Photographs in Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs that were taken before about 1900 are copies of the work of other photographers; the original photographer is identified where known. The original collection resides in the UW Libraries Special Collections Division as the Asahel Curtis Photo Company Collection no. 482.
In 2006 an additional set of images from the Asahel Curtis Klondike-Alaska Collection were digitized and added to the Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs database. The images were scanned from b/w photographic prints in grayscale using a Microtek Scanmaker 9600L and saved in .jpg format. Some manipulation of the images was done to present the clearest possible digital image. The scanned images were then linked with descriptive data using the Contentdm software suite. The original collection resides in the UW Libraries Special Collections Division as the Asahel Curtis Klondike-Alaska Collection PH Coll 519. | West: The Frontier Experience on the Northwest Coast
2nd Ave., Seattle, showing regrade, 1906.
The Asahel Curtis Photo Company Photographs of 1,677 items provides one of the most valuable photographic records of Seattle, Washington State, Alaska and the Klondike covering a period from the 1850s until 1940. This Photo Company was the last in a series of photo studios associated with Asahel Curtis. The studio did primarily commercial work and specialized in documenting Pacific Northwest activities.
Asahel Curtis was born in Minnesota in 1874 | 128 |
Academic Info's Digital Library Academic Info is an actively maintained site with links to a variety of exhibits and materials.
AIP's History of Science Exhibits, timelines, lectures, papers, and images.
NetLibrary Browse, read, or<|fim_middle|> profession at large. | download books and manuals.
On-Line Books Page Hundreds of electronic books free for personal, noncommercial use.
Electronic Books and Journals Homepage of the KSL electronic collections page.
Publisher's Catalogs Search by title, author, city, state, country, material, etc.
US Patent and Trademark Office Full text access to patent information.
IEEE's Explore Database Contains the complete text of standards as well as articles and conference proceedings.
The American Society of Civil Engineers - the best association for civil engineers with 124,000 members in 142 countries.
Civil Engineering Virtual Library - a comprehensive list of WWW servers containing information about civil engineering, including FTP archive, universities, organizations, government agencies, and commercial sites from around the world.
The Construction Innovation Forum (CIF) - an international non-profit organization formed in 1987 to recognize innovations in the construction industry that improve the quality, efficiency and cost effectiveness of construction. Each year the CIF honors innovators with the Nova Award.
Engineering Software Center - specializes in listing software in the civil engineering field, both commercial and freeware/shareware.
Civil & Structural Engineering ResourceWeb - links to professional institutions, abstracts search, technical publications/journals, software, general resources by subject, products and equipment and research organizations & universities.
The Civil Engineering Research Foundation (CERF) - established by ASCE to provide leadership, direction, and an organizational structure to foster research for the civil engineering | 295 |
Lord have mercy…can you believe it's April already? I can't! Seems like Ruby Kate was just born yesterday and that was over 8 months ago!<|fim_middle|> just look! We found some great deals on some great items we needed wanted.
And new glasses for 59 cents each!
Dear IKEA, I will be back! Soon!
More about Beth Moore tomorrow!
Next I'd Like a Side of Fried Phones With That….
I am up far too late ……actually I can't sleep because I have a tooth ache… so I am blog hopping! Love your blog….
Be sure and stop by and read about a miracle in our family…. | I've got to start planning three birthday parties! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! They'll be here before I know it!
This weekend we headed to "hotlanta" for Beth Moore's "So Long Insecurity"! We had a wonderful time. I can't wait to share more about what God spoke through Beth on Saturday.
On Friday, we headed out with Mom and the kids and hit the Panda Express in Douglasville for lunch then on to American Girl. And before you even ask…no I did not take my camera. I was VERY torn about whether or not to take it this weekend and my sanity won out! I convinced myself that I would be doing good to keep up with my family, much less my camera.
Then it was off to IKEA! Wow is all I can say! I LOVED it! I could have stayed all day…but my feet nor my children would have tolerated that! I need to go back when I can spend all day and | 198 |
Triple Bogey beer and gear a product to watch in 2014
On November 9, 2013 November 10, 2013 By adamstanley540In Uncategorized
Geoff Tait doesn't look like a traditional owner of a golf business.
And he's okay with that.
Sitting in a corner booth of a nondescript Queen Street pub in Toronto's trendy Beaches neighbourhood, I sat down for a quick chat with Tait – who was clad in a plaid button-up shirt and a few day's old beard – and a mutual friend.
Tait was the former brainchild behind Quagmire clothing and Arnie Wear before internal struggles prompted the company to disband last year. He's been working the phones and putting kilometres on his car the last few months promoting his newest business venture, the Triple Bogey Brewing Company, a beer brewed with golfers in mind.
@PGAT<|fim_middle|>ey Brewing Co. will be a company to watch through 2014.
Rideau View re-signs Fritsch
Nike Golf announces "innovations" for 2014 | OUR @The_Masters 2012 Myself & Mr.Palmer knocking back a couple @KetelOne at the California Cottage. #Dream pic.twitter.com/NUY38HWomA
— Triple Bogey Brewing (@Triplebogey) September 10, 2013
After Quagmire was abandoned due to a "partnership stalemate" Tait says he went through a time of self-discovery, which may or may not have including drinking a few beers.
"I applied for a few jobs, got a few jobs, but it just wasn't me," he says.
One day he sat down and realized that, after having a long history in the golf industry, the thing it was lacking was a beer dedicated to the game's clientele.
It was a unique concept and he tried to get the idea off the ground.
Tait admits that he knew very little about the actual brewing process starting out, but is getting a crash course in how it all works from the 2013 Craft Brewery of the Year, the Great Lakes Brewing Company.
The beer made its debut at the Golf Journalists Association of Canada annual awards ceremony in July and was well received. It's an easy-drinking blonde lager with a crisp taste, and is the kind of beer someone would be looking for after a round of golf on a warm summer day.
Thanks @TripleBogey! RT @adam_stanley: Crushing a new Triple Bogey lager, new from Great Lakes brewery: pic.twitter.com/VRoWaZYi6s
— Adam Stanley (@adam_stanley) July 23, 2013
Since then, Tait has been fielding calls and making deliveries to a variety of courses in the Niagara, Muskoka and Greater Toronto Area. It's currently on tap at Rock Lobster Food Co. – a hipster seafood restaurant on the Ossington strip in Toronto – and available at Castro's Lounge on Queen Street East.
Tait says he's been in negotiations with representatives at both the LCBO and the Beer Store in order to have it stocked for 2014, although he assumes most of the sales will come from people at golf courses. When consumers are in a golfing environment, they're more likely to have an affinity with the brand, he says.
"It's like when you're at a Leafs game. You have a choice of beers, and you'd probably pick the one that has a hockey puck or a Leafs logo on it, because you're in that environment," says Tait.
The business model makes sense, and Tait is confident in it because he has no competition in the space. He's cognizant that the craft beer business is growing but hasn't been saturated with "sports" beers quite yet. For example, there is Left Field Brewery (a baseball-themed beer) but he says that they actually support each other. It's about finding a niche.
The other side of Triple Bogey is clothing.
Tait is obviously no stranger to that market, having worked on the Quagmire brand for upwards of seven years. Like Quagmire, the Triple Bogey line is fun and bold. It carries over the beer's main green, white and black colour scheme and is "fit for the fairways and perfect for the patios."
Tait revealed that at one point he was thinking that Quagmire would release a beer as part of its product lineup, but didn't know if it would have worked then.
.@Triplebogey has opened its online store. Lots of great stuff, like this t-shirt. Beer to hit shelves in 2014. pic.twitter.com/rcIAHbnUQo
— Adam Stanley (@adam_stanley) October 16, 2013
Between being a part-time instructor at Durham College and continuing to build the Triple Bogey brand, Geoff Tait is a busy guy. Triple Bogey was the official beer of Toronto Maple Leaf Phil Kessel's charity tournament in the summer, and he remains optimistic that it will resonate with golfers in 2014. He's pulled together a business model to expand its operations across Canada and into the U.S. in the next few years.
He may not look the part, but he acts it. And Triple Bog | 896 |
Today, I will continue with the list of things a player should evaluate before settling for a slot machine. The next on our list is the theme. Make sure that the slot machine has an appealing theme, but also that it is well developed in terms of graphics, animations and timing. Sometimes we may think that a slot machine si about the best theme anyone could have thought of, but we realize that they can be poorly<|fim_middle|>, you need to look at the number of spins given, check if there are payout multipliers and if the free spins can be re-triggered. I also recommend that you read the bonus rounds rules and that you try to test them on a play money account to see how often they are triggered.
I hope you find this helpful and if you have any questions please post them as comments and I will try to answer them all. | elaborated and get tedious.
More importantly is that after you are sure that you like the slot machine in all the aspects that we mentioned before, you check that there are progressive jackpots. Why? Because this will be your chance to get really lucky and perhaps become a millionaire in one spin of the reels. Even if it does not happen, it is good to know that the possibility is there, instead of it being completely inexistent.
It is important for players to know that there are two types of slot machines. The first type has symbols which offer very high payouts and other symbols with very low payouts, these are called volatile slots. The second type has symbols offering a payout around a central value, these are low volatility slots. Keep in mind that if you like risks and high payout you might want to go to the volatile slots, but there are fewer chances of you actually hitting those prizes. Choose wisely.
Finally, you should examine the bonus rounds because, as you know, all slots come with a free spin bonus round. In order to pick a good slot machine | 216 |
Greater Wichita Partnership aligns resources and focuses the business community around Jobs, Talent and Quality of Place to cultivate the economic environment and fast-forward growth in South Central Kansas. The goal of the Talent priority is to attract and retain talent and support talent development. To assist in this mission, the Partnership oversees the Business & Education Alliance (BEA), a group focused on cultivating a seamless partnership that produces a globally competitive workforce for the region.
The BEA works to achieve this vision by aligning the education and business communities to ensure a productive workforce needed for sustained economic growth for our region. Comprised of business champions, public and private school districts, nonprofits and regional colleges and universities, the group meets monthly to discuss current needs and issues and knowledge share local and nationwide business and education partnership best-practices.
Currently led by co-chairs Stephanie Harder of Textron Aviation and Dr. Noreen Carrocci of Newman University, BEA programming has accelerated educational attainment and workforce development within the region. To catalyze future efforts, while keeping current initiatives underway, in 201<|fim_middle|>A, or to get on the mailing list, please contact Lyndon Wells at lyndy@greaterwichitapartnership.org. | 8 the BEA realigned its strategies to look holistically at the "cradle-to-career" continuum and created metrics to better measure progress made within area public schools in the following areas: Kindergarten Readiness, Early Grade Reading, Middle Grade Math, High School Graduation Rates, Post-Secondary Success and Post-Secondary Completion.
Meetings - The Business & Education Alliance typically meets from 3:30 – 4:30 p.m. on the first Thursday of every month at the Greater Wichita Partnership offices at 505 E. Douglas Avenue, Wichita, KS 67202. For specific questions related to BE | 132 |
Looking to the future amidst COVID-19
By: Bruce Harreld | 2020.05.14 | 08:15 am
As anyone who has been in Iowa City during spring commencement knows, the energy that exists around campus is palpable. Even though things are largely quiet during this very strange year, Mary and I have enjoyed seeing a few students and parents (safely) taking pictures in caps and<|fim_middle|> closer together. Embracing change, even at its most daunting, has allowed our campus to chart its own unique path throughout the years. And like our predecessors, we must look to the future, though it include challenges and loss as well as unexpected opportunities.
Over the summer and into next fall, we will chart a course that will allow our campus to take charge of as much of our future as we can. We will expect change, and we will react to it as thoughtfully and carefully as we can. But a campus that makes its decisions based on transparent information and as a community will create the best possible future. Working together, with a common purpose, we can be the change we want in the world.
Bruce Harreld is president of the University of Iowa.
Office of Strategic Communication, media-request@uiowa.edu
News From:
News For:
presidential message | gowns on the Old Capitol steps.
Bruce Harreld
When the world is so suddenly and completely different, things that seemed familiar take on new and unexpected meanings. These simple moments of joy, excitement, and normalcy are even sweeter. When this crisis ends, we must remember how precious these moments are.
While I look forward to our return to normalcy, there are doubtless difficult times and uncertainties ahead of each of us. But Hawkeyes can and have been improving things in the here and now while moving toward a brighter future—from our health care teams treating patients and testing Iowans to researchers studying COVID treatments to front line workers preparing food and cleaning our campus.
This semester and academic year will always be marked with feelings of uncanniness and loss, and the struggles we face now will become a lasting memory in our collective history. And yet I look forward to what we will regain in the near future—small things, like a face-to-face meetings or a simple handshake, and bigger things, like joining thousands of Hawkeyes walking across the campus and moving new students into the residence halls.
As we all know too well now, change is one of the only things you can count on in life. But there is no place better at embracing change than the University of Iowa. Each and every day new discoveries come to light, a student has their Ah-ha! moment, and we bring the world a little | 289 |
The Crusties, GGOOLLDD among Milwaukee acts with Record Store Day releases
Local band GGOOLLDD is releasing its second EP on vinyl for Record Store Day. Credit: Pabst Theater Group
Documentary shines spotlight on Madison's Smart Studios
TAP'd In Podcast: What's happening in Milwaukee for Record Store Day
It took three decades, but Milwaukee punk band the Crusties' first full-length "Crustunes" is finally coming out on vinyl, just in time for Record Store Day Saturday.
Formed in 1984, the Crusties became a fixture at late club the Underground and opened for major nationally touring punk and rock groups like the Circle Jerks, Dead Kennedys, Meat Puppets, Hüsker Dü and Motörhead.
"This wasn't typical three-note punk rock," said drummer Paul New. "It was almost like jazz punk in some respects. We didn't know there were boundaries."
That was also true of the wild live show, where singer and trumpet player Tim Cole was known to breathe fire.
In 1987, Cole moved to Austin, Texas (he still lives in Texas, on a longhorn ranch), and bassist John Washday followed Milwaukee band Sacred Order out to Los Angeles. The Crusties reunited over the years and released another album called "Rat's Revenge" in 2006.
But while its productivity peaked in the '80s, it was not forgotten. In 1993, Crusties fan Mike Beer launched his label, Beer City Skateboards and Records; "Crustunes" was the label's second release, issued on CD in 1996.
Restored and remastered, "Crustunes" is being issued on clear vinyl, with 1,000 copies distributed at record stores<|fim_middle|> from two local bands: Garage rock group the Pukes and horror punk outfit RatBatSpider.
■Local pop punk band Direct Hit!, recently signed to Fat Wreck Chords (co-founded by NOFX's "Fat Mike" Burkett), is releasing a split 7-inch dubbed "Making a Midwesterner" with punk band the Brokedowns from Elgin, Ill.
■Synth-pop group GGOOLLDD is issuing its second EP "For the Night" on clear vinyl, available at local record stores and its website. The band is also playing the Exclusive Company, 1669 N. Farwell Ave., at 5 p.m. Saturday.
■WMSE-FM (91.7) is releasing 7-inch "Live from WMSE Studios Sylvan Esso" to local record stores, with two live recordings from the electropop duo featuring Milwaukee music scene veteran Nick Sanborn.
Apr 21, 2016 | Milwaukee album reviews: Pizzle, Tweed Funk, Northless, Conundrum | around the world and available to buy on the Beer City site.
"It's a high honor," Washday said. "It makes me feel better than a millionaire. I'm giving a piece of myself to somebody."
The Crusties isn't the only Milwaukee act releasing something for Record Store Day:
■Rushmor Records, 2635 S. Kinnickinnic Ave., will have exclusive releases | 84 |
I haven't been doing much writing lately, but I have been keeping up with others' blogs. Steph at Bella's Bookshelves (a blogger I sometimes think is reading my mind and writing my thoughts in another blog<|fim_middle|> past about books as a form of social currency in trying to argue why reading is important; Steph has developed the idea even further (and with better wording) in arguing not for reading but for reading outside our comfort zones. In light of the lack of inspiring content here, take a stroll through Steph's full post, and be sure to follow her too - everything she writes is excellent.
Oh my goodness! Thank you for your awesome, kind words, Kerry! And please, don't be so hard on yourself. I like your content very much, and your writing! | ) recently wrote an amazing, excellent, well-written, thoughtful, wonderful, very good post about reading outside our comfort zones, saying yes to books we don't think we'll like, and all that jazz: Reading Outside Ourselves.
"This is what I mean: if we can get past our assumptions, our fears, even our preferences, often we find ourselves with something more to talk about. We go from reading whatever everyone else is reading to cutting our own path, to telling people what awesome new things we've discovered... Now we understand our fellow readers with different tastes, interests, viewpoints."
I've posted in the | 125 |
Spending time in Kyoto with Jane gave me a deeper insight into the Japanese culture. The Japanese emphasis on beautiful presentation and how they represent nature and the seasons have been an almost subconscious influence on me. Because of Jane's experience and network I had greater access to the culture.
Having travelled to Japan with Jane's Zenbu Tours 4 years ago and had a fabulous time then, imagine my amazement and joy to find that a recent second Zenbu tour – Zenbu Setsubun – was even better! I can safely say that no-one designs and runs a better small-group foodie tour than Jane Lawson! Huge effort and knowledge is brought to bear in finding the very best experiences, whether it<|fim_middle|> of spending time with her in Kyoto that I began to fully understand and appreciate her love and passion for the Japanese culture. Seeing Kyoto through Jane's eyes would see anyone fall in love with the place. An exceptional experience.
I spent 10 of the best days of my life exploring Tokyo and Kyoto with the fabulous Jane Lawson.
Jane's planning was impeccable and meant that we got the most out of every day and each experience. An unforgettable mix of food, culture and relaxation.
We can't thank you enough for all your efforts to ensure we loved Kyoto and believe you me, we did.
I just can't wait to go back and do some more exploring. The food, sights and people were wonderful.
Look forward to arranging something again when we are next in Kyoto.
Thank you also to: Australian Gourmet Traveller Magazine, ABC Delicious Magazine, SBS Feast Magazine, SBS Feast Food Online, Luxury Travel Magazine, Herald Sun Escape Travel Section, Courier Mail, The Daily Telegraph, Wealth Magazine, ETB travel news/Face of Travel section, Japan National Tourist Organisation, Kyoto Convention Bureau, Japan Package, Pitt Travel and all Jane' supportive friends and family who are busy helping to spread the word! | 's tiny restaurants producing superb food or artisans producing exquisite pottery, textiles, pickles, miso and so on – and it's all done with great personal charm and care from Jane and Gerard. Highly recommended!
I travelled to Kyoto with Jane and Gerard , along with my 2 adult children in January this year (2017).
Their knowledge of the city is extensive and they were able to reveal a side of Japan that is not easily seen as a tourist. Our tour was thoughtfully planned, the city slowly revealing itself as the days progressed.
We visited the most beautiful temples, gardens and special parts of Kyoto. Two weeks was really only an introduction to this amazing and enigmatic city.
Our dining adventures were carefully selected, exciting and varied and enhanced by Jane's amazing knowledge of Japanese cuisine.
Both Jane and Gerard are great hosts, friendly, flexible and their enthusiasm for Japan is contagious.
Travelling with a small group was a wonderful way to share these experiences.
This was a very special experience and I look forward to travelling again with them in the future.
We'd never done a group tour before, and frankly totally put off by the whole idea – but Jane's beautifully curated Zenbu Zen tour with an eye for detail, exquisite cultural nuances, a lively pace with time to reflect not to mention some of the finest dining and hospitality experiences we've enjoyed is something we happily rave about. To anyone that will listen. If you're a first time traveller to Japan (which we were) this takes all the hassle out of researching and planning a trip. It excited and inspired in equal measure and provided a wonderful cultural immersion in a way that we would never have experienced trying to do a trip on our own. Not to mention enjoying the company of some charming travel companions.
So if you're contemplating a trip to Japan that provides a whistle stop tour, check off an attractions list and fit in as many cities as you can – then you're in the wrong place. But if you're after an experience that takes you to places you'd never find in the tourist guides from the most moving temples to the most delicate tempura, then seek out Jane and her Zenbu Tours of Kyoto.
I recently visited Japan independently with my wife and daughter. As my wife had organised the trip I knew nothing about where I was going. Upon arriving in Kyoto I noticed she was reading an itinerary that Jane had set up for one of her tours. I proudly announced that I know Jane. So, of course I was soon pounding out an email to Jane asking for some Kyoto hot tips. She immediately replied with a list of wonderful suggestions about what to see and most importantly where to EAT! We would never have discovered these restaurants without her in-depth knowledge and generosity in sharing it. She provided some of the highlights to our trip including an amazing tiny restaurant where my picky eating 6 year-old hankered for more raw calves liver. Thank you Jane for making our trip more interesting and memorable.
I'm back from my trip to Kyoto. What to write? What to write?
It was such a sensory overload I feel that filtering my experience is going to take weeks and hopefully I will be able to pull out a stack of visual memories that will drive some new work for years to come.
Based on my interest in Japanese food, culture and the Arts I decided that I wanted to understand Kyoto with the help of someone who understood all these elements. So I decided to go on a tour! No, not one of those tours where you sit on a bus and get moved around the city from temple to temple with a bunch of loud, singlet wearing yobbos.
You see, a few years ago I was given a book called, Zenbu Zen written by Jane Lawson and it really hit a chord with me. Jane is a food writer and provides different types of small group tours in Kyoto with food being the predominant focus. She is a woman full of local knowledge and if what I am writing sounds of any interest to you please take a look at her blog and endeavour to read some of her books. I highly recommend one of her tours. Well organised yet relaxed, Jane will take you down laneways to secret restaurants; shops full of vintage wares; into local houses; introduce you to the ideas of Buddhism and Shintoism and I guarantee that you will be immersed into a feeling of zen and come away with a better appreciation of the East. Jane, your professionalism, energy and insight were faultless. Thank you.
Beyond the eating, drinking and food shopping were 10 days full of cultural, historical, and artistic eye openers shared with plenty of laughs and smiles.
The food, the textiles, the colours, the flora etc. Walking the streets and pathways both narrow and wide you can't help but notice the details in the urban landscape and architecture.
For those who think that you should only go to Kyoto to see the Cherry Blossoms, then think again. The streets were quiet, the parks, shops and temples peaceful. Infact the entire city had a peaceful energy about it. And as far as the trees and gardens go being naked…absolutely striking!
A top-drawer foodie tour of beautiful Kyoto. As a seasoned traveller on small foodie tours around the world, I can honestly say that this is one of the best I've been on. Not only did we get to try the most superb food in Kyoto (including in places you can't get into unless you have an insider like Jane organising it), we sampled Kyoto's unique culture through Jane's insider's eyes and met some fabulous people through her. And all the time, she took care of everything efficiently and with exceptional good humour and great care for her charges. Highly recommnded.
I joined Jane's tour for my first trip to Japan. What a treat….
Everything was so beautifully organised. Accommodation was amazing, and each meal was a memorable experience. We saw a lot, but the pace was not too hectic.
Jane is a gorgeous fun person, with a great sense of humour. The whole trip was amazing and I am definitely going back next year.
'I had never been to Japan and it was high on my bucket list of places to visit. I have read many of Jane's books and admired her photo's and stories of Kyoto on social media and her blog. When she announced her first tour I jumped at the chance to go and experience Kyoto with her. Having never been on a tour before I was not sure what to expect but what I did get was a truly remarkable experience, one I will cherish and remember for life.
But I did go to Kyoto with Jane Lawson.
And with friends I had not yet met.
We ate. We drank. We looked. We learned. We smiled. Often.
In and for that moment.
We will return. With Jane Lawson.
Tamara Irish, Winemaker. Farmer. Shakuhachi student.
Jane thank you for a wonderful trip, your brilliant planning and gorgeous nature are a winner for anyone wanting to experience Kyoto. Cheers for now.
Jane – little sparrow of ours.
What a wonderful 10 days you gave us.
You are so talented and sensitive to the wants and needs of others.
I jumped at the chance to discover Kyoto with Jane Lawson. Having known Jane as my boss at Murdoch books 10 years ago, her knowledge and fascination with all things Japanese, I knew would make her tour really special. But Zenbu Zen absolutely went beyond my expectations and I would book again for next year in a flash if I could.I had never travelled with a tour before and was a bit hesitant, but Japan wasn't a place I wanted to tackle solo and I'm so glad for the whole experience. Jane's knowledge of temples, gardens, restaurants, cafes, beautiful boutiques, wandering through the backstreets of Kyoto and ending somewhere so fascinating and exquisite that you would never find yourself. From the interesting vegan Buddhist degustation to the sublime Michelin star deliciousness, every meal was well planned throughout the 10 days.
It was an amazing opportunity to share this with a group of like-minded women who loved to laugh, eat, laugh some more and just appreciate the beauty all around. I can see why Jane loves this place so much and I can't wait to return.
Kyoto was everything I expected it to be and more! To me this did not feel like a tour but travelling with friends, the size of the group was perfect. Having participated in a few food tours, this was one of the best. Jane was accommodating, hospitable, gracious and most of all made me laugh! Jane's knowledge of the Japanese culture and food was brilliant and having someone speak the language goes a long way, especially when it comes to ordering the food. My friends on Facebook were envious of the pictures I posted showing some amazing dishes that we tried. This tour had everything you wanted – food, shopping, culture, relaxing and best of all made some long life friends!
Jane Lawson, what an amazing lady!! This was my first overseas trip and I couldn't imagine having gone with a more fun loving group of people, what a great time we had. Kyoto was absolutely beautiful, such lovely people. As for Culinary Delights, I will leave that to your trip to experience! Amazing!!!! Jane's extensive knowledge of Kyoto, the language and the hidden away places to go made this trip so enjoyable. Especially meeting a Maiko!
The Zenbu Zen tour was everything I hoped for and more. The small group together with perfectly placed 'free days' for further exploration (often revisiting) was just right. Jane Lawson's appreciation of Kyoto and Japanese culture and food, together with her enthusiasm for all things Japanese is an unbeatable combination.
To Jane, thank you for our exciting tour of Kyoto, without you it would have been boring. The restaurants with all their culinary delights. The laughter and fun of us all trying to speak Japanese, our taxi rides where some places got lost in translation. The gardens although winter were still very beautiful. The shopping where some of us excelled, I still cannot understand why I had to buy another case. Very much looking forward to your next tour.
Of the numerous group tours I have been on over the last 20 years, the Zenbu Zen Ladies' Tour of Kyoto was the outstanding one.
On the cultural side, I loved visiting the temples and wandering the fascinating streets of Kyoto, which enabled us to mingle with the locals.
Your choice of restaurants was amazing. I tasted many authentic, traditional dishes and especially enjoyed the huge array of pickled vegetables and interesting, fresh seafood.
The visit to a private residence in the countryside for lunch was very memorable.
Shopping! Spectacular! You know how much I loved the ceramics.
The Japanese people go out of their way when it comes to hospitality and friendliness.
I would most definitely do another trip with you, and highly recommend Zenbu Zen Tours to anyone who wants some education, luxury and pampering.
Having been on a couple of tours in recent years, I found the Zenbu Zen Tour, organised and conducted by the inimitable Jane Lawson, to be a delightful treat from start to finish. And the best-organised tour ever.
Run by a warm, personable, and highly organised lady, she had this small group of women (who quickly became a dynamic lot with an energy of their own within the group) heading all over Kyoto and surrounds, to explore the myriad food offerings of 21 different establishments, visits to markets, both regular and the once-per-month type markets we get here, to special meetings with people as diverse as a Zen monk in his temple, a westerner of 30-years marriage to a Japanese, also a trainee Geiko girl of 16 years who spoke excellent English.
The food was so special, of every type both hot and cold, and I, for one, not only had my first experience of trying out various new foods for the first time, but was able to indulge with freedom, knowing Jane had explored the extent of foods my special diet allowed me, without compromising my health by unwittingly eating food alien to my system.
We also saw the most beautiful gardens, all in their pristine beauty and mostly empty of tourists because of time of year, but also because Jane had us there early, to better appreciate the places sans tourists! Clever.
Another benefit of the organisation of Jane Lawson, who speaks and reads Japanese, had us allocated two days at strategic points in the schedule, to just chill and do whatever we as individuals pleased; a huge plus when one has been flat out seeing/doing as much as possible each and every day, all day!
I expected to eat some amazing food in Kyoto with Jane as my tour guide, what I didn't expect was the way it transformed my whole approach to eating. I felt privileged accompanying Jane to so many places, from high end restaurants to food markets and everywhere in between. In such a short time I discovered the importance the Japanese place on so many aspects of food, the aesthetic, the nutritional balance, the freshness and of course the taste. I am forever grateful to Jane for her expert guidance and now use this deeper understanding of the significance of both preparing and eating food in my own life, resulting in a happier, healthier me.
Arigato Gozaimasu, for creating the perfect Kyoto experience for Chris and I. Not only did you ensure we ate the most memorable food imaginable but you directed our cultural experience to beyond the "best must sees" on any good sightseeing bucket list of Kyoto to hidden, unique places that had we not had you, we would never have been able to experience; a small insight into the captivating city of Kyoto.
However what truly sets you apart Jane and makes what you do so special, is your genuine care and the personal "buy in" you make to your guest's experience of Japan.
It was a very sad day when we said good bye to you and Kyoto however this will not be our last visit, thankfully it is simply a matter of booking one of your carefully curated tours. I have and will continue to recommend my friends and family who are either committed Japanophiles or are just starting out on their journey of discovery of Japan to your tours.
What a privilege it was to be part of your special world of food, culture and life balance in Kyoto.
Genny Nielson and Christopher Lee, Brisbane, Australia.
You certainly made it a very special visit.
Jane San, I Thank You for showing me wonderful Japan, especially 'your' Kyoto. You were so giving of yourself, your time and your amazing knowledge of the culture, the cuisine, the beautiful gardens, shopping and my special interest, ceramics. Your passion with Japan is definitely catching so I hope this visit won't be my last.
When you travel with someone who has a great passion for a country that somehow draws you into wanting to know more and connects you in a different way to that place. A connection and interest that I am sure will last forever.
Of course it is not long enough to say you now know this exotic land and it's friendly people deeply but I do know it was a valuable experience and a treasured memory forever.
I didn't know or understand Japanese food until I met Jane Lawson. She opened up a whole new world to me – I am eternally grateful. While Jane introduced me to this fascinating, mysterious cuisine through her extraordinary book, Zenbu Zen, it wasn't until I had the privilege | 3,146 |
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Chinese New Year 2020 (Klang Valley Edition)
Special thanks to Shangri-La Hotel Singapore for extending this hotel review invitation.
Shangri-La Hotel Singapore has the distinction of being the first resort under Shangri-La Hotels & Resorts. As the origin of Shangri-La's long history of Asian hospitality, this five-star hotel holds a special place in my heart.
Shangri-La Hotel is per<|fim_middle|> Restaurant (...
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Content copyright reserved by Jack Guan. Theme images by hatman12. Powered by Blogger. | ched on the top of a hill which overlooks Orchard Road, Singapore's premier shopping destination. The hotel consists of three wings: Tower Wing, Garden Wing and Valley Wing. Each wing presents a unique character and offers an entirely different holidaying experience.
The Tower Wing was the original building when Shangri-La Hotel opened in 1971, but is also the wing that was most recently renovated. The remodeled lobby is meticulously crafted with classical elements in perfect harmony. From the ceiling, a "swarm" of enchanting metallic leaves leads the way to the hotel's reception. As Christmas is just around the corner, the lobby is also decorated with festive Christmas trees.
Across the infinity pool is The Lobby Lounge. Flanked by potted trees, the pool features two of the six sculptures of children at play. The lounge's menu specializes in Singaporean heritage fare. There is live music performance at The Lobby Lounge every evening except on Sundays.
Upon arriving at the hotel, we are immediately welcomed by the courteous front office staff, who promptly served us welcome drinks. Much to our surprise, we are also personally escorted to our room.
Our room, the Tower Deluxe, is furnished with a king-size bed with comfortable pillows. A painting hangs above the bed; a unique one in every guestroom. All in all, the charming ambience of the room makes us feel very welcomed indeed.
A semicircular window opens up a captivating view of Singapore's city skyline. Two sets of curtains, one translucent and another opaque, can be extended or retracted with the flip of a switch. A strategically-placed sofa bed allows one to be immersed in the mesmerizing view at night.
The dressing table has a hidden panel which opens up to reveal a mirror. A hair dryer is conveniently kept in one of the table's inner compartments. Behind the dressing table, the glass wardrobe contains an electronic safe. A clothes iron and an ironing board are provided for guests' convenience.
To cater business travelers, the room is furnished with a full-size executive desk stocked with all sorts of stationery. The Wi-Fi connection here is sufficiently fast enough to stream Internet telephony. As for in-room entertainment, the flat screen television has tens of international cable channels with 24-hour programming.
The luxurious ensuite bathroom is fitted with a bathtub and a shower stall. The comfort rendered by pressurized heated water is certainly gratifying. After a nice bath, we are contented to put on some snuggly bathrobes. Bath slippers are also provided.
The wash basin is stocked with toiletries such as dental kit, shampoo and bath gel. The housekeeping crew replenishes these consumables every day. Be sure not to leave the "Do Not Disturb" light on as you step out of the room.
A platter of fresh fruits is one of Shangri-La Hotel's many welcoming gestures. We are also delighted to receive a lovely box of chocolate truffles.
The cabinet drawer under the television is loaded with a plethora of snacks such as cookies and chocolate bars. An electric boiler allows guests to prepare instant coffee or tea. Each guestroom is equipped with a capsule coffee machine.
The minibar is stocked with beverages like juice, soda, beer and wine. Meanwhile, guests who prefer cooked food to be delivered to their rooms can take advantage of the 24-hour room service.
After having settled down, we are given a private tour of other room categories in Shangri-La Hotel. Opened in 1978, the Garden Wing integrates lush tropical vegetation in its design. For example, the balcony of each guestroom features a hanging garden.
An artificial stream flows through the Garden Wing. A short walking trail follows the water as it trickles down slippery rock formations. Towards the end of the path is a majestic waterfall that empties into a pond. The charming pond is home to a school of brocaded carp (錦鯉). In Japan, this auspicious fish is thought to bring good fortune.
The guestrooms in Garden Wing are designed with nature as the overarching theme. The wooden floor presents a homely rustic feel. Attached to each room is a large private balcony where guests can enjoy the cooling evening breeze.
Right across the swimming pool is the Valley Wing. Embodying the pinnacle of luxury, the Valley Wing caters the elites with unsurpassed hospitality. This exclusive wing even has its own lobby and lounge.
Fitted with beautifully-polished marble, the lavish lobby defines the hallmark of opulence. Elaborate chandeliers hang imposingly from its tall ceiling. Near the entrance is a large painting of a hidden mountain paradise. In fact, Shangri-La Hotel takes inspiration from Shangri-La, the fictional utopia as depicted in James Hilton's novel, "Lost Horizon".
The lounge in the Valley Wing welcomes its distinguished guests with a refined appearance. A professional harpist plays classical music in the afternoon, filling the lobby with soothing tranquility. The elevator carpets here are changed every day. This tradition is practiced in two properties only; the other is Island Shangri-La in Hong Kong.
As expected, the standard guestroom in the Valley Wing offers a distinctive level of luxury. Fancy chandeliers fill the room with charming golden light. Meanwhile, plush upholstered chairs present an elegant touch of warmth.
The ensuite bathroom spares no expenses in pampering Valley Wing guests with top-tier luxury.
The Valley Wing also has several suites in which the living room and bedroom are segregated. Each partition has its own entrance, but both share a common door before reaching the corridor.
Occupying one of the highest floors of the Tower Wing is the Grand Suite, the largest guestroom that the hotel has to offer. The suite is so spacious that it includes its own private office, workout area and massage table. The balcony along its perimeter is sufficiently wide for having private parties.
In the bedroom, a king-size bed basks under the alluring charm of golden ceiling above. Similarly, the ensuite bathroom is furnished with luxury of unparalleled grandeur.
The Horizon Club Lounge on Level 24 is exclusively for Horizon Club guests only. With glass windows on both sides, the Horizon Club Lounge affords panoramic views of Singapore's metropolitan skyline.
Heading down to the Ground Floor, Shangri-La Hotel's outdoor swimming pool is large by Singaporean standards. In effort to appeal to families with children, the hotel has several smaller wading pools. The pool area is open from 6:00am to 8:00pm. There is a lifeguard on duty during these hours.
Along the perimeter of the swimming pool are sunloungers where guests can relax under the partial shade of palm trees. Given the resort's expansive lawns dotted with lush greenery, it is not surprising that Shangri-La Hotel is colloquially known as Singapore's second Botanical Gardens.
The centerpiece of the hotel's beautifully landscaped grounds is The Orchid. This graceful structure was erected last year in celebration of the hotel's 45th anniversary. When viewed from above, The Orchid is reminiscent of a flower with petals, while the walking path that leads to The Orchid resembles its stalk.
As Singapore's national flower, the Singapore orchid plays a distinguished role in The Orchid. The wooden structure boasts an estimated 600 flowers at any given time. Different orchid cultivars are featured with each passing season. The Orchid also makes an ideal setting for romantic dinners in the evening. Weather permitting, of course.
The poolside Health Club has over a hundred pieces of top-of-the-line exercise equipment, making it one of best equipped gyms that I have encountered so far. Friendly personal trainers are on hand to help guests with the gym's equipment. The Health Club is open around the clock.
After an exhausting workout section, why not wind down to a pampering session of sauna, steambath or Jacuzzi? There are separate sections for male and female guests. These facilities are open from 6:00am to 8:00pm.
There is no shortage of dining options in Shangri-La Hotel. The Line is the hotel's flagship restaurant, primarily serving international cuisine in buffet settings.
The Line presents a relaxing atmosphere for casual family dining. A substantial section of the dining area is illuminated by natural sunlight from the glass ceiling above.
Al fresco dining is also possible here. The outdoor section also serves as a temporary arts & crafts workshop for children. According to the hotel staff, an interactive play space for children, Buds by Shangri-La, will be opening in the Garden Wing next month.
The Line is also where breakfast is served every morning. The buffet menu spread across 16 stations, offering a diverse variety of cuisines that few restaurants can emulate. Breakfast is served from 6:00am to 10:30am on weekdays, and from 6:00am to 11:00am on weekends and public holidays.
At the bread section, baguettes and bread rolls are accompanied by exquisite cheeses such as Camembert, Gouda, Brie, Boursin, Chèvre and Blue Stilton. Cold cuts include mortadella, pastrami, smoked duck, paprika chicken ham, pepper tuna and salmon roulade just to name a few.
The Gammon Bone-In Ham is probably the most captivating delicacy in the breakfast menu. Cured using salt, gammon is essentially the hind leg of the swine. Flanking the gammon are Spiral Pork Sausage and Vegetable Quiche, both of which strike a chord with my palate.
Made from cured pork, the two types of streaky bacon appeal to my palate. In addition, the buffet counter also presents chicken sausages and turkey ham.
Warm pancakes and waffles are also prepared. The latter is available in plain and red velvet flavors. Honey, strawberry jam and orange marmalade are provided.
Other popular Western breakfast foods are hash browns, roasted potatoes, sautéed mushrooms, creamy corn and baked beans.
The egg station prepares à la minute egg dishes including omelette. Omelette usually contains onions and ham, so please inform the staff if you have any dietary restrictions.
Hard-boiled quail eggs are prepared in addition to chicken eggs. I am particularly fond of quail eggs.
At the noodle station, guests can order local delicacies such as Singapore Laksa, Prawn Mee Soup and Chicken Noodle Soup. Noodle choices are lye water noodle (碱面), koay teow (粿条), rice vermicelli (米粉), egg noodle (全蛋面) and spinach noodle (菠菜面). There are also optional ingredients such as shrimps, fish balls, pork meatballs, fish cake and bean sprouts.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Singapore Laksa is therefore my obvious choice. Prepared from spicy broth and coconut milk, this noodle dish carries sweet-savory flavors with a creamy consistency. Chopped laksa leaves (daun kesum) serve as garnish.
The next station features several types of Chinese congee. The menu varies on a daily basis. Examples of side dishes that go well with rice porridge are century eggs (皮蛋), meat floss (肉松), pickled mustard (榨菜), red fermented bean curd (红腐乳) and youtiao (油条).
Dim sum (点心) is cooked and kept warm in bamboo steamer baskets. There are several varieties such as shaomai (烧卖), har gow (虾饺) and char siu bao (叉烧包). Most of these delicacies are filled with minced pork.
Next to the dim sum steamer are several types of Chinese hot dishes. Today's choices include Roast Pork Belly, Wok-Fried Vegetables and Chinese Pancake.
Indian cuisine is renowned for its liberal use of spices. Flavorful stews from the subcontinent include Sambar, Aloo Matter and Vegetable Curry. The curries go well with rice dishes like Poha, Pongal and Khichdi. Popular Indian condiments include Mango Chutney and Raita.
Roti Prata is synonymous to Roti Canai in Malaysia. The pan-fried flatbread is available in plain and egg versions. Meanwhile, Vada (lentil doughnuts) and Onion Pakoda (onion fritters) are deep-fried foods.
The Japanese station features exquisite dishes such as soba noodle (盛り蕎麦), onsen tamago (温泉卵), natto (納豆), kimchi (キムチ) and edamame (枝豆).
Several types of breakfast cereals are available. Fresh milk, chocolate milk and soy milk are provided. In addition, the buffet prepares several types of muesli (banana, apple, mango and soy milk) and yogurt (apricot, blueberry, aloe vera and more).
As part of the hotel's effort to encourage healthy eating, the Wellness Corner's menu is crafted in collaboration with nutritionists. The "superfoods" presented here are almonds, walnuts, apricots, raisins, wolfberries, pumpkin seeds, steel-cut oats and more.
Health-conscious guests can opt for lactose-free milk, or non-dairy ones like almond milk or oat milk. There are also wholesome versions of muesli, muffins, parfait, pudding and salads that integrate superfoods into their recipes.
As an omelette, the vegetable frittata is rich in protein. I also love the delectable taste of roasted vegetable & hummus sandwich. These snacks support the fact that healthy foods can be delicious too!
To accommodate guests who suffer from wheat allergy, The Line dedicates a station for gluten-free meals. Included here are gluten-free versions of brioches, madeleines, muffins and sliced bread.
There are also several types of gluten-free breakfast cereals, namely Honey'd Corn Flakes, Whole O's, Gorilla Munch and Koala Crisp. Produced by Nature's Path, these breakfast cereals are also vegetarian-friendly and organic in nature.
We are also awed by The Line's pastry station. Neatly arranged on the shelves are baskets of croissants of various flavors to satisfy our sweet tooth. The variety of doughnuts, buns, brioches, puffs and cakes is also impressive.
Muffins are available in blueberry, chocolate and cranberry flavors. Meanwhile, Danish pastries are prepared with many toppings like apricots, raisins, chocolate and lychee.
In my opinion, the most amazing Danish is the one that is made from five types of berries, namely strawberry, blackberry, raspberry, blueberry and cranberry.
For something unconventional, try the oven-baked pizza with blueberry toppings. Of course, the classic Cheese Pizza is also prepared.
The Line presents whole and cut fruits such as apples, honeydew, rockmelons (cantaloupes), pitaya (dragon fruit) and rose apples.
At the drinks counter, the barista prepares espresso-based coffee drinks. Tea blends like Earl Grey are provided in tea bags. For something more local, request for a frothy glass of teh tarik (pulled tea).
We conclude our meal with chilled fruit juices. Some of these juices are cold-pressed to retain the fruits' wholesome goodness.
Having wine for breakfast is something new to me. Served chilled, Ruggeri Argeo Prosecco is a sparkling wine from Italy. This non-vintage label carries flowery aroma with fruity notes.
As for other restaurants, Shangri-La Hotel is also home to Shang Palace (香宫), a Chinese restaurant which specializes in Cantonese cuisine.
The top floor of the Tower Wing is occupied by NAMI Restaurant & Bar (波心). This Japanese fine dining restaurant serves fresh seafood in omakase (おまかせ) style.
Meanwhile at the Garden Wing, The Waterfall offers Mediterranean fare with special emphasis on southern Italian cuisine.
The Rose Veranda serves European afternoon tea, while the upcoming Origin Grill & Bar specializes in seafood and meats. For guests who seek quick bites, The Shophouse (铺22) sells fresh breads, artisanal pastries, designer cakes, chocolate truffles, light snacks and coffee.
For its size, Shangri-La Hotel has a surprisingly large number of conference facilities. Riding on Singapore's status as an international city, Shangri-La Hotel is the venue of high profile events like the annual Shangri-La Dialogue and the Ma-Xi meeting in 2015.
The largest ballroom here is the Island Ballroom. This pillarless hall can accommodate 1,000 people in a banquet setting. For smaller events, the Dutch Pavilion is a sound choice. Once a Dutch school, the building was annexed by Shangri-La Hotel in 1982 and restored to its former glory.
We are blown away by the impeccable level of hospitality demonstrated by the hotel staff. Every aspect of our stay has been taken care of to the finest details. It is no wonder that Shangri-La Hotel Singapore has been consistently rated as one of best hotels in the world. To appreciate Shangri-La's highest standards of hospitality, one need not look further than the hotel that pioneered this longstanding tradition.
Name: Shangri-La Hotel Singapore
Address: 22 Orange Grove Road, Singapore 258350
Contact: +65-6737-3644
Business hours: 24 hours
Website: http://www.shangri-la.com/singapore/shangrila
Coordinates: 1.31106 N, 103.82661 E
Directions: Shangri-La Hotel Singapore is located along Orange Grove Road. The hotel is 500 meters from the western end of Orchard Road. Meanwhile, the Valley Wing's lobby is located at Anderson Road. Shangri-La Hotel provides complimentary parking for its guests.
Labels: Hotel
Location: Central Region, Singapore
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# **Other books by Gerry Boyle**
Jack McMorrow Mystery Series Deadline
Bloodline
Lifeline
Potshot
Borderline
Cover Story
Home Body
Once Burned
_This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental._
PRETTY DEAD
First Islandport edition / December 2016
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2003 by Gerry Boyle
ISBN: 978-1- 944762-04-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016931852
Islandport Press
P.O. Box 10
Yarmouth, Maine 04096
www.islandportpress.com
books@islandportpress.com
Publisher: Dean Lunt
Cover Design: Teresa Lagrange, Islandport Press
Cover image courtesy of iStock / Sigarru
Printed in the USA
For Vic, as always
# **ACKNOWLEDGMENTS**
Several people generously assisted at various stages of the creation of _Pretty Dead_. They include Walter "Mitty" Robinson, who knows where the real skeletons are buried in Boston; Chip Gavin and Andrea Krasker Gavin, who showed me the town; Jim Scott, who provided culinary guidance; and Mary Grow, who reads closely in China Village, Maine.
# **INTRODUCTION**
His home is just fifteen miles inland, but Jack McMorrow doesn't spend much time on the Maine coast. Tourists, summer folk, Mainers hustling to make a living off them—it just isn't McMorrow's scene. He'd rather go west from his hideaway in Prosperity to explore the small towns and hollowed-out mill cities where his stories spring up and life is laid bare.
_Pretty Dead_ is the exception.
Actually, it's Roxanne who brings Jack to the coast. David and Maddie Connelly, summer residents of Blue Harbor and members of a dynastic Boston political family, have been accused of abusing their daughter. Roxanne is pulled in to investigate for the State. Jack tags along, and soon it's both of their backs that need watching.
The idea for _Pretty Dead_ came one summer as I sat in a rented house hard on east Penobscot Bay. We tromped the rocky coastline, collected mussels for dinner, cooked them in white wine. Every day a procession of stately boats motored and sailed past, and I began to wonder. What if McMorrow were tossed into this world? What would he think of the yachting world? What would the whale-belted, pastel-shirted, Topsider-wearing crowd in Blue Harbor think of him?
That's how these books begin. What would happen if McMorrow were dropped into this town, the scene of this crime? How would he relate to this place, situation, cast of characters? Who would he protect and defend? Who would he target for his own brand of justice? Who would be hurt in the process, caught in the crossfire or taken down as people scramble to save themselves?
Often the characters who become victims in my novels are the ones I'm most fond of. That's the case here, though I can't tell you much more without ruining the story. As I reread Pretty Dead to prepare for writing this introduction, I came upon scenes that made me smile:
McMorrow doing interviews in Boston's North End, one with a young woman named Monica, "wide-eyed and wary, drawn into a big sweatshirt like a turtle." McMorrow being threatened by a couple of Boston thugs, Mick and Vincent. Mick wants Jack to write about his life in prison. He's got the first paragraph all written. He recites: "Mick hasn't slept in a year. Not like you sleep, in your soft bed in your nice, safe house. Mick dozes like a fucking watchdog. A sound that ain't right and, bam, he's wide awake before you can stick a shiv in his back. And remember. In prison, that ain't no figure of speech."
There's a lot of Boston in _Pretty Dead_ , including Maddie Connelly, who married into her husband's wealthy and accomplished family for better or worse. Her life is a fairy tale that quickly and secretly becomes very grim. The facade, the perfect life portrayed in the society columns, is very thin indeed.
Reviewers of many of my books compared my writing to that of Robert B. Parker. While I admire Parker's work and his seminal detective, our territories are very different. I couldn't see the similarity of writing styles—until I reread _Pretty Dead_ this time and heard echoes of Spenser and Susan Silverman.
I pictured handsome David Connelly chatting up some cute kid, convincing her that she was special, that the attraction they felt for each other was something extraordinary.
_"He's got to be a hell of a liar," I said._
_"A prerequisite for philanderers," Roxanne said._
_I turned to her._
_"Keep your knickers on."_
_"I'll do my best," she said._
_Pretty Dead_ is more urban than some of the McMorrow novels (only Cover Story has more big city), but it's also exceptional for the power of the players. Money can't always buy you happiness, but it sure can bring some serious weapons to bear. That's the case with the Connelly family and the hangers-on who surround them. After all, a hired gun is still a gun. A villain can become more deadly if they are able to keep their hands clean. Who would McMorrow rather tangle with: a wrench-swinging small-town thug or a ruthless millionaire from Boston? I don't know, but maybe the answer is in the pages of this book.
So what's _Pretty Dead_ about? I'm going to take a cue from the late Robert B. and keep it short. It's about ambition and the ways it can turn deadly.
I hope you enjoy.
—Gerry Boyle
December 2016
# **PROLOGUE**
_They drove in silence, away from the glittering Maine coast, on a day when the summer air was cool and the sky was like a bright blue tarp torn with clouds. There was no particular route, no plan, just to drive generally west until the right place presented itself. So they left Route 1 and drove on a narrower road that climbed ridges, skirted rock faces fringed with spruce. The foliage was many shades of green, and as they turned onto narrower and narrower roads, left and right, right and left, golden light flooded the openings between the trees like sunlight streaming through stained glass._
_It was a beautiful dappled glow and the car slipped through it. And then the road became a path, then twin furrows through the grass. The furrows faded and the brush—burdocks and goldenrod and sumac— scraped the side of the car as the path turned and climbed, then started to pitch downward. It seemed the car might not make it back up._
_The car stopped. The motor was shut off and for a moment there was only the sound of the wind and birds, chickadees flitting through the woods._
_But this wasn't the place, still too open, so the trek continued on foot, along the remnant of the path and then into an opening that led through a grove of blackened pin cherry and then into denser stands of poplar and birch. Thirty yards into the birch there was a small sunny clearing filled with asters, a place to consider. But still it felt too open and it seemed worth going farther, into the trees to a cool dark space where the ground was soft and littered with last year's leaves. This seemed right._
_So it was back to the car, where she waited, stretched across the back-seat, her hair gleaming in the sun._
_The shovel was in the trunk._
# 1
It was a Tuesday morning in August, very early. The birds were chattering in the fading dawn and Roxanne was folded into me, my arm under her breasts, my chest pressed against the warm smoothness of her back.
"Oh, God," she said as the pager chirped on the bedside table.
"Shoot that thing," I mumbled.
Roxanne peeled away from me and reached for the pager, disarming it like a hand grenade. She peered at the numbers and sighed wearily and slipped from the bed. I watched her as she walked naked and beautiful to the wardrobe and I remembered the previous night, the reckless, rollicking abandon.
"Come back," I said.
"I will," she said, pulling on one of my chamois shirts and wrapping it around her. She crossed the loft and slipped down the stairs. I heard her cell phone beep and then her voice.
"Yes... Well, I wasn't planning on it. I was supposed to be off. Oh, yeah.... What?... Who?... You're kidding... Today?... Oh, God... It's going to be... Yeah, very bad.... Okay... Give it to me now."
I heard paper rustling. She was writing.
"No, I'll go. I'll call you. Yeah, I'll need it."
Roxanne hung up. I heard her feet on the stairs and I held the quilt open for her. She slipped under and I covered her up and wrapped myself around her again.
"So much for your day," I said.
"Yeah, well."
I sighed.
"Bad one?" I said.
"Mmmm."
"Where?"
"The coast."
"What happened?"
"Oh, a little girl's been talking to a church worker. Five-year-old said she gets locked in the closet in the pitch dark as some kind of punishment. And she's got squeeze marks. Bruises like the marks of fingers."
"Where?"
"Arms, shoulder blades."
"For that they call you at five in the morning?"
"That's not the bad part."
"No?"
"They're rich," Roxanne said.
"And rich people get up early?"
"This is Blue Harbor rich."
"So?"
"And that's not the worst of it."
"What is?"
"I can't tell you," Roxanne said.
"Okay."
I nuzzled into her, ready to go back to sleep. Or not. She had a beautiful back, hips, thighs. I ran my hand across them.
"But it's bad," she said.
"I'm sorry. Why you?"
"They want somebody senior. Assessment worker who's been talking to this church person is totally green. And these people are going to flip out."
"Unleash the lawyers?"
"Oh, Jack, if only you knew."
"Knew what?"
"I can't tell you."
I didn't say anything.
"You've really got to promise this time," Roxanne said.
"Okay."
"You can't say a word."
"Okay."
"To anybody. Not Myra. This ends up in the _Times_ or anywhere else and I'm done."
"Okay."
"They'd have my job."
"Who?"
"The Connellys."
"As in—"
"As in _the_ Connellys. The Boston Connellys. This is David and Maddie. They're at their place in Blue Harbor."
The implications flashed through my mind. Big bucks. White-shoe Boston law firms. Serious, serious political clout.
"They're gonna try to bury this," I said.
"Yup," Roxanne said.
"Will His Excellency the commissioner back you?"
"I hope so."
"I predict they'll twist his arm right out of the socket."
"Yup."
"So what do you do?"
"Meet the worker at eleven."
"Want some company?"
"No. You know you can't come."
"Just for the ride. Drop me in town. I could nose around."
"I don't know."
"For other stories, I mean."
Roxanne didn't answer, just intertwined her legs with mine. And then there was that moment I'd seen before, when she would begin to gather herself up for the work she did, steeling herself for what was to come. I could feel it, the hardening of her resolve, and I held her closer, gently kissed the back of her neck.
"I'm not going to be intimidated," Roxanne said.
"No."
"Because what if it's true? The poor little kid, locked in a closet in the pitch dark."
"Lots of company. All the other Connelly skeletons," I said.
"But this is worse than some rich cokehead chasing the maid around."
"Yeah, it is."
And then she was quiet for a minute, and as I held her she said, "All right."
"All right, what?"
"All right, I'd like some company."
"You got it," I said.
"You know they'll fight back," Roxanne said, worry seeping into her voice.
"Like cornered animals, I'm sure."
"Cornered animals with millions of dollars and tons of clout."
"The worst kind," I said.
# 2
We left at nine, Roxanne wearing her game face and slacks and a blazer.
Driving east on the back roads from Prosperity toward Belfast, we passed small, lonely houses set into the edge of the woods like shelters along a trail. They were tired and unlikely places, rooted along the two-lane road like straggly weeds. Rusting cars and trucks sat in the brush-ringed yards, disused but not discarded, and nothing was thrown away. Good times were regarded suspiciously here and, for that reason, everything was saved in case the mill closed, the shop laid off, the bad leg got worse. In this part of Maine, good fortune was watched closely, like a dog that could turn.
Roxanne was pensive, staring out the window at nothing. As we approached the coast, the houses got newer and bigger, the lawns more carefully etched. Money seeped up from the ocean like the tide, tourist money, money spent by retirees from places to the south. They flocked along the shore like ducks, some staying year-round, others sweeping in with summer, winging their way south in the fall.
I turned onto Route 1, where roadside signs waved frantically to tourists like beggar kids greeting cruise ships, Victorian bed-and-breakfasts named for sea captains beckoned like hookers. Crossing the Penobscot River at Verona, we skirted the paper mill town of Bucksport and continued up the coast, into rock-scrub blueberry country and then down a peninsula, past ranch houses and old farms. A few miles later we glided down into elm-shaded Blue Harbor, where the village houses were historic, the oceanfront estates were priceless, and all the money was made elsewhere.
"It really is pretty, isn't it?" Roxanne said.
"Like a country club, except it's a whole town."
"With a long waiting list," she said.
"Old money," I said.
"Connelly money isn't that old."
"But Connellys had money _and_ power. If you have enough of both, even Wasps make exceptions."
"I don't," Roxanne said as the Explorer ground to a stop.
The plan was to meet the other DHS worker, Tara, in the parking lot of the Blue Harbor Grocery, a quaint store and cafe ringed with Mercedes and geraniums. Tara had said she drove an older white Subaru with a UMaine sticker, which in Blue Harbor would tag her as a gawker or a waitress. We parked and refreshed our recollections of Connelly lore.
There was David's great-grandfather, Patrick Connelly, fresh from famine-weary Ireland, gobbling up Boston like it was a fat, ripe plum. Smart, savvy, and tough, he amassed money and power through what might have been called racketeering—lotteries, bootlegging, construction-labor kickbacks—if he hadn't been so good at it. Steal a little and they throw you in jail, Bob Dylan said. Steal a lot and they make you king. Patrick Connelly was crowned; his son, Joe, added a layer of respectability, moving into real estate development and hardball politics, which went hand in hand in the growing city. By the time he was done, Joe Connelly had enough money and political savvy to send one son to the State House and another to the US Senate. And the next generation of Connellys, the generation Roxanne was about to meet, didn't have to do anything at all.
"At least that's my take on it," I said.
"So they just play," Roxanne said.
"It's hard work," I said. "Climbing in the Himalayas one day, going to a black-tie thing in Boston the next. Giving away money through, what is it?"
"The Sky Blue Foundation."
"His money. I don't think she had any."
"No, but she has the looks," Roxanne said. "And style."
"They have a cute kid. You see them in the paper, the perfect family. I wonder how long it was?"
"What?"
"Before he started screwing around."
"Don't believe everything you hear," she said.
"Remember the stuff about the college intern?"
"She was Harvard, right?"
"Well, of course," I said.
We were quiet for a minute. I pictured handsome David Connelly chatting up some cute kid, convincing her that she was special, that the attraction they felt for each other was something extraordinary.
"He's got to be a hell of a liar," I said.
"A prerequisite for philanderers," Roxanne said. I turned to her.
"Keep your knickers on."
"I'll do my best," she said.
# 3
At two minutes past eleven, the Subaru rolled up with a clatter. Tara, a small solid woman with big hair and bangs, looked around for the Explorer and then got out and walked over. She was younger up close, in black jeans and sneakers, and she looked nervous, like a freshman at the senior prom, unsure she'd worn the right dress. She hadn't. In another incarnation she carried wood on her back.
"They'll send her around back with the rest of the deliveries," I said.
"Let 'em try it," Roxanne said.
She gave a discreet wave and Tara approached. Roxanne got out of the car and Tara shook her hand, then looked at me.
"Oh," she said. "I thought you were from Central Office."
"No, just the chauffeur."
"This is my friend, Jack. He's got some business down here. He'll meet me after we're done."
"What business are you in?" Tara said.
"This and that," I said.
"Jack's a reporter. He may do a travel article on this area," Roxanne said. "You know, which bed-and-breakfasts have the best muffins and all that."
I looked at her. The best muffins?
She smiled.
"I'll call you," she said.
"I'll be around."
"Do you think they'll let us see the girl?" Tara said, then looked at me and said, "Whoops."
I smiled at her and put the car in gear. "Sometimes it isn't what they tell you," I heard Roxanne say as I backed out of the lot. "It's what they don't. That's what I want you..."
When there was a break in the traffic—a slow procession of Suburbans, Volvos, a Porsche, and a Jaguar—I backed out. I drove up the main street, an eye on the rearview mirror. The Subaru pulled out and drove through the village the other way. I hesitated for a moment, then swung into an art gallery lot and turned around. As I moved back into traffic, I saw the white car turn left. I sped up and followed. I took the left, which led up the hill and out of town. A hundred yards up on the right was a white clapboard church, gleaming in the sun. The Subaru was parked at the side entrance. I pulled into a bookstore lot and sat.
This must have been the church where the kid spilled the beans. Roxanne and Tara would interview the church person. How long would that take? A half-hour? An hour? They'd have to ask exactly what the girl said, what she was like with the other kids, with adults. When did they first notice the marks? Did she tell anyone else?
I waited. Roxanne wouldn't like this, but what else was I supposed to do? Let her head off to some estate in the middle of nowhere to tell a couple of rich, arrogant parents they were being investigated for child abuse? I was just watching her—
They came out, striding like they were all business, and got in the car. I backed to the rear of the bookstore lot and peered over the hood of a Range Rover. A golden retriever panted at me from the backseat but didn't bark, this being Blue Harbor. The Subaru went by and I counted to ten and followed.
We went back down the hill to the center of the village. They took a right, drove under the elms, and took a left by the Blue Harbor library. I was five hundred yards behind and I followed. When I took the left, they were out of sight.
The road followed the shoreline, with the harbor to my left beyond the houses. For a quarter-mile or so, it was an extension of the village, the houses tucked together, separated by hedges and ivy-covered walls and fences. Then the road rose and banked away from the water and the drives were marked by stone walls and gates, the houses glimpsed through the trees and rhododendrons, the waters of Penobscot Bay glittering in the distance. If they turned through one of these gates I could lose them, so I sped up—and saw the Subaru turn to the left and disappear.
I slowed and peered down the drive as I passed. There was a glimpse of their car and then it was gone. I stopped at the next drive and turned around. Stopped short of the Connelly entrance and pulled against the hedges.
The place was marked by a number: 415. There was a gray-shingled gatehouse behind dense hedges, an empty boat trailer parked beside it. The driveway was paved with crushed white shells. There was no one in sight. I sat for a minute, then pulled back out and made a U-turn and drove back to the road to what appeared to be the edge of the Connelly estate. The line of demarcation was a point where the hedges were replaced by a stolid row of cedars, like soldiers on guard duty. The grounds of this next place were more open, and in the distance I could see the house, a white colonial with carriage houses and barns. The ground-floor windows were covered with what looked like plywood painted dark green to match the shutters.
I parked the Explorer across the road and walked up the drive.
I figured the owners had decided to sail the boat to Ireland or ski in the Andes. Or maybe they'd died and the kids were fighting over the place. No matter. Where the cedars thinned I could see the Connellys' drive, then a glimpse of a gray slate roof. Just short of the first carriage house I checked the road and slipped into the trees.
I stayed behind the cedars and the banks of shaggy rhododendrons that edged the Connelly property, and I walked slowly but deliberately. Beyond the white house the trees and shrubbery opened up and on the Connelly side there was some sort of woven cedar fence. The fence extended to the end of the lawn, where steep ledges dropped to the shore of this finger of the bay, an expanse of blue-green water studded with spruce-bristled islands.
At the end of the fence I peered around. On the Connelly side a long dock spanned the rocks and ended on a float. There was an inflatable dinghy overturned on the float; a forty-foot yacht that looked a little like a lobster boat and a smaller, open boat, a Boston Whaler, were moored to orange buoys. The tide was out and the water was lapping the barnacle-covered rocks. I poked my head around and saw the main house, a massive, shingled "cottage" with turrets and field-stone chimneys and a screened porch on the side. Perennial gardens spilled toward the shore like brightly colored waves.
The Subaru was parked to the left, toward the rear of the house. Tara appeared at the car, opened the door and reached in for something, and then moved back toward the house and out of view.
In the stillness I heard gulls, an osprey, a catbird in the shrubs, then even the birds were quiet.
I moved behind the fence toward the house, stopped at the end and listened. Peered through the cracks. The Subaru was parked by a black Suburban and a dark green Volvo wagon. The Suburban had Massachusetts plates and semaphore-flag stickers on the back window. Very yachty. A black bmw 750 was parked in a separate three-bay garage. The side door to the house was closed.
I leaned against the fence and watched and listened. On the bay, all was tranquil. Inside it was hard to tell. The place was probably soundproof as a tomb.
A half-hour passed. I alternated between watching the house and the glittering bay. In the distance there was a windjammer with rose-colored sails, smaller sailboats showing like scattered tissues. Close by there was the looming rumble of a big marine engine, and then a lobster boat came around the next point, one guy at the helm, another in the stern. They moved from one brightly painted buoy to the next like lumbering bees buzzing from flower to flower. I watched the lobstermen, wondering if wealthy summer people paid them just to provide local color.
And I heard a snap.
"Can I help you?" David Connelly asked.
# 4
I recognized him from the newspapers, but in person he was bigger, better looking. He was wearing khaki shorts and a faded blue T-shirt that said barbados y.c., and his legs and arms were tanned and muscled.
"Just watching the boats," I said.
"Technically, this is private property," he said.
"No kidding. I thought it was Acadia National Park."
I smiled and he gave a little snort and grinned and watched the lobstermen. The guy at the helm waved and Connolly waved back.
"I'm with Roxanne Masterson," I said.
"I figured. What, you have the house under surveillance?"
"No, I drove her down here and it seemed a shame to miss the view."
"Work for the State?"
"No," I said. "We're—"
I paused.
"Together?" Connelly said.
"Yeah."
"Really. Kind of an unpleasant job she has."
"It's for a good cause," I said.
"That's very true, but I wouldn't want to do it."
"Good thing somebody does."
"A very good thing."
He held out his hand.
"I'm David."
"Jack McMorrow."
I took his hand and we shook. He held my gaze and I noticed that his eyes were mesmerizingly blue, an unnatural color, like somebody had colored them with crayons. His smile was a little crooked and it gave him a bemused, philosophical expression, like he'd seen a lot and had taken it all in stride.
We turned back to the water.
"The sea," he said, gazing out at the glittering expanse. "You live on the coast?"
"No, inland. Deep in the woods. I like it, but this is beautiful."
"The great equalizer. The sea puts everything in perspective, don't you think? It's where I go when I need to get my head screwed on straight."
"Your boats?" I said, nodding toward the pair on the moorings.
"My refuge. The big one is called _Escape_. It's a Hinckley Talaria."
I looked at him blankly.
"If you're into boats, that means something," Connelly said. "I'll take it out in anything. Maddie gets a little queasy in real heavy weather, but I love it. I'll take it across, around Mount Desert and way Down East. Away from the day-trippers, you know? You get up there and there are stretches of coast that look like they did when the first Europeans came sailing down from the north four hundred years ago. They really do. I like to find a stretch like that and anchor and—"
He glanced at me and smiled.
"Sorry. Get me going on boats and I can ramble."
"It's okay. It's interesting," I said, and it was. I gave him a closer look. This wasn't the David Connelly from the tabloids. Where was the party boy?
"So what do you do, Jack, if you don't work for the State?"
"I cut wood some of the time," I said.
"You mean, in the woods? Cutting down trees? Like a lumberjack?"
"Yeah."
"Now there's something I've never done. Dangerous?"
"Only if you begin to think it isn't."
"A lot of things are like that," Connelly said. "Like these lobster guys. The risk actually increases the more comfortable you become with it. And then you're out there and it's winter and you're talking, thinking about something else, your kids, your wife, your bills, and a rope catches your arm, your ankle—"
"And over you go," I said.
"Vigilance is hard to keep up," he said.
"True."
"So what do you do when you're not cutting wood?"
Crunch time. I considered how to answer. I could say I was a writer, seem less threatening. But there was something straightforward about him that said I should just tell the truth.
"I'm a reporter. A stringer for the _New York Times_."
Connelly looked at me and tried not to show anything but couldn't do it.
"Jesus," he said.
We both looked toward the lobster boat, pivoting as it maneuvered close to a trap buoy. For a moment or two neither of us spoke and then I said, "But I'm not working."
He didn't answer at first, instead gave a brief, discouraged sigh.
"Reporters are always working, aren't they?"
"I don't write about Roxanne's business."
"Pass things along to somebody else?"
"Nope."
"Ever?"
"No."
"But you know what this is about?"
"I know what Roxanne does."
"My daughter has bruises. We didn't notice them at first. Makes you feel like kind of an idiot. This woman at the church play group, she saw them when Maeve got her shirt all wet and they took it off to dry it. By law they have to report this stuff, I guess. Would have been nice if they just told us, but I understand."
"It's a good law," I said. "Actually, I'm surprised she had the—"
"The nerve? This lady's by the book."
"Even with you?"
David paused, looked away.
"Yeah, well. I guess she did."
Then turned back to me.
"But you know this wasn't from being hit or anything. More from being squeezed on the shoulders. We had an au pair from Ireland, we use a lot of Irish kids. Roots, you know? And they've all been just great. But this one, Devlin, had a mean streak. Probably the way she was raised. We fired her and sent her home."
"Huh," I said.
"That's it."
"Then I'm sure Roxanne will take care of it."
"Now we've gotta find this kid, so she can back us up," Connelly said.
"You don't know where she is?"
"Sent her to Shannon, so I guess she'd be back home in West Cork, but who knows? She's nineteen and single and we gave her a thousand dollars' cash. Sort of a severance. She could have gone to Dublin or London or goddamn France for all we know."
"I'm sure it'll work out."
"It has to. And Ms. Masterson, she seems very reasonable."
"She is."
"Seems to have common sense."
"She does."
"She asked me to leave her alone with Maddie. That's my wife."
"I know."
He hesitated, watched the lobstermen move to the next trap. "But as a member of the press, you must know that sometimes this family is treated a little differently," Connelly said.
"Better or worse?"
"Some of both."
"So it averages out?" I said.
Connelly smiled.
"Some days are better than others," he said.
"And this one isn't too good, is it?"
"A social worker in the house and the _New York Times_ in the bushes," Connelly said. He laughed, said, "Oh, my word," and shook his head.
I found myself feeling bad for the guy, like I should give him a pat on his broad shoulders. Despite all his money, looks, and clout, his life, for the moment, was a bit of a mess. But suddenly he turned to me, the blue eyes blazing, the crooked grin back.
"Come on in," he said.
"No, I really shouldn't—"
"Really. You need to meet everybody. I need you to know that we're not some child beaters. Maeve is at her cousins' house in Northeast Harbor so she's not here. But you'll see we're normal, nice people. Hey, I'll get you a cup of coffee. How 'bout something to eat?"
He took me by the arm and started to guide me around the cedars. I took a couple of steps and stopped, said, "That's nice of you, but this is Roxanne's thing. I really can't get involved."
"But you are involved, Jack," Connelly said, showing he could see the heart of the matter. "Like it or not, you know some of the story and you need to get the full picture. You need to know that we're like any other parents."
He got me moving again, an arm on my shoulder. The lobster boat had gone beyond the next rocky point and there was a quietness in its wake that seemed to draw us closer together. We rounded the row of cedars and started across the lawn. Connelly still had his hand on my shoulder, like we were old friends, and I wondered if this was the same sort of easy intimacy he conveyed to women.
"You've got to understand, Jack, and I know you will," he said, his smile only half-softening his words. "Our child comes first. Nobody hurts our daughter."
# 5
There were five of them, three in their thirties or forties, two much younger women who looked like they might have been somebody's college-age daughters. The older trio was two men and a woman. The guys were tanned and fit, legs crossed, sunglasses hanging on their chests from cords; the woman was white-blonde and very big-city. The younger two were slouched in their chairs and one was dark and very attractive. They were all sitting around a vast living room that opened onto the porch that overlooked the lawn and the bay. Laid at their feet like tribute were canvas tote bags packed for some sort of outing.
Connelly introduced me as Jack, a friend of Ms. Masterson's. They looked at him for their cue, and when he smiled and put his hand on my shoulder, they smiled, too. If he'd jumped me, they would have piled on.
"Jack's from—where in Maine?" David said.
"Prosperity," I said.
"Oh, how quaint," the blonde woman said. "Is there really such a place?"
"Very much so," I said. "Has been for a hundred and fifty years."
"Is it prosperous?" a guy with tortoiseshell glasses said. "Or did the founding fathers just have a keen sense of irony?"
They chuckled smugly.
"I think they were hopeful," I said, prickling.
"This is Tim Dalton," Connelly said. "Helps run Sky Blue, among other things."
Dalton was wearing a green polo shirt with a logo I didn't recognize. He was small and muscular, like a soccer player, knotted quads showing below his shorts. He sprang from the big leather chair and held out his hand in an earnest, manly way.
"Jack writes for the _New York Times_ ," Connelly said.
"Oh, really," Dalton said.
He and the others looked to Connelly for their next cue.
"But today is his day off," he said.
They nodded in relief.
"New Yorker?" Dalton said.
"A lifetime ago," I said, and I could tell I'd moved up a couple of notches in his estimation, not being a native Mainer. Tara would be assigned to a lower caste.
"McMorrow," he said. "Sure, I've seen your byline. You write the northern New England stuff. I have friends at the _Times_. People I knew at Harvard."
He dropped a couple of names. I was acquainted with them. Me and Dalton, we were simpatico.
"Jack, this is Kathleen Kind," Connelly said. "Kathleen is a number cruncher."
"And that's not all she crunches, if the numbers don't add up," Dalton said, and the guys chuckled. Kathleen dropped the _Wall Street Journal_ to her lap and gave a little wave from one of the couches. She was stiffly pretty, blonde hair trimmed just below her ears, jeans and a tight black T-shirt, black-rimmed glasses that perched on the end of her precisely pointed nose. She looked over the glasses at me like she was appraising me for Sotheby's. Then she said, "Hi there, Jack," in a knowing way, like we'd met at a party but I didn't remember.
The other guy was Sandy something, maybe six-two and lanky. Shorts and Topsiders and a blue denim shirt, the sleeves carefully turned up. Oakley sunglasses on top of his head. He looked like a ski bum, off season. He saluted, said, "Welcome aboard," and gave me an easy grin.
"Sandy's our man in Maine," Connelly said. "Looks after things for us, the boats especially, and does it very well. Sandy's a sailor. If you ever decide to put together a crew for a transatlantic, he's your first mate."
"He can take the stern in the canoe," I said.
"Been there, done that," Sandy said. "You do white water?"
"No," I said. "Mostly I drift around marshes and look at birds."
"Lots of bids on the bay," he said, ever helpful, like a true courtesan, a guy whose social skills had been honed in his service to the very wealthy. "I'll take you out."
We turned to the two younger women, sitting in a window seat. Ten years ago they were in grade school. Now they were perched with their knees up to their chins, wearing shorts and tops with spaghetti straps. One was very pretty, one was not. The not-so-pretty one was wearing soccer sandals that had the Adidas logo across the top, and her toenails were painted dark blue. There was a gold ring on her left little toe.
"This is Monica Vitale," Connelly said, less easily than with the others, like he'd had to think about it. She had a mop of black hair that she pulled back and tucked into an elastic scrunchy, and when she raised her arms behind her head to fuss with her hair, she showed a gold stud in her bared navel. She looked bored, like the bus was late, and at first she didn't respond. When her hair was arranged she finally said, "Hi," and I did, too. Connelly said she worked for Sky Blue, one of the behind-the-scenes people who kept the place running. I began to get the picture that this was some sort of office outing.
"And this is Angel Moretti, last but not least," Connelly said.
She looked up at me. She had deep dark eyes, skin so fine it seemed to have no texture at all, a faint rosiness in her cheeks, and a thick shock of dark hair hanging loose. The rest of her was perfectly proportioned, and I felt that heart skip that men get, that tongue-tied moment. But then I said hello and she said, "Very nice to meet you," like a little kid, but there was something in her expression that said she knew the effect she had, and it was her magic weapon: She may have been twenty, but she made rich men swoon.
She smiled at me, and then turned her attention to Connelly. Her smile changed into something more knowing, and there was a boldness in her gaze, like they were accomplices and she didn't care who knew. Connelly flinched and looked away.
"David," she said, her voice faintly provocative like her big, unblinking eyes. "Do you think we'll get out on the water?"
He looked back at her and smiled, but it was the kind of smile that fends someone off.
"I hope so," he said. "Just hang tight."
"Sandy said I could, what did you call it, 'Take the helm'?"
She looked at Sandy and he seemed to squirm.
"In open water, of course," he said.
"Preferably halfway to Portugal," Connelly said, and Angel faked a pout and said, "David, don't you trust me?"
I looked around at the group. Dalton was staring at Angel like she was a Siren and he was shipwrecked. Kathleen had her smile fixed but her stare was icy. Monica looked more obviously annoyed. Angel's sandal dropped to the carpet and she fished for it with her bare foot.
"We were all headed out on the bay when"—Connelly paused, forcing a smile as he turned to me—
"when plans changed."
As if on cue, a door rattled somewhere deeper in the house. I heard footsteps and then Roxanne's voice and the voice of another woman, and Connelly said, "Sounds like they're done. Come on and meet Maddie."
They all smiled and nodded and Connelly headed out of the room. I followed. We walked down a corridor lined with photographs of Connellys on big boats, on horses, on tops of mountains. At the end of the corridor we took a right and moved into a paneled study. Roxanne was standing in the middle of the room; there was another woman with her. They both turned. The other woman smiled, but in a weary way. Roxanne smiled, too, masking her surprise.
"Maddie," Connelly said. "Somebody I want you to meet. This is Jack. He's Ms. Masterson's friend. I went for a walk and ran into him and told him he should come in and see that the Connellys don't have horns and fangs."
He caught himself, looked at Roxanne.
"Not to belittle what you do," Connelly said, backpedaling. "That wasn't intended the way it sounded. I'm glad you're looking out for Maeve. And other kids. I really am. I mean, at the foundation it's a priority, protecting children. Nurturing them."
"It's okay," Roxanne said.
"I just wanted Jack to know we're not monsters."
"No one is saying you are, Mr. Connelly," Roxanne said.
"David, please. And I understand. But you know what people think when they hear 'child abuse.' And this family, well, things tend to get—"
He paused, turned back to his wife.
"Maddie, this is Jack McMorrow."
Maddie Connelly smiled a bit wanly and said, "Hi, there." She held out her hand and I took it in mine. It was small but her handshake was very firm and her gaze was direct. She was attractive but in an arresting, intriguing sort of way, not like bowl-you-over Angel. Her blonde-streaked hair was cut practically short, and she had a dash of freckles across the tops of her cheeks. It was a squarish but very pretty face, and she'd probably seemed tomboyish until one day some guy looked across the boat, the ski slope, the tennis court, and thought, _My god. She's sort of beautiful_.
But today she looked weary and red-eyed.
"I don't want to intrude," I said. "I really didn't intend to come in or—"
"This really is confidential," Roxanne said. "Don't feel you have to share this with—"
"Oh, we won't," David Connelly said. "But I just felt that Jack should get the whole picture. I told him about the au pair and what happened and how we sent her home. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea."
"But David," Maddie began, trying to remain gracious, but now a little puzzled.
"We were outside looking at the bay, and Jack was telling me what he does," David said. "Jack cuts wood. You know, in the woods, with a chain saw? But that's not all. He's one of those Renaissance Mainers."
He paused and looked at his wife.
"When he's not cutting wood, Jack's a newspaper reporter, honey. He writes for the _Times_."
Maddie Connelly's face went gray. She actually caught her breath, then tried to smile, but it was pained. I could see her searching for the right thing to say, but finally she gave up.
"You're shitting me," she said.
# 6
Roxanne went out to tell Tara she might as well head back to the office, that I'd stopped to pick her up and we'd go back home together. When Roxanne returned to the study, I was still trying to convince Maddie Connelly that every word she'd uttered in Roxanne's presence wouldn't appear in the _Times_ the next morning.
"But how can you not, if you know something?" Maddie said, leaning against the end of a couch.
"Reporters don't print everything they hear," I said.
"And this involves me," Roxanne said. "Jack wouldn't hurt me."
"But he knows why you would come here. It's what you do."
Roxanne didn't answer.
"And then David confirmed it," Maddie said to me.
"That was unexpected," I said. "But it doesn't change anything. I don't even think it's news. Maine has hundreds of reports like this every month. This one just happened to be—"
"Us," Maddie said.
I glanced at the wall behind her. There were more photographs: Connellys shaking hands with Bill Clinton, Connellys outside the White House.
"They can't help that," David said. "They have to look into these things. What if Devlin were still here and it was still going on? Or what if it was us doing it?"
"But they don't usually bring the media, do they?" Maddie said. "Is it just a coincidence that the case involving this family gets a reporter from the _New York Times_ tagging along?"
"Yes," I said. "I came along for the ride, see if there was anything in town that might lead to a story."
"Well, you hit the jackpot, didn't you?" Maddie said, arms folded across her chest.
"No," I said. "I didn't intend to talk to David. I didn't intend to get involved at all. I just ran out of places to go and I was waiting for Roxanne. Got out of the car to stretch my legs and look at the water and—"
"But you'd talk about it when she got home, right? 'How'd it go in Blue Harbor? What'd they have to say for themselves?' "
"We generally don't discuss my cases," Roxanne said.
"But this is different?"
"Not really."
"And it won't amount to anything," David said. "We told you what happened. You can talk to Maeve—"
"David," Maddie said.
"She'll have to," he said. "She can't just take our word for all of this."
"I don't want Maeve upset. I don't want her to think this is a bigger deal than it is."
"I'll do my best to not upset her," Roxanne said.
"And that will be the end of it?" Maddie said.
"In all likelihood, from what I've heard, yes," Roxanne said. "But I can't promise at this point."
Maddie looked to David and their eyes met and held and some sort of invisible, almost telepathic communication went on, the kind you see in couples who are very close.
"Okay," David said.
"Then let's get her home," Maddie said. "I'll call. She'll be here in an hour."
"Then I have more questions for you," Roxanne said.
"I'll stay," David said. I looked to Roxanne and moved to the door, and I had my hand on it when he said, "Jack, you go. You'll love it out there. But could you tell Sandy he'd better go without me? Tell him to just take them around so they can see Cadillac Mountain, but probably skip Somes Sound. Getting too late if they're going to make dinner in town."
A cruise around Mount Desert Island? Cadillac Mountain from the water? A chance to get out of Roxanne's way.
So I left them, Maddie sitting on the couch, David moving to take his place beside her, Roxanne taking a legal pad from her bag. I closed the door behind me and, when I turned into the hallway, almost walked into the pretty girl, Angel. She was standing in front of the photographs as though the house were a museum and she'd rented headphones.
"Hey," she said.
"Hello," I said.
"Look at this. Look at that boat."
It was an immense racing sailboat, like something from an old America's Cup. It was under sail, heeled over with one rail practically in the waves.
"You think they owned that?" Angel said, a trace of North End Boston in her accent.
"I don't know," I said.
"Must be worth a large fortune," she said, and she stepped to the next photo.
"Who's this old guy?" she said.
Another boat picture, this time Connellys in the cockpit, David Connelly at a wheel the size of a hula hoop, an older man beside him.
"That's Walter Cronkite," I said.
"Wasn't he some news announcer?" Angel said.
"Yeah."
"You know him?"
I shook my head.
"You interview a lot of famous and influential people?"
"Some," I said. "Not as much anymore. I work mostly Maine and New Hampshire now."
"Who have you interviewed who's famous?"
She had moved to the next set of photos and was peering at them as though she were looking for lost relatives.
"I don't know," I said. "Jimmy Carter. Rudy Giuliani, but he wasn't famous then. David Dinkins and Ed Koch."
"Never heard of the last two."
"New York mayors. How 'bout Bruce Springsteen?" I said.
Angel turned to me, big eyes wide. She reached out and put her hand on my upper arm and held it there. She was one of those women who like men the way some people like chocolate.
"Really? What was he like?"
"Very nice," I said. "A very regular guy."
"I don't want famous people to be regular," Angel said. "I want them to be mysterious and different. I can meet all the regular people I want."
The hand fell away.
"Where are you from, Angel?"
"Boston. My whole life. I love the city."
"Some people in Boston would say the Connellys are famous, and they seem pretty regular."
"Oh, I don't know," Angel said. "They're nice, but they carry a lot with them."
"The family baggage?"
"The history. I mean, just being a Connelly. Having everybody looking at you like you're some sort of royalty."
"They are, in a way. American royalty."
"You know somebody else told me that?"
"Who?"
"Barbara Walters. I went to this benefit dinner with David and Maddie, at the Ritz. She sat at our table, Barbara Walters, and she said to me, once she knew what I did, 'What is it like working with royalty?' I said, 'They try so hard not to show it.' Too hard, I think."
"Too hard?"
"Yeah. Like this thing with their little girl; I would have tossed those people right out and called my lawyer. I mean, this woman with the hair? And she comes in here bossing people around? I mean, who the hell does she think she's talking to?"
"To just another parent who might be mistreating a kid," I said.
"Oh, who are you kidding, Jack?" she said, turning to me and cocking her head. "This family isn't 'just another' anything."
"Then what are they?"
"They're amazing people who do amazing things. Yesterday we gave this outfit five hundred thousand to train foster parents who take crack babies. Just like that. Last year David and Sandy flew to South Africa and picked up this huge sailboat and sailed around the end of Africa, that point. It has a name."
"The Cape of Good Hope."
"Whatever. But they just do it."
"Like the Nike ad?"
"Yeah. There's no blabbing on about things."
"You like that?"
She turned to me.
"Yeah, I do. They live large. Maddie takes Maeve to France and Italy. A month ago it was those Indian cliff-dwelling places in Arizona. If they decide it's important, it gets done. Most people just talk."
"What's your background, Angel?" I said.
She turned back to a photograph of David on top of some snow-covered mountain.
"Nothing special. Boston. North End. Regular family."
"Must be something special about them. Lots of brothers and sisters?"
"Oh, yeah. A whole bunch of them, tied down by their roots like plants."
"You're not?'
"I don't spend my whole life looking back, Jack," she said. "I'm looking forward, every minute."
She turned and leaned toward me, like she was going to tell me a secret. I could smell her shampoo, her perfume, felt my pulse quicken in spite of me.
"And another thing," Angel said, her voice husky. "That's all off the record."
"I'm not working," I said.
"Jack," she said, touching her fingers to the top of my hand. "Come off it."
And then Dalton appeared at the end of the hallway, a sweater draped over his shoulders. Angel pulled her fingers away and said, "Timmy. We were talking. Jack's interviewed Bruce Springsteen."
She started toward him, a runway swivel to her walk, and he gave her a quick look that said she was his and he was proud, and then that vanished and he said to me, "Springsteen. No kidding," but he was distracted and turned with her as she passed. It occurred to me that Angel's problem wouldn't be hooking up with men, but setting the hook so deep they couldn't be released.
# 7
Sandy rowed with me out to the big boat in a dinghy that was all glass-varnished wood and polished brass. The water was blue-green and the air smelled of salt and seaweed and the bottom disappeared quickly as the dinghy skipped over the chop. Sandy eased the dinghy alongside the _Escape_ , while I stood gingerly and then stepped over the gunwale of the big boat and held the dinghy against the plastic fenders that kept the hulls from bumping. Sandy came aboard and tied the dinghy to a cleat on the stern. The dinghy drifted away on its painter as Sandy started for the cockpit. He started the motors and backed them into a rumbling idle and then climbed out on the narrow deck beside the cabin. At the bow he crouched, slackened the mooring line, and unwound it from its cleat.
Sandy clambered back into the cockpit, took the stick, and feathered the boat to the float. They came aboard one by one, like animals loaded on a circus train. Kathleen Kind settled onto the cushioned bench across from the helm, crossed her legs carefully, and took a copy of _The New Yorker_ from her bag. Monica, unmindful of the cool breeze off the water, went to a stern seat and slipped out of her top, revealing a bikini top filled to bursting. On her right breast was a tattoo of a rose. She turned to the sun, beginning to drop from its crest in the gleaming blue Maine sky, and closed her eyes like a lizard on a rock.
Angel and Dalton began to climb the ladder to the second story of the boat, above the cabin, Angel in the lead, Dalton staring up at her buttocks.
"She's gorgeous, don't you think?" Sandy said.
I looked at him, startled.
"The very first Talaria 44 built with the flybridge."
"Really. And a flybridge is—"
"That's the upper platform."
We could hear Angel and Dalton clambering around above us. As Sandy went on about dual controls, I wondered if Dalton was married. I wondered if it made any difference.
"Know boats?" Sandy said.
"Not really."
"Well, take my word for it. This is the best yacht of its kind in the world. Unless you go totally custom, and David has the Sou'wester 51."
"This one's very nice," I said.
He launched into a recitation of the boat's attributes, going into a sort of trance, the way some people do when they talk about boats or cars or religion. I listened politely.
The hull was Kevlar and carbon fiber. The electronics were state of the art. The motors were twin Yanmar diesels and there was no propeller, just water jets. The thing was controlled with a stick, not a wheel, and could turn on its own axis. The hull drew only twenty-eight inches of water but could take eight-foot seas.
"We can go three hundred and fifty miles on a tank of fuel," Sandy said. "Cruise from here to New York at twenty-eight knots."
"Ever do that?" I said.
"Hell no. David doesn't use _Escape_ to see more people. He uses it to get away."
Sandy watched gauges and threw switches, and I felt like I was on an airplane. I looked over at Ms. Kind and she'd put down the magazine and was looking out at the shoreline, where the Connellys' cottage protected the inner harbor like a castle.
She looked at me and smiled.
"I don't care about that technical mumbo jumbo," she said. "But you should see below."
Ms. Kind stood and hooked her finger at me and I stood and she opened a passageway door and eased her way inside. I followed into a dining area and galley with more appliances than my house, and on into a cabin with a massive bed at its center. Everything was gleaming cherry. Ms. Kind sat on the rose-colored comforter, leaned back, and looked around.
"This is my kind of boating," Ms. Kind said. "Sit in the harbor with a good book. Go ashore to a four-star restaurant."
"Must be nice," I said. "Can't imagine what something like this would cost."
"It's the old, 'if you have to ask,' " she said.
"So the family doesn't give away all of its money," I said.
"The Connellys aren't monastic, Mr. McMorrow. They have a right to enjoy their lives."
"True. And I guess they do."
"What makes you say that?" she said, a faint challenge in her tone, her sandal dangling on her foot like a gauntlet about to be thrown.
"The boats. The houses. The stuff you read, about him especially."
"Oh, Christ. If people knew what garbage appeared in the press, they'd never read a newspaper again."
"I probably shouldn't ask this, but it's not true? The philandering, the drugs and stuff when they were young?"
"God almighty. They never did anything that other people weren't doing then. And the philandering was ninety percent innuendo. David Connelly dating this actress. David Connelly dating this society pager. You know one paper linked him with me? We were seen leaving a Boston hotel together early one morning. We were there for a breakfast meeting with a nonprofit, for God's sake. We shared a cab back to the office."
I looked at Ms. Kind, the cool spareness of her. The thought of her having an affair with David Connelly wasn't as absurd as she made it out to be, and I wondered if it was vanity that made her repeat that story. She returned my gaze and seemed to be reading my thoughts.
"I'm old enough to be his—"
It wasn't mother, and she didn't finish the thought.
"Whatever," Ms. Kind said. "This friend of yours. Is she your wife?"
"No."
"But you're together?"
"Yes."
"A long time?"
"By some standards. Not like the couples in my town who celebrate their fiftieths at the Grange."
"But permanent?"
"Yes."
"Raises some interesting confidentiality questions, doesn't it?"
"On occasion," I said.
"Which prevails? Protecting children, or the public's right to know?"
"It's her job. I don't get involved."
"Oh, really?"
She smiled.
"I didn't intend to be here. I got—"
"Swept along by David's largesse? Join the club. We're here for mandatory bonding. We go in shifts. This is Team A."
"Some of you seem to be bonding more than others,"
I said. There was a pause.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ms. Kind said.
"I don't know. You and Monica aren't exactly chums, are you?"
"Not exactly. And I don't socialize with the guy who parks my car, either."
I didn't pursue that.
"What do you do with these numbers you crunch?"
"Somebody has to tell them how much they have to spend. It isn't a bottomless cup, much as some people would like to think so."
"And Tim Dalton, what does he do?"
"He's chief of staff. David is president and Maddie is vice president."
"What does Monica do?"
Ms. Kind hesitated and it seemed to me her eyes rolled slightly.
"She's Angel Moretti's friend. They came to the foundation as temps together last year."
"And you decided to keep them on?"
"I didn't. Someone else did."
"What does Angel do?"
"She's Mr. Dalton's—"
Ms. Kind hesitated.
"—administrative assistant."
"Huh," I said.
Ms. Kind looked at me and showed nothing but a cold smile.
"So you must feel good about what you do," I said. "Helping so many people on this large scale."
"You hope you're doing the right thing—that over time you're making a contribution. There's a certain gravity to what we do. We aren't making widgets. I mean, we promise a half-million dollars to these poor, sick infants, we'd better come through with it."
"Why wouldn't you?" I said.
"Oh, you can lose focus, overestimate revenue, start spending money on unnecessary things, extraneous—"
Ms. Kind paused. The motors rumbled and the boat began to move, the shoreline slipping past the oval-shaped portholes. There were footsteps in the passageway and Dalton and Angel came through and Angel said, "Oh, my God. This is so lovely." She hurried over, bent down, and ran a hand along the cherry bed frame. Ms. Kind rose from the bed, her icy smile still frozen in place.
"—positions," she murmured.
# 8
We rumbled down Blue Harbor Bay, the rock shore on both sides bristling with spruce and fir, houses perched here and there on the rocks like sightseers who had crept out of the woods to watch us pass. It was beautiful, the low chop on the water, the sun lighting the granite, the gulls above us, the ospreys launching from the woods and circling over the coves.
Monica and Ms. Kind were seated at opposite ends of the stern, separated by their social divide. Dalton and Angel had clambered along the narrow deck alongside the cabin and were sitting on the forward deck. Dalton was pointing to houses as we passed, probably identifying the owners and their net worth. I went up on the fly-bridge with Sandy and he named islands as we passed.
Long Island. Hardwood Island. Tinker Island. Three rocky nubs below Tinker that Sandy said were crests on an underwater ridge.
"People get in trouble in between there," he said. "Two feet of water and all ledge. Try to cut that corner and you'll hang her right up."
"Down you go?"
"More likely you sit on your side with your hull full of water and hope somebody answers your Mayday."
"Not a place to be careless?" I said.
"Hey, in the fog, at night, water fifty or sixty degrees? You can get killed out here just as easy as you could two hundred years ago."
"Is that why David likes it so much?"
"You'd have to ask him."
He paused and I didn't fill the gap.
"But I'd guess it has something to do with the water treating everybody the same," Sandy said.
"Is that why you're out here?" I said.
"Yeah," he said, "but I come at it from the other side. All that matters is that I can get a boat from Point A to Point B."
"What doesn't matter?" I said.
"The rest of it," Sandy said flatly, and then we rounded the last of the string of ledges and headed southeast into more open water. The wind picked up and the boat began to rock with the chop. Dalton and Angel stood up carefully and inched their way back around the cabin. I glanced at Sandy and he was watching them, and his jaw clenched and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. I imagined that behind his Oakleys, his eyes narrowed with disdain.
So much for bonding.
We made a wide sweep just southwest of Mount Desert Island. The island's mountains loomed above us like something that had just been discovered, rocky peaks high above the tree-lined shores. There was something grand about this coast, the scale of it, the cold, clean hardness. It was a place where for centuries people had lived at their own risk, finding a way to accommodate the landscape because the landscape wouldn't accommodate them. Cold waters as deadly as boiling oil. Hard winters. Rocky terrain. It was a place that bred humility in most people and, as we swung back up the east side of Long Island, I wondered if that was what Roxanne was finding in the Connellys, and not the arrogance we'd expected.
I thought about that as we made our way back up the bay, the chop subsiding, the sun falling in the sky to the west. As we approached the shallower waters leading into the harbor, Sandy went down the ladder to the cockpit to bring the boat in. Ms. Kind was reading her _New Yorker_ in the salon. Monica had reluctantly given up on the last rays of the sun and moved inside. Dalton and Angel were standing at the stern and Dalton was pointing to something on the shore. Sandy said he'd come alongside the float and asked me to put the fenders out on the starboard side. I stepped along the narrow deck beside the cabin and flipped the fenders overboard on their lines. When I came back to the cockpit, Sandy said, "I think I can turn you into a boat guy, Jack."
"So I guessed right on the starboard?" I said.
We moved slowly through the brightly painted lobster pot buoys and then Sandy stepped out onto the float. I moved to the bow and tossed him the line that was coiled there like a golden snake. He fixed the line to a big cleat on the float.
"Very nice," Sandy said, and gave me an easy grin. In spite of myself, I grinned back.
Dalton, Monica, and Kathleen Kind started to queue up, like the fasten-seat-belt light had just switched off. Nobody looked thrilled by the excursion except Angel, who turned back and looked the yacht over and said, to no one in particular, "I like this boat. We'll have to do this again."
And then she looked at Sandy and said, "Sandy, next time I want to go to Bar Harbor."
"You'll have to talk to the captain," he said.
"Okay," Angel said. "I will."
# 9
They came down the ramp to the float: David, Maddie, Roxanne, and Maeve, who was five and very pretty, all tanned with wild, curly golden hair. She hopped up the ramp as the dinghy came alongside and then hopped back down. She was wearing sneakers without laces and cutoff jeans and a T-shirt that said jackson hole.
"Hey, everybody," she said. "Did you see porpoises?"
I climbed onto the float and said, "No porpoises this time."
"Last time I went with my daddy on the small boat, that one out there, and we saw six. They were following us."
"They were," David said. "Stayed right alongside for a couple of miles."
"They're wet and black and shiny," Maeve said, and she did a hop-scotch move on the float and back to Roxanne. "Have you ever seen one?"
"I don't think so," Roxanne said, leaning close to her.
"Then we'll take you. My daddy knows where they are, and seals, too. Sometimes we see the seal babies."
"That would be fun, Maeve," Roxanne said.
"Let's go tomorrow," Maeve said. "Daddy, can Roxanne and her friend stay tonight and we'll get up really early and we'll go on the big boat, 'cause it's cold in the morning, and you can make eggs and waffles and we can have hot chocolate because Roxanne has never seen a porpoise? Can you believe that?"
She turned to Roxanne. "How old are you?"
"Thirty-two."
"And you've never seen a porpoise? You gotta go, girl."
Roxanne smiled, and Maddie said, "Sure, we'll take her out."
"Let's go," David said. "Sandy, leave it running. All set for fuel?"
He jumped aboard. I looked to Roxanne and she said, "I really don't know whether—"
"Let's go," Maeve said, and she took Roxanne's hand and began to pull her toward the boat. Roxanne smiled and surrendered and they stepped onto the gunwale and down into the boat. The others were on the float, Sandy, too, and David said, "Fix everybody up with drinks, whatever, Sandy. Food should be here soon. I told them four. We'll be back in an hour."
I climbed aboard and David stepped to the helm as Sandy shoved us off. The motors rumbled and we eased away from the float and past the Boston Whaler and the other mooring buoys and then David eased the stick forward and the yacht gathered itself up and took off with a roar, jet wakes spewing into the air. Maeve opened a locker under the stern seats and pulled out a life jacket and snapped it on. She clambered up the ladder, and Maddie followed her, and then Maeve leaned back over and called to Roxanne.
"I'll be right there, honey," Roxanne said, and she came over to where I was standing across from David. He turned to her and grinned and said, "We'll find you a porpoise, Roxanne, or my name isn't Ahab."
She smiled and he looked back at the instruments, eased back on the stick. The roar eased, too, and David settled back onto the helm seat and turned to us.
"Have a seat, guys," he said. "Get comfortable."
We did, sitting on the cushioned settees across from him. David picked up the microphone and started talking to someone, first about the weather, then about delivering lobsters to the float. I put my arm around Roxanne as the shoreline receded and I leaned close to her and said softly, "You okay?"
She turned and we looked out the port side at the islands.
"Fine. The little girl is an absolute delight."
"She back them up?"
"Completely. Said this girl Devlin was 'jerky.' I think it was the worst word she could think of. Said she squeezed her shoulder too hard and put her in the closet in the dark. Told her if she complained to her parents, she'd flush her doll down the toilet with the poop."
"Nice."
"Yeah. I still need to track her down."
"But the parents are okay?"
"Oh, they're really very pleasant, very sincere. Maeve seems close to them, don't you think?"
"Yeah. Not at all what I expected."
"The cokehead chasing the maid?"
"Yeah, although there's some chasing going on."
"Oh?"
I told her about Dalton, the aging Harvard jock, and Angel, the pretty assistant.
"Is she receptive?"
"In an arm's-length sort of way. Knows she has a ring in his nose."
"That's pathetic," Roxanne said.
"A bit," I said, and David hung up the microphone, eased off the throttle, and leaned toward us.
"If we're going to see them this time of the afternoon, this stretch in here is the best place. They chase the mackerel into the bay, drive them up this strait between the islands."
"Do we sit and wait?" Roxanne said.
"No, we'll cruise. I'll go up on the bridge. See a little better up high. Come on up."
We went up the ladder first. There were cushioned seats arranged in a semicircle with the helm, all teak and steel, on the right. Maeve was kneeling facing the bow, her hands clenching a stainless-steel bar. Maddie stepped to the helm and watched the instrument panel and then touched the stick and took over. We sat on the left side and looked out at the water, the sunlit shoreline. After a minute, David popped up the ladder, arms loaded with fleece sweatshirts. They were dark green, with _Escape_ embroidered on the left breast.
"No fun being cold out here," he said. He took off his sunglasses and shrugged his fleece on. Roxanne and I did the same, and David took the helm from Maddie while she put her fleece on. Maeve said she wasn't cold but went and sat on the helm seat beside her father, one little hand on the controls.
"She's a different species, I think sometimes," Maddie said, sitting down next to Roxanne. "Little bit of a thing, not an ounce of fat on her, and she's never cold. Swims before anybody up here, first one in, last one out."
"Some kids are just like that," Roxanne said. "Must be their metabolism."
"So you don't think this will bother her in the long run?"
"I'm no expert," Roxanne said. "But she seems very well adjusted. Very happy."
"Oh, she is. Just a joy to be around. When David or I feel a little discouraged about something, we say we need some Maeve time. She's the light in our lives."
I smiled as I listened. It was refreshing to hear that a couple who had tens of millions of dollars, and no small amount of political clout, still turned to a five-year-old girl to cheer them up.
"But I don't want anything lingering. I don't want guilt or anything haunting her."
Maddie paused and then said it again, not to us as much as to herself.
"I don't want anything like that for her."
I looked at Roxanne and she caught my glance.
"So I really thank you for making this so, well, I wouldn't call it easy, but comfortable for us. I mean, the thought of the State coming to see whether we were abusive parents—I know you have to do that, but you've done it in a good way for us, and for Maeve."
She reached out and touched Roxanne's hand.
"So thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," Roxanne said.
"Now what do you think? We have a friend who's a child therapist. She practices in Cambridge and Boston Children's. She's really wonderful. We could have her talk to Maeve."
"I'd keep it very low-key," Roxanne said. "She seems so good now."
"Oh, but you don't know what they've got locked away in their little heads," Maddie said. "And the way children can work so hard to appear happy and normal. They do it for their parents, for themselves. They want their lives to be what they were before, so they sort of re-create it all."
Roxanne turned to her, interested.
"Have you studied that?"
"No," Maddie said quickly. "But when people talk, I listen. David says I have a master's degree in osmosis."
She turned and leaned across Roxanne toward me. "Now, Jack, do you write about coastal issues?"
I said I'd write about anything that affected people's lives in Maine. She said I should write about aquaculture—that a company wanted to fill this bay with a fish farm and ugly blue barrels. She'd seen them Down East and in the west of Ireland.
I listened as she filled me in. How the proposal had been defeated at the state level only after David and the Rockefellers and others brought all their political cannons to bear. How areas of the Maine coast without influence were vulnerable. Maddie talked about bacteria and fish waste and dissolved oxygen. She said the story in the _Times_ was okay, but the problem hadn't gone away. She was smart, determined, and articulate. I could see why the fish farmers had retreated.
"I'll keep you posted, Jack," she said.
She leaned back as David, one hand on the stick, told us the histories of the passing islands. One had been used for raising hogs, another had been for sheep. One was home to a reclusive member of a prominent New York family. South of us were quarry islands that, at the turn of the twentieth century, had hosted small towns filled with immigrant stonecutters. Granite from these islands had been used in the construction of much of Wall Street and the Library of Congress.
We nodded and he slid back to his seat, adjusted our course to cut between two bars. We sat for a moment and then Maddie leaned over to us and said, "Do you think you'll have children?"
It was a forward thing to ask, but she seemed so earnest that it was hard to take offense.
"We just might," Roxanne said.
"Because we have friends who have chosen not to. I tell them they're missing the most wonderful, joyous thing passible. We probably won't have any more children of our own, but we're planning on adopting next year. We're working with people in the Dominican Republic. Do you place children in adoptive families, Roxanne?"
Roxanne said it was a different part of the agency, but yes, they did.
"Because I've said to David, you know, we're going so far for a child. Perhaps we should consider a child from Maine or Boston. You don't want to neglect your own backyard."
"No," Roxanne said.
"Because I think we'd be a good family for most kids. Maeve isn't possessive or jealous, at least not yet. And we'd be able to offer them opportunities that many families wouldn't."
Maddie said it so matter-of-factly, no brag at all. I looked out at the gorgeous Maine coast as we cruised in this beautiful boat with this family that seemed loving and well-adjusted and charming. I thought of the places Maeve would see, of the good she could do in her lifetime with parents like these. I wondered why these Connellys never made the papers, why they were so different from the stereotypes I'd expected.
"There they are," Maeve called out, her tiny hand pointing toward the waters in front of us. "Porpoises."
She jumped down from the seat and took Roxanne by the arm and pulled until Roxanne stood up. Maeve pointed.
"Do you see them?"
"Oh, yeah," Roxanne said. "Look at that. They're jumping."
"I told you," Maeve said, and I glanced over at her mother watching her. Maddie was only half-smiling and the other half of her expression seemed like one of worry or sadness, like all of this might suddenly come to an end. It was like she was clutching it tightly, trying to keep the scene in front of her from slipping away.
Roxanne had come to protect the daughter, but in that moment it was Maddie who seemed more vulnerable.
Suddenly she turned to Roxanne and me. "What are the chances," she said, "of this story getting out?"
# 10
When we got back to the house, the others were on the porch, drinks and hors d'oeuvres in hand. Sandy was drinking a Beck's and talking to Monica, who was drinking something clear from a tall glass. Ms. Kind was stretched out on a wicker chaise with her _New Yorker_ and a glass of white wine. Dalton, scotch in hand, had a chart out and was showing Angel where we'd gone on our cruise. She sipped a glass of wine, looking up as we arrived.
Maeve announced the count: three porpoises, six seals, two ospreys, and a bald eagle.
"Good for you, honey," Angel said while everybody beamed. "Are you hungry? There's shrimp and these lobster things and California rolls."
She herded Maeve to the table, where the food and drinks were arranged on a white cloth. And then she turned to Roxanne and me and said, "Would you guys like a drink? How 'bout a beer? Glass of wine?"
I started to decline but David said, "How would a Guinness be, Jack? You seem like a good Celt to me. Roxanne?"
She shook her head but said a sparkling water would be great. A high-school-age girl appeared with another tray of shrimp and Angel said, "Could you get her a Poland Spring? A fizzy one."
The girl said, "Yes, ma'am," and it occurred to me that Angel Moretti from the North End was finding she liked this life very much, thank you. If the gardener had wandered by, she would have told him to go dig a hole.
David put a pint glass of Guinness in my hand, apologizing that it wasn't a draft. I said it was fine, and the caterer girl brought the spring water for Roxanne. She toasted me with a glance and a tip of her glass and sipped. Maeve bounded over and grabbed Roxanne by the hand and said, "Let's go see my room." Maddie joined them and said, "Would you like to see more of the house, Roxanne?" and Roxanne said, "Sure, that would be nice." Off the three of them went, deeper into the house.
Dalton had called David over to the chart and was asking about symbols and what they meant. Monica, looking up invitingly at Sandy, was asking him what it was like to go all the way across the ocean in a boat, and wasn't he terrified the whole time. Her lower lip nearly trembled. Ms. Kind looked up from her magazine to survey the scene, smiled smugly, and looked back down. Angel topped off her wine and sidled over to me, touching my arm and saying, "So, Jack, you writing about this outing for the _New York Times_?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"The Connelly family isn't news?"
"Only when it does something newsworthy," I said. "Going for a boat ride and eating shrimp doesn't quite make it."
"Oh, really? I've seen write-ups that had less than that happening. A benefit dinner, something at the MFA. Voila, they're in the _Globe_."
"Just a photo, though. And I don't write for the society pages."
"Why not? You get to go to parties, meet lots of beautiful people."
"I meet lots of people anyway."
"Not this kind of people. What do you write about up here in Maine? People in trailers and that sort of thing?"
"Some of them," I said. "Some of them are good people. You know, five miles from here is a different world. Where I live is a different world."
"What is it? You and all the poor people?"
"Some of them are poor. Some are just regular people. They support themselves, love their families, live good lives."
"Yuk. It's so, like, depressing. On and on forever, the same old crummy routine. Go to work for forty years, retire, get sick. What's the saying? Life's a bitch and then you die?"
"Most people in this country don't even know what a hard life is," I said.
"I know. The starving people in India and all that. My parents used to pound that into us when we were kids. I went to Catholic school and they'd have the nuns come in who worked in these countries and tell us horror stories. We had paper cups with slots in the top and we'd fill them with change and then give these nuns fifty-pound boxes of pennies. I don't know what they did with them. Who wants to count forty thousand pennies, you know? It seems so—"
"Futile?"
"Yeah."
"You sure you're in the right business?"
She looked at me blankly for a moment, like she'd forgotten what business she was in.
"The foundation, I mean."
"Oh, but that's not boxes of pennies. It's hundreds of thousands of dollars. We do a lot of good."
"I'm sure. And what do you do?"
"I'm Tim's assistant. He's the chief of staff, like at the White House. He keeps things on track and I keep him on track."
I looked at her, the big dark eyes, the delicate curve of her lips, a faint shadow of cleavage showing through her half-buttoned blouse. I bet she kept him on a track, like a greyhound chasing one of those mechanical rabbits.
As if on cue, Dalton joined us. He put a hand on Angel's back, laying claim, and then let it drop away. I checked for a wedding ring, and sure enough, there was a pale line of skin on his left ring finger.
"Beautiful coastline, isn't it?" Dalton said. "Get down here often?"
"Once in a while," I said. "It's a big state. And I cover northern New Hampshire, some of Canada."
"We love it up here," he said.
"Who's we?" I said.
He glanced at Angel and said, "Oh, all of us. David and Maddie have us up pretty regularly. Can't spend all our time at the grindstone. And they have a place in Jackson Hole. We try to get out there at least once every winter. You're going to have to join us next year, Angel."
"But I don't ski, Tim," she said.
"I'll teach you. A couple of days and you'll be doing double diamonds."
"When I think diamonds, I don't think skiing," she said, and she smiled at him, a high-voltage beam that she could switch on and off. Dalton took a swallow of scotch while he recovered.
"Pretty girl like you, I don't think you'll have a problem," Dalton began, but Angel wasn't listening. She was looking past him at Connelly as he approached.
"Jack," he said. "Have something to eat? Don't be shy. What we don't eat the crabs get in the morning. Amazing how they can sense food. Throw in a shrimp, a piece of chicken, and you can see them come running from fifty feet away, like you've rung the dinner bell."
"They must smell it in the water."
"Highly effective scavengers," Connelly said.
"It's crabs that eat bodies in the water," Dalton said. "Not fish, like people say."
"Uck, Tim," Angel said. "That's disgusting."
"Well, it's true," he said, but once again her attention was elsewhere.
"David," she said. "Tomorrow let's take _Escape_ over to Bar Harbor."
"Bar Harbor," Connelly said. "In August? Now there's my idea of hell. Boats going in and out, half the people don't know port from starboard. Crowds milling up and down the sidewalks. Why would you want to go there?"
"To see people," Angel said. "Go out to lunch. Go to the shops. There must be something worth buying."
"How many T-shirts do you need?" Dalton said.
"We can't spend the whole time here looking at seals," Angel said, and I grinned. She didn't, and for a moment the beautiful young woman washed away and revealed a petulant little girl.
"Come on, David," she said, and she took him by the arm and eased closer to him, looked up into his eyes. "It'll be fun."
Dalton smiled but his eyes didn't. David chuckled, sipped his Guinness, but there was something unfunny about the tone of her voice. It was almost as though she wasn't persuading Connelly as much as ordering him.
"Sorry, Angel," David said. "Tomorrow Sandy has to get her ready. We're making a run out to Matinicus, if the weather holds."
"Does that take all day, getting the boat ready?"
"Well, not all day. It's just that we've got to fuel up, clean up, get the food all set."
"If we left early, couldn't you do that in the afternoon?"
"Jeez, Angel, I suppose but—"
"Good," Angel said, in her element, surrounded by men, getting her way. "Maybe Sandy can make reservations. There's this one restaurant I've heard good things about."
I looked away, and caught Ms. Kind watching and listening. Her gaze toward Angel was hard and cold.
# 11
The car doors closed. There was a silent moment and then I said, "Sorry."
"You're not supposed to—"
"I know. I didn't mean it to turn out that way. He just invited me along. And—"
"And what?"
"And I was worried about you."
"I've been to places a thousand times more scary than this," Roxanne said.
"I know. I just had a bad vibe about this."
"What? You thought they'd kill the State lady and bury her in the cellar?"
"At sea?"
"What?"
"If I were them, I'd take the person way offshore and dump them."
"Thanks, Jack. You can suggest it."
"You know what I mean. And I am sorry."
"It's okay," she said, the irritation slipping away. "I guess we're kind of in this together."
"I guess," I said. "So what's your take on them?"
"Considering the circumstances?"
"Yeah."
"They were sort of okay," Roxanne said. "Actually, they were pretty nice."
"Easier if they were complete jerks?"
"Much," she said.
As we drove, Roxanne told me about her time with Maddie. She said the house was beautiful but old-fashioned, as if changes were made reluctantly and tradition prevailed. She said the master bedroom took up both a second-floor level of a turret and the adjoining room, and there was a fireplace and a beautiful view from the bed.
"Sounds like it would be just the place for—"
"Jack."
"What?"
"This is serious."
"I am," I said, and I took her hand and held it as though we were high school kids on a date. Roxanne said Maddie was working with representatives of a consortium of foundations that was trying to figure out the best way to use its resources to combat child abuse and neglect.
"I told her it wasn't as simple as 'combating' anything," Roxanne said. "I said it's such a complex relationship between all kinds of things. Drugs and drinking and self-esteem and people who direct their self-loathing at their children."
"Did that discourage her?"
"No. She just seemed to be trying very hard to understand what I was saying. She'd just say, 'Okay. So where do we go from there?' "
"You really like her."
"Yes, I do. I think she's a serious person," she said. "I think she really wants to do as much good as she can, with what she has to work with. And you like him?"
"Yeah. I tried hard not to, but he's just a good guy. All kinds of interests, very curious about everything. He wants to come up here sometime and learn how to cut wood."
"No kidding."
"Yeah," I said. "He said they own fifty acres right on the coast south of Blue Harbor and he'd like to build a studio sort of thing in the middle of it. And he wants to use the wood off the land and he'd like to cut it himself."
"Is he serious?"
"I think it's a challenge. And maybe some sort of spiritual thing, harvesting from the land and all that."
"What's the studio for?" Roxanne said.
"He writes, he said. And she paints. He said he's working on a historical novel about Boston and Maine during the Revolution."
"I guess that never made the tabloids," Roxanne said.
"Maybe if he writes it in bed with some naked woman not his wife. I wonder how my writing would be if—"
"We'll never know, will we?" she said.
"No," I said. "We won't."
We were crossing Knox Ridge and the sun had dropped below the wooded hills to the west, leaving the sky a dappled pink. It looked like clouds moving in for tomorrow, and I wondered if Angel would get her trip to Bar Harbor.
"You know, there was a lot of tension in that group," I said.
"I sensed something but I wasn't with them as much as you."
"This Angel—for an employee, I mean, here she is, some assistant who probably wiggled her butt and batted her eyelashes to get in the door, and she was almost insolent with Connelly, I thought."
"Like a spoiled kid?" Roxanne said.
"Yeah."
"And he's too nice to put her in her place?"
"I don't know. I mean, the food and the drinks and the boat and the house. I'm sure they're wined and dined the whole time. Dalton said he flies some of them to Jackson Hole in the winter to ski."
"What's it to him? He's got the money."
"I know, but still. He doesn't have to do any of it. She shouldn't be an ingrate."
"Maybe she's done something for him," Roxanne said.
I thought about that as I came over a crest and headed down the back side of the ridge toward home. Maybe there was some truth to David's reputation; maybe that was his Achilles' heel. A few beers, the wrong woman.
"Some women just know how to push men's buttons," Roxanne said. "And she's very, very attractive."
"And he's a prime piece of—"
"Real estate," she said.
"Yeah. 'Get out of the way, Maddie, and let me stake my claim.' " "Maybe she already has," Roxanne said.
"That would explain some of it," I said.
"But I don't want to think that."
"So we won't."
"What will we think?" she said.
"About how Maddie hit the nail on the head."
"About us having—"
"Yeah," I said. "You think she knew?"
"Some women have a sixth sense about babies," Roxanne said.
"Do you?"
"I don't know about that. I just know I want to have one with you."
And she took my hand and clasped it in hers for the rest of the ride. I steered with one hand, off the main road and onto the dirt road, and then down the narrow lane under the canopy of trees. In front of the house, I parked and leaned across and kissed Roxanne for a long time. Her mouth was warm and soft and open and we drank each other in, and when we came apart, Roxanne sighed.
We walked to the house, opened the door, and Roxanne went to the kitchen. She put the phone receiver in a drawer in the kitchen and closed it. Went back and dropped her pager in, too. Took off her sweater and hung it on the back of a chair, then went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Chardonnay. Poured two glasses. Handed me one and took my other hand and led me upstairs to the loft. Kissed me as we stood beside the bed and her top fell to the floor and then her slacks, and then we were swept off our feet as if we'd been caught by waves, upended and tossed, clothes torn off, rolled onto the sand and pulled back, naked, into each other's arms, clinging for dear life.
And when we surfaced, we held each other in the last light of that day and Roxanne said she loved me, and I said I loved her, too. Her eyes filled and she pulled me close and held me tightly. Her chin pressed my shoulder.
"Maybe that was the one," Roxanne whispered.
"Maybe it was," I said.
I felt her swallow, and then I felt something prick my skin. It was a teardrop. I held her closer.
# 12
Roxanne went to work, commuting from Prosperity to the Rockland office of the DHS. She worked on tracking down Devlin in Ireland and got as far as an aunt in County Kerry. She said Devlin may have had a bit of a mean streak, but she came by it honestly. Her father was a brute and once killed a cat by flinging it out a window onto the road. This was before he left the family and moved to Cork, the aunt said. Good riddance. And no, she hadn't spoken to Devlin in years.
I worked with my old friend and neighbor cutting on a woodlot in Appleton. The land was a tangled mess—snags and bowed trees left from the ice storm two years before. The trick was to figure out which limb was the trip wire—before you cut it. I gashed my cheek, and my nose was sore where a limb had whacked me like a cop's baton.
I told Clair I'd met the Connellys, because we had no secrets, but I couldn't tell him the circumstances. "So be that way," he said, but then he got going on rich people buying up the Maine coast, that the need to possess everything beautiful—paintings, antiques, mistresses, the sunrise over Penobscot Bay—was one of the flaws of capitalism.
"We're taught that anything of value can be bought, that our possessions are the source of happiness," he said, putting his saws back in the truck, closing up the toolbox. "So these people see a beautiful place, they buy it. It's a terrible compulsion, this need to possess things. Native Americans never had it. Buddhists don't have it. Leaves you feeling empty, ultimately. So you try to fill the vacuum. Promiscuous sex and booze and drugs. But contentment doesn't come."
"Connelly seemed pretty happy, considering the circumstances," I said.
"A facade, Jack."
"I don't know. A beautiful wife, cute kid, a ton of money."
"A recipe for misery," Clair said. "Pass me that chain oil."
"He wants to come up and cut wood with us."
"As long as he doesn't get in the way."
On that note, hot and sweaty and smelling of fumes, we got in Clair's truck and rumbled on home.
My marching orders were waiting.
I'd pitched a couple of stories to the _Times_ and was waiting for Myra in the Boston bureau to tell me which one to do first. My pick was one about two guys in a little town up north who'd been best friends since kindergarten, had grown into bad drunks, and then one best friend had killed the other with an ax, reportedly chopping his buddy into pieces. Myra liked that one, the idea of a friendship that ended in horror. She wanted to know why, and she also wanted to know how many pieces.
After a shower, I tried to find out.
I called the medical examiner's office in Augusta and got Nancy, the secretary. There was nobody else in the office, but that was okay, since Nancy had been there thirty years, knew everything that went on, and was unfailingly accurate. Our conversations were off the record.
"The guy with the ax up north," I said.
"Oh, yes. Paul Bunyan."
"How many pieces?"
"Five," she said.
"Torso and all the limbs?"
"Not quite."
"Jeez. Decapitated?"
"Quite."
"And three limbs?"
"That would be the next logical choice."
"God, best friends."
"We always hurt the ones we love," Nancy said. "And now I've got a question for you."
"Shoot."
"Why aren't you out at the scene? Isn't the town of Monroe near you?"
"Twenty minutes away. Scene of what?"
"A woman. Shallow grave."
"A homicide?"
"They're still out there—but something tells me she didn't dig a hole and tuck herself in."
We crossed the ridge on back roads, slipping through the dense summer woods, past barnyards where kids stood and stared, alongside pastures where tail-flicking dairy cows stared, too. Clair drove and I rode. Cresting the ridge, we looked out toward Knox and the Waldo County farms, fields, and woods that were the backdrop of countless dramas that had been acted out here over the centuries. It was a place that was simple at first glance, complex and dense and hard to fathom when you looked closer. I wondered if the woman was local. I wondered if she was young or old. I wondered what circumstances had led her to end up like this.
Coming down off the ridge, we rolled into the outskirts of the village and took a left. Two boys were riding bicycles, fishing rods across their handlebars. Clair slowed the truck and I leaned out the window, asked the boys whether they'd seen police. They said they had, three miles down, but a cop had chased them away. We drove on and a couple of miles out saw an unmarked state police cruiser parked against the woods. There was a uniformed trooper leaning against the car, and he straightened when we pulled in. I got out and he walked toward me, head shaved, young as a pup.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir," he began.
"I'm a reporter," I said, and I handed him my _New York Times_ ID. He peered at it and then at me. The jeans and boots. The cut on my face. I took out my pad and pen and smiled.
"I need to talk to Detective Cade."
He looked at the card again, then back at me. He looked over at Clair, who had his arm out of the cab. It was tanned and muscled and the tattoo said semper fi.
"Who's that in the truck, sir?"
"My assistant."
"Huh."
"Detective Cade knows me," I said.
"Is that right?" the trooper said.
He turned away and murmured into the radio, listened, and then turned back to us, disappointed that I'd pulled rank.
"Straight in and follow the tracks, Mr. McMorrow," he said.
So straight in it was, down the logging road, following the furrows between the tufts of grass and clumps of burdock. The grass got thicker as we drove, and soon you could see it had been brushed flat by the undersides of cars. The truck lurched along, branches scraping the sides and top of the cab, and then we came to a bit of a clearing where five police cars and a crime lab van were pulled into the brush. We got out and walked down the track deeper, between thickets of alder and cherry. A hundred yards in, Cade met us coming the other way.
He leaned down as we approached and picked a clump of bur-dock off his jeans.
"McMorrow," he said. "You the only reporter in Maine or what?"
"Seems that way sometimes," I said. "How's it going?"
"It's going."
"This is Clair Varney. We work together."
He gave Clair the once-over and they shook hands.
"What do you do?" Cade said.
"Logistics," Clair said.
"Marines?" the detective said, glancing at the tattoo.
"Right," Clair said.
"I did four in the army," Cade said. "You?"
"Twenty-two years, but time flies."
"Where?"
"Oh, here and there," Clair said.
"Force Recon," I said.
"No kidding. Huh. That's the real deal. Vietnam?"
Clair nodded. Cade looked like he wanted to talk more, but it was time for business.
"Well, maybe you'd feel right at home in the stuff we're working in. You get in deeper, it's all blackberries and vines. Dense? I guess. All tangled with these thick viny things."
"They dug a hole in these brambles?"
"No, she was in a clearing. This is a tractor path that probably once led to a pasture. Clearing where she was buried is like an island almost, with everything else grown up around it. But they had to drag her through some of the underbrush to get her where she was. Take a look."
We started down the path, Cade leading the way. He was a wiry little guy, energetic and boyish, the youngest homicide detective in the history of the Maine State Police. He lived like an Eagle Scout, was very religious, and threw himself into murder cases like they were class projects and he was teacher's pet.
"How recent?" I asked. "Very. Could be a day."
"Young? Old?"
"Twenties, but that's a guess."
I scribbled as we walked.
"Clothed?"
"Not really."
"How can you be not really clothed?"
"She was wearing one thing. I can't say what it was."
"Where was she wearing it?"
"Around her—come on, McMorrow. Slow down."
"Injuries? I mean, is she all beat up, or shot?"
"Nothing apparent. ME will take care of that."
"Local?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Don't know."
"Is she still out here?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm going to have to ask you to not go right up to the scene."
"How deep?"
"A foot or less. I think they got tired of digging. It's not as easy as they make it look on TV."
"Who found her?"
"Wasn't a who, it was a what. Coyotes got digging at her. Then some old guy was up here with a beagle, hunting rabbits. Dog didn't come back."
"Found something better," Clair said.
"So what's she look like?" I said.
"Dark hair, pretty. I think she was, anyway. Of course, she could be from anywhere. So recent it may be hard because there won't be missing persons reports yet. Not like somebody missing for months."
"Somebody's pride and joy," Clair said.
Cade looked at him curiously.
"That's exactly right," he said. "That's what I never forget."
"So you'll put out a picture?"
"A sketch. Picture's a little rough for public consumption."
"I'm sure," I said.
Cade reached into his back pocket and slipped an envelope out. The three of us stopped and he handed the envelope to me.
"I don't think it'll take too long to ID her," he said.
I opened the envelope, took out the Polaroid print, and turned it over.
"My God," I said.
"What is it?" Clair said.
I stared at the swollen face, purplish and misshapen like a bruised grape. Her hair was askew and there was grass in it.
"What?" Cade said.
"I know her," I said.
"Local?" Cade said.
"No," I said. "Boston."
I paused, still stunned, cradling the photograph like it was something delicate, this image of broken flesh.
"So who is it?" Clair said.
"Her name is Angel," I said. "Angel Moretti."
# 13
We did our talking next to the police cars, right there in the woods. There was Cade, another detective who was an older woman, and a uniformed sergeant. Clair leaned against the police pickup a short distance away, within earshot.
"You sure?" Cade said. "She's pretty beat up."
"Completely."
"How do you know her?"
"I just met her this week."
"You met her in Boston?"
"I met her here, on the coast. She was up here visiting."
"Visiting where?"
"Blue Harbor."
"Who was she visiting?"
I hesitated, my hand on the lid of Pandora's box.
"She was staying with David and Maddie Connelly. They have a summer place there."
"That's not _the_ Connellys," Cade said.
"Yeah," I said. "It is."
Th cops looked at each other. The woman detective said, "No shit." Cade said, "Huh," and looked at the photograph again, as though some clue might now emerge. "So she's some Boston rich lady?"
"She was working on it," I said.
"How?" Cade said.
I pictured Angel with her hand on my arm, putting a spell on Dalton with her big dark eyes, the petulant little-girl act she used on David. "With everything she had," I said. "And she had a lot."
I recounted what I remembered about Angel, Monica, and Ms. Kind. I told them Angel seemed to be involved in some way with Tim Dalton. I told them she seemed pretty familiar with the Connellys, but it was sort of one-way, like she didn't quite understand that working for them didn't mean they were her buddies.
The cops asked a few questions but not many. I was partway through it when the ME's people brought Angel's body out of the woods, in a green bag on a shiny chrome gurney that jounced and rattled over the bumpy ground.
"I want you to see her," Cade said. "Make absolutely sure."
"Okay," I said.
He walked over to the back of the ME's van. I followed slowly, not without trepidation. I waited as one of the ME's men unzipped the bag and folded one end back. Angel stared up at me, discolored and dirty. She was still oddly beautiful, even with the life and dreams drained out of her. She looked very young, like a child who had been playing in the mud.
I stared at her, unable to look away. And then I reached down and pulled the bag lower. The technician reached out to stop me, but I saw it. Around her neck was a white scarf. It was pulled tight and the dead flesh around it was blackened.
"Strangled," I said.
"Not for publication," Cade said.
"Is that silk?" I said.
"It's a Hermes," the woman detective said. "Expensive. I want to know more about this guy she was with."
They zipped Angel up and slid the gurney into the van. The van backed out, its warning horn beeping, and when it had lurched down the path, we talked for another half-hour. I remembered my role and asked some questions toward the end.
They told me the name of the guy who found her. They said there was no car found nearby, but they were still looking. I asked if anyone had seen any activity in the woods the previous night or day, and they said they didn't know yet, that the case was still fresh, that the investigation was just getting under way.
"You coming by, that was something dropped from heaven for us," Cade said, and then he added, in all earnestness, "Now how you going to work that into your story?"
I mulled it over in the truck as we lumbered back down the path through the woods. I'd punched in the number of the Boston _Times_ bureau on the cell phone and was waiting. I wondered how Myra would want to handle it. How did the reporter know Angel? How did the reporter know the Connellys? What about Roxanne's case? Would that come out somehow?
The phone cut out and I dialed again. When we pulled out onto the side of the road, the kid trooper was still on duty. A television news crew from Bangor was setting up, the satellite dish rising from the roof of its van. A press photographer jumped out of a car and jogged toward us, a reporter with a notebook trailing after him. He pulled up short and fired off a few shots of Clair and me as Clair eased the truck up onto the pavement.
"Are they cops?" I heard the photographer say as the reporter approached.
She stopped, and I recognized her. She was from the _Bangor Daily_. She stared at me, and said, "Hey, that's McMorrow from the _New York Times_. How'd he get in?"
Clair pulled over on the crest of Knox Ridge, hoping for better reception for the phone. I dialed and waited and this time Myra answered. She sounded harried, and when I told her about them finding a body in the woods, she said, "Three inches."
I told her they'd ID'd the body as a woman from Boston, and she said, "Okay, give me six."
And then I told her the name: Angel Moretti. I said she'd worked for the Connellys at their foundation. I told Myra I'd met Angel at the Connellys' house in Blue Harbor earlier in the week. Myra said, "Oh, baby."
And then came the questions.
Myra was good—twenty-seven years old, mind like a stiletto, headed for the top of some news organization, and it was in these situations that it showed. She wanted to know whether the Connellys were suspects. How closely they'd pinpointed the time of death. What Angel actually did at Sky Blue Foundation. Where in Boston she'd lived. How she'd landed in the proximity of people like the Connellys. Had they taken her on as some sort of protégée?
"For that matter, Jack, what in the world were you doing there?"
"It's a long story," I said.
"Yeah, well, you can tell me later. I'll call New York. Keep the phone with you."
I rang off and looked at Clair. He was considering the view, the patchwork of pale green fields showing high on the wooded hillsides like blankets put down in a grassy field for a picnic.
"You know how much work went into clearing those woods, a hundred and fifty years ago?" he said.
"She likes the story," I said.
"A lifetime of work," Clair said. "And look at that puckerbrush where they found the girl. Doesn't take long for nature to take it all back."
"I've got to find out everything I can about Angel."
"Is it the fact that a beautiful young woman is dead in the woods up here?" Clair said. "Or is it the celebrity angle?"
"All of the above," I said.
So we tumbled back down toward the valley and home, slower than we'd come. When we pulled into the dooryard, Roxanne's Explorer was parked by the shed. She was home.
"I'll let you work," Clair said.
"Come in for a few minutes," I said. "You and Roxanne can help me think."
She was in the kitchen, still in her work skirt and blouse, eating baby carrots dipped in Grey Poupon mustard. She chewed and gave me a mustardy kiss on the cheek and said hi to Clair.
"I've got some news," Roxanne said. "There was a mother cardinal and four babies at the feeder a minute ago. The little ones were so cute. But that's not the news."
"I have some news, too," I said. "It's not good."
"What's the matter?"
"Angel's dead. Angel from the Connellys."
Roxanne froze in mid-bite. "What? A car accident?"
"No. She was murdered."
Roe went pale, put her hand on the counter.
"That beautiful girl," she said.
"A blessing and a curse, being beautiful," Clair said.
"In Boston?" Roxanne said.
I told her where Angel had been found. I told her I didn't think they knew where she'd been killed.
"Monroe," Roxanne said. "Who knows about some woods in Monroe?"
"Not hard to find places like that," Clair said. "You just keep driving until you run out of road."
"My God. But who—"
I shrugged.
"How?"
I told her.
"Oh, her poor parents."
"Every parent's worst nightmare," Clair said. "When the girls first moved to the city, I used to wake up at night in a sweat. Scared me more than everything I'd done, the prospect of something happening to them."
I glanced at him, thought that this had peeled away a layer of him, revealed a part of him I'd never known.
"Who... ?" Roxanne said.
"Could have been somebody from here," I said. "She'd attract attention anyplace. Broken down by the side of the road. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person."
"Was she—" Roxanne said.
"I don't think they know. They just found her. We were just there."
"I wonder if anyone has told David and Maddie," she said. "I was just talking to Maddie this afternoon."
Where was she?"
"Back in Boston."
"David, too?"
"Yeah. He was there. He said hello, in the background."
I thought for a moment, and Roxanne said, "Jack, will he be a suspect or something?"
"Anyone who knows her would be, I guess. They'll try to track her movements in the past couple of days, look for motives, alibis, start ruling people out, one by one."
"Where were you on the night of such and such?"
"Yeah. Sounds corny, but that's sort of how it works."
None of us spoke, and then Roxanne said, "Maddie asked me to come to Boston to speak to some sort of group of foundation people."
"When?" I said.
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Can you do that?"
"I have comp time. But I'd need permission anyway."
"Because—"
"Because it's sort of a conflict of interest."
"Where would you stay?"
"She invited me to stay at their house, in Back Bay. Do you think I still should go at all?"
"I don't know," I said. "I guess so. I have to go down there, too, if that makes any difference."
"To do the story?"
"The follow. Today will be the bare bones."
"Well, that will be a little strange. Will you have to interview Maddie and David?"
"Yeah, if they'll agree."
"I can't imagine they wouldn't."
"It's a murder investigation," I said. "It changes things."
"Throws everything up in the air," Clair said. "The cards come back down and you have to put them back in order. Who's good, who's evil. Who do you really know, and who do you only think you know."
Roxanne turned to the counter, put the lid back on the jar of mustard, and folded up the bag of carrots. She put them in the refrigerator and then walked to the big glass window and stood with her arms folded, as though the room had suddenly grown cold. She looked out at the field and the woods, the birds flitting in the brush. Finches. Suddenly she turned to us.
"I like her," Roxanne said. "Maddie's a good person. We had a good talk this afternoon, and she really wants to see if she can help kids in Maine."
"She had no idea that anything was wrong?" I said.
Roxanne shook her head.
"No, she was fine. You know, they're nothing like people think. She seems completely sincere. And David—I like him, too. They're both good-hearted. But with Maddie, there's something very vulnerable about her. I don't know; this whole Connelly mystique in a lot of ways is just nonsense."
"I like them, too," I said. "But when this comes out, connected to them, the Connelly angle is going to be played for everything it's worth."
"Must be hard. Being them, I mean," Roxanne said. "You know who the police should be looking at? That Dalton creep. You know he held a door for me while we were at the house there, and when I walked by him, I swear he deliberately brushed his hand across my hip. I swear he was grabbing a little feel. I almost smacked him."
"You should have," I said.
"If this meeting is still on, I think I will ask if I can go," Roxanne said.
"I'll go with you," I said.
"So you don't think they'll be—"
"I think Angel was presumptuous with Maddie and David," I said, "and I don't think Maddie liked it."
"You don't kill people for having bad manners," Roxanne said.
"Not usually," Clair said.
"But sometimes?" Roxanne said.
Clair didn't answer.
# 14
The foundation meeting was at one o'clock at the Marlborough Club, on Marlborough Street in the heart of Back Bay. At eleven-forty we were inching along Congress Street amid throngs of tourists flocking like pilgrims to Faneuil Hall. It was raining softly, a warm drizzle that the kids ignored as they stood around the statue of Sam Adams. Most of them probably thought he made beer.
Roxanne leaned forward in her seat and gathered up her reports and file folders and stuffed them in her bag. I continued on into the financial district, swung left on Milk Street, and backtracked into the streets behind South Market, in a quixotic search for a parking space. I circled twice, then double-parked on Chatham Street and ran up to the bureau in South Market; Roxanne stayed with the car.
The second-floor offices were modern and new, everything a news-room shouldn't be, but Myra had done her best to litter her office with coffee cups and takeout cartons. She would have smoked if they'd let her.
She was in, on the phone. I took a seat in front of her desk while she talked to somebody in New York about my story about Angel.
"No, he can't have it ready tonight, not the story we want to do. So let 'em swarm. This isn't the _Post_.... I know you know that.... So we're a day ahead of everybody else. We had the breaking story first, the Connelly part of it, anyway, and now we'll do the follow, the profile.... Yeah, McMorrow's got lots of sources.... Yes, he really met the victim. . : . I don't know how he manages it, either.... When? Tuesday... Yes, this past Tuesday.... Yeah, we talked about that, but I hesitate to overstate the relationship. I mean, he met the woman but they didn't talk into the wee hours or anything. They had one private conversation, otherwise they were part of a group.... No, I think we should let people speak about her who really knew her.... Right, a cultural thing. Not exactly rags to riches, but tradesmen's class to the world of wealth and celebrity.... Right. It'll be available for Monday's paper. Yes, I'll be here. Jack will be, too."
She hung up.
"So you heard where we're going with this?"
"Yeah. Who was that?"
"Simon."
"They're looking for some sort of first-person thing?"
"Well, not first-person, but firsthand impression. The scene, how Moretti spent one of the last days of her life. And a peek into the private world of David and Maddie Connelly. The oceanfront estate. The beautiful yacht."
I winced.
"You know," I said, "I'm not really comfortable with that part of it."
"I know," Myra said. "How come?"
"I wasn't there as a reporter."
"That hasn't stopped you in other situations. How exactly did you end up there? Are these the circles you've started traveling in?"
"No. Listen, this has got to be off the record."
"Jack, it's me."
People were coming and going in the foyer, so I got up and closed the door. Then I told her about Roxanne, and the complaint about Maeve, about the Irish au pair.
"So the State of Maine is investigating a child abuse complaint involving David and Maddie Connelly's kid?"
"Not anymore. Roxanne talked to the child and she talked to the parents, and once she finds this Irish girl, that'll most likely be the end of it."
"And all this is confidential."
"Very."
"I mean, we can't get it from some other source?"
"Not if you want me to ever write another word for you again."
I said it with conviction.
"Jesus. What if the au pair says she never touched the kid? The mother's a closet abuser? You know, the Connellys have a closet full of skeletons. Remember the cousin who stalked that girl? Those two kids who died in that accident in the Berkshires or someplace? And Maddie, she hasn't had it easy. Did you know her older brother killed himself when she was a little kid?"
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah. I remember hearing that someplace. She was, like, eight. He was in his teens."
"That doesn't mean she beats her child."
"No."
"Roxanne doesn't believe it, and she's done hundreds of these cases."
Myra looked away. Took off the tortoiseshell headband that held back her white-blonde hair. Put the headband back on and looked at me again.
"Okay. If nothing came of it, I guess. Jeez, this goes against my instincts, but it's a weird circumstance. Listen, just go after the Moretti woman with everything you've got. And we need the Connellys in there in every other respect. And we need that Maine place described, their life portrayed. And that's not just prurient. It puts this North End girl's life in perspective, her climb to—"
The phone rang. Myra reached for it. I got up and left before she could change her mind and started up State Street. After I told her what Myra had said, and my response, Roxanne was quiet.
"You trust her?" she said, after a minute.
"Yeah," I said. "But she's still a newspaper editor. And a good one."
"What if Devlin does deny it?"
"I don't know, honey," I said. "Let's just take this one bridge at a time."
The Marlborough Club was a four-story brownstone with a discreet brass plaque and a bay window in which someone had placed a vase full of flowers the color of bricks. Understatement was the word for the day.
I double-parked and told the doorman I'd only be a minute, then followed Roxanne up the stairs where another guy heaved the door open. We stepped inside. It was still and the carpet was thick, like moss in the Maine woods. The paneling was dark and so was the rest of the place. We waited for our eyes to adjust and then walked to the front desk.
A young woman looked up at us. She was pretty in a vapid, self-conscious sort of way, and her hair was done in a stiff Jackie Kennedy flip. Behind her was a computer and the screensaver was a photograph of the front of the club, in case she fell asleep and woke up not knowing where she was. Roxanne said she was there to meet Maddie and David Connelly, and the woman said the Connellys were in the Hotchkiss Lounge on the fourth floor.
We padded up in the funereal silence and eventually heard muffled voices. At the fourth-floor landing we looked around. David Connelly turned from the window and gave us a weary smile.
He looked older out of his shorts and T-shirt and into old-money casual. His blazer was standard prep-school issue and his shirt was denim. His tie was red with sailboats on it. His tan slacks were some sort of twill and his loafers were ancient.
"Hi, guys," he said, and he hurried over, gave Roxanne a brief hug, and gripped my hand, patting me on the shoulder. I felt like we'd shown up at a wake.
At that moment, a door opened at the end of the foyer and we heard china rattling, and then Maddie came out and saw us and said, "Oh, you made it. Roxanne, you're a dear."
She was dressed in a navy suit with a knee-length skirt and pale hose. Navy pumps, a cream-colored blouse, and pearl earrings. It was as if the couple we'd met in Blue Harbor were playing dress-up. I thought Roxanne's slacks, silk blouse, and jacket were more appropriate.
"So good of you to come all this way," Maddie said.
"I'm glad to," Roxanne said.
"We're very sorry about Angel," I said.
"Oh, God," David said. "She leaves and she's happy and bubbly, and two days later—"
"I still can't believe it," Maddie said. "I feel like I'm going to wake up any moment and say to David, 'Oh, I just had the most horrible dream.' "
"A nightmare," David said. "I saw your story, Jack. Do the police have any idea?"
"They didn't yesterday, but they were just getting started. That she was found so quickly is a big help."
"Not much of a silver lining," Roxanne said.
"No," David said. "Not much of one at all."
"Oh, it's a tragedy," Maddie said. "She was just coming into her own. A beautiful girl, and she had so much potential. She was seeing a lot of things for the first time. She wanted to travel. She'd never been to Europe, and she and Monica had talked about going to London and Paris. Some sort of package, six nights, seven days, or some such, but at least they were going. And she was so happy. And then—
She looked away and seemed to drift off for a moment. I thought of what Myra had said about her brother's suicide. I wondered if this sort of thing could cause a post-traumatic flashback.
"Parents are kind of Old World," David said. "Italian, North End, big family. According to Tim Dalton, she was the only girl with a bunch of brothers. Led kind of a cloistered existence."
"The baby," Maddie said. "Oh, God, can you imagine what they're feeling?"
"How's Monica?" I said.
"Tim and Kathleen Kind tried to call her at home. Mother said she was in bed, in shock. Known each other since they were in grade school. Best friends."
"What happened?" I said. "I mean, after they left Blue Harbor?"
"Everybody came back Wednesday night," David said, folding his arms on his chest, protectively, I thought. "Went to Bar Harbor, like Angel wanted to; they seemed to have fun. She and Monica drove back together in Angel's car, that silver Audi. Her first car. Tim found some deal for her."
"That was good of him," I said, and Maddie and David looked at me, as though they were looking for some hidden meaning.
Maddie looked away and David said, "Well, they were close, I guess."
The door opened and a white-haired man signaled to Maddie. She smiled at him and said to Roxanne, "Well, would you like to come in and meet everyone, have coffee and biscotti or something?"
"You staying, Jack?" David said.
"No, I have work to do. I'm doing another story on Angel, actually. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to one or both of you about her. In an official capacity."
"You do it, David," Maddie blurted, so quickly she seemed to surprise herself, and added, "David knew her better than I did."
Their eyes met, and there was an odd signal, a sign of understanding between them, and then it was gone and Maddie took Roxanne by the arm and David tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Sure, be glad to, Jack."
I said I'd be back, looked to Maddie for some sense of how long the meeting might take. She said I should go do my work and then swing by the house when I was done. Roxanne could go home with her.
I looked at Roxanne and she didn't object. She gave my hand a squeeze and, with Maddie Connelly beside her, walked to the door of the meeting room. The white-haired man held the door, heads turned from the tables, and the door swung shut.
I turned and David was watching me watch Roxanne. It was like he had some special interest in the way we interacted, and I felt for a moment that I was being spied upon. But then David gave me a touch on the shoulder, a big grin.
"Don't worry," he said, hustling me to the stairs. "Maddie'll take very good care of her."
# 15
David suggested we talk over a drink, or coffee. We took Roxanne's car and cut across to Newbury Street, where gawkers moved slowly past the chichi shops and restaurants like sailors whose ship had just anchored in the harbor. David pointed to one restaurant he said I'd like if I was into Tuscany, and then we went another block and he pointed to a parking lot and I pulled into the back side of the Harvard Club and parked.
An attendant came out and said, "Hey, Mr. Connelly," and David said, "Hey, Luis, man. How 'bout the Sox, baby. What'd I tell you? Is this the year or what?"
They low-fived on the way by and we went inside, through a labyrinth of corridors, and emerged in the big bar off the lobby. The bartender said, "Hi, Mr. Connelly. Been a while," and David said, "Been up in Maine, Gregory. Clean living out on the boat. This is my good friend, Jack. Works for the _New York Times_ , Gregory, so watch what you say. Jack, what do you think?"
I was thinking that he seemed curiously lighthearted for a guy who was about to talk about a murdered employee. Or was this just his public persona?
"A single-blend?" he said, and he ordered something, the name of which I didn't catch. I said I'd just have a Sam Adams and the bartender moved away. I glanced around at the afternoon crowd, saw a couple of fiftyish women spot David and whisper and smile. The drinks came and David picked his up, handed me my beer, and said, "Let's go somewhere quiet," and I followed him through the foyer, where there was a portrait of his father that David breezed right by. He waved to the concierge and we went to the stairs and up. A left and a right and we were in a small sitting room that overlooked Comm. Ave. There was a black leather couch, a table with a cribbage board and cards. More portraits on the wall, all dour white men.
As though their mood were contagious, David turned somber.
"So," I said, putting my notebook and tape recorder on the table.
"So," he said. "I don't know what I can add to what we've already said."
"We were just talking, as—"
"Friends," he said. "And this is on the record. You know, one of our lawyers wanted to issue a statement. I said, 'Come on. I'm not a corporation. And this is a young woman who was just a guest in my home. So sorry, but I'm going to speak like a human being.' "
I hit the button on the recorder and picked up the pad.
"Okay. So how long did Angel work for the foundation?"
"I'm not sure. Tim would know. A year, maybe? Maybe more. Not two."
"How often did you see her?"
"Oh, gee. Every week? At least to wave to. She was friendly, always had something to say. She wasn't shy, which is sort of funny. Because she was sheltered, you'd expect her to be this wallflower, but it was like she had all this pent-up social energy."
"And it all came bursting out?"
"Yeah, Very bubbly. Enthusiastic. Livened up the place, really."
"Did she have friends there?"
"Well, there was Monica, of course. She knew everybody. Tim sort of took her under his wing, and Kathleen, too, when she first came to Sky Blue. What to wear in what situation, that sort of thing. There was a bit of Eliza Doolittle in her, but I wouldn't want that in the paper. She didn't know exactly what to wear to the BSO, to a luncheon thing at the Ritz."
"You took her to that sort of thing?"
"Yeah, if a group was going, representing the foundation. We try to be pretty egalitarian about the perks, if you can call them that. I'd rather stay home, but some people like getting dressed, the whole scene."
"What's Maddie think of it?"
"Not much. We're really of the same frame of mind. Rather be in Maine, given a choice. Or head out west, if it's winter. I mean—and this is off the record, if you don't mind—being in my family sometimes limits the conversations you have. Sometimes people just shake your hand and stare at you. It gets very old."
"Back on the record."
"Right."
"So Angel left Blue Harbor Wednesday night."
"Around seven."
"Did she work Thursday?"
"I don't know. I wasn't there. I popped in Thursday morning to check on some things. I didn't see her then."
"When she left, was she in good spirits?"
He hesitated, as though trying to picture her.
"Yeah. Like I said, she had a nice time in Bar Harbor. She liked boats if they were surrounded by other boats. Some people are like that. But we had lunch, she and Monica and Tim went into some shops. I think she bought some sort of jewelry. But yeah, she was good. Just like when you saw her."
"Did she make a lot of money at the foundation?"
"Well, I would guess she was paid fairly. It depends on what you call a lot. To tell you the truth, I really don't know. We leave that for other people to manage."
"I know, but the Audi. Buying jewelry. She had nice clothes."
David shrugged, almost exaggeratedly. "Hey, she was single. She lived at home."
"Where's that?"
"Michelangelo Street, North End. I always kidded her about that."
"You know her father's name?"
"Yeah. I met him. It was Rocco. Well, I guess it still is. Nice guy, very old-fashioned Italian, salt-of-the-earth type. It was like, if you wanted to date Angel, you'd have to go to him for his permission or something. But don't—"
"I won't. Between us, did he lavish stuff on her?"
"I don't know. It's not like he was a person of means or anything, although North End real estate is through the roof. Just a hardworking middle-class family, seemed to me. But I mean, the Audi wasn't new. Maddie says I'm oblivious to stuff like that. You know, whether somebody's wearing a thirty-thousand-dollar dress or a three-hundred-dollar one. Show me their boat, on the other hand..."
He grinned. Tossed down the rest of his scotch. I sipped my beer and he looked at his watch. I looked, if he wouldn't. It was a Rolex.
"I don't know what else I can tell you, Jack. We're very sorry about it. We liked her. We thought she had a great life in front of her. And this is tragic, and I hope to God they find who did it and put him away."
"Or her," I said.
He looked at me as he stood.
"Right," David said. "So, is that enough?"
I felt like it would have to be. "Yeah, I guess so."
"You know where to find me, if you have more questions. But I've gotta get back for Maeve. She's supposed to get home from play group at two."
I stood and picked up the recorder, took a last swallow of my beer. We made our way back down and David waved to Gregory, said "Go Sox" to Luis. He was quiet on the ride back, directing me to Marlborough. At the comer of Exeter, he waved me over in front of a massive sandstone mansion. It was four stories, surrounded by a ten-foot-high stone wall. A gated drive led to an inner courtyard and carriage house. I'd just read something in the _Globe_ about a two-thousand-square-foot condo in this neighborhood going for $750,000.
David picked my notebook up off the seat and scribbled a number.
"My cell," he said, and he shut the door and waved, then patted his pockets. He produced a remote for the electronically controlled gate, hit the button, and a steel panel slid open. David turned back.
"Hey, Jack," he said as I started to pull away. "When we gonna cut wood?"
He gave me the look, endearing as a little brother.
"Soon," I said.
"Great," David said. "Looking forward to it," and for the life of me it seemed he really was. For the life of me, I was, too.
# 16
The map showed Michelangelo Street off Charter, around the corner from the Old North Church and Paul Revere's place. After a few wrong turns I found myself at the end of the street. There was a playground with a great view of the harbor, the Coast Guard station, the Charlestown piers. I pulled over and composed myself, knowing that knocking on the door at the home of a grieving family was nothing to breeze into. You had one shot. If you broke through, they poured their hearts out. If you didn't, the door slammed in your face.
The street was lined with brick row houses with occasional trees and cars parked bumper to bumper like elephants in a circus parade. I made one run past and scoped out number twenty-eight. It was well kept but not gentrified like some of the neighbors, with their window boxes full of geraniums and security service stickers on the doors. There was a van parked out front with Rocco Moretti's name painted on the sides. Below the name it said he did ceramic tile and marble, residential and commercial. I parked at the corner, wedging the car half in front of a hydrant, and walked back.
I went to the front door. It was open. Inside was a tiny foyer with four mailboxes and buzzers. Moretti was number one. I took a deep breath and pushed.
I waited. There was no answer. I put my finger on the button again just as the door was buzzed open.
I went inside. It was a narrow hallway and I smelled food, heard the chink of dishes. There were doors on the right and left. The door on the right clicked open and a woman's voice said, "Did you see Davie coming? He should be—"
She poked her head out. Fifties. Dark hair and skin. She saw me and jerked back like an animal slipping back into its burrow. I heard voices inside and then it was quiet. A man stepped into the hall. Forty and handsome. Tight polo shirt and jeans. Chest puffed out under a gold chain. Eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
"Sir, my name's Jack McMorrow. I'm a reporter for the _New York Times_. I'm here to ask you if you'll talk to me about—"
"We already told the other people. No comment."
He turned back toward the apartment.
"But if you have a second—I met Angel. In Maine at the Connellys'. I talked to her for quite a while. I'd like to include that in the story. She was very nice. I'd like to do a story that reflects that."
Someone inside the apartment said something and the guy said, "It's a reporter. _New York Times_. Says he met Angel in Maine."
Someone said something in Italian and he turned hack.
"You knew Angel?" he said.
"We chatted that one time and that was it. I was at the Connellys' on other business. Listen, I'm really very sorry for your loss. And I'm sorry to just barge in."
He turned back to the room and relayed what I'd said. Three or four people answered, men and women, in English and Italian. I heard the words _son of a bitch_ and something muttered in Italian. It did not sound like a welcome.
He turned back.
"You call tomorrow, sir."
"Thank you, but I'm going to have to go back to Maine. And I'd rather do this in person. It's not something to do over the phone."
He looked at me, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
"Are you a relative?" I said.
"I'm Angel's older brother," he said, and then he stepped back inside and closed the door. I stood in the empty hallway and waited. Told myself that what I had said was true, even if it wasn't the whole story. Could I do the story next week? Sure. Would the _Globe_ or the _Herald_ have it first? No doubt, and that wouldn't do, but I couldn't tell him that. It was the only thing about my profession I disliked: the subtle manipulation, the carefully tailored half-truths. But all for a good cause, I believed.
Most of the time.
The door opened. The brother poked his head out, said "Come in," and then he went back inside and left me to follow.
I stepped into a room full of relatives, red-eyed and grim. The brother motioned to a place on the couch beside a woman in her forties, a tissue held up in front of her face like a burka. The brother said his name was Joey. His mother's name was Maria Moretti. The father, Rocco, was a short wide man with massive hands folded on his lap. He sat to my right. Next to him was Georgie, another brother, who looked at me like I was a child molester. Filling out the room were aunts and uncles, several cousins, and a grandmother. The girl cousins looked like they'd been crying. The boy cousins looked like they wanted to fight. The grandmother was seated in an armchair with crocheted things on the arms. Her eyes were blank, her gnarled fingers worrying rosary beads. She looked at me and hissed in Italian.
Joey stood in front of me.
"What did she say?" I asked him.
" _Non c'_ è _rispetto per i morti_. No respect for the dead."
"Actually, I have a lot of respect," I said, and I nodded toward the old woman. She glared back, dark eyes glowering.
"What you want to know?" Joey said.
"What Angel was like."
"She was a great kid," he said.
"The only girl?" I asked, beginning to write in my notebook.
"Angel was the baby," her mother said suddenly, her voice faraway as if she were all alone, talking to herself. "A beautiful little girl. Never gave us a moment's trouble, not like a lot of these kids today. Out taking drugs and standing on the corner and no respect for anything. Angel was a perfect lady."
I glanced up at the brothers, a sister-in-law who was very pregnant. I thought I detected a flicker of something, an eyebrow raised.
"She won the Blessed Virgin Prize four times at Saint Anthony's," Mrs. Moretti said.
"Nobody's ever won it four times," her husband said, staring at his hands as though they belonged on someone else.
"A beautiful child," Mrs. Moretti said.
She had a framed photograph on her lap, facedown. She tipped it up, bit her lip, and choked back tears. Turned the photograph toward me.
It was Angel Moretti at eighteen or so, a high school portrait? Dark, welcoming eyes. A full mouth turned upward in a gentle smile. Olive skin with a touch of pink on her cheeks. She was beautiful, but in her expression there was a hint of resignation. Had she known then that there was a bigger world out there?
"Do anything for anybody," Rocco Moretti said. "You put that in your story. Give away her lunch if somebody was hungry. Remember when she did that? That new kid, didn't have money or something? Angel gives the kid her goddamn lunch. That's the kind of girl she was."
"She was the one to take in the new girl, put her under her wing," Maria Moretti said.
"What about her adult life?" I said.
The parents hesitated. Georgie stepped in. He said Angel went to Bunker Hill Community College for business, worked with computers and as a secretary.
"Administrative assistant," the pregnant sister-in-law said. "They're not called secretaries."
"Different places," her mother said. "She moved around a lot."
"Around the country?"
She looked at me, horrified. "No, she didn't leave Boston. Different jobs for an agency. They sent her to different places. And then she went to the Sky Blue place, the Connellys. She stayed there. They like her there."
"I met her, you know."
"That's what Joey said," Maria Moretti said. "Then you know what she was like. A beautiful girl. So sweet."
"Yes, she was very nice."
"You're a friend of the Connellys?" the father said, a new wariness in his voice.
"No," I said. "I'd just met them, too. They seem like good people."
"Oh, yeah. Mr. Connelly. He treated Angel very well. She was going to the parties, the Boston Pops. She got me tickets to the Red Sox, right on the third-base line, right on the railing. She said Mr. Connelly said he wasn't gonna use 'em, asked Angel if her dad was a Sox fan. He didn't have to do that. He treated her good."
"And Mr. Dalton, her boss?"
A dark flicker passed through the room, like the shadow of a bird. The parents looked at each other, and Rocco Moretti said, "Mr. Dalton, he—"
"He gave my sister lots of opportunities," the brother, Joey, said quickly. "They liked Angel there at the foundation. Everybody liked Angel. She was good at math, and all around she was a great kid."
He said it like he'd summed up her entire character. Now I could go.
I looked to Angel's parents and smiled—soothingly, I hoped.
"She seemed to be doing very well. A nice car, nice clothes. Was she very happy?"
"Oh, yeah," the mother said. "Things were going great for her. But it was hard work, a lot of functions, weekends at work. Meetings and conferences in Providence and Connecticut. She worked a lot. One time she had to go to New York."
"Did she stay in touch with friends in the neighborhood, even though she was in this, I don't know, this sort of glamorous world?"
"Angel didn't forget where she was from," Joey said. "She got a job for Monica at the same place, 'cause Monica wasn't working."
"I met Monica, too," I said. "That was very nice of Angel."
"Wonderful child," Maria Moretti said. "Angel didn't forget her friends. Or us. Tell him about the cruise, Rock."
"Yeah, this is the kind of girl she was. She started making good money. What does she do with it? She sends her parents on a cruise. We went to Nassau, outta Miami. Angel pays the whole freight. I never saw so much food in my life."
"That was very nice. She still lived at home?"
"Oh, yeah. We were very close," Maria Moretti said.
"Monica live in the neighborhood still?"
"Oh, yeah. With her parents on Snowhill, across from the playground. Angel stayed there sometimes if Monica's parents had to go away. Monica's aunt in Rhode Island has inoperable cancer and they wanted to spend time with her before—"
She stopped talking, started to sob. The brothers leapt from their seats and each took a shoulder. The angry one, Georgie, said, "Maybe you'd better go."
Nobody disagreed. They just looked at me with their grim, hard faces as I tried to formulate a question that would break through all this surface stuff, something that would provide even a hint of who Angel Moretti really was.
"I will. And I'm really sorry to bother you. Just a couple more questions. She was very pretty. Did she have a steady boyfriend? Anybody she dated?"
"All the guys liked Angel," the pregnant woman said. "She was so nice to everybody and everything, and—"
She glanced at the brothers and stopped. I looked at them and they still were glaring at her. Clearly Angel's love life was off limits.
"But nobody I should talk to? No longtime boyfriend or anything?"
The father suddenly held his hands out like he was quieting applause. He turned to me with deep sad eyes.
"Do you have children, sir?" he said.
"No. But I hope to."
"Well, sir. You're a smart man, to do what you do. Work for the _New York Times_ and write about important people. We're simple people. I have my business. I have my family. That's it. And unless you have children of your own, you can't know how I feel in here."
He put a hand on his chest. I watched him, wrote in my notebook.
"It's like my heart has been torn out. It's still beating, you know what I'm saying? But the pain is almost too much for me. And it doesn't go away. It's the last thing I feel before I sleep. It's the first thing I feel when I wake up. It is the last thing I will feel before I die."
He paused. The room was deathly quiet, and then someone sniffed and one of the women let out a muffled whimper.
"But the man who did this to my Angel, he'll pay. He'll burn in Hell, and he'll pay before that, too. We'll make sure—"
"—that the police find him and he gets the death penalty," Georgie said. "They have it in Massachusetts now."
"But not in Maine," I said.
"Nobody in Maine killed my little girl. Angel didn't know nobody in goddamn Maine."
"She knew the Connellys," I said.
"Yeah, but nobody else. Went up there and sailed on their sailboat. I told her, 'What you want to do that for?' I says. 'Your great-grandfather came over on a boat, almost killed him. What if the goddamn thing sinks?' "
"She said, 'Oh, but Daddy, it's so quiet and pretty.' Some goddamn hundred-year-old ship?"
"You mean, their powerboat?"
"No, a big sailboat thing," Maria Moretti said. "She said it has a mast eighty feet tall or something. They'd go around to the harbors up there and they'd row into the dock and go out to dinner. She said the boat was peaceful and quiet, just the sound of the wind ruffling the sails or whatever. She talked like that."
"She had a way with words," Rocco Moretti said.
"She was happy after that trip," the mother said. "Remember that? How happy she was, going to work, dressed like a million dollars. And now—"
"This is the bottom line. Some shitbum killed my beautiful little girl," Rocco Moretti said, his voice rising, looking me in the eye like he was issuing a challenge.
"Dad," Joey said.
"Let him talk, Joe," Georgie said.
"Put this in your story," the father said, his voice trembling with rage and grief. "Somebody killed Rocco Moretti's little girl. And we're gonna find this animal and—"
"That's right, Dad," Georgie said, calming his father. "We'll find this son of a bitch and we'll handle it."
"Who?" I said. "Your family?"
Georgie looked at me and didn't answer. The old man stopped talking and stared straight ahead, deep into his own grief, his fists clenching as if they were squeezing an imaginary throat.
# 17
Snowhill ran alongside a playground a couple of blocks from the Morettis', toward the harbor. I parked, illegally again, and asked the first three people I saw where Monica Vitale lived. An old woman hurried away without speaking, a young woman said she'd just moved there and didn't know her. Some kid in a Celtics hat and big shorts pointed to a house up the street and said, "That'll be twenty bucks."
I smiled and kept walking in the sultry city heat.
It was a gray clapboard tenement with tubs of geraniums on the sidewalk by the door. The flowers had just been watered and the runoff had, spilled onto the pavement like blood. In a second-floor window, an air conditioner droned.
I went to the door and rang the bell. I waited and then there was a fumbling, knocking sound and the door rattled and opened the width of a security chain. A slice of a woman peered out. I could see purplish permed hair, red lipstick, one narrowed suspicious eye.
I told her my name, said I was from the _Times_ , that I was working on a story about Angel Moretti. I said Monica knew me from Maine. We'd been at the Connellys'. I didn't say Monica hadn't said boo.
"I don't know," the woman began. "I'm her mother."
I went through the same entreaties. They didn't seem to be working until I said I thought a story about Angel and what a good person she was might exert pressure on the police to work harder to find her killer.
"Oh, they were good friends," Mrs. Vitale said. "Since they were little kids. Is that the kind of thing you want to know?"
"Yes, it is," I said. "Now, this must be very hard on your daughter."
"Like losing your sister," she said.
"Can I talk to her?"
She hesitated.
"Right now?"
"If you don't mind. I don't think it would be right to do it over the phone, given the circumstances. It would seem disrespectful."
Mrs. Vitale weighed that and then she closed the door. I waited. In a moment it opened up, chains jangling like Marley's ghost.
"What's your name?"
I told her again.
"I'll ask," she said. "But you gotta remember. This is very upsetting to Monica. It's almost like she's blaming herself."
I waited for Monica on the couch in the living room. The room was dark and cool, with lacy cloths draped on dark mahogany furniture and family photographs on the wall. Mrs. Vitale, her husband, and Monica between them. Monica alone, Monica as a little girl, and Monica graduating from high school. An only child, it appeared.
The husband was a fleshy, weak-chinned guy with tinted glasses, like Elvis wore in the last years in Vegas. Monica was soft, too, and they had the same cautious smile. Their pictures hung alongside a crucifix and a painting of the Sacred Heart, blood red with a crown of thorns, which made Monica and Dad look a little like martyrs.
A clatter on the stairs and then a murmur and Mrs. Vitale stepped in.
"Here she is," she said, as if she were introducing a princess at a ball. Monica came in behind her, and she didn't look like a princess. She looked like a scared kid, wide-eyed and wary, drawn into a big gray sweatshirt like a turtle.
"Hi, Monica," I said. "Good to see you again, but I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."
Monica nodded, barely.
"Could we sit and talk?"
Monica moved to a chair, sat, and pressed her legs together, her toenails now painted silver, digging into the ends of the same plastic Adidas sandals. From a shorts pocket she dug out an elastic thing and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Mom took a chair next to her, ready to translate.
"So this is hard, I know," I said.
She didn't respond.
"But I have to ask you these things. Try to put together a good picture of Angel in the story. So anyway, I understand you were together a lot?" I left the notebook on my lap, like a camera in a bird blind.
"Yeah, a lot."
"Even after you got out of school?"
"Yeah," Monica said.
"Like sisters," Mrs. Vitale said. "I know a lot of girls, they have sisters and they aren't nowheres as close as these two are. I mean, were."
Monica put her hand over her mouth and bit her lip.
"I know it's difficult," I said.
"It's a nightmare," Mrs. Vitale said. "I tell you, I wouldn't let any child of mine go off to Maine, those animals out in the goddamn woods."
I began to take notes, one eye on Monica.
"So Monica," I said. "You and Angel didn't come home together?"
She nodded, pulled her hair out of the scrunchy, tied it back.
"No, I wanted to go earlier. I went with Ms. Kind."
"How was Angel when you left?"
"Fine."
"Happy?"
"Yeah."
"She liked working at the foundation?"
"Yeah, she did. They were nice to her there."
"Were they nice to you?"
"I guess."
"She got you the job? Is that true? Somebody told me that."
"Who?"
"Her parents."
"She had to apply like anybody else," Mrs. Vitale said, suddenly defensive. "Angel told her there was this job to apply for."
"Who'd you interview with?"
I could see a new wariness fall over her like a tossed sheet.
"I don't know."
"How long ago was this? I'm just trying to get a sense of when Angel was there, when she helped you."
"About six months ago."
"She kept the job on her own," her mother said. "She got good evaluations, didn't you, babe?"
"Yeah, I got along good with everybody."
"Ms. Kind?"
"Yeah, she was okay."
"Mr. Dalton?"
"He was all right."
"It was a lot of responsibility," her mother said. "I mean, they have millions of dollars, those people."
"I know," I said. "I saw their house in Maine. Now, did you and Angel spend a lot of time with the Connellys themselves? David and Maddie?"
"Not much," Monica said. "More Angel than me."
"Why's that?"
"I don't know. It just worked out that way. Mr. Dalton, she worked for him directly, and he went to a lot of stuff, parties and benefits, and he gave Angel extra tickets."
"Did you go with her?"
"Twice."
"Did the Connellys go, too?"
"Sometimes."
"That must have been fun."
"It was okay. Not great. Rich people all knew each other. One time it was a lot of speeches and whatnot. Boring."
"But Angel went a lot?"
"More than me."
"Would she get all dressed up?"
"Oh, yeah. Gowns and heels."
She stretched out her feet and eyed her toes.
"Where'd she get fancy gowns? Go and buy them?"
"Yeah, I guess. I didn't ask her."
Two twenty-one-year-old girls and one goes to a black-tie thing in a gown and they didn't talk about the dress? I didn't think so.
"But Angel did get to hang out with the Connellys?"
"I guess," she said. It was beginning to feel like a cross-examination. I smiled, tried to make her comfortable.
"Monica," I said. "Here's what I'm trying to figure out. I have a picture in my mind of this young woman who grew up in Boston in the North End and then she gets introduced to another part of Boston life and she takes to it. Is that right?"
Monica looked away, fiddled with her hair.
"Well, I'd say so, wouldn't you?" her mother said to her. "I mean, the clothes and the car, and one time she got her picture in the paper. She was in the background at some party for AIDS or something and David Connelly was beside her and there she was. She looked like a million dollars, hair up and all done just so. You never woulda known it was our Angel."
I wrote that down, every word.
Mrs. Vitale paused and then she reached out and stopped my pen.
"This isn't for your write-up, but her father is a real miser," she whispered. "Owns that building and two more he rents. I mean, what's that worth around here now? A shoe box goes for a thousand a month. It's crazy. And this is a kid, senior year in high school, her father gave her five dollars a week for allowance. That's it. Didn't let her work or anything. She never had money at all. I bet she never held fifty dollars in her hand. And all of a sudden, money everywhere around her."
"So that would have impressed her?"
"It did, kinda," Monica said. "She was into it. Me, I don't know. I got kinda sick of those people."
"Was it hard work?" I said.
"It was okay," Monica said.
"You worked very hard," her mother said.
"What about the overnight stuff and the conferences?"
Monica looked at me blankly for a moment, then seemed to catch on.
"Well, that wasn't me as much as other people."
"She never had to go out of town," her mother said. "I wouldn't have liked that. I really wouldn't like it now, after all that's happened."
"But Angel had to do that?" I said.
"Yeah," Monica said, then hesitated. "Sometimes."
"She did?" her mother said. "Why didn't they ask you to go?"
"I don't know, Ma," Monica said. "They just didn't. We had different jobs."
"I thought you did the same job?" her mother persisted.
"Sort of, but they were sorta different. Jesus, how would I know? We didn't sit at the same desk, for God's sake."
Mrs. Vitale looked taken aback.
"It's okay, honey," she said. "You've been under a lot of strain and stress. Mr. Morrow, I think we've had enough for today."
She wrapped a protective arm around her daughter's slumping shoulders. I pressed on, not knowing whether there would be another time.
"But Angel was generally happy," I said. "She liked the boat trips last week. I heard she went sailing with the Connellys, too."
Monica looked at me blankly.
"They didn't invite you to go on this sailing thing?" Mrs. Vitale said. "Why didn't they invite both of you?"
"I didn't know about any sailing thing;" Monica said. "I just went on the big cabin cruiser."
"This week."
"Right."
"You didn't hear about a sailing trip?"
"Nope. But I tuned those people out a lot of the time."
"Monica, you pay attention at work," her mother said.
"Ma, just chill out."
Her mother started to say something, then caught herself.
"What was she like, then? If you had to sum her up."
Monica suddenly started to cry. It seemed contrived, but her mother pulled her closer.
"It's okay, baby."
"She was a great kid," Monica said, through the tears. "We were still best friends, no matter what happened."
I looked at her.
"Like what?" I said.
"I don't know," Monica said.
"It's okay, honey," her mother said. Monica's head was on her shoulder now, tipped to the side at an awkward angle as if her neck was broken.
I shook that image off and said, "You mean, if she had a lot of money and dressed in fancy clothes and hung out with rich people?"
"She didn't hang out with him," she said, tears trickling down her cheekbone onto her mother's arm.
"Hang out with who?"
"It didn't make any difference. I know it didn't. We were still best friends."
"Sure you were," her mother said. "Mr. Morrow, I think it's time for you to go. I don't see the point of all these questions. I don't think Monica's father would like this."
"Why?" I said.
"Because you're upsetting her, sir."
"Well, murder is upsetting, Mrs. Vitale," I said. "There's no way around it."
# 18
I drove back to the Connellys' at rush hour, inching along Tremont Street like something terrible had happened and they'd given the order to evacuate the city. On the Common there were people jogging in the heat, coasting on bicycles. A couple in business clothes walked hurriedly alongside me, briefcases swinging, the guy my age, gray showing above his ears, the woman, fifteen years younger. They were unsmiling, faces tense, and at one point the guy tried to take the woman's free hand, but she shook him off like he was dirty.
Angel and Dalton.
I thought about them all the way to the Connellys', wondered what Monica had meant: "She didn't hang out with him." What? She just took gifts, let him buy lunch, blew him off at quitting time? My hunch was she'd given him enough encouragement to keep his flame fanned. Slept with him, maybe on a weekend trip. But where would they have gone, if they didn't really have to work? A nice hotel? It would have to be someplace private, where you could just roll in and roll out, unnoticed.
Someplace like this.
I double-parked in front of the Connellys' house, went to the gate, and pushed the button. A woman came on the speaker and I identified myself and she asked if I had a car. I said yes, and she said okay, and I still was standing there when the big gate across the drive rolled open. Then started to close. Then opened again, then closed and opened.
I jogged to the car and waited until there was a space wide enough to drive through. I did, as passersby on the sidewalk peered in. The gate closed on them and I was left in the Connelly sanctuary.
It was a cobblestoned courtyard shaded by tall horse chestnut trees. Two of the cars from Maine were parked there: the black BMW and the Suburban. Inside the garage of the carriage house I could see a BMW motorcycle and some sort of sports car under a canvas cover. Beyond the carriage house on the lawn was a soccer goal, a cedar swing set, and a small bike with training wheels.
I got out of the car; David emerged from a side door of the house, grinning like I was an old buddy from Harvard.
"Sorry about the gate. Mrs. Donovan is a peach, been with me since I was a kid. But she doesn't take to technology."
"It's fine. I waited and made my move."
He shook my hand and gave me the shoulder pat again.
"Good to see you. Roxanne's inside, but I think they're still talking business."
"That's fine," I said. "Whenever she's ready."
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to go."
"Go? It's already been decided. You're staying, and not in some hotel. Stay here. We'll have a drink, go get some dinner. Sox are away or we could go over to Fenway."
I tried to decline, but he wouldn't hear of it, and insisted on bringing in our bags. I followed him up a cobblestone walk to the side door.
"This is a nice oasis in the city," I said.
"I call it Fort Apache," David said. "Told Maddie I want catwalks on the walls so Maeve and I can keep lookout."
I smiled. He opened a heavy door, like the door to a vault, and we went in.
Inside it was cool and very still. We were in an entryway and David said to leave the bags, Mrs. Donovan would take them up to our room. He said the girls were in the kitchen and led the way.
It was like a museum, high ceilings and tile floors, photographs and paintings and prints in between. Our footsteps echoed as I followed David, and heard Roxanne's voice. When we came into the kitchen, Roxanne and Maddie were sitting at a long dark-wood table. There was a bottle of white wine between them and one of Pellegrino. A stout white-haired woman was unwrapping a block of cheese at a counter across the room.
"Jack, this is Mrs. Donovan, the car crusher," David said, and she turned and smiled and said, "Now, David, that's quite enough out of you."
"Okay, car denter," he said.
Maddie said, "Hi, Jack," and Roxanne did, too. David went to the refrigerator and took out two bottles of Sam Adams, opened them, and presented me with one. He raised his bottle in a toast and said, "Here's to—"
I thought he was going to say Angel, but he didn't.
"Roxanne was a tremendous help," Maddie said. "We're thinking of stealing her from Maine and keeping her for ourselves."
"Ask in February," I said, "and you might have a deal."
"They had some great ideas," Roxanne said.
"I think it might lead to something," Maddie said. "I think we're going to start finding ways to make real progress on this."
"Good," I said.
"How did your afternoon go?" Roxanne said.
"Interesting," I said. "But sad."
"Where'd you go?" David said, very attentive.
"Talked to Angel's family. A whole room full of them. And Monica and her mother."
"How are the Morettis?" David said.
"Grieving," I said. "Father is very angry."
"That's understandable," Maddie said. "And it's not like just a tragic death. A murder, and whoever did it is still out there loose."
"That might never change," Roxanne said.
"I've written about unsolved murders," I said. "Saddest thing is when the parents die without any sort of justice."
"That must be terrible," David said. "How do they reconcile themselves to that? I mean, jeez. What a thing to go to your grave with."
Maddie looked at him and he met her glance and looked uncomfortable for a moment, then brightened as he looked back to us.
"Maddie," he said, "now you can give the tour. She was waiting for you, Jack."
"Do you like old things?" Maddie said.
"Sure," I said.
"Oh, a live one for you, Mad," David said. "If I don't hear from you in a day or two, I'll send for help."
So the three of us went; David said he'd go upstairs and see if Maeve was awake. We walked through a couple of rooms to a center hallway, and from there to the formal living room to the left of the front door. A massive marble fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a concert grand piano.
"I love old things," Maddie said, like she was talking about her grandmother's china. "I'll bore you to death if you let me. That's a George the Third sofa. And that's a Chippendale lowboy. Made around 1770 in Philadelphia. I mean, the craftsmanship was just astounding. Someone was sitting in that the day they signed the Declaration of Independence. I just find that fascinating. Across the room is a settee. In 1820, it meant you could live graciously. This is a wonderful example, Duncan Phyfe. See the paw, how it's almost horizontal? Most of them are more erect. In this one the lion is crouching. It's one of a kind."
She was animated, intent, enlivened by the history. It was oddly endearing, her passion for this, nothing blasé about it. It was like this was the real Maddie, the woman behind the looks and money. She touched the settee, stroking it like it was a pet.
David came into the room, Maeve in his arms. She blinked sleepily, her legs hanging limp. He made a snoring sound and Maddie pretended to glare at him, like she was the teacher on an eighth-grade museum tour.
She was talking about corner cupboards made of walnut and fruit-wood, late eighteenth century. Paused at a pine valuables cupboard, William and Mary, around 1700. The kneehole desk was George II.
"Got all the dead kings covered," David said.
"Who did the collecting?" I said.
"My grandmother," David said. "She was an antique, too."
"David doesn't care about any of this," Maddie said.
"It's furniture," David said.
"It's history," Maddie said. "How can you love boats so much and not care about this?"
"You can't sail a sofa," he said.
She gave his arm a squeeze and smiled. "My darling Philistine"
David grinned and she pulled him a little closer so their hips touched. It seemed a funny time to be playing the cute couple, but I supposed people dealt with death in different ways.
So on we went, Maddie pointing out priceless antiques, David schlepping along at the rear. Maddie led the way through a study with duck paintings on the walls, photographs of Connellys fishing in Scotland, hunting in Montana, David on the deck of a racing sailboat. MARBLEHEAD TO HALIFAX—FIRST IN CLASS the inscription read. Along one wall were glass-fronted cabinets (Edwardian) filled with antique guns. Rifles and shotguns, revolvers and derringers. The Winchester was Civil War, forty-caliber and rare. The pair of dueling pistols was early nineteenth century. Ditto for the blunderbuss.
"Your grandmother again?"
"Grandfather. I'd like to donate all of it to a museum."
"David, they're part of the family's history," Maddie said.
"So? Doesn't mean we have to live with it."
While David lagged, we moved into a salon sort of room at the rear of the house. The windows overlooked a walled garden brimming with flowers. Hanging here and there were two Andrew Wyeths, a Frederick Remington, and a Picasso drawing. On one wall were framed photographs of Connellys with famous people. David as a toddler cowering beside Lyndon Johnson. Young David and Maddie with young Bill and Hillary. David at twelve or thirteen, looking over at a long-haired John Kennedy Jr., other Kennedy cousins beside them.
"You knew John Kennedy?" I said.
"Not then, not well," David said. "Better years later. His projects and our projects overlapped sometimes. Very nice guy."
"Sad," I said.
"Very," he said. "For all the family baggage, he carried it well. I mean, he could have been a basket case, a total screw-up."
"All the tragedy in that family," I said. "And who knows what else, because I'm sure there are things that have never been made public."
As the words left my mouth, I could see an odd look from Maddie. She swallowed and seemed to retreat inside herself. It was as though her mind had suddenly wandered far from these photographs, from this room, from us, to a sad, disturbing place.
David said, "Maddie, how 'bout Mistral for dinner?"
His voice was cheery, almost jarring, and Maddie came back, but slowly. I glanced at Roxanne, saw she was watching Maddie, too.
"Sure," Maddie said. "That would be nice, David. Why don't you call?"
And then to us she said, "Had enough? There's a great seventeenth-century piece in the first-floor study."
"Looks like they made it with an ax," David said.
"Where did you grow up, Maddie?" I said.
"Western part of the state," she said. "Dad and Mom both taught at Amherst."
"That must have been a nice life," Roxanne said, "growing up around a college."
Maddie didn't answer. Instead she turned away, and the distant expression crept back.
"Yeah," David said quickly. "It was. It was a good life for a kid, knocking around the campus, right, Mad?"
His wife snapped back, her bright eyes suddenly focusing. "Yeah," she said, her voice off-key. "It _was_ a good life."
We turned to leave the room, Maddie leading the way. I touched my hand to Roxanne's and she pressed back.
# 19
Mistral was on Columbus Avenue, just over from Berkeley. On the ride over, Maddie driving the BMW, David said he liked it because the food was straightforward. Maddie said she could go and just have dessert. "And the people, are very nice," she said.
And they were.
Pulling up in a line of livery cars, our doors were opened, all four of them. The head valet looked like Antonio Banderas.
"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Connelly," he said. "How goes the battle?"
David said it was going fine. Maddie didn't answer.
There was a line of people waiting to be seated but we breezed right through, everybody on the staff greeting the Connellys like old friends. The black-clad blonde woman who seated us gave David a little extra snap in her eyes and her walk, but he seemed oblivious, waving to a couple as we crossed the stark, gray-walled room.
"John Kerry's here," he said as we sat, and then to Maddie, "Did you ever call him back?"
The waiter, who was French, asked the Connellys when they were going to take him to Maine to catch lobsters. They said soon, Jacques, soon. He explained the specials and we ordered: sea bass and smoked salmon, Dover sole and beef and potato pizza. Maddie recommended the chilled yellow corn soup, with lobster and avocado. David said we should try the scallop ceviche. He said if the Sox had been in town, we might have run into Nomar Garciaparra.
Maddie ordered wine without looking at the list: it was a South African pinot noir. Maddie said she liked it and felt that we should support the post-apartheid economy there. Roxanne had more Italian sparkling water.
So we talked about South Africa and an organization there that raised infants born with HIV. The foundation had just given it a lot of money. We talked about Italy and the Amalfi coast and how Venice was sinking. Maddie asked if I missed New York. I said, not often.
When the wine came, David offered a toast: "To our new Maine friends," he said. "And to Prosperity. The town."
Appetizers arrived: the soup, mussels, and endive salad.
We ate and drank and talked and the Connellys asked lots of questions. They both wanted to know about the inner workings of the _Times_. David asked Roxanne about how she handled parents when she was all alone, whether she was ever afraid. Roxanne said she had developed a sixth sense when it came to things like that, and had managed to sidestep risky situations.
All of us knocked on wood. The soup was delicious.
Long before the entrees, David ordered more wine. The room grew more boisterous around us. The candelabra flickered and it occurred to me that Roxanne looked very beautiful. I noticed David studying her, too.
I asked them about the foundation, whether they were deluged with requests. They said they were but that was why they had a staff. You needed a professional buffer, David said, or you'd never be able to say no.
"Is Tim Dalton good at what he does?" I said.
"Very," Maddie said. "Very organized, very efficient. Has good sense of the players in the city, who's for real."
"There are a lot of bullshitters in the not-for-profit world," David said, "if you'll excuse the expression."
"How 'bout Kathleen Kind?"
"A total professional," David said. "You never need to tell her what priorities should be. Place runs like clockwork, but it's because she's on top of things."
"Are they married?"
"To each other?" Maddie said, shooting David a quick glance. "Oh, no. Tim's wife, Diana, is a lawyer in town. She's a very well-regarded litigator. A big deal, actually."
"And Ms. Kind?"
"Divorced. Her ex-husband is with a bond house. No kids. I guess he was spending more time with one of the aspiring young analysts than with her, and one thing led to another. That was just before she came on board with us, three years ago."
"Seeing anybody else?"
This time David looked uneasy. The entrees had come. He picked at his salmon and caviar.
"Actually, she and Tim dated for a bit. He was separated for six months or so. Another case of careers taking precedence over a marriage. But the Daltons pulled it back together."
"And Angel?"
"You can tell you're a reporter, Jack," David said.
"Just trying to get everybody straight in my mind," I said.
"Angel was a beautiful girl," Roxanne said.
"And she was built," Maddie said, "to put it bluntly. Talk about physical gifts."
"Her parents seemed to treat her like she was fourteen," I said. "Very protective. They didn't like it that she worked out of town."
"For us?" David said.
"I think maybe that's why there was something immature about her," Maddie said. "It wasn't that she was shy. But she seemed hesitant to enter into a real relationship."
"So she flirted and fooled around instead?" I said.
Maddie looked to David. He shrugged.
"It's hard," he said. "At what point do you become the morality police, you know? And we were all young once. You do dumb things, you learn from them. You go on."
"But Tim Dalton isn't all that young," I said.
Roxanne kicked me under the table.
"And he's married, right?"
She kicked me harder.
"Yeah," David said. "I thought you must've noticed that, up at the house. Maddie and I talked about it the night they all left. I mean, I guess something had been going on, but you try to tell yourself it's in your head. Or it's just foolishness, harmless foolishness. Midlife crisis run amok. But it was getting out of hand. We decided I was going to have to tell Tim to cool it."
"And I was going to tell Angel," Maddie said.
Suddenly, even in the din of the restaurant, our table grew quieter.
"And did you?" I said.
"Oh, yeah," David said.
"Me, too," Maddie said. "It was... uck. I just hate that kind of thing."
"And what was their reaction?" I said. "If you don't mind me asking."
"Well, I wouldn't want this in the story, Jack. For her family's sake."
"Jeez, for Tim's sake," Maddie said. "His wife would clean him out in a heartbeat."
"If I get it, it won't be from you," I said. "But the police might bring it up, and then I have to report it."
"I don't want Tim to think I was gossiping about him," David said. "That wouldn't be very good form, now would it?"
"No," I said. "But what did they say?"
"Tim told me it was just fooling around; he'd never even kissed her."
"Angel looked at me like I was crazy," Maddie said. "Said they were just friends, just being silly; didn't I ever flirt when I was young?"
"Ouch," I said.
"I know," Maddie said. "The little hussy."
"Maybe she was right, that's all it was," Roxanne said.
"We'll never know now," David said.
"I wouldn't count on that," I said. "The cops aren't going to let go."
"And you know what, Jack?" David said, the big grin flashing, starting to turn to summon the waiter. "I don't think they're the only ones. I can see you're part bulldog. Just be careful, will you? I mean, we're talking about a murderer here. And what is it they say in the cop shows?"
"I don't know," I said.
"The second murder's always easier?" he said. "But you'd know more about crime stuff than I would."
"I don't know about easier," I said. "But sometimes it's inevitable."
"It sets off a chain reaction," Maddie said, almost as though she knew and could speak with authority.
I looked at her.
"What cop show was that?" I said.
"Oh, I don't remember," Maddie said. "They're all the same, aren't they? Good guy gets the bad guy and they all live happily ever after."
Now there was a curious tinge of bitterness in her voice. Roxanne looked at her; David took the wine bottle and topped off our glasses.
"That's not the way it works in real life?" I said.
"Only in the movies," Maddie said.
"Should we get another bottle?" David said quickly. "Maddie, what do you think? Did you want to stay with the South African? Where's the steward? Have you two ever been to South Africa?"
I watched Maddie as she retreated into herself, looking past us, past this place. David brightened as she faded.
I shook my head.
"No," Roxanne said.
"Gorgeous, parts of it," he said. "But such a horrible past. Isn't it funny how terrible things happen in beautiful places?"
"Like Maine," I said. "The beautiful Maine coast."
Maddie and David both looked at me.
"You mean Angel?" David said.
"Yeah. I don't think she went exploring in the boonies."
"No," Maddie said, back with us now. "The country didn't interest her at all. She was a city person. The question is, who brought her to that godforsaken place?"
"Yes," I said. "That's it in a nutshell."
# 20
We stayed late: dessert, coffee, cognac. David talked a little about Angel, and a lot about boats, sailing, what it was like to be in the mid-Atlantic in a storm. He said it was the closest he'd been to death and the most alive, at the very same time. I asked him if they'd ever taken Angel sailing and he thought about it and said no, that she'd been with them a year and _Serendipity_ , the family's Hinckley sloop, had been out of the water for longer than that for a complete refitting.
"She told her parents about some sailing trip," I said. "Said the mast was eighty feet tall, how peaceful it was without the noise of a motor."
"Not with us," Maddie said. "But I'm sure we're not the only people she knew who had access to a sailboat."
"Anybody can charter," David said. "That's how a lot of people get in trouble. The ocean isn't anything to fool with."
Neither is the land, I thought, picturing Angel in the ground, the grass in her hair.
There was no check. David said they knew the owners and would take care of it later. Roxanne drove home and we said good night to them in the kitchen. There was back-patting all around; David gave Roxanne a kiss on the cheek. The wine? Maddie went up to check on Maeve and David showed us to our room, which he called the honeymoon suite.
It was on the fourth floor, with a view of the Charles and the lights of Cambridge beyond the river. The bed was a four-poster with a dark red canopy and the down comforter was turned down. Our bags were set on top of a blanket chest along the wall.
"If you want to know what king the thing was made under, you'll have to ask Maddie," David said. "I lose track."
He left and we were alone. Roxanne inspected the room, said, "My God, Jack. Look at this vase. It's probably Ming Dynasty or something."
"Maybe it's Filene's Dynasty," I said.
She kicked off her shoes and sighed. Unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it onto the dresser. Slipped out of her slacks and threw them aside, too, and then took her makeup case to the bathroom. The water ran, and then she was back. She took a nightshirt from her bag and pulled it over her head and said, "Oh boy, am I tired."
I opened the drapes so we could see the lights from the bed. And then I turned off the lamp and stripped down to my boxers and slid in beside her.
"Good day?" I said.
"Yeah. I think it went well."
"You glad you did it?"
"Yeah."
"You like them?"
"Yeah; you?"
"Uh-huh," I said. "They're very nice. Very real. Maddie has a melancholy to her."
"Yeah," Roxanne said. "Like maybe this charmed life isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"Or something sad that the charmed part can't undo."
"You know she's not what I expected," she said. "He is, sort of. But not as full of himself. It's like he doesn't take himself too seriously."
"Maybe that's his defense against all this Connelly stuff."
"Maybe, but she doesn't have the same confidence."
"She's not a Connelly."
Roxanne turned on her back and looked up at the canopy over us.
"It's not just that," she said. "There's something very fragile about her. I've seen it in children who have had some sort of trauma. You see it years later, when they're with good families and everything is fine. There's something different about them, no matter how well they're doing. I see that in Maddie, too."
"Maybe the brother dying."
"I don't know."
"I'd say it was Angel, but I saw it before she died. Maddy's sad side, I mean."
We were quiet for a minute. Roxanne intertwined her legs with mine. Leaned over and kissed my shoulder, then fell back.
"Do you think they'd come see us?"
"Why not?"
"Well, where would they sleep? We only have one bedroom."
"In the addition."
"What addition?"
"The one for the baby," I said.
I could feel Roxanne smile.
"You know, today I thought I felt a tingle."
"Really. Is that what happens?"
"I don't know. Maybe it was my imagination, but I just felt different all of a sudden."
I kissed her cheek. A minute passed and I thought she was drowsy, falling asleep, but when I looked over, her eyes were open wide. Outside there was a siren, tires screeching.
"Jack, do you think we're right to trust them?"
"You mean, after someone in their company has been killed?"
"Yeah."
"I don't think they're serial killers."
"I don't think they're bowled over with grief, either," Roxanne said.
"No. But maybe they didn't know her that well."
"If Angel had come on to you, I mean, _really_ had come on to you, would you have resisted it?"
"Yeah. Sure. And I'd have tried not to laugh."
Roxanne smiled, pulling the covers up under her chin. "I don't think you would have laughed. You wouldn't have wanted to hurt her feelings."
"No."
"So you won't laugh when I ask you one more thing?"
"I don't think so."
"Would you lock the door? It's got a bolt thing you turn."
I got up and crossed the room. The house was silent. I turned the knob that moved the bolt, and I didn't laugh at all.
# 21
I was dreaming that I was in an office and there was a fire alarm and I couldn't get out from behind the desk. Then I woke up and it was morning, gray light pouring into the room, Roxanne asleep beside me. The alarm was my cell phone ringing, and I groped for it on the nightstand and answered it.
"Mr. McMorrow?"
A young woman's voice, very young. She said she was sorry to bother me. I rasped that it was okay, I'd been up for hours. She said her name was Annie, that she was an intern at the _Times_ bureau.
"There are two men here to see you," she said.
"What do they want?"
"They say they need to talk to you about Angel Moretti. The woman who was killed?"
"I know," I said. "Are they cops?"
She hesitated.
"They didn't say that. If they are, they're not like any I've ever seen."
"Why?"
"One's really big and he's got a tattoo on his neck and the other is smaller and, I don't know, I just don't think they're police."
"Where are they?"
"They're sitting out by reception reading the paper."
"Did they ask for me by name, or just to see a reporter?"
"You. I said you weren't here, that you didn't really work in the office. They asked if I could call you, and I said I guessed I could, and then they just said they'd wait, and that's what they're doing."
"Were they polite?"
"Yeah. The big one is sort of cheerful."
"You're all alone there?"
"Yeah. I came in early to work on some stuff."
"I'll be right over."
Roxanne murmured in the bed as I grabbed jeans and a T-shirt from my bag and headed for the shower. When I emerged, she was asleep again, dark hair against the white sheets, and I wrote a note on a pad and tore off the page. I left it on my side of the bed. It said I loved her and I'd gone to the bureau. I'd be right back.
I opened the door and closed it behind me, but there was no way to lock it. The house was quiet but I could smell coffee from somewhere below me. I made my way down the stairs, eventually found the kitchen. Mrs. Donovan was sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading the _Herald_.
"Good morning," she said. "Are you ready for breakfast?"
I thanked her but said no. I said I had to run over to my office for a bit. She said she'd make me something when I got back.
"Do you know how to open the gate?" she said.
I figured it out, punching the button in the post and driving through quickly before the gate closed behind me. Marlborough Street was quiet, Boylston, too, the streets still and the air cool and slightly damp with dew. Joggers in silky shorts ran in the road and bicyclists signaled with their hands as they turned, as though that alone would keep them safe. It was like everything menacing in the city had been a dream and now we were all awake. Pretty to think so.
It was almost eight when I was buzzed into the bureau offices. They looked up.
Two white guys in their thirties: one very big and barrel-chested, wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans and a Red Sox hat. Red hair stuck out from under the hat like a cat hiding under a rug. He had a tattoo of a shamrock on his neck and a diamond in his left earlobe. The other guy was smaller. Dark hair and a sharp, narrow face. He was chewing gum and somebody was wearing cologne. It was the big guy who spoke.
"You McMorrow?"
The other guy was watching me.
"Yeah."
"Great," the big guy said. "Just the man we're here to see. We come over to talk to you."
They both stood and the big guy was quick, coming out of his chair like a football lineman. He held out his hand, a massive rosy paw that made my hand seem soft and delicate.
"I'm Mick. This is my business associate, Vincent."
Vincent looked at me but didn't speak.
"Hey, I like your work. I read your story in the paper there, the one about the girl they dug up in Maine. Good stuff. No bullshit, you know what I'm saying? Gets right to the point."
"Thanks," I said.
He smiled. One of his front teeth was capped in gold.
"So, it just so happens, I got a friend who'd like to talk to you about that girl."
"Is that right? What about her?"
"I really can't speak for him, you know what I'm saying?"
"I know what you're saying. I don't know why you came here."
"I can take you to him."
"Why doesn't he come here?"
"He'd rather be confidential. His position is what you might call sensitive. But he has some information that you'd be very interested in."
"What kind of information?"
"You need to talk to him."
"I need an idea of what he's going to say. See whether it's worth my time."
The big hand came out and tapped my shoulder. It was like being whacked by a piece of oak.
"Sure. You're an important guy, working for the _New York Times_. You can't be running around chasing every nutcase who wants to bend your ear."
"That's right," I said.
The little guy watched me, so still he didn't appear to be breathing.
"He knew the girl."
"So did a lot of people."
"He knew her real, real good."
"Her boyfriend?"
"No."
"Brother? Father? Second cousin?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"I don't think so. Have him call me, he wants to talk."
"He wants to talk right now. He's waiting."
"Waiting where?"
"A place where we can have coffee and whatever. He'll buy you breakfast. He woulda come here but he was nervous 'bout somebody seeing him coming in and out. Then there's a story. They put two and two together, you know what I'm saying?"
"Listen, I'm pretty busy," I said. "I can call him later."
"I know, Jack. Mr. McMorrow. But this guy, he said it's important he talk to you right now, before you write another story about this girl."
"I don't know."
But then I thought for a moment. What did he know about Angel? Did he know who'd killed her? Had he heard something on the street? I nodded to the intern, Annie, who was peeking out from Myra's office. We went out the door, the three of us, waited for the elevator and stepped in. The door closed and there was a moment of silence.
# 22
The elevator opened. We went out the door, Mick in front, me in the middle, Vincent bringing up the rear, which made me feel like I was being escorted.
Mick led the way to a dark blue Cadillac parked in a handicapped space on Chatham Street, behind the building. There was a cardboard handicapped permit on the dash. He reached in and tossed it onto the seat.
"Came with the car," he said.
We rode out Congress Street. I sat in front with Mick and Vincent sat in back. The car smelled like cigarettes and Mick drove like a New York cabbie, stomping the gas and the brakes, one finger spinning the wheel. He was telling me about how he was starting to write stuff, how he'd never really done it before but he found himself with some time, that it beat watching the TV.
"That's what most guys do. Sit in front of the tube."
"Where's this?" I said.
"It's called Cedar Junction, aka Walpole. The state prison. Me and Vincent, we was in the same cube."
I didn't flinch.
"How long have you been out?"
"Coupla weeks."
"How long were you in?"
"Me? Eight months, two weeks, and four days. Vincent a little longer."
I smiled.
"But who's counting?"
"That's right," Mick said. "You count the days, lemme tell ya. Ain't that right, Vincent?"
Vincent didn't answer.
Mick drove south, cutting through alleys, stopping to let women in short-skirted business suits cross the street. They hurried, knowing they were being ogled, but we took our time until we popped out on Summer Street. Mick drove across the bridge and the water in the channel was gunmetal gray, and then we were off the bridge and into the treeless landscape of Southie.
There were storefronts and tenements, a few white kids out on the corners, hunched against the wind that blew cold off the harbor. We pulled over in front of a bar called the Double Diamond Lounge. The sign in the window advertised Rolling Rock and luxury rooms. The window was covered with a wrought-iron grille, like a fence around a cemetery.
We sat in the car, the three of us. Mick rested his arm on the seat-back beside me, like a guy on a date about to make his move.
"You know Southie?" he said.
"Not really."
"I grew up here. Know every square inch. Like Vincent and the North End. My old man came from the Old Country, Donegal. Fit right in with the rest of the fucking brogues around here. You still got 'em. That bar across the street? All green cards. You'd think you were in goddamn Limerick."
"Is that right?"
"You oughta do a story on Southie. Nobody's done a good story on Southie. Place is changing. I mean, look at this gook here."
A man was walking down the sidewalk toward us. He looked Cambodian.
"Ten years ago, this guy wouldna shown his face in this neighborhood. Now look at 'im. Walking down the street like he belongs here. Of course, he isn't here at night, is he? He isn't stupid. Hey, but I'm not disrespecting these people. No way. In the joint these fuckin' gooks are mean motherfuckers. These nineteen-year-old kids from Lowell, Lawrence, you don't mess with 'em. But they don't mess with the Irish guys, either. Lemme tell ya, there's some crazy motherfuckers from Southie and Dorchester doing time in Walpole. Isn't that right, Vincent?"
Vincent's agreement was assumed. He got out first and we followed and stood and waited to let the Cambodian man pass us. He stared straight ahead but Mick gave him a big smile, said, "Whaddya say, Jackie Chan?"
Mick turned to me as we crossed the sidewalk.
"They'll cut your throat before you even know they're in the room," Mick said. "They're very good."
Mick held the door. I stopped in front of him and he smiled and I said, "Was your friend in Walpole, too?"
"Hell no," he said. "He's a very careful man."
# 23
We sat in a booth in the back beyond the pool tables. An older woman—red hair piled high, the rest of her packed into skintight sweater and jeans—headed over. She left her cigarette burning on the edge of the bar like something left to light a fuse.
"Mick, good to see you're back," she said, like he was home from college. "You made out?"
"Fine. You treat people like you want to be treated, Terry."
"The Golden Rule, Mick," she said.
Mick said we wanted a big breakfast and the woman left.
"So where is he?" I said.
"I don't know. He musta been held up."
"I thought you said he was waiting?"
"He was. His pager musta gone off."
"What's he do, he needs a pager?"
"A littla this," Mick said. "A littla that."
The waitress came back with coffee. I had mine black. Mick poured in four containers of half-and-half and four sugars. Vincent watched me like a begging dog, his black eyes fixed on mine. Mick smiled again and sipped his coffee. In his fist the cup looked like it was from a kid's tea set.
"Vincent don't do caffeine," Mick said.
Vincent shook his head. I felt like telling him to quiet down.
"You Irish?" Mick asked me.
"And half Scottish."
"Same thing. Fighting the fucking English."
A guy with a big belly walked by and said, "Hey, Mick," and Mick waved his hand but didn't look at him.
"So what line of work are you guys in?" I said.
Mick looked at me. The smile was still there but the eyes were vaguely threatening.
"I'm in business," he said. "Wholesale, retail. I buy truckloads. Washing machines, TVs, refrigerators. Sometimes it's hard to determine where your stock, how should I say, originated."
"So that's how you ended up in Walpole?"
The smile slipped another notch, the gold tooth disappeared.
"A business risk."
"And you do your time and go on?"
"I can take a pinch. I don't rat anybody out."
"You don't mind that?"
"Hey, inside's like anywhere else. You got money, you live okay. You got commissary. You put money on your card, you can buy clothes. You hire a house mouse, do your laundry, make your bed. You can buy decent sneakers. Racks of tuna. Racks of tuna are very big. Everybody works out and prison food's got shit for protein."
"Is that right?"
"Yeah. You oughta write about prison. Nobody's written a good story about Walpole."
"No?"
"It's its own world, you know what I'm saying? And then you come home. I walk in here, it's like I never left. It's weird."
"You just go back to work."
"That's what I'm doing right now."
"Oh, yeah?" I said. "I don't need a refrigerator."
"I got sidelines," Mick said.
At that moment the redheaded woman arrived carrying three plates of sausage, potatoes, and eggs. She left and came back with a plate of toast and a plastic bottle of ketchup.
"You boys enjoy," she said.
"You're an angel, Terry," Mick said.
Vincent took his fork in one hand and a napkin in the other and started to eat. I picked at my plate, took a few bites of toast. Mick hunched over his eggs and didn't look up until the plate was clean.
He pushed it away, wiped his face with a napkin, looked at my plate.
"You don't like your Irish breakfast?"
"Lost my appetite."
"Yeah?"
"I'm wondering what business this is that you're doing. I'm wondering where this guy is. I'm asking myself whether you're jerking me around."
"No way, Jack. I'm delivering something."
"Delivering what?"
"A message."
"For your friend?"
"Yeah. I guess he ain't coming, so I'll do it for him, long as you came all the way over here."
"So spit it out," I said. "I've got things to do."
His eyes narrowed. His grin turned mean, a predator's curl on his upper lip.
"Some people prefer you leave the dead alone, don't go picking at their grave."
The three of us were silent, and then I said, "What grave is that?"
"Angel Moretti's grave," Mick said.
"And who's saying this?"
"Friends of hers. They'd like you to respect the dead."
"I do. But if somebody's murdered, they deserve more than that."
"But these friends, they appreciate what you've done. They just think you've done enough."
"So?"
"So just leave it alone. For this girl's sake."
"That's the message?"
"Yeah. I mean, I don't think it's unreasonable, do you? Poor girl gets killed and buried in the woods and whatever else happened to her. Twisted bastards. I'd love to get hold of 'em."
"Yeah?"
"So there's that terrible tragedy and now you go rooting around in her life, gonna hang it out there for the whole world to see. The feeling is, this kind of thing should stay..."
Mick paused, searching for the right word. "Stay what?" I said.
"Private."
"Meaning?"
"The rest of Angel's life. Just leave it alone."
"So who sent you? Her family?"
"It's immaterial."
"So the Morettis send an Irish guy."
"I run an equal opportunity business."
"That's why you have Vincent with you?"
"Vincent knows people in the North End. He's got connections in that part of the city. I do business there. I do business in Roxbury, Dorchester. All over."
I paused. Looked at the eggs congealing on my plate. The redhaired woman came back and leaned over me and said, "You didn't like your breakfast?"
"He hasn't been feeling good," Mick said.
"That's okay, honey," the woman said, and she took our plates away. Mick put his big hands on the table.
"So consider this a courtesy call, Mr. McMorrow. You got some people for whom these stories are hurtful. And these people been hurt already. You got kids?"
I didn't answer.
"Well, you can picture how these parents feel. Their flesh and blood, murdered in this way. Hey, I didn't know Maine was that kind of place, rapists and murderers out there waiting in the woods. So this is this poor girl's last hours on earth, being tormented by these guys. This is a hard thing for her friends and loved ones to take, as you can—"
"It's not up to them."
"What?"
"Whether I write a story."
"Well, I can see how you feel. You got space co fill. Hey, why don't you write about Walpole prison, what it's like on the inside? I could tell you some stories that'd sell papers. I'm serious. The shit that goes down, you wouldn't believe. And then they toss these guys back into the community. No wonder we got crime."
I didn't answer.
"So I'd help you with that story. I'll help you with the Southie story. But I'm here to tell you that this story about this dead girl is not a good thing."
"For them or me?"
"For anybody."
"I don't agree."
"Then I guess we got to persuade you to take us seriously,<|fim_middle|> his left forearm. Shot me twice with an imaginary gun, then pulled his gun hand back into the car and blew past the tip of his finger.
Mick drove on.
# 25
Back in the car, I got on the phone, I called Cade in Maine on his cell phone and got a crackly hello. He took my number, said he'd call back. When he did, I was on Beacon Street, by the Common. My head hurt where it had hit the wall.
I told Cade I'd been rousted by a couple of guys and told not to write about Angel Moretti. I said they were hired messengers and he said that was interesting, but who would have sent them? I said I didn't know, that's why I was calling him. He said to call a Boston detective named Sullivan. I said that didn't narrow it down, and he said the detective's first name was Sinead and she was a woman, very tough. I said I figured that, at least the woman part, and he said he hadn't, because what kind of name was that? He gave me the number. I asked whether she'd be working on a Saturday morning and he said she was always working. Her husband left her for their best friend, and she'd been working 24/7 ever since.
"And besides, today's the funeral. You going?"
I said I didn't think I'd be welcome.
"When did that ever stop you before, McMorrow?" Cade said, and he laughed like that was a very clever joke.
I called the number for Sullivan and it was a pager. I punched in my cell number and almost rear-ended a car at the corner of Charles Street. Two blocks later Sinead Sullivan called me back.
"You were on my list, sir," she said, traffic noise in the background. "Where are you?"
I told her and she asked if I could find the State House. I said I could, and she said to go to the Hancock Street side and wait. I took a right and made my way back toward Beacon Hill, then wound through a maze of tree-shaded one-way streets. For a while it seemed the gold dome of the State House was a mirage, always beyond reach. And then there it was, looming over me. I pulled over and parked by a hydrant. Five minutes later a blue Sable pulled up behind me. A woman got out and I did, too.
She had short red hair, fair skin, and a round face. Her walk was all straight-ahead determination, her expression, too, like she'd grown up in a house full of rambunctious brothers and had to wrestle her way through every day.
We traded names and shook hands, and her arms were strong and her shoulders had bulk, like she lifted. We went back to her car and climbed in and she turned down the police radio that was on the console, the talk radio, too.
"Imus," she said. "So somebody doesn't want you asking questions about our deceased?"
"No. Or at least they don't want me publishing stories about her."
"Tell me about it, right from when they first contacted you."
I did. As she listened, she stared straight ahead. She didn't take notes.
"Mick Egan and Vincent Tucci," she said, when I'd finished. "Leg breakers."
"That's what they are?"
"Yeah. Muscle. Enforcers. You owe a bookie a lot of money, late with your payment, he sends people like Mick and Vincent."
"He said he was in business. Appliances or something."
"Does some tailgating if it lands in his lap, but muscle is his mainstay. You got a guy won't give you a contract to haul your trash, they come knocking. They won't kill you, but if a talk doesn't do it, they'll come back and beat the crap out of you, burn your house down."
"Why doesn't somebody just shoot them?"
"Probably will eventually. They'll pick the wrong guy to roust. Vincent's just a sociopath. Keep him on a leash. But Mick, he's been around for a while, knows people, does all the talking. He knows how people are probably gonna react. Guy like him knows human nature. Fear, especially. It's his stock-in-trade."
"I see."
"So what did you tell him?"
"To kiss off."
She looked at me, gave a little snort.
"Detective Cade said you were a tough nut."
"I don't know about that."
"So did Mick get physical?"
"Put me up against a wall, but then he made it sound like he was joking around."
"That was a test," Sullivan said. "If you'd crumbled, fine. When you didn't, he had to consider how far to go. A reporter—he's playing with fire."
"I told him that."
"He knows. So he goes back to whoever hired him and says, 'The guy didn't crack. What do you want me to do?' "
"Who would want me to back off this story?" I said.
"Who have you talked to who was hostile?" Sullivan said.
"Her family. They weren't thrilled to have me knocking on their door."
"But they talked."
"Yeah. They said they'd find the guy and deal with him themselves. You think they could?"
"Ah, who knows. It's not like they're directly connected, but I'm sure they could go down the block and Moretti could talk to somebody who could take care of it, if they had a name."
"What? Like 'The Godfather'?"
"Yeah. They might have to pay something, though."
"Brothers made it sound like they'd do it themselves."
"Talk," Sullivan sniffed. "Makes 'em feel better."
"Mick said something about that, too."
"Smokescreen," she said. "You don't know who would want to keep you from asking about Angel?"
"I don't know. Depends on what they think I'll find out."
"Who was she screwing from the office?"
I looked at her.
"You're asking me?"
"I have a pretty good idea, but I haven't been hanging with the Connelly posse the way you have."
"How do you know that?"
"I'm a cop, Jack. I find things out."
"I was only there one afternoon. Their place in Maine."
"And now you're staying with David and Maddie Connelly."
"I knew them before all of this happened."
"You know them before your friend went to visit them in Maine?"
I hesitated.
"No."
"So they're newfound friends."
"You could say that."
"Fast crowd you hang with."
"I haven't found it to be."
"Ten years ago we busted a couple of David's buddies. Us and the DEA. They brought a big sailboat up from Jamaica, filled to the brim with marijuana."
"What about David?"
"He loaned them some of the money. Something like six hundred thousand. He said they told him it was to buy a bar. May have been true—we couldn't prove otherwise—but back then he definitely tended to collect some questionable hangers-on."
"Liked to live dangerously?"
"Lots of rich people are risk takers. They get bored, not having to work for a living."
"Now he just hangs out with his wife and kid," I said. "Talks a lot about boats."
Sullivan shrugged, looked out the window.
"Maybe," she said. "People grow up. And sometimes they don't. So who do you think Angel was humping?"
"Humping?" I said. "Where'd you go to finishing school?"
"Okay. Involved with."
"I don't know. I only met her once."
"And who in that group of people seemed interested in more than her remarkable data-entry skills?"
I hesitated again.
"Who do you think?" I said.
"Well, of the guys? I'd say Dalton. What do you say?"
"Am I a confidential informant or something?"
"If you want to be."
"I can help you, I guess."
"So Dalton?"
"He was all over her. It was uncomfortable. He's married and forty years old."
"Irrelevant to ninety-nine percent of the male population," Sullivan said. "Nobody else was interested?"
"The guys were just me, Sandy, and Connelly. So I'd say no."
"The women?"
"Interested in Angel that way? Not that I noticed. Kathleen Kind, from the office, she thought Angel was trash. It was the Tim and Angel show, pretty much."
"They didn't argue or anything like that?"
"No, he kept one hand on her at all times. She played up to it, like she knew she had him on the line and could reel him in or cut him loose."
"You think she could have told him to take a hike that night or the next day?"
"I think Angel knew the effect she had on men. I think it may have been new to her, this realization that she could make these rich guys swoon, but she was aware of it. I think she was—"
"A player?"
"Maybe."
"You think she boffed Connelly?"
"I don't know. He didn't seem particularly interested in her that way. But she—"
A capitol security cop rolled up and slowed down beside us. He saw Sullivan and nodded, looked at me curiously, and drove on.
"Nosy son of a bitch," Sullivan said. "I hate it when he does that. So Connelly didn't seem interested but she did?"
"No, it wasn't quite like that. It was like he was trying to be polite but she was sort of forward. David this, David that. It seemed presumptuous. This guy's the big boss and she's at the other end of the food chain, but she's acting like they're—"
"Sleeping together?"
"Like she's got a hold on him."
"And sleeping with him would give her that leverage," Sullivan said.
"But he wasn't acting like that at all. It was like she was just somebody from the office."
"But his wife was there. He wouldn't be dragging her onto the poop deck or whatever with his wife around."
"No, but you can tell if there's something between people, don't you think?" I said.
"I suppose," Sullivan said. She adjusted her gun, a snub-nose on her right hip. "So to summarize, we don't know who killed her. Yet. We don't know who's hiding something and doesn't want you poking your nose in. Yet. Of the possibles, the Moretti family is most likely to know bad guys. But Connelly has the clout and he used to hang with drug dealers. Dalton, now that Angel's gone, might not want the world to know he was screwing around with a twenty-year-old."
"Was she twenty?"
"Actually twenty-one. Same difference. So who do you put your money on, Jack?"
"For which? Mick or the murder?"
"Both."
"I don't know," I said. "I don't like Dalton because I don't like liars. But then Kathleen Kind, from the office, gave Angel a look on the boat that could have killed."
"The woman scorned, maybe," Sullivan said. "Maybe had the hots for Connelly herself, been eyeing him for years, and then this little piece of work sashays in with her mediocre typing skills and scoops him up."
"Or it could be just some random pervert who grabbed Angel on the side of the road in Maine."
"Maybe. Detective Cade's still thinking that way, but odds are against it. I'm looking for somebody who Angel had her pretty little claws into. Somebody she was squeezing in some way, and she squeezed too hard."
She took a pad and pen off the console. Asked for my numbers and I gave them to her, but as I recited the digits, I was thinking about Angel, something she'd said and the way she said it. It replayed in my head, not just the words but the inference in the presumptuous, petulant lilt in her voice.
_David. Tomorrow let's take_ Escape _over to Bar Harbor..._
# 26
I called ahead. When I pulled up in front of the house, the gate slid open. I pulled in and the BMW was there; the Suburban was gone. The drizzle had stopped and Maeve was on the edge of the back lawn, standing behind a table. Taped to the front of the table was a cardboard sign that said, "Drinks, ten cents." The letters had run. She began to jump up and down.
"Mommy, a customer."
Maddie, in shorts, bare feet, was sitting in an Adirondack chair in the shade, a book on her lap. I walked across the cobblestones and up to the booth and dug in my pocket for change. I dropped it all in a mug that served as the cash register. Maeve picked the mug up and peered in. She was wearing a jumper with straps and I looked for bruises. There was one on her tiny collarbone, but it was fading, a barely discernible smudge.
"It only costs a dime," she said.
"I'm very thirsty," I said.
"I don't have that much punch."
"I'll start with one cup and see how I do."
"Okay, Jack," she said. "Jack in the Beanstalk." She giggled. "That's the only other Jack I know."
"He's one of my favorites," I said.
"He beat the giant," she said.
"That's why I like him. I like it when the good guy beats the bad guy."
"You do, don't you," Maddie said.
Maeve poured my punch into a paper cup. The punch was pink. I sipped it and it tasted like weak grapefruit juice. She spilled some and ran off to get a towel, and I walked over to Maddie and sat in the chair beside her. She took off her sunglasses and propped them on top of her head.
"It's a theme," she said.
"What is?" I said.
"In your stories. I did a search in the _Times_ archive. You write about injustice and sometimes you write about people who right wrongs."
"It doesn't happen much in real life," I said.
"No, it doesn't," Maddie said. "Life is one continuous roll of the dice. Some people win and some people lose."
I looked around at the house, the grounds, the walls and wealth that sheltered this family from so much of the unpleasantness in the world.
"Do you consider yourself one of the winners, Maddie?" I said.
She looked at me, surprised by the question. Hesitated, then said, "Sometimes I've won, I guess. The question is, do you win when it counts the most? Are you lucky in business, unlucky in love? Are you wildly successful but your children are a mess? Do people rave about your books or your films or whatever, but your husband dies of cancer?"
"Or you're young and beautiful and somebody kills you."
Maddie turned and gave me a long look.
"Exactly," she said.
Maeve came out of the house with Mrs. Donovan trailing her, paper towels in hand.
"David and Roxanne went sailing," she said. "He heard she hadn't been in a sailboat in ten years and he wouldn't take no for an answer. They went over to the Basin. They'll be back by noon. The funeral is at two."
"Nice day for it," I said.
"Which?" Maddie said. "Sailing or a funeral?"
"Sailing."
She looked up at the trees.
"A decent breeze, but for David it isn't good sailing unless it's blowing a gale."
"Roxanne will like that," I said. "She's been working too much and too hard."
"On the unending crusade, eh? You're very alike, you two. I can see why you're together."
"That's one of the reasons," I said, and Maddie looked at me and smiled.
"Did you meet in New York?"
"Maine, right after I moved up there."
"A match made in heaven?"
"Something like that."
"That's nice," Maddie said, and paused. "You know, I did see that pattern in your stories. And this story about Angel is perfect for you, Jack. Young damsel is murdered and the knight won't rest until the villain is brought to justice. When you look at your stories as a body of work, you're not like other reporters."
"That's what my editors said. I was a thorn in their side."
"Uncompromising," Maddie said. "And unrelenting."
"I don't think people should get away with things like this."
"I don't either. I think of that girl, her last moments on earth spent in agony. I think they should catch the person and lock him up forever."
Maeve and Mrs. Donovan had finished cleaning up the spill. Mrs. Donovan went back inside and Maeve took up her position behind the table.
"So you're on the story and nothing will stand in your way," Maddie said.
"Two guys tried to stop me this morning," I said.
"Really?" Maddie said. She turned toward me, hand on her chin, a cluster of diamonds and emeralds glinting in the sun. It struck me again that she was intriguingly attractive.
"What did they do?"
I told her.
"My God," she said. "Who would do that? I mean, it must just make you want to do the story even more."
"You're right."
"Well, it would have to be the murderer. Who else would object to you writing about it? Whoever killed her is afraid you'll find something out that will expose them. Which means, you know, that it wasn't some crazed person in Maine. If it was some random thing, then you writing about Angel wouldn't have anything to do with the murderer. Unless you were writing about what bars she went into or where she stopped for lunch."
"Very true."
"So it's not random," Maddie said. Her voice dropped and she turned away from me and said, "Huh."
"Yeah," I said. "Huh."
"I was hoping, you know," she said. "I mean, if it was something to do with her work at the foundation, or with people she met through us. God, at the benefit parties she was like the Pied Piper with these guys following her. You saw her. Picture her with her hair up, cocktail dress. I mean, it was like moths to the flame."
"And Dalton won out?"
"I don't think anybody won out. I think she just enjoyed being chased."
"But Dalton was the lead hound."
"I don't know. It appeared that way. I mean, you were there last weekend."
"That's what the police think," I said.
"They're seriously looking at Tim? Oh, Jesus. What that would do to Sky Blue, my God."
"I think it's out of your control."
"Oh, I know, but still."
We were quiet. Maeve was restless behind the lemonade table. She had taken the coins from the mug and lined them up, stacked them by denomination, piled them in a single stack like a leaning tower. They fell in a jingling heap.
"Of course, the foundation wouldn't fall apart," Maddie said, half to herself. "Our work would go on. We're not responsible for people's personal lives."
"Unless the family decided to sue you, say you hadn't protected her from sexual harassment or something. Just the name 'Connelly'—"
Maeve skipped over and jumped on her mother's lap. Maddie wrapped her arms around the little girl as though she were protecting her. And then she hugged her tightly and Maeve hugged back. When she turned to kiss Maeve on the cheek, I could see that Maddie's eyes had filled. She pulled her sunglasses back down and gave Maeve another squeeze.
"Oh, no," Maeve said, looking toward her table, where a yellow jacket was circling the pitcher of punch. She squirmed loose and ran to shoo it away.
"So, Maddie," I said. "You act like something amuses you about me chasing stories like this."
"Oh, it's not that. I think you do a good job."
"Then what is it?"
She tucked her legs up underneath her and for a moment she looked very much like her daughter, vulnerable and small.
'"Nothing," she said.
"What?" I said, and I grinned.
"Oh, it's nothing. It's just that, all this stuff about justice and not letting somebody get away with something. It assumes that it's possible to do that, to get away with something terrible you've done and just go on with your life. For some people, maybe. A total sociopath. But most people, they still carry that with them. They carry it for the rest of their life."
"On their conscience, you mean?" I said.
"With every fiber of their being," Maddie said. "It hovers over them like some sort of black cloud that nobody else can see. But they can see it, and it makes everything they do, normal things, seem like a charade. Like you spend your whole life playing the role of somebody else."
"I suppose," I said softly. I looked at her curiously, this person who was not what I'd imagined, whose layers peeled back like pages in a book.
"I'll bet for a lot of these people, being caught is the best thing they can hope for," Maddie said.
"You've thought about this," I said.
She turned to me and brightened, gave me a version of the smile that had probably won David Connelly's heart: pretty, charming, and slightly flirtatious.
"Oh, yeah," Maddie said. "I think about a lot of things. David says that to me. He says, 'Maddie, I can't believe the stuff that goes on in your head.' "
The gate opened and the nose of the Suburban poked through.
"Mommy," Maeve cried from her table. "Customers."
Maddie smiled and got up from her chair, the stuff inside her head safely tucked away for another day.
# 27
There had been no visiting hours, so the funeral was Angel's only public appearance. We drove over to the North End separately, David and Maddie in the BMW. David kept pulling over to keep from losing us. As we drove, I filled Roxanne in. She told me about her time with the Connellys.
"It was fun," Roxanne said, as we followed down Washington Street. "You know, he's really a very nice guy. There's a gentle side to him. Patient and kind."
"Sullivan still has him as a suspect," I said.
"He's a good man," Roxanne said. "I'd almost stake my job on it."
"Roxanne," I said. "I think we both already have."
The Mass was at Sacred Heart, a brick steepleless church on North Square, a few blocks from the Morettis'. Paul Revere's little wooden house was across the square, and when we pulled up, tourists turned and watched, in case Angel's funeral was the next stop on the Freedom Trail.
The Connelly link apparently was out, because there were three TV crews and at least two newspaper teams waiting outside the church as we walked around the corner with the other family and friends. You could pick out the family because they were the ones who told the press to go to hell. Georgie, Angel's brother, came out of the church and shoved a TV cameraman back.
As the cameraman stumbled, still shooting, the reporter with him spotted Maddie and David and the knot of reporters and cameras converged. I moved off to the side and out of range. Roxanne was with Maddie and David as the TV cameras rolled and the newspaper guys barked questions. One TV reporter, a made-up young woman with lacquered black hair, squirmed her way up to David and said, "Mr. Connelly, why are you here today?"
"We have no comment," Maddie said.
"Mr. Connelly," the woman continued, holding David by the sleeve of his blazer. "Angel Moretti was visiting your summer house in Maine before her body was found. Do you feel in any way responsible for her death?"
"Excuse us, please," David said, smiling patiently. "We need to get inside."
The reporter tried one more time, shoving the microphone up to Maddie's face.
"Mrs. Connelly, how well did you know Angel Moretti? Were you in Maine when your husband had Miss Moretti up to visit?"
"You heard her," Roxanne said. "No comment."
She pushed the microphone aside, and then there was a flurry of motion from the church door. Two big men in dark suits moved through the crowd and stood in front of the cameras, saying there'd be no press inside.
"Who was that woman?" the TV woman said to her cameraman. "Is she a Connelly? Did you get her?"
I waited outside with the press and a few tourists who'd had enough of Paul Revere. When the last of the funeral goers had gone into the church, one of the men in suits took up a sentry position outside the front door, arms folded over his big chest. An organ started to play and I sauntered away, looking for someone who could tell me something more about the young woman who lay dead in a coffin in the front of the church.
In a half-hour, this is what I came up with:
A retired priest who knew the Moretti family and claimed to remember baptizing Angel twenty years back. "Such a pretty baby," he said, standing by the back door of the rectory next to the church. "You know the Devil is very much alive and working in the world today."
A cleaning lady at the rectory who knew Angel's grandmother and said she was a wreck. "The whole family is in my prayers," the cleaning lady said, on the corner waiting for the bus. "That's all you can do these days is pray."
It wasn't much, but every little bit added to the depth of the story. Standing on the sidewalk behind the church, I made a mental list: Roxanne could tell me something of the scene inside the church. I had the cops and David Connelly and Angel's father. And there was Monica—in a short black dress, stepping out of the side door of the church, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
I walked over and she saw me as she exhaled the first drag.
"Hi, Monica," I said.
"Hey," she said.
Her eyes were red and she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Standing there on the concrete step, she leaned down and took off one of her shoes, a black high-heeled thing with straps. She flexed her bare foot.
"God, these shoes hurt. It's hot in there, you know. Your feet swell."
"How's everybody doing?"
She shrugged.
"Terrible. Her mom is like a basket case. Her dad was crying, too, but you couldn't hear him. Georgie tried to do the reading and he got all choked up, and some lady from the church had to finish it."
"It's hard," I said.
"It sucks," Monica said.
She snaked her shoe back on and then caught sight of her black bra strap, which was showing. She tugged at it but it slipped back out and she gave up.
"God, I could use a drink," she said. "I need a break from this."
"Is there a place nearby?"
She looked at me.
"Just a quick glass of wine?" she said.
"Sure," I said.
We walked back to the square and out to Hanover Street. There was a restaurant around the corner with a bar at the front, and we walked in and Monica put her bag on the bar and we sat. She dug out another cigarette and started to light it but then saw a no-smoking sign. She dropped the cigarette on the bar. The bartender, a handsome kid with two hoop earrings, said, "Hey, Monica, how's it going over there?"
"Shitty," she said.
"I woulda gone but I couldn't get off work," he said.
"No problem," Monica said. "She got plenty of people showed up."
She ordered a white wine. I ordered a Budweiser. There was a guy at the other end of the bar and he looked Monica over as she perched on the stool. He saw me watching him and he turned away. When the drinks came, she drained half of her glass in one long swallow and closed her eyes and sighed.
"It's hard, I'm sure," I said.
"I never had anything like this, you know what I mean?" she said. "My grandmother died, bur this—I'm talking to her one day and then she's in a goddamn hole in the ground in goddamn Maine."
"You cared a lot for her, didn't you?"
"She had brothers. I had nobody. My mom had a hard time having me so she got her tubes tied."
"Huh," I said.
"So we were like sisters, you know? When we were eight and twelve and fifteen, she was like my sister, my friend. Except we didn't really fight like sisters do. We just talked, and even when guys started hanging all over her, she always came back to me to go over things, you know?"
She started to cry and took the napkin out from under her glass and dabbed at her eyes.
"Even now?"
"Now what?"
"I mean lately. Did you two still talk things over?"
"Yeah, I mean, some of this stuff she was into, I don't know, I just didn't care. There wasn't one of these rich guys gonna marry me, you know what I'm saying? I'm North End. I'm not gorgeous. I marry some guy, we'll move to Saugus, if I'm lucky. That's who I am."
"And Angel?"
"Oh, with her looks she had possibilities. Maybe some guy with bucks would decide he just had to have her and they'd move to friggin' France or someplace. End up like Maddie Connelly there, married to a pile of money, hanging around your big houses, riding around in your yacht. You know she wasn't rich at all before she latched onto David?"
"I know that."
"Parents were teachers or something. But she's good-looking and smart. Very nice body, even now. She could make the big jump. Angel was smart, too. She coulda done it."
"How was she smart?"
"Lots of ways. She was quick. Me, I gotta think about stuff. She just gets it. Money stuff. I mean, 'cause of where we work, she's reading up about investments and taxes and shit. She's saying things to me like, 'You know there are places you can put your money in the bank and the government can't find it?' The Cayman Islands and all this. I said, 'If I go to some island, I'm going for the beaches, not the banks, and what do you care about that crap?' She said, 'You never know.' I said, 'You been hanging with these rich bastards too much.' She said even the ones that aren't supposed to be rich have money. I think she meant that she had a chance, too. You didn't have to be a goddamn Connelly or whatever."
"Like who?" I said. "Who had money who wasn't supposed to?"
"I don't know. Mr. Dalton. He just worked there and his kid had, like, all these horses and shit. Ms. Kind, she was just like, some kind of accountant, and you know Angel found her passport in her desk or something? She worked in her office on some project thing. Angel could be pretty snoopy. Anyway, she said Ms. Kind went all over the place. She'd go to places like the British Virgins for two days, fly home. 'British Virgins,' Angel said, like she knew what that was. I said to her, 'It figures the American Virgins wouldn't be good enough for that snobby bitch.' "
"That's a quick trip," I said.
"Must be nice, huh?" Monica said. "I said to Angel, 'Why don't we get to live large?' She said, 'Well, let's go.' We were supposed to go in three weeks to Grand Cayman, me and her. She got me a ticket and everything. I got a new bathing suit."
Monica seemed like she might cry again but she fought it off. I sipped my beer.
"So she was doing pretty well at the foundation?"
"I don't know. I guess. She had a better job than me. Everybody's friggin' rich around that place. She always had enough cash. Kept it in her piggy bank."
She smiled, drank more wine.
"She still had a piggy bank?"
"No, that's what she called her box at the bank."
"A safe-deposit box?"
"Yeah. I'm like, 'Angel, what if the bank burns down? What if a jet crashed into it like on nine-eleven?' She's like, 'Yeah, Monica. And what if an asteroid hits Boston.' She was funny."
"So what did she do? Cash her check every week and put the money in a safe-deposit box?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me all of it. She knew it wasn't my idea of fun, sitting around talking about money. I'd talk about hot guys. Or clothes. God, she had some really nice clothes. We went to New York, like, a month ago and she just went wild."
"Paid with what, plastic?"
"Cash money. She had a wad of it. And she told me she had some jewelry, kept that in the box, too. Her mother yesterday, you know what she said? She asked me if I wanted some of Angel's stuff. I'm like, 'Jesus, thanks, but no.' Wouldn't that be creepy, wearing your dead friend's clothes?"
She shuddered. Downed the last of her wine, leaving lipstick on the empty glass. Picked up her cigarette and slid off her stool. She jiggled her hips unselfconsciously as she pulled her dress back into place.
"Monica," I said. "Did Angel have a real lot of money?"
"I gotta go back," she said, as though I hadn't spoken. "My parents are there."
And she slipped out the door. I stayed and paid the check. Walked out of the cool bar and into the damp blanket of summer air. I turned and headed up Hanover, Monica long gone. A car horn honked and I looked over.
The Cadillac.
It rolled up and slowed and the passenger window rolled open. I stopped as Mick leaned down and called across Vincent, "Hey, McMorrow. Nice-lookin' lady you got. I wouldn't leave her alone, if I was you. Not around here. Not in Maine, neither. You know what I'm saying? You write about one dead girl, you could end up with two."
And the window buzzed up and the car moved slowly away. I started for the church, breaking into a trot.
The hearse was out front and the funeral home guys were loading Angel's coffin into the back, like they were returning her to the shop for repairs. TV cameras rolled as they closed the doors and the family streamed out of the church, women dabbing their eyes, guys holding the women up. Guys from the church shoved their way through and the family piled into three limos and the procession pulled away.
I searched the crowd for Roxanne and finally she came out of the church with David and Maddie. Cameras swung toward them and reporters began calling as they turned down the sidewalk, David's arm around Maddie's shoulders, Roxanne close to his side. He said, "No comment. Sorry," and kept walking. I strode past the press and caught up at the corner beyond the church. I touched Roxanne on the arm and she jumped.
I took her arm and asked her how it had been inside. She said it was very sad, that the parents were wrecks, the whole family had been crying and sobbing.
"It was very hard," Maddie said, brushing a finger over her cheekbones, checking her makeup. David shook his head and said nothing.
We rounded the corner of the square and headed for the parking lot. I kept hold of Roxanne's arm and she clutched mine to her side. It didn't seem like there would be an easy way to say it, so I just blurted it out. "Those guys were here. They drove by when I was up the block talking to Monica. Mick said I should watch out writing about a dead girl because I might end up with two."
The three of them stopped.
"He said I had a nice-looking girlfriend."
"Call the police," David said. "He can't say that."
"No, Jack," Maddie said. "Isn't that against the law, to threaten someone?"
"His word against mine," I said.
Roxanne was quiet. I saw her put her free hand on her belly.
"I'd still call the police," David said. "You want me to make some calls? My uncle, he's in Florida, but he can get on the phone and shake things up. He knows the commissioner very well."
"No. I'll just tell Sullivan, the detective. She knows this Mick guy. She can go talk to him."
"Talk to him?" Maddie said. "I wouldn't talk to him. I'd lock him up. You can't get away with that."
We were moving now, other funeralgoers walking beside us. Roxanne didn't say anything for a moment, and then she said, "I took some notes."
I looked at her, smiled, and held her close.
# 28
I called Sullivan from the Connellys' kitchen, left a message, then stepped outside onto the stone terrace with the phone to wait for her to call back. I sat in a chair in the shade and looked up at the city sky. A turkey vulture circled high above and I wondered what dead things it would find in the city. I thought of Angel in the ground and wondered how long it would have taken for vultures and ravens to find her, after the coyotes had exposed her.
Not long.
Sullivan called back and I told her about Mick and what he'd said and she said she figured he still was all talk, but it was time to bring him in and seriously rattle his cage. She said she'd looked for him at the funeral but hadn't seen him.
"You were there?' I said.
"Yeah," she said. "I saw you leaving. What'd you get out of Monica Vitale?"
I told her about what Monica had said about Angel having money. The clothes, the trip, the safe-deposit box.
"Did you have all that?" I said.
"This for the record?"
"Yeah. I've got to get a story out of this, you know."
"Egan didn't scare you?"
"We'll go back to Maine," I said. "If he comes up there, he'll be on my turf, and I won't be alone."
"Your lady friend okay with that? Just curious."
"Yeah," I said. "She wants this person caught."
"I thought that was my job, Jack," Sullivan said.
"I keep it in the public eye," I said. "I keep asking questions because somebody wants me to stop. I keep sweeping things out from under the rug. And you swoop in and get all the glory."
"You are the real deal, aren't you?"
"Whatever," I said. "So are you following the money or what?"
"I can't say anything that would compromise the investigation."
"Come on. I know about a lot of it."
"Write what you know," she said. "Leave me out of it."
"The question is, where would someone like Angel get money to blow."
"Look around you, McMorrow," Sullivan said. "For these people, it grows on trees."
"What, are you following me?"
"Not you," she said, and, she rang off.
I hung up and David came out of the house carrying a tea tray. There were three mugs on it, two big and one small, and a plate of cookies. He set the tray down and Maeve skipped out of the house and took the smaller mug and a cookie and trotted across the lawn to the swing. I thanked David, took my tea and sipped.
He looked up at the sky and said, "Hey, a vulture."
"I saw it," I said.
"You know, I saw three of them by the side of the road in Weston the other day? They were eating a deer that had been hit. Looked like the Wild West."
"Feels like it sometimes," I said.
"How long are you staying in Boston?"
"Just long enough to write the story. I'll go into the bureau shortly."
"We're leaving, but you and Roxanne can stay," he said.
"No, that's okay."
"No, please stay. Mrs. Donovan will be here. She'll take good care of you. She'll be like your mother, waiting up for you."
"Thanks," I said. I sipped the tea again. "David. Can I ask you a question? For the story?"
"Sure."
He put his mug down and looked at me and waited.
"Did Angel make a lot of money at the foundation?"
"Angel? No. I mean, I'm sure we paid her the going rate and then some. We believe strongly in a living wage, and in Boston, that's not peanuts. Housing is nuts."
"Enough to buy tickets to Grand Cayman? A cruise for her parents? Go on a shopping spree in New York? Keep cash in a safe-deposit box? That car?"
David was quiet. He held the mug up to his mouth and touched his lips to the tea. Lowered the mug.
"I know what you're getting at."
"Dalton," I said.
"I don't know. I mean, he doesn't have limitless money. He's got a job for a reason. And his wife, she's going to notice if he's draining the accounts."
"She didn't notice Angel," I said.
"I've met her," David said, picking up a cookie. "Let's just say she probably keeps closer tabs on the money than on Tim. And don't put that in the paper. I really think they both had what you might call 'extracurricular activities.' Some marriages evolve to that."
"Couldn't he give Angel a few thousand dollars?"
"I suppose. But I'd hate to think that. Why would he?"
"If Angel was his mistress."
"I don't know, Jack. Maybe they were just having a fling. How much money do you think she had?"
"I don't know. I think more than she let on. She was talking to Monica about offshore banks where you could hide money from the government. She said she learned about that at the office."
David smiled and shook his head.
"Probably fantasy, Jack. I used to see her in the office reading magazines like _Forbes_ and _Fortune_. The money stuff at the office was pretty new to her. It can be sort of seductive at first."
I was doubtful but I didn't say it.
"But did we pay her well? I guess so. And maybe living at home, parents probably pampered her the best they could. Say she takes home, I don't know, five hundred a week. She feels like she's in the money, takes out a few cards. Charges the trips, the clothes. I think maybe she could give the appearance of having more money than she really had."
"A safe-deposit box full of cash?"
"Angel's version of putting it under her mattress. She was really pretty naive in a lot of ways. Maybe she liked going down there and running her hands through the one-dollar bills."
"You don't want to believe the worst about her, do you?" I said.
"No," David said. "I always try to think people are good, unless shown otherwise."
"You must get burned, on occasion."
"Hey," he said, reaching for another cookie. "I'd rather get burned once in a while than go through life being suspicious and cynical."
"You think she was killed by someone she knew?"
David paused and swallowed. "I don't want to think that, either," he said.
He clapped me once on the shoulder to end the discussion, then called to Maeve, said they had to get ready to go.
"That's why we need to get back out on the water, Jack," David said. "We'll get away from all this sad stuff. The four of us. We'll take a week. Take the boat and go to Canada. You ever been to Campobello?"
" _Escape_ ," I said. "It's aptly named."
'Yes, it is," David said.
"Except sometimes there are things you can't get away from," I said. "You can look away, but when you look back, they're still right there in front of you."
His eyes clouded and he gave a short, quick sigh, then recovered, like he was fighting off some sickness, mind over matter.
"But you can't dwell on the sad stuff all the time. Especially things that are out of your control. Things happen, you know? It's in the past."
"Not yet," I said.
He looked at me and then clasped my shoulder once and went inside. It was David's way, I was learning. Confronted with something unpleasant, he just grinned and walked.
I stayed at the table on the terrace, writing down as much as I could remember of my conversation with Monica. I'd been scribbling for fifteen minutes when Roxanne came out and I told her I was going to go to the bureau and do the story, if that was okay with her. She said of course it was, but then she said she had two things to tell me. She crouched beside me, her hand on my leg.
"Maddie's all upset," Roxanne whispered. "I went by their bedroom on the way down and I could hear her crying."
"Really crying?"
"Yeah. Sobbing. And David was saying it was okay."
"Maybe she knew Angel better than we think."
"But he was saying, 'It's going to be okay. It'll be all right.' Like there was something that could be fixed. How do you fix Angel being killed?"
"You catch somebody, I guess," I said. "Maybe she's afraid. You know, that someone else will be next. And she's in this small circle of people that Angel knew."
"Maybe," Roxanne said.
"And maybe it's all just caught up with her," I said. "Angel, the funeral, this situation with Maeve. That's got to be stressful, even though it turned out okay."
"That was my other thing."
"What?"
"I just checked my messages. Devlin, the au pair, called."
"From Ireland?"
"No, Jack. From Maine. She said she never left. She never left Maine at all."
# 29
Roxanne said she checked the exchange of the number Devlin left and it was for Castleton, a little crossroads about ten miles inland from Blue Harbor. When Roxanne called, she got a machine with a message that said Gary wasn't home. Roxanne wondered what Devlin had done with the plane ticket to Ireland, and I said she probably sold it for a hundred bucks. Why hadn't she gone home? Probably for the same reason she'd left.
We were talking about it when David and Maddie came back outside with Maeve and a couple of duffel bags and a suitcase. Maddie looked like she'd put makeup on to try to disguise her red and swollen eyes. David said they were headed for Maine, that Mrs. Donovan would be glad to make us dinner, and not to hesitate to ask her for anything. She didn't mind. He said to use the BMW if I needed a car and didn't want to leave Roxanne stranded. The keys were in the top left kitchen drawer.
I thanked him. Roxanne looked like she was wondering whether to say anything about Devlin, but then there was a flurry of handshakes and hugs and, "Call us right away when you get back to Maine," and David was carrying the bags to the Suburban.
Maeve climbed in the back, buckled herself in a booster seat. Maddie waved and got in the front. The gate slid open and they rolled out onto Marlborough Street like soldiers leaving the fort on patrol.
"You think we should stay?" I said.
"We've been here this long," Roxanne said.
"But with Devlin here, does that mean your case is, I don't know, more open?"
"I don't know," she said. "I'd prefer to think it's closer to ending."
"Yeah," I said. "The alternative would be—"
"Disturbing. It would be like I was no judge of character at all."
"That's not true."
"No, but what is going on with all of this, Jack?" Roxanne said. "More than we know; I think."
"But I'm not sure David and Maddie know, either."
"They do seem like sheep."
"Surrounded by wolves?"
"No. More like dogs that steal food off the counter."
"That's your story, isn't it?" Roxanne said.
"It's the story I want to write."
"In a way it's the story I hope is true. That David and Maddie and Maeve are all victims, in a way."
"Then we'll have to find it," I said. "If it's there."
Mrs. Donovan did make dinner: broiled salmon and green beans and baked potatoes, served at the big kitchen table with the Red Sox on the radio. Mrs. Donovan sat with us and chatted, but guardedly, her loyalty to the Connelly family unflinching. She did say she'd worked for the family for almost forty years, that of the three brothers (Patrick Jr. in Aspen, Michael in London), David was the cheerful one, who always had a good word to say. Maddie was a dear, and Maeve was like both of them, happy like her dad but with a quieter side like her mom. I asked her if it was hard for Maddie to come into the Connelly family and she said no, she didn't think so, but didn't elaborate. Roxanne asked where David and Maddie met, and Mrs. Donovan said she wasn't sure, and were we ready for tea or coffee?
End of conversation.
After dinner we attempted to help in the kitchen, but Mrs. Donovan herded us out. We went upstairs, Roxanne pausing to peer in at rooms along the way. From the guest room Roxanne tried Devlin's number again, got the same machine, and left another message. I called directory assistance for Dalton's number. T. A. Dalton III was listed as a resident of Pride's Crossing, an old-money North Shore town. I called and a teenage girl answered and sounded disappointed that it was only me. She said her dad was at the office and I thanked her and got the number of the Sky Blue Foundation from the operator. I called and a machine answered, giving me office hours, so I called David in the car. I asked him for Dalton's direct number, and he said he didn't know it. I asked if Maddie would know and he covered the phone for a very long minute, then came back on.
He gave me the number but he sounded distracted.
"You okay?" I said.
"Bloody traffic," he said. "Saturday night, too. You'd think half the world was driving to Maine."
He paused.
"You know, Tim might not be real eager to talk," David said.
"That's okay," I said. "He can always say no."
I said I'd try Kathleen Kind, too. David said he thought her number in Cambridge was in the book. I hung up, started to dial. Stopped. Put the phone down and looked over to Roxanne, stretched out on the bed, flipping through a magazine.
"I'm going over there," I said.
"You don't want him wriggling off the hook, do you?" she said.
"No."
"Was David trying to shield him or something?"
"I don't know. I think he was just warning me I might not get a warm reception. Don't forget that nobody wants their organization in a murder story. David or Dalton."
"Would it help if I were there?" Roxanne said.
"Maybe if I talk to him in his office, you could just look around a little."
"For anything in particular?"
"Anything Angelic," I said.
So we told Mrs. Donovan we'd be two or three hours. She said she was going to a grandson's birthday party and might be out. She gave us a remote for the gate and a key to the side door. She said she wouldn't wait up, but there were cookies in the jar on the counter, beer in the refrigerator in the pantry.
We took the Explorer, drove across the city to the financial district, where the office towers were empty but lighted, like ghost ships adrift without their crews. We were looking for Batterymarch, off Milk Street, in the shadowed narrow streets where brokerage firms managed billions of dollars out of sight of the city's milling masses. Two seventy-eight was on the right, an art-deco building with a small glass-walled lobby. I parked out front and tried the door and it was locked, so I went back to the car and called. On the fourth ring, Dalton answered.
"Yeah?"
"Tim?"
"Who's this?"
"Jack McMorrow. David gave me your number. I need to talk to you about Angel. Your general impressions as her supervisor—"
"Not direct supervisor," he said.
"Then indirect supervisor," I said. "And friend."
"Listen, Jack, I'm getting ready to head home."
"I'm right outside. Roxanne and I were out and about. Thought I'd just try you."
"How long will this take?" Dalton said.
"Not long," I said.
There was a long pause. I could hear him breathing. Finally he said, "I'll buzz you in."
He did. With the car double-parked, flashers on, we stepped in and it was cool in the marble foyer. According to the directory behind the locked glass case, Blue Sky was on the eleventh floor. We took the elevator up and stepped off into a small carpeted foyer, and faced another set of doors, steel with small reinforced windows. There was another buzz and we pushed through into a dimly lighted waiting room.
There were paintings hung on the off-white walls. American Impressionists. Antique wing chairs and couches, or maybe replicas, and Oriental carpets on the floor.
We waited. Heard footsteps, and then Dalton rounded a corner and came toward us. He was wearing a big smile, a dark-green polo shirt and khaki shorts, sunglasses around his neck on a cord.
"Jack. Roxanne. Welcome," he said, whispering in the hushed, empty room. "Good to see you."
"Sad circumstances."
"Oh, awful. Still doesn't seem real. Were you at the funeral?"
"Roxanne was," I said. "They didn't want press in the church."
"Oh, yeah. Funny, I forget you have a working capacity. Come on in."
I followed him as he led the way past small empty offices arranged like burial chambers in a tomb. Then we swung through a door and into an office with dark paneling, two couches, and a couple of big chairs, all black leather. The desk was dark red wood like mahogany, and there were bookshelves behind it, to the left. I saw a photo of Dalton and a blonde woman who looked a little like Martha Stewart. In another photo a small girl sat on a big horse, her mouth set resolutely like she was headed into battle. A third had all three of them, dressed up at a party. Only Dalton was smiling.
We sat.
"So," Dalton said. "Just came in to catch up. Being in Maine and all, things piled up. Can you believe we were all there, having a nice time. Angel—it seems like years ago now."
"Who could have imagined?" I said.
"It's unbelievable. I mean, what animal could hurt that girl? My daughter's a counselor at a camp in Maine, on one of the islands. Makes us think twice, I'll tell you."
"So you think it happened up there?" Roxanne said.
"Don't you?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Well, I don't know why somebody would do it down here and go all the way up there in the woods."
"Maybe they thought nobody would find her," Roxanne said.
"Seems like a lot of trouble. Oh, Jesus. Listen to us. Like it's some murder on a TV show."
I smiled, sympathetically I hoped.
"You're right," I said. "You have to remember things like this aren't games. They involve real people with dreams and hopes and people who cared for them."
"Exactly," Dalton said, then seemed to draw back. "Her poor parents. The mother at the funeral..."
"Which brings me to this story."
Roxanne stood and said she'd wait out by the main doors and Dalton didn't protest. After she'd left, I explained to him what I was doing. He listened attentively, tanned arms folded in front of him on the gleaming desk. I talked about making Angel more than a name and a face from a crime story. I said I was talking to her coworkers, her family, to David, Maddie, and Monica.
"What did Monica say?" Dalton said. His tone was neutral.
I took out a notebook and opened it.
"Let's see. That Angel liked working here, that she seemed really to take to this world, which was different from what both of them grew up with."
"That's true. It was new to her, but Angel was a quick study. Very adaptable. She would have ended up someplace interesting. I mean, you'd put her in a new situation and there was this brief sort of adjustment period and you could see her figuring it out, practically hear the wheels turning. And then it was like she'd always been there. A few of us were at this BSO thing once and I looked around and she's talking to Derek Bok. I said to her after, 'Did you know he used to be president of Harvard?' She said, 'Yeah. I was asking him, What the hell does the president of a college actually do? Is it the courses or is it all money?' Angel could do that. It was like it didn't occur to her that she didn't belong there."
"Maybe she did."
"I think so. Like I said, a very quick study."
"But she had help."
"Oh?"
"Monica said she had beautiful new clothes, jewelry, got invitations to parties that Monica didn't."
"They're different. I mean, Monica... well, you met her."
"Yeah."
"She doesn't have Angel's—and this is totally off the record—her social mobility."
"Class," I said.
"Don't get me wrong. Monica's a good kid. She's just more thoroughly rooted in her background. Angel was looking to explore, and this job was her entree."
"And you assisted her?"
He looked at me warily.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, Monica said you got her into the parties. Bought her things. Dresses, jewelry."
"There may be a bit of jealousy there," Dalton said, "between us. But yeah. I bought her some stuff. I mean, it was either that or send her to a black-tie at the MFA in her prom dress. I didn't want to see the poor kid humiliated."
"Nobody else stepped up to help her out?"
"No. And don't put this in, but some of the women here, well, you know how women can be. A little catty. Backstabbers. And David, he'd invite her to come along to some benefit and I'd say, 'Jeez, David. You think she's up to it?' He'd say, 'What do you mean?' He's like that. Just because he's socially gifted, the family thing and all, he's oblivious to the fact that for some people, these sorts of events can be intimidating."
"So you helped Angel out?"
"Yeah. A couple of dresses, shoes. I'd say to them at the store, 'This is the kind of event we're going to. Make sure she has everything she needs.' "
"That was nice of you," I said.
He seemed to puff up a bit.
"Yeah, well, it was no big deal. I'd say to her, 'Just be yourself. Smile and chat and don't chew gum. Go easy on the mascara."
"So you were Henry Higgins and she was Eliza Doolittle."
"Oh, God, don't put it in those terms. If you mention that at all, please put it diplomatically. I don't want to insult her family. They're good people. It was just that she was in a new game and she needed the uniform."
"How'd she look in it?"
"Like a million dollars," Dalton blurted, and then checked himself. "She looked very nice. She was a very pretty girl, as you know."
"So she stood out, even at a party full of beautiful people."
"Oh, yeah. Let's just say her dance card was full. I mean, guys lined up. She had a great time, too. She just ate it up. The whole scene. She was very open to new experiences. It's really a shame. What happened, I mean."
I paused, caught up with him in my notes. And then I said, "Speaking of a million dollars, I'm told Angel seemed to have a lot of money, relatively speaking."
"Really. Who said that?"
"A friend. She said Angel went on a shopping spree in New York, bought jewelry. Her parents said she sent them on a cruise. She was going to the Caribbean in a few weeks and she was taking Monica."
"I don't know. I mean, when I was helping her out, with the clothes and stuff, I assumed she was just living on what we paid her."
"Which was?"
"I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Kathleen or somebody. Kathleen is our spending overseer. I mean, I'm sure it was a fair wage, but it wasn't buying her too many cruises. Of course, she could have just started saying yes to all those credit card offers that come in the mail. You could run up a couple of hundred thousand in a hurry that way."
"Other people have said that. But one source said she kept cash in a safe-deposit box."
"Huh. I don't know about that."
I watched him but it was hard to tell whether he was surprised that Angel had money or surprised that I knew.
"Now, one more thing, Tim," I said. "And I'll just come right out and say it. Another source has told me that you and Angel were involved romantically."
His face reddened and he leaned forward.
"Bullshit," he said. "Who told you that?"
"I'd rather not say."
"You aren't putting that in the paper."
"I'm trying to put a true story in the paper."
"Listen," Dalton said. "You publish that and I'll have you in court before the ink is dry. And I'll make sure you never write for the _New York Times_ or anybody else ever again. You understand that?"
"So you're saying that you weren't involved with Angel in that way?"
"No," he spat. "No way. Which of those bitches told you that? That's slander."
I kept writing and he pounded the desk once with his fist.
"You can't print that. It's libelous."
"I just have to ask the question."
"It's preposterous," Dalton said.
"I understand."
He wheeled around in his chair and took the photo of his family off the shelf and whirled back and slammed it down on the desk. He and Mrs. Dalton stared coldly from the frame.
"This is my wife. Nineteen years of marriage and I'm very happily married. She knew Angel. In fact, she's the one who told me to get Angel a suitable dress the first time. She said, 'You can't let that poor girl walk in there looking like she just stepped out of the mall. They'll tear her apart.' That's how involved I was with Angel."
"Maybe I should talk to Mrs. Dalton," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I mean no. The _New York Times_ comes to her and asks if her husband was having an affair with some young thing at the office? A woman who was murdered?"
"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that."
"It doesn't matter. She'd have a coronary right there. Half the goddamn country reading this story, all of her friends? And my daughter? My God, man. You can't do this to me."
"I don't know that I will use it. I'm going over to talk to my editor tonight," I said. "But Tim, I had to ask the question. What if you said yes, you were involved with Angel. You loved her and you were leaving your wife and you and Angel planned to get married. I don't know what your situation is until I ask."
"I've told you my situation."
"I understand," I said. "And what you told me helps re-create a portrait of Angel. This young woman who was eating up all these new opportunities. And people like you and the Connellys helped her navigate this new world."
"We did. I did. David and Maddie did. They liked her. We all liked her."
I hesitated, then said, "Why?"
"Why did we like her?"
"Yeah."
"Well, she was a hard worker and cheerful and very pretty and—"
"Maybe I shouldn't say this," I began, "but on the boat I thought she seemed sort of pushy. Presumptuous. She was pleasant, but there was an edge to her, like she was, I don't know, in charge or something. Like when she wanted David to take the boat to Bar Harbor."
"Oh, that was just Angel. That was her way."
"She was like that all the time?"
"No. I remember that particular thing, I thought she was maybe a bit out of line with David. But in general she was very nice. Maybe it was the wine."
I scribbled, then looked up at him.
"And maybe I shouldn't say this, either," I said. "But I saw you on the boat with her. I can see how someone might get the impression that there was something between you other than just a platonic work relationship. You seemed—"
I hesitated.
"Familiar."
"Oh, come on, Jack. We were kidding around, for God's sake. She was just being silly."
I didn't answer.
He leaned forward, put his hands on the desk like he was laying out his cards.
"Listen, can I tell you something, off the record? Between us?"
I didn't answer and he took it for agreement.
"Yeah, she was a bit of a flirt. And yeah, I'm a middle-aged man, almost. I'm in shape but the hair is getting thin, a little gut I can't seem to get rid of. I can't keep up with the young guys on the lacrosse field anymore, and doesn't that piss me off."
He paused
"You saw her, Jack. She was very attractive."
"Yes, she was."
"So maybe I played along a little. Maybe I was a little flattered by it. The male ego, you know? But that's all, man. I helped her out a little. Maybe I got a little kick out of being around her. I'm terribly sorry about what happened to her."
"And you don't know where she would have gotten a windfall of money?"
"No."
"You didn't give her large amounts of cash?"
"You kidding? My wife's not stupid. Even with the dresses, she was the one who said, 'Just send her to someplace like Saks, Tim. No need to have her going hog wild.' "
"Sensible of her."
"Exactly. It all makes perfect sense."
"Except the killing part."
"Right. That makes no sense at all."
"Yet," I said.
# 30
When we finished, I'd filled a few pages of the notebook. Dalton asked me when the story would run and I said I had to stop at the bureau that night to check, but it looked like it would be published Tuesday. He got up from his desk and stared out the window, but it was dark outside and he seemed to be looking at his own reflection. Checking the waistline, perhaps. Wondering what his vanity had gotten him into.
I let myself out, and when I got back to the reception room with the couches, Roxanne was gone.
I opened the steel door and she wasn't in the outside foyer. I went to a window and looked down and could just see her car in the street, flashers still blinking. I walked down the hallway toward Dalton's office again and his door was closed and he was talking, apparently on the phone. I heard him say, "In an hour. Tell your mother."
But no Roxanne.
There was another corridor on the opposite side of the waiting room. It was dark, but I walked down it. I stopped halfway and listened. Heard voices, then music. I kept going and turned a corner and saw a door half-open on the right, blue television light spilling out.
I walked to the door, heard a woman saying, "I know this isn't politically correct, and God knows I feel terribly sorry about what happened. But the girl was, if not sleeping her way to the top, then certainly something close to it."
"There's no death penalty for being attractive," Roxanne said.
"Oh, but there is, don't you think? If Miss Moretti had been some dumpy, plain girl, do you think she would have been invited to this office retreat in Maine? And if she hadn't been in Maine, if she hadn't been able to bat her big eyes and convince people to take her to Bar Harbor, to dinner, to wherever else her whims pointed her, then she would have been home. She would have been safe with her working-class parents, would have eventually met some hardworking schmo from Dorchester or some such place and settled down and had babies and lived to be eighty. Instead she ended up here and one thing led to another."
"But Kathleen," Roxanne said. "Being pretty and flirtatious didn't kill her. Somebody killed her."
"But it did, Roxanne. Let's say she was waylaid in the boondocks of Maine. What would have attracted somebody? Her looks, the way she was dressed."
"How was she dressed when she left?" Roxanne said.
"Jeans down over her hips, the way they wear them now. Her belly hanging out, not that it wasn't flat as a board. A little sweater that left very little to the imagination. Picture her with a flat tire with that outfit on, some pickup truck full of rednecks comes rolling up. But look at this for a minute. These people make this point in a very accessible way for young girls."
A tape started, music and a voice-over saying, "what if none of us were pretty girls...."
I stepped into the room. They turned and smiled.
"Jack," Roxanne said.
"Hey," I said.
"I borrowed her," Kathleen Kind said. "There's this organization that we've funded. They produce educational materials for adolescent girls. I was showing Roxanne."
"Go right ahead."
"But you have to get on with your work," Kathleen said. "More interviews?"
"I have to go talk to my editor," I said.
"Well, here," she said. "I'll let you take this with you, Roxanne. If you're interested, give me a call."
Roxanne said she would. Kathleen Kind ejected a tape from a VCR and handed it over, then took a folder from a shelf and gave that to Roxanne, too. I asked Kathleen if she had a few minutes and she said sure, but only a few because a car was coming to pick her up. I said I'd be quick, and she invited me to sit. There were two chairs in front of the desk and I took one and she took the other. Roxanne sat away from us, by the door, and opened the folder and read. I glanced at Kind: khaki skirt, black short-sleeved sweater, low-heeled black shoes.
And a cool smile that was as impenetrable as a mask.
I took my notebook out of my back pocket and flipped it open. She didn't flinch. I said I was sorry about Angel and she said it was horrible, that she used to feel safe in the country but she never would again. She started to go on about how the notion that rural areas were safer than cities was a fallacy. I interrupted and asked how much Angel had been paid.
Kind looked mildly irritated but swallowed it and her smile returned, as if it were lipstick she could take off and put back on.
"She started at twelve dollars an hour. After two months, she went to fifteen. After six months she went to seventeen-fifty."
"Seven hundred a week?" I said.
"Very good," Kind said. "A reporter who can do arithmetic."
"Sometimes you get lucky," I said. "That's not a lot of money in Boston, do you think?"
"It is if you have an associate's degree, average clerical skills, and no prior experience in foundation work."
"Did you hire her?"
"Tim hired her," she said, as though nothing more needed to be said.
"And Monica came with her?"
"A few weeks later. Once Angel had established herself."
"How was Angel as an employee?"
"Fine," Kind said. "She could be very personable."
"I understand she went to some of the social events with other people here."
"Yes."
"She liked that?"
"Who wouldn't? Free champagne and all the jumbo shrimp you can eat."
"I'm told she was socially, I'm not sure what the word would be..."
"Facile?"
"Yes."
She didn't say anything.
"Did you think so?"
"Miss Moretti was a very confident young woman, after she'd been here for a while."
"And when she first arrived?"
"Much less so. I think her confidence grew exponentially the longer she was with us."
"Why?"
"You'd have to ask people who worked more closely with her."
"You didn't?"
"Not really. She worked for Tim, who is more on the grant assessment end, does this project meet the foundation's goals, what will it achieve. I work with the financials."
"Did you explain some of that to her?" I said.
"Not really. There was no need. She wouldn't have understood anyway. Most of the people here don't understand what I do, and they've been here for years."
"Well, here's a question for you. Monica said Angel talked about offshore accounts and ways to hide income. How would she know about that sort of thing?"
"I have no idea. And I can assure you, Jack, she wouldn't have learned about that sort of thing here. The money goes the other way here. My job is to make sure too much of it doesn't go at once."
"But where would she get these ideas?"
Kind's smile almost turned to a smirk.
"Television, perhaps," she said. "Nefarious characters are always hiding money in numbered Swiss accounts or some such thing."
"I was also told she seemed to have a lot of money, all of a sudden. Kept at least some of it in a safe-deposit box. Called it her piggy bank."
"Cute."
"How would she get her hands on a lot of money?"
"That depends on what you call a lot."
"Let's say thousands."
"Thousands isn't a lot, Jack."
"It is for someone like Angel."
"In the circles she was at least on the fringes of, it's pocket change. The people she was seeing at benefits and functions—I mean, there are people in this city who make the Connellys look positively middle-class."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roxanne look up.
"But how would Angel end up with any money?" I said.
Kind didn't answer at first, and the long pause was full of innuendo.
"I'm sure I don't know," she said. "And I wouldn't care to speculate. But some people at this level of income can be rather free with their money. If they take a shine to someone...."
The cool smile again.
"But short of someone just handing her a bag of cash—she didn't work anywhere else," I said. "As far as I can tell, she'd really immersed herself in this place. So where else could extra money come from?"
"Not from here. That's one thing I take very seriously. I have to because some of these people think there's this unlimited amount of money. I mean, and this isn't for print, they've grown up in a world where there were no limits. And the money was earned by somebody two generations back. They don't think of the sweat that went into that. They think it grows on trees, if you'll excuse the cliché."
"Somebody else said that. And you reminded them it didn't grow on trees."
"I come from modest circumstances. My parents came here from Poland with five dollars between them. They worked every waking minute so I could go to Smith, I could get an MBA at Wharton. My dad worked in this company that made hoses. I mean, actually made them. He came home all dirty, smelling like rubber. My mother did tax returns for the immigrant community in Quincy. Nothing was handed to them, not like some people in this world. We do a lot of good, don't get me wrong. But I don't forget that money comes from sweat. On my watch every penny is accounted for and it goes where the foundation is committed to putting it. And there are strict regulations governing that."
She lifted herself in her chair.
"Are we through?"
"I guess so," I said. "If I have questions, I'll call."
She stood and smoothed her skirt. I stood, too, stuck the notebook in my back pocket. Roxanne started for the door.
"So what do you think happened?" I said, more confidentially.
"To Miss Moretti?"
"Yeah."
"Off the record? I think she crossed paths with the wrong person in Maine in that wasteland you have to cross to get home from Blue Harbor and she was killed. Happens all the time in this world, unfortunately. Women are prey. Of course, that doesn't minimize the tragedy."
I paused. She didn't look choked up, but that wasn't her style.
"Did she get any bonuses or anything like that?"
"No, not that came through our operating accounts."
I must have looked perplexed.
"Jack," Kind said, gathering up a briefcase and bag from her desk. "You should go to one of these functions, the big ones. And this is totally off the record. The museums, the BSO—it's wall to wall with silver-haired men and a lot of younger women. The men make seven figures and have alpha-male egos to match. The women, a lot of them, are wife number two or three, former administrative assistants who saw their chance and went for it. And then some of them, like Angel, are new to the game, just there for show."
"To watch the show, you mean?"
"No, Jack," she said, pausing by the door. "They _are_ the show, all decked out in slinky dresses. There's a term for it. It's a little crass. Oh, what is it?"
"Arm candy?" Roxanne said.
"That's it," Kind said. "Walk into the Oak Bar at five o'clock and see the guys in their sixties and their pretty young things."
"You're saying Angel was one of those pretty young things?"
"Off the record, Jack. And I know it's a terrible thing to say, given the circumstances. But it's the truth."
She opened the door and we stepped into the hallway, and she closed the door and locked it with a key from her bag.
"But what does that have to do with money?" I said.
"Oh, come on now, Jack," Kind said as we started down the hall. "These young women may be trophies, but the smart ones, they make sure they get something in return."
"And Angel?" I said.
"Miss Moretti," she said, "wasn't stupid."
# 31
A livery cab, a black Town Car, picked Kathleen Kind up out front for the ride home to Cambridge. We got in the car as the cab pulled away and I said to Roxanne, "What do you think?"
"Not exactly warm and fuzzy," she said.
"I guess they need somebody to keep the bleeding hearts in check."
"And remember, it's not her money they're giving away."
"No, and it's a good gig," I said.
"If you're good with numbers and tax law and a little snooty."
The Town Car swung around the corner and out of sight.
"And Angel?" I said.
"I think for a nice girl, Angel sure stirred the pot."
"Maybe that's my lead," I said.
"That is the story, isn't it?"
"I'll tell Myra it's changing."
"Yeah," Roxanne said. "It's not Cinderella getting killed on the way home from the ball."
I called the bureau from the car and Myra's line was busy, which meant she was in. I swung over to State Street and up and into traffic, not a parking space within two blocks. It was Jazz at the Marketplace, according to the posters, and in the distance we could hear music. I started looking for a space, looping in widening circles, and ended down past McKinley Square and the Custom House hotel. It was dark beyond the hotel and deserted and Roxanne held my arm as we walked back up to South Market. The music was loud, bouncing off the buildings like flies off glass.
I called up on the intercom and Myra buzzed us in.
She was standing at her desk, barking into the phone.
"Right, you'll see it tomorrow afternoon, early.... Right. McMorrow. He's been working on this since they dug her up. Yes, the Connelly connection is strong. She worked with David directly. I mean, it's his family's foundation and he's the main one there. The others just sit on the board. Right, in Maine, but not really close to where the Connellys' house is.... Well, listen, he just came in; hang on."
She put her hand over the phone.
"It's Alice. They want a tagline for the national budget."
I thought for a moment, but not more.
"With a Connelly entree, murder victim was poised on edge of Boston social whirl."
"That's good," Myra said, and she repeated it into the phone and rang off, turned to me and said, "Okay, where do we stand?"
Roxanne went to the restroom and I told Myra whom I'd talked to and what they'd said. Leaning on the front of her desk, she listened. When I was done, she said, "Cops have the box?"
I said I didn't know but I'd find out.
"So the question is, who was her sugar daddy?"
"Dalton denies it."
"Nah, he's a small-time nine-to-fiver. I picture somebody with serious bucks. Somebody who could promise Angel the condo in Antigua, a ride down on the Citation Two. Somebody who could pick her up like she was a mint on the way out of the restaurant. 'Here, honey. Here's ten grand. Go get yourself something nice.' "
"What if nobody gave her anything?" I said.
"You mean, what if she stole it?"
"Or something like that. What if she landed one of these guys and then threatened to go to the wife."
"Then they'd pay her off, or—"
"But if she tried it with the wrong guy," I said.
"Then somebody kills her," Myra said. "It fits, maybe."
"Right. She gets some money but wants more. Pushes somebody too hard and they decide she's a liability. Have her killed. I start to ask questions and they bring in somebody to make me stop."
"And when you don't stop?"
"Like the detective said, they're leg breakers. They're not hit men."
"Why do I not find that particularly reassuring?" Myra said.
Roxanne came back and we talked about the story. Myra said she'd love to use Dalton's wife talking about the prom dress. That would take the focus off Dalton as the apparent boyfriend. She thought we needed Maddie Connelly, too, and something more from the Moretti family to address the premise, which was that Angel was stepping across class lines.
And we needed whatever we could get about the cause and place of death, the amount of money and whatever else was in the safe-deposit box. I said I'd try to get Maddie and Mrs. Dalton that night, and the others in the morning.
And then there was small talk, Myra talking to Roxanne about her work, Roxanne telling Myra about the group Maddie had for the talk about child abuse, Myra asking me what David Connelly was really like. I said he was a good guy, very interesting, and not bad-looking, either.
"I think he's a hottie," Myra said.
"So does his wife," I said.
"If I had been Angel, that's the one I would have gone after," Myra said. "You don't think—"
"No," I said.
"He's got the money."
"No, he's a good guy."
"With a wife and a kid, and something to lose," Myra said.
"No," I said. "David and Maddie are very tight."
And then I thought of Maddie crying after the funeral, David telling her it was going to be okay.
"No," I said.
"Maybe she jumped his bones on the way home from the office Christmas party. She threatens to go to Maddie and tell all if he doesn't come through with the cash and a job for her North End buddy."
And a ride to Bar Harbor on the boat?
The phone rang and Myra answered it, started talking about the New England news briefs. I grabbed a couple of notebooks and some pens and Roxanne and I went down and out. The lobby was deserted, but the music was blaring and people were all over the marketplace. We walked out to State Street and started down and the crowd thinned, just a few college kids shuffling along, baseball hats on backward, a homeless man picking like a raccoon through a trash can. We were near the Custom House when I heard someone behind us, turned, and saw three young guys and a woman—shorts, muscle shirts, baseball hats.
They were bounding along, a couple of the guys pushing each other, one of the guys and the woman holding hands. They whooped and laughed and two of the guys broke into a sprint, like they were racing to their car. I turned and moved out of the way and the pounding footsteps approached and I started to turn back.
The shoulders. Something hit me. I stumbled, lost my grip on Roxanne's hand, and fell.
# 32
There was a swish of fabric behind me, a rush of steps, Roxanne saying "No."
I was just back on my feet when someone landed on me, rolling me into the street, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, climbing on my back.
I staggered, tried to spin him off, reached behind me for his face, but then the other one was on me, balaclava masks on them now, pushing me around the corner and into a service sort of alley. It was dark and I hit the wall with my shoulder, lashed out with my left arm, and caught one of them in the face. He jerked his head back, tried to grab my arm, but I wrenched it free. Turned and used the guy on my back as a shield, but then both of them ran me into the wall, my face scraping the hard brick. I bellowed but someone wrenched my head back and looped a gag over my mouth. It caught on my teeth and they pulled harder and it went into my mouth and I felt like I was choking. Someone grabbed my wallet from my back pocket and said, "Check it," and I heard another one say, "Yup."
Roxanne came around the corner, the guy and the woman holding her, the guy's hand over her mouth as she writhed and kicked and stomped at their feet. Then she was behind me and someone said, "Use this," and she cried out and then her voice became muffled. I screamed "Leave her alone" into the gag, and they yanked my hands out from the wall and I kicked blindly, hit a shin, stomped on a foot. They started kicking and hit behind my right knee and my leg buckled but they yanked me up by my shirt and I felt the cold air on my back. I tried to turn and kick but I fell onto my side at the base of the wall, saw Roxanne on her knees, the woman on Roxanne's back, an arm locked around her neck. They were kicking me in the arm, the shoulder, the chest, the side of the head, a flurry of blows and then someone was standing on my chest. I rolled and he stumbled off of me. I wrapped my arms around his legs and twisted and he fell heavily to the pavement, his head making a hollow sound like a coconut.
Two of them fell on me, grabbing for my wrists, but I twisted free, saw the woman in front of Roxanne now, the guy holding her hands behind her. She slapped Roxanne and then grabbed for the top of her shirt and yanked and the shirt tore and I could see Roxanne's bra and the woman reaching again.
I bellowed and bulled my way to my feet, taking the guy on my back up with me. Turned and charged backward into the wall, feeling his head slam the bricks, his teeth against my shoulder. And then I ran through them, hit the woman from behind, and she flew past Roxanne, sprawled on the ground, and Roxanne ducked and I hit the guy behind her in the face, felt teeth and wetness and he spun and fell and one of the guys said, "His hands, get his hands."
But I was loose now, Roxanne, too, and she pulled the gag off and ran onto State Street, screaming, "Help, help me," and I heard other voices in the distance, someone saying "What's that?"
And they were on me, but I was swinging and one stumbled and I kicked him in the belly and elbowed another as he reached for my wrists. I stomped on their feet, lashed out at their shins, and they were bending my hands back, trying to break the fingers, the wrists. One finger was bending way back but I whipped the other hand loose and grabbed for faces and eyes. I gouged and scratched and tore and one of them let out a shriek, blood streaming from his eye and then there were voices approaching. Like a flock of sparrows, the four of them fell away in unison and started running back up the street, away from the square.
One turned back and screamed, "We'll come to fucking Maine and kill you," and then two men rounded the corner, one with a Custom House insignia on his shirt, both with fists up, the older man breathing hard. They looked at me, the blood running down my face, and then at the backs of the others, fading into the darkness. One said, "You okay? What happened?" and Roxanne came around the corner then, one hand holding the torn shirt up, a gray-haired woman scurrying along behind her.
Roxanne was crying and she came to me and said, "Are you all right?" and she pulled the rag off my mouth and I said I was, and she said, "Did they break your hands?"
I shook my head.
"They tried," I said.
"They don't want you to write this story," she said, still panting. "You're going to write the best story you've ever written, those dirty bastards."
She started to sob loudly.
"You're going to write that story, you're going to write it, Jack McMorrow. You're going to write it, write it, write it."
# 33
Outside the emergency room at Mass General, the ambulances came and went, like wasps around a nest. We stood in a little circle in the parking lot on Fruit Street, Roxanne and I, Myra and Sullivan. My left little finger was splinted to the finger beside it and my whole hand throbbed.
"So let's say Mick didn't want to show his face," Sullivan said. "He could sub the job out, get any number of kids to come to your office there and wait. And you say the people at Connelly's place knew you were going there. Who else?"
"I don't know. Mick himself could have followed us from the Connellys' and made a quick phone call."
"Could have brought the kids himself," Sullivan said. "Let them loose like dogs."
"Will you find him tonight?"
"I'll look around. My bet is he'll be at one of the bars and everybody in the place will say he's been there all night."
"So what do you do?" Myra said.
"This isn't for print?"
"No," I said.
"I've got to be careful, standing around with reporters. Don't want something I say to come back and bite me in the—"
"It's okay," Myra said.
"Well, you look for some leverage. You find a firearm, somebody who Mick assaulted who we have something pending on, maybe they'll consider bringing charges in exchange for a break. You get something on Mick that could put him back inside and then you bargain with that. Or we go after Vincent. He has a brother out on bail for assault. Maybe we trade something there."
"An assault for a murder?" Myra said.
"You always want to trade up," Sullivan said.
"So you think that whoever hired Mick knows who killed Angel?"
"They know something we don't know."
I spoke and my voice was hard and jarring, edged with impatience.
"What is it you know, exactly, Detective? For the record, for this story."
They all looked at me but no one said anything. I took out my notebook and flipped through the pages with my taped hand. Sullivan hesitated, then pulled a cell phone out from the back pocket of her jeans and turned around and walked a few feet away. Roxanne turned to the Charles and the lights on the Cambridge side and said, "The city really is pretty, isn't it? You'd never know all this stuff was going on."
"The other day I was talking to this woman who teaches at Harvard," Myra said. "She studies all those little bugs in the sand in the ocean. She said if people knew what was under there, they'd never walk on the beach again."
I almost smiled. Sullivan was talking and I overheard her say, "We need him, too," and then she turned back to us, said, "Okay, Jack. This is what I can tell you."
We sat in the front of her car, just the two of us. She gave me a clipboard to set my notebook on. I scribbled; she talked.
She said the Audi was found on a side street in Chelsea, one window broken, the CD player gone. Forensics people matched grass and other flora from the underside of the car to the path that led to the gravesite in Monroe, Maine, and there was a gull's feather hanging from the rearview mirror, like she'd just been to the coast. But Angel's parents said she came home the night she left Maine, which meant whoever had killed her had driven all the way back north. They were checking tapes at the tollbooths on the Maine Turnpike but hadn't come up with anything yet. That just meant the car might have been driven up Route 1—with a body in the trunk.
Angel died from strangulation. The scarf was the murder weapon. Her clothes were on the backseat of the car, strewn about.
Killed during sex? Prior to? They didn't know. There was no evidence that Angel had been sexually assaulted, or that she had had intercourse in the days before her death.
No random murder?
They didn't know that, either. She could have been waylaid upon her return to Maine. They didn't know why she would have gone back there. She'd called in sick on Wednesday, the day before the body was found, but had left for work as usual. Her family said Angel gave no indication that she was going anywhere other than Sky Blue.
To meet someone? Was Dalton in the office that day?
"The investigation is ongoing," Sullivan said.
"Come on," I said.
"Jesus, McMorrow," she said. "Most of what I just gave you is new. The _Globe_ doesn't have some of this stuff."
That made it a sidebar, Myra and I decided, still standing in the parking lot after Sullivan had driven away. I said I'd come in early in the morning and write both stories. She asked me how early, and I said, "Very," and she said to call and she'd meet me at the bureau. She asked me if the story had changed, and I said, "Not really," but that wasn't entirely true.
"What is it?" Roxanne said as she drove out Storrow Drive, the banks of lights on one side, the banks of the river on the other. I looked out at the darkened park, the shimmering expanse of black water, the lights on the far shore that glimmered but really illuminated nothing.
"I thought I knew a lot about Angel," I said. "I thought I had a good sense of all of them."
"And now you're not so sure," she said.
"I feel like I know less and less."
"No, Jack," Roxanne said, her pretty hands, now scratched and scraped, gripping the wheel. "I think the problem is that the more you learn about this, the more you realize that it's going to take the biggest piece of the puzzle to put it all together."
"And we're getting closer," I said. "But I don't know exactly what we're getting closer to."
"It's not a what, Jack," Roxanne said. "It's a who."
# 34
Someone moved in the window at the side of the house when we pulled in. Motion-sensitive lights had flicked on and the gate had rolled closed behind us. I got out of the car and looked back at the house but the person wasn't there.
Mrs. Donovan, I presumed, and when we unlocked the side door and stepped in, she was there, in her bathrobe and slippers.
"Had to turn off the alarm," she said, like it was letting the cat out. "And now if you're in for the night, I'll just turn it back on."
She punched a button in the panel on the wall and a green light showed. I thanked her for waiting up so late and she said she'd just gotten back. She'd gone to her grandson's birthday party in Arlington, and he was three and what a sweetheart, but she stayed late to talk. She saw my hand and asked what had happened. I said we'd gotten into a bit of an altercation on the streets and she looked shocked and ashamed. She asked if we were okay, and I said we were fine, and she said she didn't know what the world was coming to; when she was young you could walk all over Boston any time of day or night and not worry about a thing. I started to say it was just one of those fluke things, and then I stopped.
"Mrs. Donovan," I said. "Somebody doesn't want me to ask questions about Angel Moretti. For the newspaper, I mean."
"Why on earth?" she said.
"I'm not sure."
"Such a pretty girl. What a shame."
"You knew her?" Roxanne said, smiling.
"Oh, she'd been to the house. One time Mr. Dalton sent her over to pick up something. Another time she came with David so they could get ready for some meeting or other. She had the loveliest skin. Like a baby's. Why would they not want you to ask about her, unless— oh, my goodness."
"Yes," I said. "It's a bit scary, so you be careful. If anyone calls or tries to get in."
"I will, by God."
"Had you seen her recently?"
"Oh, a few weeks ago. She liked it here. She seemed to really make herself at home. Just a child, though. What a terrible thing."
I looked at Roxanne and our eyes met. I wondered what sort of meeting David and Angel would have had to prepare for, and I heard Angel's voice again: _David, let's take_ Escape _over to Bar Harbor_.
Mrs. Donovan said there was fettucine in the refrigerator. Cookies and milk. Cold beer and soft drinks in the pantry, and red wine in the closet at the back of the kitchen. There was a corkscrew in the drawer to the left of the big slate sink. Our room was all set, but she'd opened the windows to air the fourth floor because it heated up during the day, and now we might be cold.
We thanked her and said good night, and I went to the refrigerator and took out a Beck's. Roxanne seemed to deflate before my eyes, her color draining. I went to her and put my arm around her shoulders. I thanked her for staying beside me. I said I was sorry she'd been drawn into the mess. I said I'd write the story and we'd be out of here by noon, headed home to Maine. I asked her if she'd felt any more of those twinges, and she smiled wanly at me and said no, but she'd been busy.
So up to bed we went. Roxanne went into the bathroom, then came out and slipped off her clothes and got into a T-shirt and under the covers. She closed her eyes and sighed and I said, "I know," and awkwardly started to take my shirt off.
The phone rang. I ignored it and it stopped and I had my shirt off when there was a knock on the door, Mrs. Donovan saying, "Jack, that call is for you, dear."
I looked at Roxanne, who opened her eyes.
"Myra or Sullivan," I said. "Or Clair. They're the only ones I gave this number to."
I thanked Mrs. Donovan, then looked to the cordless phone on the bureau but the receiver was gone. I opened the door as Mrs. Donovan started down the stairs and asked her if there was another phone on this floor and she said no, but there was one in David's third-floor study, and she'd show me. I put my shirt back on and followed her. She led the way downstairs and down a hall, opened a door, and turned on a light. The study was dark-paneled and book-lined and there was a phone on the desk. I could see a light flashing. Mrs. Donovan headed back to bed.
It was a phone and answering machine and intercom and who knew what else. I picked up the receiver and said hello but got a dial tone. I looked at the buttons and saw that there were three phone lines. I pushed another button and got nothing at all, then hit another button and the machine started to play messages. It said the Connellys had six. I didn't know how to turn it off.
Six messages. I grabbed a piece of paper from a brass tray, a pen from the matching cup. Started to take the messages, the numbers, part of me feeling like I shouldn't listen, but it was too late.
Kip wanted David to call him about a trip following whales south from Baja, three weeks in October. Cassandra wanted to talk to Maddie about Dylan getting together with Maeve, but if they'd left for Maine, it was too late. John from the boatyard called with a question about _Serendipity_ , he'd try David in Maine. Patrick called, said he'd gotten wind of a very interesting deal on land outside Jackson Hole, call him back. Somebody from John Kerry's office for David or Maddie, saying they were playing phone tag.
The next message began with a hiss and a rattle, and then the voice, not human but a machine.
"Hello, Maddie and David," it said, monotone with an odd inflection, like a robot. "Relaxing? Well, don't. Because you're not off the hook. I know your secret. I have the book."
A chill went through me. I stopped writing, then started again.
"I won't tell. Not yet. I want to be fair and give you a chance to make an arrangement. We will talk. And don't call the police because I'll know and the secret will be out."
There was a moment of hiss, then a car accelerating. Traffic noise. A robot at a phone booth? A tape played into a pay phone.
I stood there, the pen in my hand. The machine made a musical flourish sort of sound that meant all of the messages had been played. I wondered if it saved them and I looked at the machine to see if there was a way to do that. I'd want Maddie and David to hear it.
Or would I want them to know I'd heard it, too?
_You're not off the hook. I know your secret._
Questions rushed at me. What secret? What hook? What sort of arrangement? Blackmail—it had to be. Why would they be off the hook? Because of Angel?
I stood in the stillness of the room and felt sick, that nauseating flutter of betrayal. I looked at the machine but it was silent now, its lights off, like some sort of venomous snake recoiled after striking. I backed away from the desk and turned off the light. Paper in hand, I made my way upstairs through the dim hallways, back to the room, where I closed the door behind me and turned the key in the lock.
"Who was it?" Roxanne said from the bed.
"I don't know," I said.
# 35
We talked well into the morning, lying there in the darkness, hands intertwined, our world shrunk to this string of words uttered by a machine. I told Roxanne it was the voice of a computer reading text. Most word-processing programs had it. My best guess was that someone had typed the message, taped it by holding a recorder up to the computer speaker, then replayed it into the receiver of a pay phone.
"Should we call the police now?" I said.
"I don't know," she said. "David and Maddie are our friends. Maybe we should go to them first."
"Maybe they need help," I said.
"If they aren't off the hook, that means they've been on one."
"And someone knows their secret."
"What could that be?"
"I don't know," I said. "It could be your abuse report. Maybe something leaked out."
"But that's nearly over. And remember, Maddie was crying. David saying it was going to be okay."
"Maybe it isn't going to be okay now," I said.
"We have to tell them, don't we?" Roxanne said.
"Because I don't know if the message is still there. We can't just pretend we didn't hear it."
We talked a while longer, but found no easier solution. Then we slept, holding each other close. When I awoke, light was streaming in and I could hear traffic moving. I looked at my watch. It was almost seven-thirty. I eased out of bed and stood and I hurt everywhere, my back, my legs, my shoulders, even my feet.
As the pain jabbed, the events of the previous night cornered me again. How to tell David and Maddie, and when. I moved to the bathroom and closed the door and turned on the shower. I stood under it for a long time, my taped fingers held outside the spray, and some of the pain eased. The situation remained unchanged.
I got out of the shower and dried myself. I was shaving when Roxanne opened the door, peeled her T-shirt off, and turned the shower on.
"I'm going with you," she said, as she held her arm out to test the temperature. "I'm not staying here alone."
So we ate Mrs. Donovan's scones and tea, listened to her stories about the birthday party. We tried to hold up our end of the conversation but we were distracted, and after half a cup of tea, I went upstairs and got our bags and brought them down. I thanked Mrs. Donovan for all of her help and she said it was nothing, she hoped we'd be back. I handed her the piece of paper with the messages from the night before.
All but one.
The morning was a blur. I spent it at a desk in the bureau, notes spread around me, still working the phones. I got Dalton's wife, Sylvie, who was very patronizing to me and Angel both. But she did say she suggested "Timothy" outfit the girl so she wouldn't embarrass everyone at a dinner. If she thought her husband had had an affair with Angel, she didn't reveal that to me.
I got Mrs. Moretti, but she didn't seem to understand what I was driving at with my questions about Angel stepping out and up. Finally I asked her what she thought of her daughter hanging out with all these wealthy people, and she said people were people, money didn't matter.
And I talked to Sullivan again. She asked how I was feeling, said they were still looking for both Mick and the kids who attacked us. I asked about the safe-deposit box and Sullivan said that was still under investigation. Off the record, she said they'd just located a box in Angel's name, but it was empty. They were checking to see if there were more.
And then Sullivan said, "You got anything to tell me?"
I opened my mouth, felt the words nearly spill out. But then I said no, I didn't have anything at the moment, but I might have something soon. She pushed but I held fast. And then I settled in and wrote for two solid hours, the words pouring out of me, or as fast as they could pour with my finger broken and the background of the story a tangle of secrets.
BOSTON _—In the months before she was murdered and buried in a shallow grave in the Maine woods, Angel Moretti had begun to explore a world both close to and light-years away from her life growing up in the North End._
_"You'd look around and she'd be talking to the president of Harvard or some major philanthropist," said Timothy Dalton, Moretti's supervisor at Sky Blue Foundation, the charitable organization run by David and Maddie Connelly. "Just like she belonged there. She was a very quick study._ "
_And Moretti, who was strikingly attractive, was equally at_ _home in the foundation's staid offices in the financial district, at a black-tie benefit, or with the Connellys themselves. Just last week David and Maddie Connelly invited Moretti and a few other foundation staff to visit the family's oceanfront summer home in Blue Harbor, Maine, a stay that included trips on the Connelly yacht, Escape._
_But if her entrée into the World of Boston's wealthy upper crust was an escape of sorts, Moretti didn't forget her roots. She still lived at home with her parents on Michelangelo Street and got her closest friend from childhood a job at Sky Blue, too._
_"She was a great kid," said Monica Vitale. "We were still best friends, no matter what happened."_
_At this point, police don't know._
I gave Myra the story at twelve-thirty. She gave it an initial read and liked it, spotted a few holes, some ambiguous constructions. I filled and fixed. Myra said she'd move the story along and would call if the national desk had questions. Roxanne, who had been working in the interview room, gathered up her stuff and we left Boston—but not the questions it had raised.
They stayed with us all the way to Maine. But what secret did the Connellys have that an extortionist could use? Was a kid with a bruise enough? A State abuse investigation. Maybe, if the caller didn't know the case was nearly closed.
We clung to that and concocted a theory. What if someone in Roxanne's department had seen the complaint, spotted the Connelly name? What if that person had decided it was worth a try, if the Connellys didn't want the story to come out.
But when Roxanne tried to think of someone in her office who might even consider doing such a thing, she couldn't. She knew them all and trusted them. We felt we knew Maddie and David and trusted them, too.
But were we wrong? Could we still trust our own instincts? What did we do with our secret if we didn't know theirs?
It was unsettling, and when we crossed the Piscataqua Bridge into Maine, the steeples of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, below us, boats streaking up and down the river, there was no relief. Normally when we returned to Maine, a weight lifted from us. This time the problem loomed closer with each passing mile.
"A fine mess we've gotten ourselves into," I said as we drove inexorably north.
Roxanne looked at my splinted finger, cradled on my lap.
"You think they'll come after you up here?" she said.
"I hope so."
"You do?"
"They're the only devil we know," I said.
"And there are others out there."
"Yes," I said. "We know that, too."
# 36
We stopped in South Portland at Roxanne's condo, but only long enough for her to pick up clothes and mail before we kept on going. It was almost five o'clock when we swung off Route 3 in Waldo County and began to thread our way through the hills to our own sleepy hollow.
We drove in silence as the woods reeled by. After our time in Boston with the Connellys, the trailers seemed shabbier: The ramshackle farmhouses seemed closer to the time when they finally would collapse and their wreckage would be swallowed up by the sumac and poplar that had already claimed the pastures. But the hills seemed wilder, the woods lusher, the place even more filled with the sense of timeless mystery that had drawn me to it and kept me here.
I wondered what David and Maddie Connelly would think, whether they'd understand.
"You think David will still come to cut wood with you and Clair?" Roxanne asked as we clattered onto a gravel road.
"I don't know," I said. "He said he wanted to."
"You think that was just talk?"
"I didn't think so."
"But now you're not sure?"
When we got to the house and brought in our bags, the answering machine was blinking its single red eye. I looked at it, paused and took a breath, not wanting to lift the lid on another Pandora's box. Roxanne was killing a spider on the counter, chasing it with a crumpled napkin as it scurried for its life. Roxanne squashed it and I hoped that wasn't bad karma. I touched the button and bent to listen.
Clair, welcoming us back. He'd collected our mail from the box by the road and would drop it off. Roxanne's supervisor, just checking in. He said he was getting questions from on high about the case in Blue Harbor. Cade, the cop, saying he wanted to get together when I got back so we could compare notes. And David Connelly, his voice buoyant even on the machine. He said he'd bought a new chain saw, hoped my friend and I didn't laugh at him, like he was a kid on the playground with new white sneakers. He said to call him when we were settled in.
"See," Roxanne said. "It wasn't just talk."
"Yeah," I said. "Maybe they're okay, like we thought."
Roxanne went up to the loft with one bag, I took the other to the bathroom to start laundry. When I had, I went up the stairs, too, and she was unpacking things she hadn't used. A silk blouse. A white sweater. A dark green teddy. I looked at it on the bed.
"I've never seen that before," I said.
"You sure?"
"I think I would have remembered."
"I thought we'd have more time in Boston," Roxanne said.
She smiled and picked the teddy up by the straps, which were thin strips of ribbon. I looked at the lace as Roxanne held it up to her chest.
"You like?"
"If's hard to tell, with you all bundled up like an Eskimo."
"Shorts and a T-shirt?"
"It's all relative."
"So you think I should model it for you?"
"You don't have to, if you have other things to do."
"Close your eyes," she said.
I did. Heard the wispy sound of fabric slipping off skin. Then Roxanne said, '"Now you can open them."
She was beautiful, dark hair against the pale skin of her bare shoulders. Brown eyes shining, her breasts nestled under the spider's web of lace. She bent and picked up the clothes from the bed and tossed them to the floor. Drew the covers back and slipped into the bed and slid over.
"You're sure?" I said.
"Do I seem uncertain to you?"
"No."
"Then come to me."
I undressed and got into the bed beside her and looked at her, ran my hand over the curve of her hip. She kissed me gently and I drew in a breath, still as amazed by her touch as I was the very first time.
"You don't seem uncertain at all," I said.
"We can't let anything stop us. Or anyone. Not now."
"No."
"Because this is the most important thing."
"Yes it is."
She kissed me again.
"You know it comes down to just us, Jack McMorrow," she said.
"I know."
Another kiss, this time longer.
"And maybe in a few months, you won't want to see me in this," Roxanne said.
"Sure I will," I said.
I slipped one strap off her shoulder, ran my hand over her, the splint cold against her skin. She flinched, then smiled and put an arm around me and pulled me closer and kissed me long and hard. When she pulled back, she whispered, almost to herself, "They're not going to stop us."
Before I could agree, she drew me to her and we pressed together, melted into each other, and the teddy began to peel away.
"But I just put it on," Roxanne murmured, the gathering of silk around her waist, my arms around her, too.
We'd dozed. I was dreaming there was a woodpecker pounding against the side of the house and then I awoke, Roxanne nestled against me, the dream dissolved but the pounding still going on.
It was someone knocking. Easing into consciousness, I focused on the gray dusk through the skylight. I eased away from Roxanne and swung off the bed, found my shorts and shirt and put them on. Skipped down the stairs and across to the door. I heard footsteps crossing the gravel and I opened the door just as Clair swung up into the cab of his truck.
He swung back down, then reached into the cab and came out with a sheaf of mail. The envelope on top was in a plastic bag.
"You'd better look at that one," Clair said.
I did, holding it up in the headlights of the truck. The address was written in big letters: roxanne masterson, prosperity, maine. The return address was smaller and I held it closer to read it.
Froze.
"Whoa," I said.
"Yeah," Clair said.
Roxanne's name was in black. The return address was written in dark red marker the color of blood: ANGEL MORETTI, BOSTON, MASS.
# 37
It was dark when Detective Cade pulled in. He stepped into the kitchen and peered at the envelope, still in the plastic bag, lying on the kitchen table like a sleeping snake.
"Postmark is Boston," he said.
"Friday," I said.
"Weren't you down there?" Cade said.
"Yes," I said. "We both were. Got back today, a little after five."
"Could have just delivered the message to you personally," he said.
"Somebody did," I said, and I held up my splinted finger.
"They don't like your writing style?" Cade said.
"More the subject matter."
He picked up the bag and pivoted it in front of him.
"The red ink is a little much," he said.
"Melodramatic," Roxanne said.
"That, too," he said.
He squeezed the envelope and shook it.
"Don't think it'll explode," Cade said. "Let's see what's inside, if you don't mind us reading your mail, ma'am."
He opened the bag, shook the envelope out, and slipped a pocketknife from his jeans. Holding the envelope by its edges, he sliced the end. He reached in with two fingers and extracted a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded the paper and newspaper clippings fell onto the table. One was my first story in the _Times_ about Angel being found. The other was Angel's obituary from the _Globe_.
Angel's name had been crossed out and Roxanne's had been printed above it. Where the obituary listed survivors, the Moretti relatives' names had been crossed out and someone had written "Nobody."
"What's the letter say?" Roxanne said, her voice hard and grim.
Cade laid it on the table and we read it ourselves.
_Ms. Masterson. Did I get your attention? Good._
_Here's the message._
_Enough is enough. Tell your "friend" to let Angel rest in peace and her parents at least have their memories. She may not have been as perfect a girl as they think, but she tried to be a good person. So tell Jack McMorrow thanks but no thanks. The next story he puts in the paper should be when they catch the person that killed Angel. He will know when that happens._
_PS: Just because you are a reporter or are shacking up with one doesn't mean bad things can't happen to you. And I mean very bad. That's not a threat. It's a fact. If you're smart, you'll believe me, and so will he. One murder is enough, don't you think? And remember, the last one happened in Maine, right near you. It could happen again, right in your own backyard in Prosperity, Maine. Except this time you could both end up where nobody will ever find you._
_Tell Jack McMorrow that he might not care about saving himself, but you could die too unless he stops asking questions, because these killers won't leave witnesses._
_Signed,_
_A friend of Angel_
"The family," I said.
"Or someone who wants you to think it's the family," Clair said.
"Or Monica," Roxanne said.
"But I just talked to her yesterday. After this was mailed."
"How talkative was she?" Cade said.
"Pretty talkative. I told Sullivan about it."
Cade asked me to tell him what I'd told Sullivan about my conversation with Monica. Sullivan had called him but she was always in a hurry, he said, and he wanted it unedited. We sat at the table, the four of us, and they drank coffee and I had tea as I recounted the stuff about Angel having a sudden influx of cash. Cade took some notes. He asked me if I thought Monica was truthful and I said I thought she was, to a point, but she also was loyal to Angel. Then he asked me if there was another story in the works, and I looked at Roxanne and she said, "Yes."
"Will you write about these threats?"
"I think it's time," I said. "But the _Times_ probably will have someone else write the story."
"Really," Cade said. "Then I'd advise you to be cautious, you and Roxanne both. That letter sounds a little goofy, but Angel Moretti, she's very dead. Nothing goofy about that at all."
"I'll be with her," Clair said, and Roxanne didn't decline his services.
Before Cade left, I copied the envelope and the notes and the clippings. He put all of it back in the bag, saying they'd had a case in Maine where they'd gotten DNA from the saliva left when a guy had licked an envelope. "Don't spread that around," he said, "or they'll all start using those little sponges."
I said I'd keep that in mind and I followed him outside.
We stood for a moment by his car, the radio coughing in the still summer night. Moths, drawn from the black fields and woods, pelted the light on the shed like snow and bats swooped out of the darkness.
"So what do you think?" I said.
"I think I meant it about being cautious," Cade said, one hand on the door handle. "It's true what they say about killing getting a lot easier after the first time. Especially if it's to cover up the first one. There may not have been a good reason for the first murder, but there sure is a good reason for the second."
"I'll remember. Anything else?"
"About this? Off the record, that it's going to come down to one or both of two things: money or sex. I think Angel Moretti was handing out one and taking in the other, and she got in too deep. What do you think?"
I watched the moths and bats, and the computer voice ran through my mind. _You're not off the hook_. When I glanced at Cade, I could see him watching me, searching my face for clues.
"I think I'm going to need to talk to you," I said.
"When?"
"Tomorrow. Maybe in the afternoon."
"I thought you were going to say something like that, Jack," Cade said, opening the car door.
"Why's that?" I said.
"Because you have a conscience, my friend."
"I'll call you."
"No," Cade said, showing a glimmer of the hardened cop beneath the facade of the boyish detective. "I'll call you."
# 38
Clair said he didn't come by the house at all during the night. I didn't believe him but I had to take his word for it, because I wouldn't have heard him if he'd been at the foot of the bed. Most of the time his were useless skills, he said: the ability to move silently through woods or a house or an enemy encampment, to kill somebody before they could kill him.
But there were times when Clair came in handy.
We left at nine, the three of us. Roxanne had called the number Devlin left and this time a man answered and said Devlin couldn't come to the phone, but she wanted to see us. Roxanne said we were on our way; the man, who identified himself as Gary, gave us directions to the town of Castleton, twenty minutes north of Blue Harbor.
With Clair at the wheel, we followed the directions down to the coast, a bank of thunderclouds trailing us as we drove east. It was sunny over the bay, blue sky and blue-green water, the bristled islands and lobster boats plying between them. We wended our way north behind tourists who had come to see this place where all was well and the landscape wasn't despoiled and the people led simple lives that left them content.
I wondered what Devlin had thought of the Maine beyond the Connellys' cloistered and privileged world. Clair said she'd apparently liked it well enough to stay.
The directions took us past the Castleton Quik-Stop, a store at a crossroads with two houses and a sagging chicken barn, the metal roof torn by the wind. We continued on for another five miles, took a right at a junkyard, and drove down a side road. After a mile and twotenths, we looked for a sign that said r&s and turned down a driveway through the woods. A hundred yards in was a garage, and next to it, a blue mobile home. There was an old Volkswagen out front, a big lobster skiff on a trailer. The trailer had a flat tire. There were wire lobster traps stacked on one side of the boat.
The trailer's screen door opened and a woman stood in the doorway. She was young, with a round fair face and cropped blonde hair with an inch of dark roots. She was wearing cutoff dungarees and a white T-shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The three of us got out and walked toward the door.
"You're Devlin," Roxanne said.
"Yeah," she said, "and I didn't do anything wrong."
Devlin turned and went back inside and the three of us followed. The trailer was dark beneath the trees, and it was neat, picked up for company. There were men's boots and sneakers lined up by the door, a rifle and a shotgun on a plastic rack that was screwed to the wall. I saw Clair take it in, move to the side, and listen.
"There's enough of you, isn't there," Devlin said. "Must think I'm a very dangerous sort of criminal."
"This is Mr. McMorrow, and this is Mr. Varney," Roxanne said. "We work together."
We said hello and she nodded. The place smelled like cigarettes, and Devlin took a pack off the round dinette table and lighted one with a plastic lighter. The television was on, a talk show, and she walked over in her bare feet and turned it off. She was sturdily built, with muscular legs and sunburned shoulders, and I wondered if she'd been lobstering, too.
"So I heard you were looking for me," Devlin said.
"Yes," Roxanne said. "But I thought you were in Ireland."
"No way," Devlin said. "I didn't come all the way here to turn around and go back with my tail between my bloody legs."
Devlin moved to the counter and leaned. Roxanne took a legal pad and pen from her bag and sat at the table. She laid the pen across the pad.
"So you know what they're saying about you?" she said.
"Why don't you tell me," Devlin said.
Roxanne did. And then she told Devlin that she'd seen the bruises.
"Don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see them, do you," Devlin said. "I mean, I know they're there. And I know I did them."
Roxanne, used to nursing the truth out of people, looked up at her in surprise.
"Well, you look at the kid, she turns purple. I took her by the shoulder to make her mind, that's all. She's lucky I didn't turn her over my knee as well. When I was a kid, my ma told me to stop doing something, I stopped. I didn't look her in the eye and keep right on doing it just to see what would happen."
"Is that what Maeve did?"
"Sure. Testing me, you know. She says, 'You're not my mother. You can't tell me what to do.' I say to myself, well, nip this one in the bud. I say, 'I'm not your mother but I'm still the boss. And it's time to get out of that wet bathing suit before you ruin the furniture.' Maddie was all into the furniture, all these grand antiques and such. So Maeve starts in with, 'You're not the boss of me,' and I take her by the shoulder and bring her into the bath and she's thrashing and I take the suit off her and put her in the tub."
"Was this a one-time thing?" Roxanne said.
"Well, yeah, when I saw that touching her—it's like she's made out of clay. Leaves these great hand marks. You saw 'em."
"Yes."
Roxanne had picked up the pen and was taking notes.
"So that night, it's like the little kid knows she has me, because of the bruises. I ask her to put her crayons away and she says, 'Why can't you do it?' I say, 'Because you're going to do it.' She says, 'Michaela'— that was the au pair before me—she says, 'Michaela never made me pick up crayons.' I said, 'I'm here now and I do.' She gets up off the floor where she's doing her coloring and she starts to walk away. I stop her, but I know I can't grab her, you know? The bruises. So I take her to the closet and I give her a time-out."
Roxanne wrote. Clair turned to the door and listened as a truck approached out on the main road.
"Was it dark in the closet?" Roxanne said.
"Well, yeah. There's a light but I don't think she could reach it."
"Did she cry?"
"Yeah, for a few minutes. But it was like, if I didn't tell her who was who, I was done. She would've walked all over me the rest of the summer, now wouldn't she?"
"So she cried and then what?"
"And then she stopped. And then I let her out. I figured that was that. I mean, I didn't hit her. If I had talked that way to my mother, I would've been lifting myself up off the floor."
"So then what happened?" Roxanne said, her voice calm and noncommittal.
Devlin turned and snubbed out her cigarette in a scallop shell on the counter.
"Well, Maddie, she called me in the next night as well. Maeve tattled on me, you know. I say, 'I just held her by the shoulder. You know how easy she bruises.' She says, 'Yes, and what about locking her up in the dark? That was very upsetting to her.' I say, 'It was a time-out, like you told me to do.' She says, 'I didn't mean for you to lock her up in the closet. Think of the psychological damage that can cause.' All this kind of shit. I could see there was no talking about it."
"No?"
"Oh, she had an envelope all ready. All the rest of my pay in cash, as well."
"And a ticket home?"
"No, that came the next day. So she gives me the money and she's nice enough about it, you know? I mean, she didn't say I was a child beater. She said we just had different ideas about what is 'appropriate discipline.' I told her this was nothing compared to what I got when I was a kid."
"So it was amicable, your parting?"
"I thought so. Then I hear she's reported me to the government. That's lovely. That you're looking for me in Ireland like I'm a bleedin' murderer."
"Who told you that?"
"My aunt."
"I thought she hadn't seen you in years."
Devlin smiled slyly. "Yeah, well she isn't going to turn in her own family now, is she?"
Roxanne gave her a long look, then said, "That's not exactly how it went. Somebody else saw the bruises and called my agency and I came to check it out. That's when Maddie told me. But I needed your side of it."
"Well, that's what I'm giving you. But you know what? It's not like they're so lily white."
"Oh," Roxanne said.
We listened.
"Yeah, you think they're a bunch of effing angels? I don't think so. Her, I don't think she's all right in the head. I mean, I was there, what, two months? I hear 'em fighting like a coupla cats."
"About what?" Roxanne said.
"I couldn't tell you. Over money, I think. Him saying, 'Just pay it.' Her saying, 'No, it's not right.' That's all I know about that one. Maybe the money supply isn't as endless as people think. You know how much that boat cost?"
"I do," I said. "So what do you mean about Mrs. Connelly not being right?"
"I don't know. She reminded me of one of my cousins at home. She gets depressed, goes down in this black hole of a mood. Maddie was kind of like that. Sometimes she was okay, but sometimes, when she was alone, you'd come in and you'd know something was not right about her."
"Like she was sad?"
"Very. But that's not the worst of it. They report me to the government for being an unfit nanny or whatever, and he's taking some girl for a roll while the wife is away."
Roxanne looked up from her pad. I felt like I'd been punched.
"What makes you say that, Devlin?" Roxanne said, still calm.
Devlin paused, lighted another cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a blue cloud.
"Because I heard them," she said, delivering her coup de grace.
"You heard them what?"
"I heard them... you know... doing it."
She smiled slyly.
"You see, Maddie and Maeve, they'd gone home to Boston because Maeve had a doctor's appointment. David was supposed to be going on some boat trip for a couple of days, so I had the weekend off and I was staying here with this guy I met. Gary. I mean, I need to be with some real people once in a while, don't I? This was, what? Six weeks ago? But I forgot something. Something important. So I take Gary's truck and I go back. There's this car out by the garages there, but I didn't think much of it. But then I go in and I'm going to my room and I hear them. I mean, you could hear them all over the house. Him moaning and groaning. Girl was practically screaming. 'Oh God, oh God.' I say to myself, 'Well, that's lovely. Wife's away, the cat's having a good old time. Anyway, she sounded fake to me, if you want to know."
"It wasn't Maddie?"
"No, you could tell she was much younger than Maddie."
"So then what happened?" Roxanne said.
"I left. I was disgusted, really. Mr. Family Man. Mr. Daddy. And he's got some bimbo he probably met at some la-di-da party and he's sneaking her up for a ride when the wife's away, you know? Tucking it right to her, and in his wife's bed as well. Isn't that grand?"
I was sickened, disillusioned. This was the David Connelly of the stereotype, not the one I knew. Or maybe I didn't know him at all.
"And then they run me out of the place for touching their kid too hard? Have you calling my aunt like I was beating their kid with a club?"
"So what did you do?" Roxanne said.
"When?"
"In the house that day."
"Nothing. I said to myself, 'Aren't these people the biggest phonies. Rich, famous phonies.' And I snuck out, very quiet like. They never even knew I was there."
"Which came first?" I said.
"Which what?" she said.
"The argument or walking in on somebody in the house?"
She had to think for a moment.
"Them in the house," Devlin said. "They had fights before, but the one I was telling you about was right before I left."
"And what kind of car was it that day when you went there?" I said.
"Gary's?" she said. "It's a truck. A Chevy. He carries lobster traps with it. He'll be home in a little while, if you don't believe me. I told him when I got back, I said, 'You won't believe—"
"No," I said. "By the garages that day. What kind of car was that?"
"Oh, that," Devlin said. "It was an Audi. Fancy thing. It was from Massachusetts and there was a feather hanging from the mirror. It was white."
"The car?" I asked.
"No," she said. "The feather. The car was silver."
# 39
We drove out the main road, past the Castleton Quik-Stop, Clair at the wheel, me in front, Roxanne working in back. The clouds had overtaken us from the west and the air was still.
"One case closed," Roxanne said.
"And another blown wide open," I said.
"There are a lot of silver Audis in Massachusetts," Clair said.
"Not with feathers," Roxanne said.
"We may never know for sure," I said.
"Maybe we should just go and ask him," Clair said.
"Maybe we should," I said. "But not today."
I was thinking of the phone message at the house in Back Bay, and what Devlin had said about David and Maddie and their argument. David saying, "Just pay it." Maddie saying, "No, it's not right." The computer voice saying, "You're not off the hook yet."
As it started to rain, the drops spattering the road like something sprayed from a plane, I reached for the phone. I called Myra in Boston. She answered and I asked if she knew the librarian at the _Globe_. She said she did, quite well actually. I said that was good because I needed a favor. I needed everything they had in their file on Maddie Connelly, and I needed it faxed right away. A LexisNexis search, too. Myra said she'd do a search. She asked if Tuesday's story still held.
"Yeah," I said. "But I think it's the tip of the iceberg."
And I hung up.
"Why Maddie?" Clair said.
"They weren't talking about a light bill," I said.
"And someone knows their secret, has the book," Roxanne said.
"So if they're being squeezed, which one would have a secret?" Clair said.
"Think of David Connelly's life," I said. "Most of it has been spent in and around the spotlight. When he was at Harvard partying, you heard about it. Afterwards he couldn't date somebody without it ending up in the paper somewhere. Kathleen Kind said she was linked to him because they had a breakfast meeting. So how many secrets can he have?"
"At least one," Roxanne said.
"So maybe it was this Devlin with the computer message," Clair said. "Disgruntled former nanny decides to take some Connelly money with her."
"Then why tell Roxanne about it?" I said. "A secret isn't worth anything once it's out. No, I'm thinking that unless he killed somebody, David Connelly isn't going to scare too easily. An affair? It's all been said before."
"And Maddie?" Roxanne said.
"She's more the enigma," I said. "She's the one whose life isn't an open book."
It was a scattering of papers, spat from the fax machine and spilled onto the desk and the floor. I gathered them up and checked e-mail, but the results of the LexisNexis search hadn't been sent. While Roxanne talked to someone at DHS on the phone in the kitchen, Clair made lunch, and the rain drummed on the deck out back. I sorted through the clippings.
Most were from the _Globe_ , and most were Maddie with David. They made the party page a couple of times a year; David in a tux, the big amiable grin fixed on some hapless lesser mortal. Maddie in dresses and gowns and a-soft smile as she greeted someone, an earnest, pensive look in conversation.
She was alone in some stories, mostly announcements of grants, program kickoffs. Finally there was a story from the _Times_ , a profile that said Maddie Boswell Connelly was more than an appendage to another handsome Connelly. It talked about her interest in children and foster care, in providing psychological services for troubled youth. There was a reference to her brother Clinton's suicide in Amherst, Mass., her parents' subsequent divorce. Maddie was quoted as saying the ordeal was very difficult, that she did not believe her brother really intended to take his life.
"Clint was a wonderful brother and I worshipped him," she'd said.
Clair brought in tuna sandwiches and pasta salad. Roxanne was off the phone and she came over and we ate, and I handed the clips around as I finished them. Maeve's birth was a short story in the _Globe_ , a blurb in _Time_ magazine. David and Maddie's wedding was a chunk of the Life and Leisure section front in the _Globe_. They looked young and beautiful, but when I looked more closely at the photo, Maddie's eyes seemed to have an undertone of sadness, even with her smile.
I looked from photo to photo. It seemed that no matter what the story was about, I saw the same hint of melancholy.
"She was a beautiful bride," Roxanne said. "Oh, and look at Maeve. What a cute baby."
I reached over and put my arm around her waist.
"But look at her eyes," I said.
Roxanne looked up from a clipping.
"Yeah," she said. "It's almost like she knows this is all too good to be true."
"That it's somehow built on sand."
"But have you seen that in her, in person?" Roxanne said.
"A little," I said. "It's like she's wistful sometimes."
"Some people," Clair said, "are just philosophically sad."
And Maddie had good reason. Her father, who taught mathematics at Amherst, died in a car accident on Route 2 when Maddie was a sophomore at Harvard. Her mother, who taught anthropology at Amherst, died of liver failure five years later. She was fifty-two. I wondered if she took to alcohol to combat loneliness, whether she ever recovered from the loss of her son.
I handed the clips off and they read them. The rain was heavier and I went to the sliding glass door and closed it to keep the spray from driving in. I stood and looked out at the sky, which was darker now, with billowing clouds like something from a painting. The trees at the edge of the woods were a deep shining green, a dense leafy barrier that hid everything behind it. For a moment I felt an odd twinge of fear, that so much around me was unknown. I shook it off.
"It really is very sad," Roxanne said. "It's like somebody up there decided to give Maddie the whole family's share of good luck."
"I wonder if that bothers her," Clair said. "The brother shoots himself with her in the room. The father drives into a tree. The mother, maybe she just died, maybe she drank herself to death."
"And then she scores one of the most eligible bachelors in New England," I said.
"I don't know," Roxanne said. "It's not like she made those bad things happen."
"No," I said.
"Misplaced guilt," Clair said. "One of the most common symptoms of post-traumatic stress. The soldier who made it when his buddies didn't."
"Maddie Connelly with PTSD?" I said.
Roxanne was leaning over the table, reading the wedding story. I went to the computer and checked e-mail again. This time the LexisNexis search results were in, forwarded from Myra. Her note said, "Happy hunting." I scrolled down.
A lot of it we had. But they'd run Sky Blue Foundation, too, so there was stuff about grants and other Connellys who were only marginally connected to the foundation. And then there were older stories, retrieved from some data bank. Maddie's making the dean's list at Harvard, as reported in the Amherst _Daily Collegian_. Maddie's engagement in the _Berkshire Eagle_. And one last story, in the chronological listing.
It was from the _Collegian_ , March 4, 1977. It was short, five paragraphs saying Clinton Archer Boswell's death was ruled a suicide. The last paragraph said the Hampshire County Coroner's Office did not call Madeline "Maddie" Boswell, seven, to testify at the inquest for her brother's death, despite the fact that she was the only eyewitness. _A spokesman for the Coroner's Office cited Miss Boswell's age and that the trauma inflicted upon her had left her a "less than credible" witness. "Her recollection of her brother's death isn't supported by physical evidence," the spokesman said, "and may have been induced by hysteria and medication given her after the incident."_
I read that paragraph to Roxanne.
"That's horrible," she said. "The poor little girl."
"I wonder what she imagined," I said.
"Probably that some mysterious assailant came in and killed the brother and ran away," Clair said. "Anything to keep her from believing her beloved brother would want to leave her."
"But I don't see this as a secret," Roxanne said. "It's in the paper."
"True," I said.
"My vote is the husband screwing around," Clair said. "He's older now. Has a daughter who could hear about it if it comes out somehow. So it would be damaging."
"And I can't believe Devlin has kept this to herself," Roxanne said.
"Maybe Devlin's lobsterman boyfriend decided to shake the Connelly tree, see what falls," Clair said. "Could be a dangerous business."
"I hope not," I said.
"Why?" Roxanne said.
"Because it's our turn to shake next," I said.
# 40
I called the Connellys in Blue Harbor and told them we were going to be nearby, thought we might stop in. David sounded genuinely pleased, said it was a wild day on the water, that they'd gotten in just before the storm really broke. He said Clair was welcome, too; he needed some tips about the new chain saw. We'd do that, then have a couple of beers, some dinner, and watch the lightning over the bay.
How was that for a plan?
Fine, I said.
Roxanne said we had to call the police soon and I said, that night, as soon as we left. I felt guilty, but then I thought of Angel, dead and barely buried, and the pangs subsided.
We drove all the way east to Blue Harbor, where the rain still was pelting and the shop lights were on and people were scurrying from store to store in green and yellow slickers. The wine shop was busy but we stopped and bought two bottles: one white, one red, both over our usual limit of ten dollars. Clair went into the hardware store and bought bar oil, files, and a sharpening guide. Roxanne bought a bouquet of fresh flowers.
When we got back in the car, I turned to both of them and said, "We haven't given up on them, have we?"
"Last of the cockeyed optimists," Clair said.
Roxanne attempted a smile, and said nothing.
The lights were on at the gate and the carriage house. The wind was whipping off the water so the rain was salty and the woods smelled of the sea. From the drive I could see whitecaps from an onshore wind, the storm swirling and sweeping in from the northeast. We bent as we ran to the door and jangled the bell, which was already tolling from the gusts. After a minute Maddie opened the door, told us to get in before we were drenched. We handed her the 'wine and the flowers and Clair said his gifts were chain-saw-related, and she said David would like that, then held out her hand and I introduced them.
Maddie said she was very pleased to meet Clair and glad to see us. She asked me what I'd done to my finger and I said it was a long story. A few minutes later we were standing in the front room with drinks in our hands, watching _Escape_ and the Whaler buck on their moorings. David bounded down the stairs with Maeve a step behind him.
"I won," he said.
"You cheated," Maeve said, tackling him around the legs.
He dragged her giggling across the floor.
"Hi there," he said to Clair. "I'm David. This is Maeve, my daughter and appendage."
"Clair Varney," Clair said.
"Clair's a girl's name," Maeve said from the floor.
"It's an either-or name," Clair said.
"Like Maeve," David said.
"Maeve's just a girl's name," the little girl said.
"You're a girl?" David said. "If I'd known that, I would have called you Lucy."
He asked about my finger, too, and I said I had a bit of a mishap. At that moment Maddie came in with a tray of shrimp and mussels and raw clams. Maeve got up and grabbed a shrimp and David was loose so he gave Roxanne something between a hug and a pat on the back. I thought I saw her stiffen but it may have been my imagination.
"Well, we have a good one going out there, don't we?" David said. "Radio says gusts up to forty knots in the next hour or so. I wanted to take the boat out in the bay but Maddie says she doesn't want to feed the Coast Guard, too. Sandy's off, or we'd have had her outvoted."
Maddie handed him a bottle of some sort of English porter.
"Good thing I'm here, too, or he would be out there," she said. "You can't leave him alone."
So we'd heard.
We watched the storm through the rain-pelted glass, drinking beer and listening to the narration of the weather radio. David pointed out the landmarks on the chart and regaled us with stories of boats that had tried to make the inner harbor and missed, a couple of them running aground right out front.
"Of course, I was out there with a light, luring them in," David said. "Can you imagine? Common as hell in the Maritimes, other places, in the nineteenth century. Lured the sailing ships onto the rocks. It was a cottage industry."
Clair told a story about Vietnamese pirates and that got them started, with David recounting sailing in Indonesia with a guy on deck with an AK-47. The stories went on and then Maddie turned to Roxanne and leaned close to her and whispered something about not drinking. Roxanne, drinking spring water, said something and smiled and Maddie hugged her with one arm, said, "Oh, I'll be so happy for you." And then she turned to the men and said, "Mind your own—"
"Beeswax," Maeve said.
It was pleasant, but our real business loomed like an approaching storm. Finally, Maeve asked Clair if he'd like to see her turtle. She said she'd see if it was awake and she scampered up the stairs just as a young woman, another au pair, this one introduced as Katie, was coming down. She turned and followed Maeve back up. David picked up the tray of shrimp and offered it to me. I said we had something to talk to them about, and the tone of my voice was like a teacher walking into an unruly classroom. They stopped talking and there was a silence and I hesitated and started in.
"When we were at your house last night," I began, "I had a call."
I told them about answering it in the study and inadvertently hitting the button on the answering machine. I said there were several messages, but it was the last one that we needed to talk about. I took out a piece of paper and read aloud.
" 'Hello, Maddie and David: Relaxing? Well, don't. Because you're not off the hook. I know your secret. I have the book.' "
I took a breath. They were both frozen in place. I continued: " 'I won't tell. Not yet. I want to be fair and give you a chance to make an arrangement. We will talk. And don't call the police because I'll know and the secret will be out.' "
The five of us stood there, the Connellys looking away. The wind buffeted the house and rain pelted the windows.
"The person left a number," I said.
David cleared his throat and Maddie said, "Oh," in a small, sad voice. And then she said, "David, I don't think I can take any more. Where will it end?"
"Honey, we'll take care of it," David said, but she pressed her hand to her mouth and stilled a sob and strode from the room into the adjoining study. David turned back to us. He tried to smile, once, then again, but it was like an engine that wouldn't start and finally he gave up.
"What's it all about?" I said.
He looked away. "Oh, it's old news, Jack. Very old. But it keeps popping up, you know? Like something that won't stay buried. It's the damnedest thing, like a ghost. Haunting us, haunting Maddie. Just when you think—"
David turned to us.
"Who have you told, Jack?"
"No one, yet," I said. "I wanted to tell you first. As a courtesy."
"Thanks. That's good of you. Listen, I think I'd better check on her. Just have a seat, okay? Don't run off or anything."
He went to the study door and opened it, stepped inside, and shouted, "Maddie, no!"
Furniture crashed and we broke for the door, Clair first. When we came into the room, Maddie was standing in front of the fireplace. She was pressing a handgun to her temple and David was standing five feet from her, both hands up in front of him, like he was surrendering.
"Nobody move or I'll pull the trigger. I will," Maddie said. "It's easy to do, you know. The finger moves and boom. A little tiny finger does all of that."
Her voice was girlish, almost singsong. Her eyes were both on us and far away. She was smiling, like a sick person who doesn't want someone to worry.
"Maddie, it's okay," David said. "Just put it down. We'll take care of it."
He took a step toward her and she said, "No," and pressed the gun hard against her skull so the end of the barrel made an indentation in her skin. David froze.
"That's the thing, David. It's not okay. It's still out there. We thought it was okay before and now it's not. It's just the same."
"We'll fix it again, honey."
"You didn't fix it last time. It fixed itself. That was our best chance and now it's back, and do you think we'll be that lucky again? It's back, and all of these people know and it'll be in the papers and Maeve will know and oh, my God."
"But they're your friends, Maddie," David said. "You're with friends. They haven't told anyone. They don't even know themselves. So we take care of it and that's the end of it."
"We don't know who it is, David. We don't know what they've done with it or who's reading it. They're probably showing it around. A made-for-TV movie. Maddie Connelly's journal."
My mind raced. Was that what this was about?
Maddie's arm was tiring and the gun barrel was sliding downward, over her cheekbone. It left a pink trail, like chalk on a board. I could see David tensing, but then her arm lifted back up. He stood stock-still. The gun, some sort of antique revolver, was heavy and it began to slip again.
"And Maeve."
"That's right, honey. Think of Maeve. She needs you. You're a wonderful mother."
"I'm not."
"You are. She loves you. I love you. We all love you, and we'll help you."
To my right, I could see Clair inching forward. There was a couch between Maddie and us, and he was moving to his right. David had gone around the couch to the left and stood at its end.
"What can you do?" Maddie was saying. "It's only a matter of—"
Clair lunged and Maddie cried out, "No!" and the gun slipped from her temple and was pointed at Clair and he had it by the barrel, ripped it from Maddie's hands, turned and tossed it onto the couch. I picked the gun up as Maddie collapsed, sobbing and limp, into David's arms and started to fall. David turned with her, like they were dancing, and then laid her on the couch and knelt beside her. Roxanne turned and closed the door, then came around the couch and put her hand on Maddie's arm.
Suddenly Maddie said, "I'm going to be sick," and David and Roxanne helped her up and they crossed the room to a door and David stopped and Roxanne and Maddie went in. Roxanne closed the door behind them and we heard Maddie begin to retch.
David turned away from the door and wiped perspiration from his forehead, focused on us, and said to Clair, "Thanks so much."
"A single-action revolver," Clair said. "You have to cock it."
I still had the revolver in my hand and I handed it to Clair. He popped the cylinder open and dropped out six hefty cartridges, forty-fours, he said. He told David it should be locked up and David said, "Could you just take it? Get it out of here completely?"
Clair asked if there were other guns in the house and David said no, not with ammunition. Clair said he'd put the revolver in the car, and he turned and left the room.
David, without looking at me, said, "I guess you're going to want some sort of explanation."
"Yes," I said. "I want to know whether you know who killed Angel."
He turned to me and, with an expression of both relief and sadness, shook his head.
"No, Jack," he said. "But you know the old saying. Be careful what you wish for. In some ways it was an answer to my prayers."
# 41
Roxanne and Maddie came out of the bathroom, Roxanne's arm around Maddie's shoulders. Maddie was holding a towel up to her chest and she was pale, her hair damp and disheveled. David went to her and she said she was okay, she wanted to change her clothes.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry."
They started to leave the room and David followed but Maddie said, "No, I'll be down," and Roxanne went with her. David went to a sideboard and poured brandy in a glass, held it up, then put it down. Maeve poked her head in, holding a small turtle, and asked where Clair was and David said he went outside. She left, feet thumping across the floor.
"Well," David said.
I didn't say anything. He held the glass of brandy out to me and I shook my head. This time he took a sip, then said, "Let's go out on the porch."
It was blustery, the wind punching off the water, and we stood against the wall of the house, out of the rain. David sipped his drink and watched the boats jerk like rearing horses on their tethers, and then he said, "Angel had something of ours. Something of Maddie's."
"A journal?" I said.
"Yeah. It has some personal stuff in it, as you can imagine. Some stuff that would really embarrass Maddie if it came out."
"I got that much."
He looked at me, then back at the water.
"I guess _embarrass_ is an understatement. Maybe _devastate_ is a better word. I mean, it's not of importance to anybody else, but to her it is. And you know how anything with the Connelly name attached to it seems to have some added value, for some strange reason. I've never been able to figure it out."
"And it's a secret. That's what the caller said."
"Well, yeah. In the sense that it's stuff nobody else has read."
"And Angel got hold of it?"
"Right. I mean, I don't know how. It was in the bedroom, in a drawer underneath a lot of other stuff. She must have gone up there and rummaged around, and somehow came across this. She's only been here twice, the weekend you were here and in the fall, when we had the Sky Blue crew up for sort of a foliage outing from the water. It was a beautiful day."
"And the time you slept with her," I said.
David looked at me, stunned.
"No, I didn't," he stammered.
"Sure you did," I said. "Devlin told me. It was six weeks ago, she said. Maddie and Maeve had gone back to Boston to go to a doctor. You were supposed to be out on the boat, but when Devlin came back, you and Angel were in bed."
"Me and Angel? She said that?"
"Yeah. She said she heard you. You know, in the process. She said a silver Audi was in the drive. Massachusetts plates."
David had looked away, his eyes narrowed.
"I did go on the boat," he said. "I went to Matinicus with Sandy."
I looked at him skeptically.
"Jack, it seems odd that you'd even have to ask. Angel? I had no interest in Angel."
"Who else do you know who drives a silver Audi?"
"Silver? Nobody," David said. "But it wasn't me. It had to be—"
There was a long moment when we both were silent.
"Dalton?" I said.
"I don't know. He has a key. He was, I don't know, pursuing her, I guess. But I didn't think that—"
"That they were in your bed?"
"God almighty. That's pretty low. So he brought her here? And that's how—"
He didn't finish the thought aloud, so I did.
"What did Angel do with this journal, David?"
"She... she tried to sell it back to us."
"Blackmail?"
"Yeah, but that's not how she put it. She called it, 'selling it back.' She said she found it and she thought she deserved a finder's fee."
"You gave her one?"
He paused, and turned to me.
"Are we talking as friends?"
"I don't know," I said. "It depends on what you have to say."
David Connelly raised his glass to his lips but the glass was empty.
"Yeah. I mean, I guess we shouldn't have, but it wasn't that much money."
"How much?"
"Twenty thousand, the first time."
"She didn't give it back?"
"No. I imagine she got to thinking about how much money we had. Or maybe we paid too easy. I don't know. But she said she wanted another installment. She said it with this big smile, like she was asking for a new office chair, right to my face. She said she'd made copies of some... some of what was in the journal, and had them in envelopes addressed to TV news, newspapers, _Newsweek_ magazine. All ready to go, she said."
"Would they print it?" I said.
"Somebody would," David said. "And then everybody else would pile on."
"How much was the second payment?"
"Fifty. A Kenneth Cole tote bag full of cash."
"And still she kept the journal?"
"Yeah. I mean, why give it back? It was like a lottery ticket that just kept on winning."
"And then she was killed," I said.
David hesitated. Turned and put the empty glass on the window-sill behind us. Turned back.
"Yeah. Like I said, it was like the answer to my prayers. Not that I wanted anything like that to happen to her, but I wanted her to go away and leave us alone."
"So you didn't kill her."
David turned to me and our eyes locked.
"I hope that's rhetorical, but no. I couldn't kill anyone. My god."
"You didn't have it done. Somebody like Mick or Vincent?"
"Jesus Christ, no. Then I'd have this person owning a piece of us, too. Some Southie hoodlum or something? That's all we need."
"You didn't do anything?"
"No."
"Did she ask for more money?"
"The day you were here, I avoided her like the plague, the best I could. I didn't want to be near her, and she's 'David this,' and 'David that.' Finally she cornered me on the boat in Bar Harbor. She said she needed another fifty thousand. I said I couldn't get it, that people were going to notice all these withdrawals. She said, 'You're a smart man, David. Figure it out.' And then two days later, she's gone."
"Maybe somebody killed her to get the journal," I said.
"Maybe. Maybe they found out and they wanted the lottery ticket. And now they've got it. And it all starts again. I think that's what pushed Maddie to the edge. That it will just keep up forever."
He turned back to the house and I stopped him with a touch on his shoulder.
"David," I said. "What's in this journal that's worth all of this? Maybe costing a life?"
"It's not up to me to say, Jack," he said. "It's just really been hard on Maddie, all of it."
"Not good enough," I said.
"Sorry, Jack. Sorry you had to get involved."
"It's about her brother, isn't it?"
He went pale for a moment, like it was his turn to be sick.
"It's about what she saw when her brother died and what came out at the inquest. They're two very different things, aren't they? And what's different from a suicide, when somebody's shot to death? Two other possibilities, David. Only two."
"What?"
"It could be an accident. Or it could be—"
"Jesus, Jack," David said. "What are you trying to do here?"
And then he turned away and went through the doors. I followed, saw Maddie come down the stairs and fall into his arms. As I stood on the porch, watching through the glass panes in the door, he was talking. She was listening, and then her face fell into an expression of disbelief. She looked right at me.
Maddie started for the porch and David grabbed her arm but she flung his hand away, pushed the doors open, then stopped for a moment, turned, and pulled them closed. She looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed, her hair blown by the wind.
"How did you know, Jack?" she said, shaking her head. "How did you know?"
"I guessed, Maddie," I said. "I knew about it, your brother. I saw a story saying you weren't going to testify at the inquest. I just couldn't think of anything else that would be bad enough to hurt yourself over."
"Then what now? Is it out, Jack? Is it out?"
She reached out and took my hands in hers, like someone pleading with a doctor to please come help.
"No," I said. "I said it to David, but it was just, I don't know, conjecture. I didn't know it was true. Until now."
"I was seven," she said, twisting my hands in hers like she was trying to warm me. "I loved him. He was my big brother and he doted on me. I didn't mean it. I don't think I did. For twenty-five years I've been asking myself, 'Did you mean to shoot your brother?' He had the gun out. It was my dad's. This little gun, like you'd start a race with. I said, 'Can I hold it?' He said no. And I reached out and grabbed it from him and I pointed it at him and I pulled the trigger. You know what I was going to do?"
"No, Maddie," I said. "I don't."
Her eyes were wide, her mouth turned down in disbelief.
"I was going to say 'Bang.' "
I held her hands and she turned away from me, looked out at the wind-whipped bay like she might fling herself into it.
"So my mom and dad, they took the gun and they wiped it off and they put it in my brother's hand. They said they didn't want to lose both their children. That's what they said, and I was forbidden to talk about it and they never talked about it, either. Not a single word. Not one, until sometimes I thought I'd imagined the whole thing. But I hadn't. And we all kept this terrible secret and it ate away at them like a cancer until it killed them. I kept running. I worked so hard at being perfect that the secret couldn't catch up with me."
"It's not your fault, Maddie," I said. "It was an accident."
"Everyone says that, but it wasn't. I took the gun and I pointed it at him and I pulled the trigger. He told me it was loaded."
"You were a child."
"And I was never punished. I've still never been punished, Jack. Not a punishment that ends. Maybe this will be my punishment. When the whole thing comes out and my daughter will be seven and she'll know her mother did this terrible thing. It'll come full circle."
She turned back to me, with an odd gleeful expression.
"But if we can't stay here, maybe we'll go to Italy, live there. I love Sienna. Or sell these houses and take the sailboat and just wander. But I wonder, do you think they'll put me in jail? You know how they've gone after that Kennedy cousin in that old murder, and he was just a kid."
"Maddie," I said as David opened the door. "I haven't told anyone else."
They both looked at me.
"Just give us a chance to get it back," David said.
"But Angel," I said. "Whoever killed her—"
"Is still out there," David said. "I know. But it isn't fair to Maddie to have all of this made public. It would be evidence, it would be released to the press, don't you think? We'll get it back and then we'll go to the police. We'll tell them... we'll tell them her concerns about what happened."
"If Angel was blackmailing you, it'll have to come out."
"Then you can write it, Jack," David said. "We'll sit down with you. But to have this journal get into the hands of some of the awful TV people. Jack, I haven't read it, but—"
I pictured the story, how I would write it. _The gun was loaded. Sitting with her brother Clinton in his bedroom in their home in tree-shaded Amherst, Massachusetts, that September morning, Maddie Boswell knew that. But still, in her seven-year-old mind, she thought if she pulled the trigger, she'd have to say, "Bang."_
"I don't know," I said.
"Jack, this was part of my therapy, so there's stuff about my brother, him dying, about Maeve, about David when our marriage was not so good. And there's all my doubts about myself and being a mom."
"You're a great mother, Maddie," I said.
"This was at a time when I was feeling particularly—what's the word?—damaged. I didn't think I should be bringing a child into the world. I... I wrote about giving her up for adoption, I wrote about ending my life when I was pregnant, I wrote about, oh, God, getting an abortion. I actually made an appointment. Oh, for Maeve to see that. Oh, I was not in very good shape then. I wrote terrible things, terrible hurtful things. And about Clinton and what happened and—"
I looked at her, this woman who seemed to have everything but was as fragile as a fading flower. One touch and a petal falls.
"Maybe I can help you get it back,'" I said slowly. "And then we go to the police."
"How can you help?'" David said. He'd moved close to Maddie, arms around her, shielding her from the wind and everything else.
"I've had some experience," I said. "I'll talk to Clair. He's done this sort of thing, in the war and after. He's very good at it."
"And Roxanne?" David said.
"I have to tell her," I said. "We don't keep things from each other."
"So what do we do?" David said.
"I talk to them."
"And if they're okay with it?"
"You call the number, and we go from there."
"You're a good friend, Jack," David said, his wife tucked into him. "There aren't too many people who would do this."
For good reason, I thought, even as he reached across to me and held out his hand and we shook, David staring into my eyes.
He pressed his face against Maddie's.
"You see, honey. I told you it would be okay," he said, and he should have known better, because that was like thinking the storm was over as you sailed into its eye.
# 42
We went for a ride, the three of us, and we ended up at the turn-off where the Connellys' road reached the tip of a point. We pulled over and sat as the rain pelted the car and gulls rode the gusts, hanging in the sky like kites.
I said we had three options. Go to the cops now, leave David and Maddie to deal with it, or help them end the thing once and for all.
"So you believe them?" Roxanne said.
"Yes," I said. "I believe them completely. No way was she lying. It was like she was baring her soul. And he's trying to protect her."
"Maybe he killed Angel to protect his wife," Clair said. "Maybe he was sleeping with Angel and he wanted to protect his wife and himself."
"No," I said.
"Why not?" Clair said.
"He says he went to Matinicus with Sandy. Easy enough to check."
He handed me the phone. I got the number for the town clerk on the island, called, and got the number of the harbormaster. Dialed and he answered, an old man's voice. I said I was trying to catch up with a friend and thought he'd be staying on a mooring there. His boat was called _Escape_. The harbormaster said _Escape_ wasn't there, hadn't been for a week. I asked what day that was, maybe I was a week off. He said it was a Thursday and Friday, a pretty good sea running, that the Hinckley was more rugged than he would have expected, what with its shallow draft.
I asked if he knew if David Connelly was aboard and he said no. "Saw the boat, heard a man on the radio."
I thanked him and hung up.
"Boat was there and he knows a man was on it, but doesn't know who it was."
There was silence as we processed that. It could have been Sandy.
"Sometimes you have faith in your beliefs about someone," I said.
"I was in there with Maddie," Roxanne said. "She said she couldn't believe any of this was happening. She's got nothing to do with it."
"And everything," I said. "She was just a kid. You could see how it could happen. You think it's a toy, pick it up, and bam. Your life is changed forever. One little squeeze of this metal lever."
We looked out as the windshield wipers wagged like someone's scolding fingers. The bay was filled with whitecaps and an odd, confused chop that seemed to come from all directions at once.
"I want to help them," I said. "I really believe them. And I think they need someone. They're like babes in the woods."
"I'm game," Clair said. "If we get the person who killed the girl."
"I don't want anyone hurt," Roxanne said. "Not now."
She looked at me and I knew what she meant.
"We'll be fine," I said. "We'll just try to keep them from botching it up and getting hurt themselves."
"What would I do?" Roxanne said.
"Take care of Maddie. Make sure she hangs together."
"What if it's somebody like this Mick fellow?" Roxanne said.
"So much the better," Clair said.
"That would be black and white," I said. "What you worry about is heading into something like the water out there. A million shades of gray."
It was a pager number. We were in the study, the same room where Maddie had pointed the gun. She was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a down quilt. David had dialed and the message said to punch in his ten-digit number. He did, and we sat there and waited. The phone rang and David picked up the receiver, hit the button to put the fancy phone on speaker.
The robot voice again. It said "Dial this number" and recited one, the area code nothing I recognized. David wrote the number on a pad. He dialed and waited and the phone rang and there was an answering machine, another digital voice. David left a message. He said he wanted to talk to the caller who had left the message at his house.
He hung up.
We sat in silence, all five of us, tense and drawn.
"It's a loop," Clair said. "They listen to the machine, type in their answer, record it off the computer, call, and play it to you. No human contact."
"But we need a human," I said.
"No," Clair said. "They do."
We looked at him.
"First thing you do," he said, "is convince them you're not desperate. You're having second thoughts. You're sick of the whole thing, maybe they can just have it. You convince them that what they're holding has a short shelf life, that it could lose value. That gives you leverage from the outset. That lets you set the parameters; you start to call the shots."
"But we do want it back," David said.
"Very much," Maddie said.
"You don't tell them that," Clair said.
"You've done it this way before?"
Clair hesitated, then nodded.
"With what?" Maddie said.
"It was a kid," he said. "A nineteen-year-old kid. A soldier."
"Did you get him back?" David said.
"Yeah."
"What happened to the people who had him?" Maddie said.
"Nothing good," Clair said.
"Did they go to jail?" David said.
"It wasn't a time or place where jail was an option," Clair said.
No one asked any more.
In the end, that was the plan: Have David seem like he might not pay at all. Then tell them Maddie wouldn't leave the Maine house and David wasn't leaving her alone. Make them come to us, rather than us go to Boston, so that it would be hard for them to slip away. If they balked, buy time.
We waited. Made small talk. Maeve came in to say good night. Her mother kissed her and the phone rang. Maddie shooed her daughter out.
David answered. It was the robot voice again. It said to go to a computer and go online. Go to AOL Instant Messaging. Sign on under the screen name "Fat Cat 33," password the same. Wait for instructions.
"Do any of you know how to do this?" David said after he'd hung up.
"I do," Maddie said softly. "Devlin showed me."
Did Devlin know Angel, I wondered. Could Devlin have gotten the journal?
We went to the computer on the big study desk. Maddie said IM was bookmarked. David went to the site and signed on. Within seconds the first message appeared. The online name was Maddie 666.
She was still on the couch. We didn't tell her.
David typed, waited for an answer, typed some more.
—THE BOOK IS SELLING FOR $250,000.
_THAT'S NUTS._
—OK, THEN IT GOES TO THE MEDIA, TV. EVERY PAGE OF IT.
_LET ME THINK ABOUT IT._
—NO THINKING. DECIDE NOW.
_WHERE DOES THIS END?_
—WHEN YOU BUY IT BACK. IT'S A FAIR PRICE.
_WE'RE THINKING OF JUST GOING TO THE POLICE OURSELVES._ _GET IT OVER WITH._
—YOUR LIFE WILL BE HELL.
David turned to me.
"They're right about that, you know," he said.
"Don't agree yet," Clair said. "Tell them Maddie's had enough of this. She doesn't want to continue."
David typed that. Waited.
—IT'S ALMOST OVER FOR HER. ONE LAST TRANSACTION.
"The balance just tipped," Clair said. "Now get them to come here."
—BE IN BOSTON TOMORROW MORNING.
_CAN'T. MADDIE WON'T LEAVE BLUE HARBOR. I'M NOT LEAVING HER ALONE HERE._
—YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.
_SURE I DO. I'M STAYING HERE._
—THEN IT GOES.
_GO AHEAD. I CAN GET THE MONEY UP HERE, BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT IT_
There was a pause. We waited for the response.
—WHEN?
David looked at Clair.
"Say eleven o'clock."
David did.
—SIGN ON AT ELEVEN FOR INSTRUCTIONS. I LIKE THIS PART. COULD BE A BESTSELLER:
_I still see the blood, running out of him like some sort of hot syrup. My brother lying there looking up at me in disbelief. He said, "Maddie, what'd you do that for? I'm dying, Maddie. You shot me. Maddie, what did I ever do to you?"_
—GREAT STUFF. YOU THERE?
David swallowed, tears welling up. He typed, _Yes._
—A GOOD BEDTIME STORY FOR LITTLE MAEVE, DON'T YOU THINK? I LIKE THE SYRUPY BLOOD PART. BUY IT BACK OR IT'S SWEET DREAMS FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL. SHE'LL LIE IN BED AND WONDER IF MOMMY WILL POP HER NEXT. OK?
David gave a silent gasp and looked at me. I nodded.
_OK._
# 43
We went home that night. Roxanne wrote a report on her interview with Devlin, including the part about her hearing someone she believed to be David Connelly having sex in the house with someone who was not his wife. Also included was the reference to arguments between David and Maddie, and how Devlin said Maddie seemed emotionally unstable at times.
She turned to me.
"I have to include the rest of it," Roxanne said.
"When do you have to turn this report in?" I said.
"Not tomorrow," Roxanne said.
"Then we'll have time," I said.
"I hope so," she said.
"I mean, time to handle this part of it."
"I don't mean that," Roxanne said. "I mean time for us."
"We'll have time for that, too."
"I hope so," she said again. "Sometimes I feel like we're being swept along, that one thing leads to another and we have no control over any of it. You know, like dominoes that they line up."
"It'll be okay," I said and I wondered who I was trying to reassure—Roxanne or myself.
We slept fitfully, both of us awake part of the night. A car passed on the road at a little after three and I heard it stop. I got up and went downstairs and listened at the front window. I could hear men talking. Mick's buddies or a few locals with a twelve-pack? I went to the closet and took out my rifle and loaded it in the kitchen with shells from the box in the back of the silverware drawer. I went back to the window and sat in a chair, the rifle across my lap. A car door closed and the car moved slowly away, no lights showing.
I waited five minutes, listened to a barred owl, millions of crickets, the soft scratching of bats in the eaves of the shed. A tap at the back door.
I walked in my boxer shorts to the door and listened.
"Jack," Clair said.
I opened the door. He was standing there in jeans and a black T-shirt, his Mauser cradled in his arms.
"Just thought I'd let you know they're gone."
"How'd you know I was up?"
"I could hear you breathing."
I hadn't even heard him approach.
"Locals?"
"Maine plates, Budweiser cans."
"Didn't drop anybody off?"
"Just the empties."
"See you at seven, then."
"I think I'll take my truck, follow you down," he said. "It's all ready to go."
I knew what that meant. That Clair meant business, that he was bringing the tools of his trade. I went back to bed and listened to Roxanne's soft breathing, felt the warm aura around her, put my arms around her and wondered if we were doing the right thing. And then it was six and yellow light was streaming in through the skylights like beams from heaven, and it was time to get rolling.
I still was wondering: Should I protect my own child, assuming there was one, or worry about somebody else's? Did David and Maddie need me, or did I need them and their dangling offer of a story?
And then the time to wonder was over. We were on the road, heading east on a glorious summer day in Maine, where the air was clean, the forests were pure, and the simple values endured. Maine, the way life should be. I wondered how many guns Clair had in his truck.
We led the way, over the Waldo County hills and east along the shore and over the Penobscot River, and east again. When we did see glimpses of the ocean it was blue-green and the sky was clear, puffy clouds hustled westward with the offshore breeze. When we rolled into Blue Harbor, the air was brisk and cool. Summer people in the village had sweaters tied around their necks by their sleeves, like they were being strangled by pastel ghosts.
I thought of Angel and her Hermes scarf. I wondered if the fabric would have cut her. I wondered just how strong you had to be to hold that scarf that tight for that long, And I wondered who among these people would do that, and why. For money? To hide an affair? And then the thoughts crept in. To stop an extortionist and keep a terrible secret? To keep your child from knowing that you weren't perfect, that you'd done a terrible thing?
And then we were there, passing through the gates and down the drive, and Maeve was hurtling across the yard to greet us. Some of my doubts evaporated and Roxanne squeezed my hand.
"That's who this is for," she said, and then we were out of the car, Clair's truck was pulling in behind us, and David and Maddie were coming out the door and the first domino had fallen.
Maddie had coffee on and pastries from the bakery in the village. David had been on the phone to his bank in Boston, had money wired to an account at a branch of a bank in Blue Harbor. At eight o'clock, David had called the local banker and said he was buying a boat and the owner was a bit eccentric and wanted cash on the barrel. The bank manager had said he didn't have two hundred fifty thousand in cash on hand, but he could get it for Mr. Connelly in a couple of hours. It came by courier. It went out the door of the bank in a beat-up duffel with the name _Escape_ monogrammed on the top.
We took the Suburban with the blacked-out windows. Clair rode in the back.
At eleven we were back at the house. Katie, the au pair, took Maeve to story hour at the Blue Harbor Library, and from there they were going to lunch. We gathered in the study like we were waiting for the numbers to be called in a weird sort of lottery. David had the computer up and running. He signed on as Maddie 666, wincing as he typed his wife's name and the devil's number.
There was no one there.
We waited ten minutes. Still nothing. Fifteen and nothing. After twenty minutes I could see Maddie becoming more agitated as she speculated what this might mean.
"They've changed their minds," she said. "They've sent the stuff around.... How long do you think it will be, Jack, before the press starts calling.... This number is unlisted, David; but they'll call the foundation. What will they say to the receptionist? A reporter would have to say something, don't you think? What about when the receptionist says, 'And what is this regarding?' "
After a half-hour, David asked Clair what he thought. Clair said he didn't know, but he wouldn't walk away yet. David said he didn't plan to, but how long should we wait? We couldn't sit in front of this goddamn computer all—
And there it was.
Fat Cat 33.
# 44
HELLO, FAMOUS CONNELLYS. YOU STILL THERE?
_Y ES_.
—GOOD. WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE SERIOUS. IF NOT, I THINK WE'LL START WITH _THE GLOBE_ AND WORK OUR WAY DOWN TO THE REAL BOTTOM FEEDERS. OR DO YOU STILL WANT TO DO BUSINESS?
_Y ES._
—THEN GET IN THE CAR... MADDIE AND DAVID, IN THE BMW. BRING THE PACKAGE. DRIVE TO THE MOBIL STATION IN THE VILLAGE AND CALL THIS NUMBER. DON'T USE YOUR PHONE FOR ANYTHING ELSE.
A number appeared and Fat Cat 33 signed off.
"They're going to lead you around for a while," Clair said. "Make sure you don't have police tailing you."
"We don't," Maddie said.
"You'll have us," I said.
"How?" David said.
"We'll need other cars," I said. "Clair's truck and—whose Toyota is that at the end of the drive?"
It was the au pair's, Maddie said. She'd taken the Suburban because Maddie didn't think the Toyota was safe. I asked if they had keys and they said yes. Clair said we'd better go.
Maddie said, "Does this mean they're actually here?"
Maddie and David left first, and then, after a minute, Clair followed. Roxanne and I waited another minute and headed out in the Toyota. When we reached the village, the BMW was parked at the Mobil station. Clair was parked in front of an art gallery across the street, the big pickup sidled in between a Mercedes convertible and a Lexus, a mastiff between poodles. I drove by and pulled into a restaurant lot just up the street. I adjusted the mirror to watch the Connellys while Roxanne went up to the door and read the menu. When she got back in the car, the BMW was pulling away. I backed out and we followed.
Clair brought up the rear, three cars back.
We drove under the elms, past the library where the Suburban was parked. I could see Maddie turn as though she wanted to go back and get Maeve and run. But David kept driving, out of the village and south down the peninsula. A mile outside of town, he turned right. I turned, too, hanging back.
I watched the mirror to see if anyone else had turned and there was one car, a Volvo wagon, and then Clair. I looked up to see that Maddie and David had pulled into a driveway. I continued past and the Volvo stayed with me. Clair was gone.
I drove a half-mile and stopped at a roadside vegetable stand. Roxanne looked out at the produce, then shook her head, as though the lettuce were wilted. I pulled out and headed back. In the distance I could see Clair's truck. When we reached the intersection, the BMW was three cars ahead.
And so it went for more than two hours. Through Brookline and Sedgwick and over the Deer Isle Bridge. I called Clair in the truck and he told me he'd passed them, they were doubling back onto the mainland. I pulled into a camp road and turned around and waited. When Maddie and David drove by, they were looking straight ahead, their faces drawn, jaws set.
Back to Blue Harbor and over toward Castine. In Cape Rosier we came to the entrance to a wildlife preserve where we would be the only cars in sight. I figured this had to be it, this deserted place of deep woods and meandering paths. Roxanne dug a map from the glove box of the Toyota and found two places where the road through the preserve came out, and we skirted it and waited on the far side in the driveway of a farmhouse. After forty-five minutes, a woman came out of the house and started toward us.
The phone rang. It was Clair. They'd popped out on the other side of the preserve and were headed back toward Blue Harbor. We left the woman standing on the lawn.
Ten miles from Blue Harbor we passed Clair, pulled over on the side of the road. On the phone he said they were just ahead, and a mile beyond we spotted the BMW driving slowly on the twisting, climbing road. At a scenic turnoff atop a ridge, they pulled over and parked. We continued past and pulled into a yard outside a trailer. Clair called and said he was below them.
"Should we call them?" Roxanne said. "They said no."
"What are they doing?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Where the hell are these people?"
"I don't know that, either," I said.
We sat. Clair called every half-hour or so, said the BMW was just parked. And after two hours and twenty minutes, four hours since we'd left the Connelly house, David and Maddie suddenly started the car and pulled away.
They passed us and we could see Maddie, weary and grim-faced. Clair passed and we counted to fifty and pulled out. In fifteen minutes we were back in Blue Harbor village. Maddie and David were on the road home. Clair called and said he figured there hadn't been anybody watching us for some time, but there would be when we reached the area of the house. He said he'd pull into another driveway and walk the shoreline until he had the Connellys' house in sight. He said to drive past their entrance and wait.
We did, sitting under a bank of cedars that lined the drive to someone's estate. The bay glistened in the distance, a field of diamonds, but who cared? We were hungry, thirsty, and tired. And then Clair again, saying Maddie and David were getting into the dinghy. They had the bag with the money. They were going out to one of the boats. The smaller one, the Boston Whaler.
"We've lost them," I said to Roxanne.
And then a car passed, a nondescript blue Chevy or something, two people in front.
"Oh, my God," Roxanne said. "Driving that car—"
"What?" I said.
"That was Monica."
# 45
We pulled out and followed, and in moments the possibilities were clicking into place. Monica and Angel in it together. Monica killing Angel for her share of the extorted money. Somebody else killing Angel, and Monica deciding to finish the job on the Connellys herself.
"Who else was in the car?" I said.
"I couldn't see," Roxanne said.
I sped along under the trees while Roxanne called Clair. He answered and she told him what we'd seen, where we were going. He said he'd be behind us. I sped up to try to catch the car, winding the Toyota through the curves as the road followed the shoreline.
We drove one mile. Two. The car wasn't in sight. I sped up and Roxanne said, "Slow down. There."
She pointed to our left, turned in her seat as we passed the entrance to a drive to an estate.
"They're in there. I could just see them."
"Turned around?"
"Driving in."
I stopped and turned around and Roxanne told Clair. We drove back to the entrance, and as we passed it, we peered in. The gates were stone. The brush was cut between the spruce trees along the road and there was lawn stretching to a big stone and stucco house, the water beyond it. You could drive over the lawn and between the trees, if you had to. There was no way to seal off the driveway.
We parked along the side of the road. Clair rolled up moments later and backed the truck into the trees. He got out and walked to the car and climbed in the back.
"So it's her friend," he said.
"Or someone else killed her and Angel left this thing behind," Roxanne said.
"I don't see Monica as a killer," I said. "I see her as a scavenger."
"Objective's still the same, right?" Clair said. "Get this book back? Hold on to these people?"
"And keep people from getting hurt," I said.
"On our side, you mean," Clair said.
"Whoever that is," Roxanne said, and she looked grim.
"You're having doubts?" I said.
"Yes," she said. "Because what if none of these people are what they seem?"
I didn't have an answer.
We needed somebody at the road, in case Monica drove back out.
Roxanne said she'd stay. We'd walk in and see where Monica was, who she was with, if the Connelly boat was in sight. I asked Roxanne if she'd be okay, and she said she would. I told Roxanne that if Monica came back to just drive off, fast, and go to the village. If there was an emergency, she should lean on the horn.
She squeezed my hand and I squeezed back and then we were out of the car. Clair walked back to the truck and opened the cab door and took binoculars from the glove box. He handed the binoculars to me and reached behind the seat. There were leather rifle scabbards hung from te seat back and he slid a shotgun out of one and closed the door and quickly walked into the trees.
I gave Roxanne a last look and followed.
We moved along the line of spruce and hemlock that marked the boundary with the next property. The sun was behind us, dropping lower behind the ridgetop tree line, and we were in shadow. I stayed in Clair's track, and when we neared the buildings—the house and garages and a small barn—he moved deeper into the trees and I followed. We stepped between the bare inner limbs, staying behind the dense outer boughs. When we drew even with the first outbuildings, we eased to the edge of the trees and watched.
The house was vacant, gray-painted plywood still screwed over the first-floor windows. There was a long private pier, the railings of a ramp barely showing, orange mooring buoys, but no boats. Monica's car wasn't in sight, but then it appeared, backed in alongside one of the garages. The brake lights flashed and the motor turned off. We could see two figures in the front seats. The heads turned as they talked. I focused the binoculars and saw the two silhouettes but couldn't tell who the passenger was.
We needed to get closer before it got dark.
Mosquitoes stirred from the trees as the sun dropped. They buzzed around our heads while the figures in the car bobbed. On the water, a lobster boat passed well offshore, the white hull glowing with the last light of the sunset. A big sailboat motored toward the harbor, a tiny yellow figure at the helm, a dinghy trailing behind like a little dog on a leash. No Boston Whaler in sight. In the car, Monica and her passenger momentarily were still.
"We need to see them," I said.
Clair said he'd circle along the shoreline and come up through the trees on the other side of the house, see if he could get a look at their faces. He began to move away and in a minute had faded into the trees.
I waited. Watched. Tried not to wave at the mosquitoes. I wondered if Roxanne was okay. I smelled smoke and saw a cigarette glow from Monica's side of the car. I looked at my watch. Clair had been gone for nine minutes, but it seemed like an hour.
It was two minutes after seven.
I looked back at the road. Heard a clattering sound.
It was a car moving fast down the drive toward the house, no lights, just a dark shape beyond the trees. And then it was in the open, a minivan, and it slowed in the place where the drive widened before the house. The brake lights went on in Monica's car and the motor started with a roar but the van swerved left, slinging gravel as it slid to a stop in front of the car. The van door whipped open.
A man leapt from the van, a black ski mask covering his face, a gun in his hand. He ran to the car as it started to back up, yanked open the driver's door, and pointed the gun in.
There were two pops, softer than firecrackers, then two more, two more after that. I remembered the binoculars and used them and looked. The guy drew the gun back out, reached in with his left hand, and turned off the motor. Then he shut the front door, opened the back. He leaned in again and I could see his arm moving, as he rummaged. After a moment he backed out of the car, a dark case in his hand. He closed the car door, opened the front door again, and leaned in and seemed to shove.
The bodies. He was pushing them over onto the seat.
And then he closed the door and trotted to the van, leapt in, and yanked the door closed. The driver, also masked, backed the van up, then circled into the drive and backed out, in the direction of the road.
I lurched to my feet, still in a crouch, and started through the trees. Branches slashed at my face and the binoculars swung on their strap. I dodged left and right between the limbs and trunks, and then I heard something.
Someone coming toward me. I eased behind a tree and waited, peering into the shadows. There was a snap, a branch cracked, and I saw a figure moving, the head weaving between the branches. I leaned down and groped for a limb and found one. Held it low along my leg and waited.
# 46
It was Roxanne. She was panting and there was blood running down her cheek from a long scratch on her temple. She saw me and said, "Oh, thank God," and crouched beside me.
"They killed them," I said softly.
"The men in the van? They killed Monica?"
I nodded
"Did they see you?" I said.
"Yes, as the van turned in, into the gates, the driver looked back and saw me in the car. He put on the brakes like he was going to stop, but I pulled out and drove the other way. And then I thought of you and I came back."
"What did he look like?"
"Big. It looked like his hair was reddish, but he was wearing a black hat, the knitted kind. It was hard to tell."
"Mick Egan," I said.
"I don't know."
"Did you see anybody else?"
"There was somebody in the back but it had those dark windows. I couldn't see anything else, just that there was another person."
"Vincent," I said. "He must've been the shooter."
"Where's Clair?" Roxanne said.
"Right here," came a voice from the trees.
Clair came toward us, the shotgun pointed at the ground.
"Did you see it?" I said.
He nodded.
"A real pro," he said.
"We need police. Did you look?"
"Yes. For a second."
"Who was the other person?"
"A blonde woman. Maybe fifty. Hair short, dark-rimmed glasses."
"Kathleen Kind?" I said.
"Why would she be here?" Roxanne said.
"They must have cooked this up together."
"Why would somebody kill them and leave?" Roxanne said.
"He took something from the car. Must have been the journal," I said.
"They jumped Monica and whoever else is in that car."
"Did you call the police?" I said.
"I tried," Clair said, "It didn't connect."
"Where's your phone?" I asked Roxanne.
"In the car," she said. "I can go get it."
"No, don't," Clair said. "I don't think they're gone. I think they went to check the road, see if you're still around. Where's your car?"
"In the next driveway."
"They'll see your truck, Clair," I said.
"That won't mean anything to them," Roxanne said.
"Prosperity, Maine, will," I said.
"The dump sticker," Clair said.
And then the muffled rattle of a car rolling, coasting, no sound of the motor. The van came rolling back down the drive, lights off, heading for the house. It made the circle then swung around on the far edge of the property, opposite Monica's car. We saw brake lights flash once, then nothing. They were sitting in the growing dusk, watching the water.
"They're waiting for David and Maddie and the money," I said.
"And if they killed these other two... ," Clair said.
"They've got to get off this peninsula and out of Maine," I said. "They're going to need time."
"Killing the Connellys buys them some," Clair said.
"Killing us," I said, "buys them more."
"But we can't just leave Maddie and David to be executed," Roxanne said.
"No," I said. "And we don't know if Vincent was dropped off at the road."
"I don't think so," Clair said. "But you never know."
We moved through the woods, very slowly, Clair in front, picking the path. When we were abreast of Monica's car, Roxanne stayed behind, tucked in a hollow beneath the draped boughs of a spruce like a fawn left by its mother. Roxanne was our backup, the one who would run for help. Clair and I wanted to get behind the van, which meant crossing the front of the property at the waterline, just below the rocky embankment at the shoreline. There was thirty feet of open lawn between the woods and shoreline, and we waited at the edge of the woods for a moment, then Clair went first.
He lay on his belly and crossed the grass like a lizard. When he'd slid over the edge of the lawn onto the rocks, I waited. Listened. There was no sound, no car door opening. I counted to ten and then slithered out and rumbled onto the rocks.
We crossed in a crouch, along the rocks, under the pier, stepping from stone to stone, looking for the darker patches of weed and mussels that would be wet and silent. It was slippery and we used our hands, scraping them on the barnacles. The tape was scoured from my splinted finger and I tore the splint off and left it in the rocks. And then we had crabbed along far enough, and were ready to go over the bank and up into the trees. I picked up a baseball-sized rock, big enough to break Mick's thick skull. Put a smaller one in my pocket.
Clair crouched behind me with the shotgun ready.
I turned to tell him I was going up and over—and there it was, coming around the next point. A green light, the starboard bow of a boat, a white light at its stern. It was a quarter-mile offshore, moving close, the outboard purring faintly.
"They're here," I said, as a car door opened above us.
"Too late to get behind them," Clair said. "Get down."
We crouched against the bank as the boat moved closer. I heard the sound of feet brushing through grass and then a figure appeared on the pier to our left. It was Mick. He walked out ten feet and pulled his mask down, adjusted it over his eyes, and flashed a light. One long. Two short. The lights of the boat moved closer, the white hull of the Whaler visible now but not the people on board.
We watched as Mick flashed the light again, and this time the signal was returned from the boat. Mick turned and walked back up the pier, turned back to the water, and spoke into a phone.
"Looking good, my friends," he said. "We had a change of players, but the plan's the same. I'll leave the item on the edge of the dock. You toss me mine. I'm going to stand on the dock and wait. I give it a quick check, you do the same. When both parties are satisfied that the terms have been met, we go home. Just like that. Nice, simple transaction."
We heard him open the van door and close it. There was no sign of Vincent, and I wondered if he was in the backseat, whether he could make that shot with a pistol, whether he had something better. Or maybe this was the deal. Take the money, leave the two bodies, and run.
The boat was fifty yards out now, moving closer. I could see David standing at the helm, a dark baseball hat pulled low. Maddie was beside him, gripping the console in front of the wheel. The motor burbled and the boat approached and soon I could see their expressions, tense and afraid. And then they were closer, and Maddie took the wheel and David bent behind him and picked up the duffel. He moved toward the bow and stood there with the bag in front of him, like he was waiting to get off a train. The motor idled and the boat drifted on the dark water and Mick crossed above us and walked onto the pier, down the ramp, and onto the float. He placed the dark case from Monica's car on the edge of the float and stepped back ten feet. The boat eased alongside and David reached down for the case, the boat still drifting. He unzipped the case and pulled out what looked like a notebook and riffled through it. Then he tossed the duffel toward Mick. It landed short and Mick bent to pick it up. He quickly unzipped the bag and dug through it. David had put the notebook back in the case.
And Mick pulled a gun from his waistband, said, "Sorry, Connelly. I changed my mind." But before he raised the gun, Clair called out, "Drop it, or I'll cut you in half."
Mick didn't drop it. Clair stood and fired one shot above the boat, fire spouting from the shotgun, a clap echoing across the water. He jacked another shell into the chamber.
"Last chance," Clair said.
Mick eased down, the gun in his right hand, held out by the barrel. He laid it on the dock and then he turned slowly.
"Jesus," he said through the mask. "It's fuckin' McMorrow. And he brought some muscle. I like you more all the time, Jack, you know that? You're my kinda people, McMorrow."
"Jack," David said.
"Oh, my God," Maddie said. "Oh, my God."
"What do you want me to do?" David said.
"Just sit tight," Clair said.
"Where's Vincent?" I said.
We'd eased up onto the lawn and were moving toward the pier. Clair had the shotgun at his shoulder and kept it trained on Mick.
"Vincent?" Mick said. "He doesn't like the country, Jack. He doesn't like bugs."
"I saw him kill Monica," I said. "And I think Kathleen Kind."
"Oh, no," Maddie said, and she started to sob.
"Where is he?" I said.
Mick didn't answer. David jumped out of the boat and fixed a bowline to a cleat, then scurried over and picked up Mick's gun. He fiddled with it and then pointed it at Mick.
"You killed her?" he said.
"Easy with that thing," Mick said. "You'll hurt somebody."
"Back away from him, David," I said. "Don't get too close."
We were walking down the ramp, Clair first, me behind him, still carrying my rock. Maddie was sobbing at the helm of the boat, both hands on her mouth, her whole body shaking.
Clair said, "Keep your hands right up there. Way above your head. Now lie down on your belly, hands still up."
Mick shook his head, said, "Just don't let this amateur shoot me. I think he's got the safety off."
"Down," Clair said. "One. Two—"
"You drop it," said a voice behind us. "Or I'll kill her right here."
# 47
It was Vincent, underneath the mask. He had his arm around Roxanne's neck, a pistol jammed against her throat. He was walking her across the lawn from the trees. They moved stiffly, like it was a three-legged race.
"Drop it, I said," Vincent screamed. "Lay it right down."
Clair lowered the shotgun. David dropped the pistol to his waist. Mick stepped up to Clair, took the shotgun from him, and turned and pointed it from the hip at David.
"You, too, moneybags," he said.
David did a knee bend and left the gun at his feet. Roxanne and Vincent were on the pier now, looking down at us. I could see that Roxanne was crying. I held the rock behind my back.
"It's okay," I said. "Just be calm."
"Sure, it's okay," Mick said. "Keep telling yourself that. Everything's great. Toss the rock in the water, Jack, and it'll be even better."
I did, and it made a deep _ka-plock_ and a splash. Mick motioned for Clair and me to stand on the end of the float with David. It rocked gently as we walked. The boat bobbed up and down, the outboard still idling, Maddie trembling now, chewing on her lip.
"Just like walking the plank," Mick said. "Just like pirate days. When I was a kid, I loved pirates. Read all about 'em. Blackbeard and Captain Kidd. Hey, Jack. We probably won't write my story, will we? Too bad, huh. Well, I gave you your chance. You decided to go with these rich assholes. Shanty Irish underneath, too, no matter how much you dress 'em up. That's what my dear mum used to say."
Vincent eased Roxanne along the ramp and stopped at the end.
"We'll keep her separate," Mick said. "Awful lot of work for two hundred and fifty grand, don't you think? I told Kathy there, I'm not going all the way up to Maine to pick up this merchandise for ten grand. You nuts? And I said, 'Lady, just 'cause you killed some little North End skirt doesn't mean you can push me around.' "
"Angel?" I said.
"My God," David said. "Why would she—"
"Hell if I know. But it's good to know who you're working for, I always say. I had to peel away a couple of layers and there she was. Nice-looking lady, too. Was she Swedish or something? Anyway, from what I can figure, Angel was squeezing you and it worked so good, she decided to squeeze the ice lady there, too. If I were you, I woulda kept a closer eye on the books. I think the ice lady was skimming. But for Angel there, it was a bad idea, this squeeze play number two. So if it had been up to me, the price woulda been half a million, at least. What's it to you, Connelly? You don't even know how much money you got. Worth it to keep the world from knowing you whacked your brother, right, Mrs. Connelly?"
"Shut up," David hissed.
"Hey, I didn't know what this was all about until just now, when I was sitting up in the car there, reading your little diary thing. Killing your brother—now that's gotta be heavy. I mean, me and Vincent, we're no altar boys, but we never killed anybody in our own family. I mean, that takes iron balls, except you ain't got any. Must have an iron—"
"Shut up, you filthy piece of shit," David said.
I reached into my pocket and eased out my rock.
"Sticks and stones, Connelly. I just want to know what it's really worth to you to get that book back. I mean, word gets out that your old lady here, she not only popped her brother, but she made him look like a pussy, too, with this suicide stuff. There goes the kid's rep. I mean, who would shoot himself in front of his baby sister? People musta thought he was a real wingnut, and turns out he wasn't. I mean, who thinks their little sister is gonna—"
"No," Maddie shrieked.
She had a flare gun, bright orange plastic, and pointed at Mick. Vincent said, "No," but she pulled the trigger. A pop and Mick shouted and put his hand to his face and something was hissing and burning on the deck of the float. Clair was on him, and Vincent fired once and the windshield on the boat shattered. Maddie dropped and Roxanne shoved Vincent and he grabbed her by the head and flung her against the railing. She fell hard and Clair fired and Vincent spun backward and crumpled, his gun flying into the water. Mick grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and Clair turned and kicked him in the groin but Mick held on, and I lunged for him but kicked the pistol along the deck and he dropped and grabbed it, still holding the barrel of the shotgun. I had him by the throat and he put the pistol to the side of my head.
Clair hacked at Mick's arm, and the gun turned and Mick fired, and a black hole appeared in Clair's shirt at his shoulder blade and he gasped and fell to his knees and I bulled Mick onto his back. I pounded his face with the rock and blood came from his mouth, his nose, and then he bellowed and got me in a bear hug, his blood on my face, and rolled both of us off the float against the boat.
The water was black and cold, an awful darkness, and I spun with Mick still hanging on to me, dragging me down. We hit bottom head-first and I needed to breathe and he was tearing at my shirt, kicking at me, pushing me down as he tried to claw his way to the surface. He went up first, his knees slamming my belly, my chin, and I spun and he kicked me in the spine and my legs went numb. I came up underneath him and he was thrashing, clawing at me, and then he hit something and went still. I shoved him away and paddled sideways, my lungs bursting.
And I hit something hard just as I was about to explode for breath. It was light and smooth, the bottom of the boat, and I clawed my way along it, fingernails scraping at the hull, and then I was out, into the air, gasping, sucking air in. One breath and back down I went, my legs hanging limply underneath me like sacks of sodden bones.
I clawed my way up and something sharp hit my head, cut it. I pushed away and the motor revved, the propeller churning the water, inches from my belly. I paddled back and hit the boat with my head, felt warm blood running down from my forehead.
I was on the far side of the boat, and couldn't see them. "Pull me up," I said. "Somebody pull me up."
The boat rocked, like somebody had just gotten off of it. Then it rocked again like someone had jumped on. Maddie leaned over and saw me but the boat was moving and I lunged upward, got a hand over the gunwale.
"Stop," I shouted. "Stop!"
And then I was falling away. The motor revved and the wake washed over me, black and cold but scalding at the same time, and I was scrabbling with my arms to keep my head up and the boat was leaving, then circling and coming back and another wake washed over me, into my mouth. And I coughed and gagged and said, "Help," and the bow brushed over me, and I grabbed for a ring on its underside and got a finger through it and held on.
The motor was idling, and I heard them.
"Those two are dead," David said. "The big guy never came up. Clair, he might not make it, and she's just lying there and—"
"David," Maddie said.
"Nobody has to know," David said.
"David, my God. What are you saying?"
"Two people dead over this? Angel, too, and Monica. My God, it'll be everywhere."
"Help," I said. "Get me out."
"Baby, I don't want this to happen to you. We'll go. We'll go to Mexico or Costa Rica or anywhere. I know people who can help us. You don't have to be blamed all over again. Nobody else has seen the journal, or this. Nobody else knows."
"David, I can't stand any more secrets. Mom and Dad, they tried to protect me, and look what—"
"It's going to be a nightmare, Maddie. A nightmare."
"It can't be any worse than the nightmares I've been having all these years, the nightmare I've been living."
"Maddie—"
"David," Maddie said. "You can't stop this. Get the ladder and get Jack out."
There was a pause where neither of them spoke and then I heard a clattering and a ladder appeared over the side of the boat.
"Get on the phone, Maddie," David said. "Call an ambulance. Call the police."
# 48
Roxanne was okay. Clair, not so good, but going to make it. Mick and Vincent died there on the shore of the bay, paying a price for breaking their own rule: You don't leave your turf. Monica didn't make it, but Kathleen Kind did, though as is the case with so many blessings, this one was mixed.
Her story, told to Cade and Sullivan in a hospital room at Mass General, was that David must have killed Angel—that Angel tried to get Ms. Kind to help her with a scheme to steal from the Connellys' foundation accounts. Angel threatened to have Ms. Kind killed by the Mafia when she refused and pledged to go to the police. Ms. Kind said it was Monica who found the journal in Angel's things. Angel found it in the Connellys' bedroom when she was there in bed with Tim Dalton, Monica said. She decided the best revenge was to bleed more money out of the Connellys and then let the secret out. Ms. Kind said she went to Maine with her hoping to dissuade her at some point along the way.
Ms. Kind didn't expect that Monica's criminal friends would show up, too.
That was the story for about a week. And then the bean counters found that Ms. Kind had been skimming from grant awards for years, a few thousand at a time, for a total of $420,000, and counting. The forensics people matched DNA from skin under one of Angel's fingernails with Ms. Kind's blood. Police went back to Ms. Kind, who by then was in physical rehab, and asked if she'd like to change her story.
She said no.
They said the DNA alone would hang her.
Ms. Kind said people like the Connellys had no respect for her, they used people like they were appliances, they didn't even really see her after all the years she'd worked so hard for them.
She was invisible, she said. And then she said she wanted to talk to her lawyer.
Cade said Ms. Kind was one cool customer, that you could almost see the wheels turning inside her shaved head.
Tim Dalton folded more easily. He admitted to sleeping with Angel at the Connellys' house in Blue Harbor, but said he hadn't hurt anybody. His wife didn't agree, and filed for divorce. Dalton said he didn't know Angel had taken anything from the Connellys' bedroom, but Cade and Sullivan were threatening to charge him with being an accessory.
As for Clair, he couldn't cut wood. The bullet had passed through his shoulder just under his collarbone and had damaged the muscle systems there. He was in physical therapy, working to raise his right arm above his chin. He said it was no big deal, and besides, if we hadn't gone along, the Connellys would certainly have been killed. I hobbled around with a cane for a few days, one leg still numb from the bang to my spine. The whole story came out, but I didn't write any of it.
Instead, with Myra's blessing, I gave three interviews, to reporters from the _Times_ , the _Globe_ , and the _Portland Press Herald_. I talked about David and Maddie, Mick and Vincent. Roxanne, with a special dispensation from the higher-ups, told the reporter about Maeve and Devlin. The above-the-fold headline in the _Globe_ said HOODS, GRIFTERS, AND A TERRIBLE SECRET: SHADOWY FIGURES FROM PAST AND PRESENT HAUNT CONNELLY CAMELOT. In the _Times_ , the headline was low on page one, all editions: CONNELLY SECRET TAKES FOUR LIVES, HAUNTS A FAMILY. The _Press Herald_ 's choice: WEALTH AND POWER NO MATCH FOR A FAMILY SKELETON.
Maddie and David were interviewed at length. They said they regretted the tragic loss of life, but were glad to have the matter of Maddie's brother's death out in the open. Maddie said it had been a terrible burden to carry, all those years. She was photographed at the Boston house, in the third-floor study where I'd answered the phone that fateful night. Maddie said the lesson to be learned was that the truth is always preferable to a lie, even if the lie is told with the best of intentions. David announced that the Sky Blue Foundation would give $5 million to Boston Children's Hospital for the purpose of founding a center to treat children with psychological trauma.
I wondered if Maeve would be the first patient.
The Hampshire County district attorney said he would not prosecute, and considered the case of Clinton Archer Boswell to be closed. And in the end, I told only two people about the conversation the Connellys had on the boat while I was in the water.
Clair and Roxanne.
Clair said the same thing happened in war. A soldier ran or froze and caused a buddy to get hit. Did the first soldier call for help and admit his failure, or did he just turn and walk away, letting his shameful secret seep into the ground with his comrade's blood?
"In the end, David made the right decision," Clair said, the Zen in him coming to the surface. "The rest of it I'd forgive."
The Connellys asked for that, though not in those words. They wrote a note to us from Boston, said they were terribly sorry for getting us involved in any of this. They asked that we not think less of them, that we'd saved their lives and they were eternally grateful. I said I thought they were trying to do the right thing.
Not Roxanne. She'd just gotten back from the hospital. She was horrified that David would even think of such a thing. That he would consider even for a nanosecond leaving Clair to die, leaving her unconscious on the dock, leaving me in the numbing water to drown. It wasn't just us, she said, as we stood in the kitchen in Prosperity that night. It was our child.
"Are you sure?" said.
"Yes," Roxanne said. "When I went in for my head, I told them maybe I was, and they did the test."
"Oh, boy," I said.
"Or girl," Roxanne said.
I held her and kissed her and she wrapped her arms around me and held me tight for a long time. I could hear crickets and night sounds and I could feel Roxanne's heart beating and it was like the world was teeming with life, and here was one more. Where once there had been none, we had created someone. In the midst of all this death, there was a new life.
"You know what's scary?" I said.
"What?" Roxanne whispered.
"That you can't really protect this person you're bringing into the world. Not all the time, not from everything. And then you're gone and they're on their own."
"That's okay," Roxanne said.
"Think of Maddie's family and all of this mess."
"You just do your very best," she said.
"We'll do that."
"That's right, Jack McMorrow. And the rest we'll just have to take on faith."
"In us," I said.
"And that the world is basically a good place," she said. "It's just some people who aren't."
"Not everybody," I said, "is an angel."
# **ABOUT THE AUTHOR**
Gerry Boyle is the author of a dozen mystery novels, including the acclaimed Jack McMorrow series, and the Brandon Blake series. A former newspaper reporter and columnist, Boyle lives with his wife, Mary, in a historic home in a small village on a lake. He also is working with his daughter, Emily Westbrooks, on a crime series set in her hometown, Dublin, Ireland. Whether it is Maine or Ireland, Boyle remains true to his pledge to send his characters only to places where he has gone before.
1. Cover
2. Title Page
3. Copyright
4. Dedication
5. Acknowledgments
6. Introduction
7. Prologue
8. Chapter 1
9. Chapter 2
10. Chapter 3
11. Chapter 4
12. Chapter 5
13. Chapter 6
14. Chapter 7
15. Chapter 8
16. Chapter 9
17. Chapter 10
18. Chapter 11
19. Chapter 12
20. Chapter 13
21. Chapter 14
22. Chapter 15
23. Chapter 16
24. Chapter 17
25. Chapter 18
26. Chapter 19
27. Chapter 20
28. Chapter 21
29. Chapter 22
30. Chapter 23
31. Chapter 24
32. Chapter 25
33. Chapter 26
34. Chapter 27
35. Chapter 28
36. Chapter 29
37. Chapter 30
38. Chapter 31
39. Chapter 32
40. Chapter 33
41. Chapter 34
42. Chapter 35
43. Chapter 36
44. Chapter 37
45. Chapter 38
46. Chapter 39
47. Chapter 40
48. Chapter 41
49. Chapter 42
50. Chapter 43
51. Chapter 44
52. Chapter 45
53. Chapter 46
54. Chapter 47
55. Chapter 48
56. About the Author
## Landmarks
1. Cover
2. Title Page
3. Copyright
4. Dedication
5. Acknowledgments
6. Introduction
7. Prologue
| right, Vincent?"
I looked at Vincent. He was breaking into a hint of a smile.
"You're supposed to say, 'Yes, master,' " I told him.
"Vincent got jumped by some of those Jackie Chans in Walpole and took two of 'em right out," Mick said. "Self-defense, so he didn't get hammered too bad."
"I could kill you," Vincent said, his voice an odd high-pitched whisper.
"With your breath?" I said.
"You're dead," he said.
"I'm outta here," I said. "Thanks for the meal and the nice conversation."
I stood up. They did, too. The red-haired woman was wiping glasses, acting like she'd just gone blind and deaf. I started for the door, heard chairs slide behind me. Two old men glanced up from their morning Budweisers, then looked away. Outside, the air was heavy and still and it had begun to drizzle. I started up the block, and Mick and Vincent fell in beside me, one on each side.
"Hey, listen, McMorrow," Mick said. "Let's chill. Maybe I came on a little rough. I was thinking of a different clientele. But I mean, think of this poor kid's parents."
"So how does this work?" I said, still walking. "You get so much to deliver the message? The rest if I agree?"
"When you agree," Mick said.
"Yeah, right," I said, but then the big paw was in my armpit, the little guy on my other arm.
"Hey," I said, but I was off the ground, feet dragging, into an alley and up against the wall, cold brick against the back of my head.
# 24
"I'm asking politely" Mick said, pinning me to the wall by the shoulders.
I stared into his eyes. Black pupils. Blood vessels like pink veins in white marble. Vincent stood and waited, a little dog waiting for the big dog to take me down.
Prison rules. They were still playing by them.
"You're wasting your time," I said through clenched teeth.
"I got time," Mick said.
"I don't," I said.
"I could just break your fucking wrists."
"Then we put two reporters on the story."
"I could send somebody around, burn down your house."
"Three reporters," I said. "And I'd find you."
"Is that right?"
"Yeah."
I held his gaze.
And suddenly he smiled. Relaxed. Released me from his grip and I felt myself slide down the wall.
"That's what it's like inside," Mick said, grinning. "Right, Vincent? Happens just like that."
Mick snapped his fat sausage fingers. Vincent nodded.
"You gotta understand that to write about prison. You gotta know how it feels to always be on your toes, every second, even when you're fucking sleeping. When I'm inside, it's like I never sleep, not really. It's like I'm totally wired, all the time. You wouldn't know it to talk to me. Hey, it's like I'm joking around, I'm bullshittin' with some guys in the gym, but part of me is always ready."
"So what was that? A demonstration, or a warning?" I said.
He gave me another quick thump on the upper right arm. I rocked to the left and shifted to regain my balance.
"Just givin' ya some real-life stuff for your story, stuff only a con is gonna know. Readers'll think you're giving 'em the real inside juice. You can start your story, 'Mick didn't sleep for a fucking year.' Except you gotta take out the 'fucking,' 'cause you got kids might read it. So it goes like this."
He held out his hand, brushed it across an invisible movie screen.
" 'Mick hasn't slept in a year. Not like you sleep, in your soft bed in your nice, safe house. Mick dozes like a fucking watchdog. A sound that ain't right and bam, he's wide awake before you can stick a shiv in his back. And remember. In prison, that ain't no figure of speech.' And so on and so forth. Whaddya think?"
"I think your friend should deliver his own messages," I said.
"I like this writing stuff. You write books?"
I didn't answer.
"Somebody oughta write a book about me, the shit I've seen."
"I'm sure."
"So how much?"
"How much what?"
"To drop this story. Leave it alone."
I shook my head.
"I got a guy wants to save the family from this trauma."
"What trauma? She's dead. They've already been through that."
"That's why they can't take any more."
"What is it?" I said. "They don't want the world to know she was screwing around?"
He looked at me.
"Who's saying that?"
"That she was with a guy who was married?"
"Jesus, who's telling you this crazy shit?"
He leaned closer. The shamrock on his neck wrinkled.
"You're getting into deep shit here, McMorrow. I'm trying to tell you. This is the real deal."
"I know that."
"I don't think so, 'cause if you did, you'd be washing your hands of it. Ain't fucking worth it, man. Real bad things can happen. You got loved ones? You want 'em to lose you? I'm not threatening you, McMorrow. I'm trying to give you some advance warning."
"Of what?"
"Of what can happen if you cross the wrong people."
"If I—"
"If you drag this family's name through the mud."
"Why don't they want the guy caught?"
He looked at me and smiled and the tooth glinted.
"Get a clue, McMorrow. Just 'cause the cops, can't find him, that don't mean justice hasn't been done."
Mick's smile widened and the image appeared, looming behind his carnivorous grin. Some guy beaten, tortured, shot. Buried at sea, in a foundation, in pieces in a landfill. For the first time in the conversation, I was afraid.
"When did this happen?" I said.
Mick didn't answer.
"Because the Morettis were still after him when I talked to them. That was yesterday."
No answer.
"So did you find who did it?" I said.
Mick was looking into my eyes like he finally had me, finally had found the leverage point.
"So what's it gonna be, McMorrow?" he said, his gravel voice softer now. I looked at him, the tooth, the glittering wolf's eyes. Vincent watched and waited.
"I'll write whatever I want to write," I said.
Mick's smile melted away.
"That's not what they're gonna want to hear. I can't guarantee your safety, they hear the kind of story you're talking about."
"And you come near me or anybody close to me, I can't guarantee yours," I said. "And I'm serious."
I turned and walked out of the alley and up the block. As I walked, I listened. I waited for the sandpaper sound of footsteps.
Nothing.
I crossed the street. Passed the Irish bar and took a right. Cut across to Congress Street and looked around. Kids. A couple of cars. No Cadillac.
At the T stop on Congress Street I looked back. Still nothing. I turned to the steps, grabbed the rail, and as I did, a car horn honked and I looked up. The Cadillac was coming toward me. The passenger window came down and Vincent leaned out. Rested his right wrist on | 1,594 |
Current Issue / DU Alumni
Dolores LaChappelle: a tai chi master in the high country
By Jami Duffy
Posted September 1, 2004 at 12:18 pm
Snow clings to Colorado's San Juan Mountains like a white satin dress on a voluptuous woman. The region's mining history and freezing temperatures are expressed in the orange, iron-stained ice formations lining the single highway winding through the landscape. It is here that Dolores LaChapelle, BA English '47, has cultivated a life steeped in tai chi and deep powder.
For 30 years, LaChapelle has awoken to a mountain view in Silverton, Colo., where she teaches and practices tai chi and reflects on her days of skiing the backcountry.
"Tai chi is the same flowing motion as powder skiing," says LaChapelle, who explains that while skiing, she can't tell where her legs end and the powder begins. The same is true of tai chi, she says.
When practicing tai chi, she says, her spine mimics the stability of a mountain; her arms sway like the wind.<|fim_middle|> she has vowed stop writing about it.
So, instead of writing about tai chi and deep ecology, LaChapelle practices them every day. And although a brush with an avalanche several years ago keeps her off of the slopes, it is still nearly impossible to tell where her feet end and the earth begins. | The ancient Chinese martial art embraces the philosophy that the universe and its inhabitants revolve harmoniously among all elements.
LaChapelle was introduced to tai chi in the 1970s when her friends practiced a session in front of her. She was mesmerized by the curious, dance-like movements and felt a connection between it and her first love—powder skiing.
In her book Deep Powder Snow: 40 Years of Ecstatic Skiing, Avalanches, and Earth Wisdom (Kivaki Press, 1993), LaChapelle wrote: "It is important to realize that when one skis in deep powder snow, there is absolutely nothing there—no resistance whatsoever." For LaChapelle—who jokingly refers to herself as a "failed Taoist"—nothingness is the beauty of both tai chi and powder skiing. Only when nothingness is achieved can you become your surroundings.
Her followers agree. LaChapelle has acquired a group of devotees—college professors, fellow environmentalists and neighbors—who quote her books, visit her isolated home several times each year and take tai chi lessons from her whenever possible.
LaChapelle's first book, Earth Festivals (Finn Hill Arts, 1976) marked the beginning of her brief but influential role in academia. Arne Naess, who founded the deep ecology movement in the late 1970s, grabbed hold of LaChapelle's insights on the connectedness between the earth and its inhabitants. He asked her to join his lecture circuit, which she did. LaChapelle then published a second book, Earth Wisdom (Guild of Tutors Press, 1978), and gave deep ecology lectures, workshops and seminars at many universities, including DU.
"Deep ecology is the most important part of my most recent and last book—Return to the Mountain: Tai Chi, Between Heaven and Earth (Hazard Publishing Unlimited, 2002). If you only read one page," she instructs, "read the page that explains the meaning of deep ecology."
Deep ecology promotes economic growth through environment-friendly means, and poses "deep" questions about why humans the planet the way they do. According to LaChapelle, humans come from the earth and thus are connected to all living things. So, when we progress and grow, it behooves us to protect the planet, as it amply provides for our vital needs. LaChapelle is so convinced that she has appropriately explored the subject, | 516 |
Tag: mto
Organizing street art – what for?
Example of illegal street art in Tartu by MinaJaLydia. Photo by suur jalutuskaik.
Today we have Vandalog's second guest post from Sirla, an organizer of the Stencibility festival in Tartu, Estonia. I find it inspiring to see festival organizers thinking deeply like you'll find in this post. – RJ
Street art festivals are the most organized form of street art – coordinated, sponsored, approved under certain conditions, etc. Street art festivals also garner significantly more attention on most blogs and other media than illegal and spontaneous street art marching to the beat of its own drum. Street art festivals are hot stuff and new ones are constantly popping up. According to a recent letter I got from the Freiraumgalerie in Germany, there are close to 125 different international street art festivals in Europe alone.
In many cities with active street art and graffiti movements, the authorities ruthlessly combat spontaneous public art, a move largely supported by the people in those cities. With that in mind, it can be fairly complicated to hold annual legal street art festivals in cities such as those. As a solution, the festivals are held as one-off events or in smaller cities that don't have years of experience with fighting the so-called "graffiti problem." Due to the absence of a local scene, however, it's typical in those smaller cities that nothing much happens on the streets before or after the festival, and the festival's emphasis tends to be on murals rather than street art as a whole.
This brings us to an exception that's by no means singular, however it's closest to my own heart, namely the city of Tartu and our street art festival Stencibility, of which I am an organizer. With her 100,000 inhabitants, Tartu is the second largest city in Estonia. Known for its university and a generally youthful vibe, it has also been dubbed the street art capital of Estonia. Since Stencibility has evolved out of the local stencil scene, both the illegal street art and the legal festival are thriving side by side, supporting one another.
Stencibility began 6 years ago as a small get-together of local street artists, and it has expanded every year since. Three years ago, we hosted Kashink, our first foreign artist, and two years ago we garnered some<|fim_middle|> works from foreign and local artists like MTO, Kashink, Facter, Multistab, Edward von Lõngus, MinaJaLydia, Thobek, Brush Lee, Müra2000, Okeiko and many others.
An illegal gallery under the bridge called the Freedom Gallery. Photo by Ruudu Rahumaru.
As the street art and graffiti scenes in Tartu have grown, local officials have implemented methods of control that rely on their discretion rather than a one-size-fits-all policy. In May 2013, a controversial incident happened involving the city council and the street art activists who have been organizing Stencibility. Tartu officials decided to buff the most active self-designated gallery in the city, a spot under a bridge called the "Freedom Gallery." After some alarmed citizens noticed something strange happening under the bridge, they called the mayor Urmas Kruuse to ask for an explanation (it might seem strange, but this can be taken as a positive aspect of a small town). The mayor interrupted the removal work and asked for a consultation with the organizers of Stencibility on how to deal with the spray-painted images. After some thought, those of us organizing the festival decided not to intervene in the city's natural changing process or the government's decisions by being the curators of illegal street art. We let the mayor and the other city officials decide for themselves what would stay and what would go. In the end, the "Freedom Gallery" was partially buffed, keeping the works that the city workers in charge of the removal deemed "beautiful" and removing the rest. So, the city is not a free-for-all, but at least officials seem open to the idea that even illegal street art and graffiti may have some benefits.
Although the phenomenon of street art can be found in all parts of the world, it's important to note that Tartu, with its small size, is significant especially for its street art. You can take this as an invitation because I'd suggest to join the view as long as it's alive and kickin'.
"Artuuro" by KAIRO and MinaJaLydia. Photo by MinaJaLydia.
KAIRO's works on the streets. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
A large scale pattern by TAF. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
Edward von Lõngus. Photo by Edward von Lõngus.
MinaJaLydia's error smiley. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
An anonymous work and MinaJaLydia's harajuku twins. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
Translation: "Sometimes it's so good not to do anything that you can't resist and do it anyway." Photo by Ragne Schults.
Facter visiting Estonia. Photo by Suurjalutuskaik.
Fans admiring a work by Edward von Lõngus. Photo by Suurjalutuskaik.
Water measurer by Hapnik. Photo by Suurjalutuskaik.
A dialogue on the street between Thobek (Latvia) and Kashink (France), who have never met in real life. Photo by Suurjalutuskaik.
Photos by Jyri L Mets, Ruudu Rahumaru, Edward von Lõngus, Ragne Schults, and Suurjalutuskaik, and courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla
Weekend link-o-rama
Kid Acne at Village Underground in London
Sorry for the late link-o-rama. Caroline came to visit on Thursday, so I've been trying to stay offline.
I love these simply-sprayed but clever one-liners by MTO.
Alexandros Vasmoulakis has a show open now at LeBasse Projects in LA, and it looks really really nice.
The brilliant and massively under-appreciated Peter Kennard has a solo show this month at UpperPlayground's Mexico City Gallery Fifty24MX.
San Franciscans are lucky that two Brits, Sickboy and Word To Mother, have solo shows going on there now. Sickboy is at Shooting Gallery and Word To Mother is at the affiliated White Walls Gallery.
Apparently Zilda and Ro have been collaborating for some time, but I think this is the first I've heard of it and the result is fantastic.
It's already sold out, but I really like this recent Nychos print from 1xRun.
Half of La Pandilla just painted a mural in LA.
Australian street artist CDH is thinking about the preservation of street art in a responsible manner and trying to get the effort going in Australia. Definitely an interesting, and controversial, read.
Photo by HowAboutNo! | major media attention when MTO painted Stencibility's first large-scale mural.
Ms. Reet by MTO, from the 2014 Stencibility festival. Photo by Sirla.
Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, is known for its graffiti, but street art is practically non-existent and, much like the neighboring capitals Helsinki and Riga, Tallinn upholds a strict policy of zero tolerance. Just a few months ago, a highly illustrative incident took place when Edward von Lõngus, one of the most popular Estonian street artists, made a stencil piece in the city centers of both Tallinn and Tartu for the anniversary of the Estonian Republic. It depicted a naked emperor as a commentary on the way the government is functioning. The one in Tallinn was erased after a few weeks with an official statement that it was not art, while the one in Tartu still stands. The situation went viral when MinaJaLydia, another stencil artist from Tartu, placed her own stencil right on the cleaned spot in Tallinn, a still life with the line "Is it art now?" which the media reported as a clash between the spirit of Tartu and the authority of Tallinn.
Continue reading "Organizing street art – what for?"
Sunday link-o-rama
"the beauty of un-advertising" by VladyArt in Catania, Italy
Got a few things that caught my eye recently, so I'm going back to the old link-o-rama format for a day:
A group of anonymous artists installed a bust of Edward Snowden at a park in Brooklyn, but the piece was almost immediately taken down by the city. Luckily, as the artists noted to ANIMAL, "The fact that a risk was taken, the fact that an image comes out of that event that can be passed around can never be undone. So you can rip the statue out, but you can't erase the fact that it happened and that people are sharing it." It's all a bit reminiscent of when the British government forced The Guardian to destroy hard drives containing files leaked by Snowden, even though there were other copies of the files outside of the UK. Of course the sculpture wasn't going to last. Take it down or leave it up, it hardly matters. We have the photos.
Faile and Bast are showing at the Brooklyn Museum in July. So I'm looking forward to that, and you should be too.
But if you're looking for something up now in NYC, definitely stop by Roa's solo show at Jonathan Levine Gallery. ANIMAL very cleverly made a series of GIFs of the show. I had a pretty similar reaction to this show as I had to Roa's show at Stolenspace last year in London. Basically, I went in with a negative attitude of thinking I'd seen the work before, and I left happy as a kid in a candy store because Roa's pieces are so damn fun to experience and play with. It's a really stupid fear/attitude that I have about Roa's shows, and it's one that the work always seems to overcome, proving my preconceived notions wrong. Good stuff, as always.
And if you're in Paris, Know Hope just had a show open there.
Check out this spot-on anonymous critique of crappy stencils in Shoreditch by terrible street artist Bambi.
It's great to see Aakash Nihalani getting some love from Juxtapoz for his interactive work.
Niels "Shoe" Meulman is retiring his use of the term "Calligraffiti", because he feels his work is now better represented by the term "Abstract Vandalism," now that his work is moving away from letters and becoming more abstract. Okay, he's evolving as an artist, but really: who cares? That's a pretty standard evolution these days for artists coming out of graffiti. Two reasons this is interesting. First, he's published a short manifesto of Abstract Vandalism, which I love, and I highly recommend picking up a copy for the great little tidbits like "The difference between art and vandalism is only in the eye of the law upholder." Second, Shoe is giving up admin control of the Calligraffiti facebook page, which has over half a million likes. In a few days, Shoe will be selecting new admins for the page, artists whose work he feels is in line with Calligraffiti now that his work is not. You can learn more about that, and suggest yourself as a new admin, here.
Gotta love Jorge Rodriguez-Gerada's latest pieces.
I've never really cared for MTO's realistic figurative murals, even though they do play with space in an interesting way, but he's really piqued my interest with a new piece for Memorie Urbane 2015 in Gaeta, Italy. The piece is a conceptual look into the future, a future where Google controls what information we have access to (oh wait, maybe this isn't so futuristic…) in public space. The mural is a response to the Google Cultural Institute's Street Art Project, which ostensibly acts as a digital archive for street art and murals. The project is highly curated and controlled, begging the question: Who decides what's included, and what isn't? MTO's piece also hints at a future where augmented reality is the norm. The re:art has a great article with photos and analysis of MTO's mural. For now, I'll just add: I can't wait for this mural to show up on Google Street View.
Photo by VladyArt
Street art in Tartu, Estonia
MTO for the Stencibility festival in April 2014. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
Today we have a guest post from Marika Agu and Sirla, two organizers of the Stencibility festival in Tartu, Estonia. The example of Tartu shows that even smaller cities can have a thriving street art scene. – RJ Rushmore
With a population of 100k, Tartu is the second largest town in Estonia. It's mostly known for its university, which might not sound attractive in the context of globalization, when it's cheaper than ever to travel to culturally vibrant capitals. Nevertheless, the town has something unique and unexpected – for a small place like Tartu, there's an extremely high concentration of highly varied street art. It's something really new for the town as the scene has evolved in the past 7-8 years.
Works by Multistab (Estonia) and Kashink (France) for the last year's Stencibility festival. Photo courtesy of Marika Agu and Sirla.
The local street art festival is called Stencibility. It started out from the stencil scene 5 years ago, since then Stencibility has turned into a street art festival that has bigger significance each year. The festival emphasizes including the local community with educational programs, lectures, workshops, photo competitions, guided tours, street art map, exhibitions etc., and the people living in Tartu are generally positively minded towards street art. Even the city council acknowledges it, even though most of the time the festival is shamelessly promoting illegal street art. For example, one of the local street artist Edward von Lõngus was awarded in 2013 with an official cultural award for an illegal stencil work.
"Ouroboros" by Maari Soekov at Stencibility 2012. Photo by Jyri L Mets.
This intense activity has led Tartu to become the street art capital of Estonia and an alternative to nearby larger cities like Tallinn, Helsinki and Riga that have declared a zero-tolerance policy on illegal graffiti and street art. Tartu's self-designated galleries, hidden treasures in abandoned buildings together with bits and pieces all over town, are must-see spots for every urban explorer. Tartu hosts a wide range of | 1,638 |
My beloved granny died last weekend. Before she had the stroke that ultimately ended her life, she was one of my biggest beauty icons. Everyone who knew her commented on how elegant and fabulously turned out she always was, and even in<|fim_middle|> of hyaluronic acid all over your face and the cling film was hastening along the anaesthetic that made the whole process a little less sting-y.
As hyaluronic acid attracts 1000x its weight in water molecules, it plumps the skin from within; it also stimulates the production of fresh collagen, so after about a month, skin should be looking much plumper as well as more hydrated. Think of it as moisturiser you apply into your skin, rather than on it.
L'Artisan Parfumeur La Chasse Aux Papillons body lotion and gel - One of my favourite perfumes – a sweet, heady ode to white flowers in warm gardens – now comes in a chic gel and lotion set. The textures are as good as the scent.
Chanel Les Beiges Healthy Glow Powder and Le Vernis in Coralium and Coquillage - Chanel's vision for summer chic 2017 is gently glowing skin and pared back brights.
Estee Lauder Bronze Goddess Palette - This collection always looks and smells like summer holidays and this luxe-y palette for face and eyes is no exception. I've been liberally applying the Bronze Goddess fragrance, too. | her much later years, when it took her as long to do her hair and make-up as it did us to drive down from London to see her, she was never knowingly under-groomed.
As someone who is often not very pulled together, she represented everything I was not. Not just someone who always made the best of themselves on the outside, but who embodied a poise and decorum I have never managed to achieve.
I think it's one of the reasons we got on so well – we were opposites attracting each other. When I was a kid and my grandad was away on one of his sailing trips, I'd ask if I could go and stay with granny. I slept in his single bed, which was next to her single bed, and at night we'd hold hands across the gap.
Here's a piece I wrote about her in Red a few years ago. I'm so lucky my editor Sarah let me include it, as it's not quite the usual service-driven piece we go for, but it was a wonderful way to be able to honour her. I love you, Granny.
Top left: With grandad, and still looking impeccable post-stroke and turning 98!
It's not my best look, but a cling film-clad me was the first step of the Volite treatment I had at Medicetics this week. This interesting new treatment involves having tens of tiny injections | 286 |
John Q
*1/2
John Q is a big disappointment. A feature film with star power, John Q highlights some of the problems with America's health care system. Unfortunately the movie is so heavy-handed and clichéd that it trivializes the issue.
The previews correctly indicate that this movie is about a man pushed too far by an uncaring, bureaucratic health care system."Give a father no options," says the movie's tagline, "and you leave him no choice."
It's about time someone spoke up about the insurance-HMO-welfare axis of evil in a wide-reaching forum. The hell Michael Moore raised with his documentaries, Denzel Washington was going to raise with this feature film.
What a pity then that we get this ridiculous, farfetched, tearjerking snoozer. Even the noble message gets mangled in this mess from director Nick Cassavetes (the son of the great director John Cassavetes).
A Perfect Family
Daniel E. Smith
Nick Cassavetes' 13-year old daughter has heart disease and will eventually need a transplant.
Did You Notice?
The sniper was played by another member of the Cassavetes clan, Frank Cassavetes
John Quincy Archibald (Washington) is Mister Perfect. He has a perfect, precious son and a perfect, beautiful wife. He and his wife are both hard working, church-going, blue collar Americans. They are the kind of people affected by jobs sent to Mexico, but they still face life with a good attitude. A few character flaws might have made the movie more plausible and less sickening. (It might have reminded America that ugly, bitter, white collar, childless atheists deserve health care coverage too.)
When John's son<|fim_middle|> Denise (Kimberly Elise) calls from the hospital, distraught. They're going to send Mikey home that afternoon. "Do something, do anything!" she says, so John does the only thing he can think to do. He takes a bus downtown (they've sold both of their cars, along with their appliances and furniture). He begs the doctors one last time, and failing that, he hijacks the hospital. His demands are simple: put his son on the heart recipient list.
There is a subplot involving cops posturing over jurisdiction. It's not really needed, but it allows two big names to be added to the marquee: Robert Duvall as a negotiator and Ray Liotta as the chief of police.
And finally, a plot development happens late in the movie that I won't reveal here. It is so ridiculous that my respect for this movie dropped down to zero. The development itself is not so much ridiculous as desperate, but when the film's characters take it seriously, the movie becomes absurd. Any hope for John Q being salvaged, disappeared.
Saving Graces
There are some saving graces for the movie, the greatest of all being its subject matter. Perhaps some people's eyes will be opened to the desperation Americans face when they can't get health care. Maybe there will be a few calls to Congress. Maybe President Bush will see the movie and take it to heart. But John Q was so bad that I don't have high hopes.
Some of the dialogue, in spite of being blatantly expository, is well said. A conversation about HMOs involves a doctor (James Woods), several patients, and some orderlies and nurses. It's nice to hear the doctor concede to some of the flaws and unfairness in the system. A feature film sold as entertainment is probably the wrong forum for this conversation, but as long as the message is delivered, that's okay.
And of course Denzel Washington is another redeeming value. His portrayal is rock-solid, even if the rest of the movie is a house of cards.
Too Far Gone
But the saving graces are not enough to salvage the movie. The issue is so important that I'd like to be able to recommend it. But it's just too far gone, even for me.
Next time hire Michael Moore. | Mike (Daniel E. Smith) suddenly collapses at a wholesome Little League game, they rush him to the hospital. The diagnosis is a weak and swollen heart. Little Mikey needs a transplant or he'll die.
The Runaround
Anne Heche plays Rebecca Payne (get it?), a cold-as-ice hospital administrator. She encourages John to consider letting Mike die. And I do have to give the filmmakers credit for actually considering it for a moment. Some medial conditions really are incurable, especially if time is short. Sometimes quality of life should be the focus. But naturally, in a major motion picture, that's not an option. John chooses to try the transplant.
Next comes the chore of paying for it. John gets the runaround from his insurance company, from the hospital, and from the social "safety net" of the United States. John is covered, but not enough. He's caught in a catch-22 that guarantees neither insurance nor social programs will take full responsibility for Mike's heart.
As perfect as the Archibald family is, that's how frustrating The System is. John's runaround is presented as a montage of uncaring bureaucrats, disappointed glances, and sympathetic music. John Q wants to make sure you get how frustrating the system is, so it goes too far, turning audience sympathy from the Archibalds to clueless director Cassavetes.
John tries to raise the money elsewhere — he can do it but it will take time. The hospital lets the Archibalds slide for as long as possible (about a month), but when John only scrapes together 20 grand out of the 75 needed for a down payment (the surgery itself will cost a quarter of a million dollars), the hospital shuts its doors to him.
Again I have to give the movie credit for making the hospital kind enough to work with the Archibalds for as long as they do. But ultimately they can't keep Mikey any longer.
Revolting Developments
John's wife | 412 |
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Every drug carries a risk. Compounding that fact, drugs delivered by conventional methods can diffuse to unwanted areas. For that reason, Andre G. Skirtach and colleagues have developed a laser-based method that uses microcapsules for targeted drug delivery.
The site-directivity of microcapsules is particularly important for targeting cancer cells because cancer drugs are often very harmful to healthy somatic cells, Skirtach said. The method allows the release of the drug to be delayed<|fim_middle|>728-4733. | until a laser beam hits the microcapsule. The only other means of directly delivering a drug to a cell is injection, which probably would damage the cell membrane.
To test the method, the researchers packaged fluorescently tagged dextran in microcapsules. The tag allowed them to view the release of the dextran. They compared Alexa Fluor 488 with fluoroscein isothiocyanate and decided to use the former because it was bright, did not fluctuate over a pH range and did not exhibit photobleaching.
The image on the left shows a microcapsule inside a cell, using superimposed fluorescence and transmission modes. The image on the right is similar, except that the laser beam has hit the cell. © Angewandte Chemie 2006.
The template for microcapsule preparation was composed of silica. According to Skirtach, silica is advantageous because it can be removed before encapsulation. The researchers added layers of polystyrene sulfonate and (poly)diallyldimethylammonium chloride.
Next, they used a heat-shrinking method — developed by fellow lab member Karen Köhler — that allowed the material to be encapsulated, enabling them to control the thickness, size and stiffness without deforming the capsule. Increasing the thickness and stiffness was necessary because the forces upon uptake can cause warping.
Finally, the scientists deposited gold or silver nanoparticles on the microcapsules to serve as the absorbent material for the laser. Their early studies were conducted with silver nanoparticles, but they switched to gold because of its surface chemistry control.
The researchers triggered the release of the dextran in living cells with a diode laser that they constructed using Sanyo parts. They operated the laser in continuous-wave mode and opened the shutter only for brief pulses, which minimized cell damage. They used an 830-nm emission, one of the biologically safest wavelengths, and recorded the results using a standard CCD camera.
Besides its utility for drug delivery, the technique could help researchers and clinicians measure the uptake of medicine. According to Skirtach, the current method of measurement involves using a confocal microscope, which is more laborious because it requires multiple scans in the Z plane. The resulting confocal images are ambiguous, he said.
Although the scientists tested their system using dextran, they plan on performing future experiments with other compounds that have more relevance to the pharmaceutical industry.
This method was developed by researchers at Max Planck Institute for Colloids and Interfaces in Golm and at Ludwig Maximilians University in Munich, both in Germany, and at Queen Mary University in London.
Angewandte Chemie, July 2006, pp. 4 | 560 |
Toumani Diagouraga on Plymouth Argyle's upturn in results, his team-mates and the Green Army
Former Leeds midfielder has been a steadying influence for the Pilgrims since signing in October
Argyle midfielder Toumani Diagouraga gets away a pass before Northampton's Regan Poole can close him down (Image: Dave Rowntree/PPAUK)
Midfielder Toumani Diagouraga has played down his part in Plymouth Argyle's recent improved results.
The Pilgrims were on a dreadful run of eight defeats in nine games when the 30-year-old was signed as a free agent in October by manager Derek Adams.
He went straight into the side for the 1-1 draw against table-topping Shrewsbury Town at Home Park and that marked an upturn in the Argyle's fortunes.
Including that game, they have lost only once out of the last eight in League One, to raise hopes they can steer clear of relegation this season.
Diagouraga insisted he was not surprised by the way it had gone since he arrived at Home Park.
He said: "I have been enjoying it. We have been getting quite positive results and it definitely helps.
Plymouth Argyle manager<|fim_middle|>, especially with the position we are in, so it's credit to them really."
Argyle continue their League One campaign against Portsmouth at Fratton Park on Saturday.
Diagouraga had an eight-game loan spell with Pompey from Brentford during the 2013/14, when current Argyle team-mates Sonny Bradley and Jake Jervis were also there.
He said: "It's a very good stadium and very good support. It's going to be a tough game, we know that.
"But with the way we played at Bradford and Blackburn, we know we can go away and get results against anyone in the league."
Sonny Bradley | Derek Adams on the importance of getting more set piece goals
"I know how football works, it's swings and roundabouts. You get bad periods and good periods.
"At the moment we are having a good period, and long may that continue.
"When I came in everyone was very positive so I knew there was a chance of turning the corner.
"That's what we are trying to do at the moment. We are not quite there yet but we are on our way.
"If we keep doing what we are doing until the end of the season we will not be in the bottom four.
He added: "There is a lot of good players at the club. As a team we understand what we are doing, and it is working."
Midfielder Toumani Diagouraga on the ball for Argyle against Oxford (Image: Micah Crook/PPAUK)
Diagouraga left Championship club Leeds United by mutual consent in late August and had a trial with Scunthorpe United before signing for Argyle.
Over recent matches he has played as part of a central midfield trio, alongside David Fox and Yann Songo'o.
Songo'o has broken up attacks and blocked crosses and shots, Fox has provided accurate passing and Diagouraga has done a bit of both.
"I think we are all similar but different at the same time," said Diagouraga. "We complement each other when we are playing, all of us together, and it's working."
Diagouraga was thrown in at the deep end at Argyle with his first three games coming in eight days, also including a 1-1 draw at Blackburn Rovers and a 1-0 win away to AFC Wimbledon.
For someone who had not played any competitive first team football since April that could have been difficult, but not for Diagouraga.
Plymouth Argyle to team up with Portsmouth in support of The Offside Trust
He said: "Before the first game I didn't think I would be able to do Saturday, Tuesday, Saturday.
"But once you get on the pitch and you get that competitive nature you just want to do your best for the team.
"I'm pleased with the way it has gone, and I just want to carry on.
"I have always appreciated playing football but circumstances have meant I haven't always been able to do it.
"That's one of the main reasons why I came here, to make sure I played football on a regular basis. I'm doing that and I'm enjoying it."
Argyle's only defeat to date with Diagouraga in the side came when they lost 4-0 to Oxford United at Home Park last Saturday after the 14th minute dismissal of centre-back Ryan Edwards.
Sonny Bradley firing up his Plymouth Argyle team-mates for Portsmouth clash
But the Pilgrims bounced back from the crushing disappointment of that result with a 2-0 victory over Northampton Town on Tuesday.
Diagouraga said: "We had to win against Northampton. We couldn't afford to lose and be seven points behind them.
"You could see from the first whistle that we really went after them and it was a very good win.
"After losing 4-0, you want to get back out there as soon as possible and make it right, and that is what we did."
Diagouraga has enjoyed the experience of playing at Home Park for Argyle and the support of the Green Army.
There was a gate of close to 11,000 for the Armed Services Day game against Oxford, and there was still 7,610 for the Tuesday night clash with Northampton.
Plymouth Argyle manager Derek Adams: Why I enjoy games against Portsmouth so much
Diagouraga said: "We get very good support, compared to a lot of League One teams who get 3,000-4,000.
"The crowd are really getting behind the team | 809 |
Manchester United midfielder Andreas Pereira has told UOL Esporte that an Instagram post caused last month's training ground row between Jose Mourinho and Paul Pogba.
The confrontation happened in the aftermath of United's elimination from the Carabao Cup by Championship side Derby. Video footage showed Pogba looking shocked after Mourinho said something to him.
Mourinho was reportedly angry with the France international after he posted a video on Instagram showing him laughing with teammates including Pereira during the game on Sept. 25, thinking it had been posted after the match.
"Pogba posted the video before and it was a video of him, me and Luke Shaw laughing," Pereira said<|fim_middle|> feel it. For you to have an idea, I do not usually have any English media on my cell phone so I do not get intoxicated with everything they say.
"He is our coach, we give our life on the field for him and he does for us as well. Everyone is very calm, very focused and very happy." | .
"We were winning 1-0 at the time of the video. Then we lost the game, and people said that Pogba had posted it later. But he posted it before.
"The manager thought that Pogba had posted it later. He asked him why that happened. There was an atmosphere about it."
"It would be like shooting myself on the foot to badmouth the person who gave me the first opportunity to play and still does."
Pereira, who spent last season on loan at Valencia, said he and his teammates had a positive relationship with Mourinho despite reports that some players were unhappy with him.
"The relationship is good, it's calm," he said. "I have a very good relationship with him, with the players. He does, too, have a good relationship with the players.
"People don't feel that pressure that those on the outside [press] do. Everyone says he's being turned away. We do not | 191 |
Seattle – The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency has awarded environmental education grants to Wilderness Science Education in McCall Idaho, Western Oregon University, McKenzie Watershed Alliance in<|fim_middle|> on local watershed education projects such as collection and analysis of water quality and wildlife habitat data, and monitoring stream habitats.
Western Oregon University in Monmouth, Oregon, received $91,000, to expand the salmon life cycle curriculum, 'Fish Eggs to Fry', into a professional workshop for elementary school educators, exploring connections among the salmon life cycle, healthy fish, and healthy watersheds. In partnership with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, up to 50 third grade teachers and up to eight partner schools will use this revised curriculum inside and outside the classroom.
McKenzie Watershed Alliance in Lane County, Oregon, received $63,840, to help students understand local ecosystems, learn about actions taking place to protect local watersheds, and increase their participation in activities that enhance and conserve local watersheds. Up to 130 secondary students from six rural and urban schools will participate in watershed stewardship and monitoring projects to protect fish and wildlife habitats and water quality. These projects will be coordinated through partnerships with state and federal agencies, watershed councils and private landowners.
Hood Canal Salmon Enhancement Group in Belfair, Washington, received $91,000 to engage low-income and tribal students in watershed restoration through hands-on learning in the classroom, at summer camp and in after-school programs. Students will be engaged in programs like Salmon in the Classroom, Enviro Camp, Green STREAM Camp, and Students in the Watershed curriculum and outdoor environmental education. The project will help provide students with the knowledge and skills needed to protect their environment and the Hood Canal watershed.
More information on EPA's environmental education grants program: http://www2.epa.gov/education/environmental-education-ee-grants. | Lane County, Oregon, and Hood Canal Salmon Enhancement Group in Belfair, Washington. The grant-funded projects support partnerships among schools and universities, state and federal agencies, watershed councils, private landowners and public utilities.
Wilderness Science Education non-profit in McCall, Idaho, received $91,000, to develop a Central Idaho Rural Environmental Stewardship Team. The project will educate and train up to 550 teachers and students using restoration projects in schools and in range and forest locations on private and public lands. Teachers and students at six rural schools will work | 118 |
According to Earthday.org, more than 1 billion people from around the globe<|fim_middle|> everyone who wants to take part will be able to. | now participate in Earth Day activities and festivities, making it the largest civic observance in the world.
In honor of Earth Day on April 22, NASA has launched a campaign which invites you to celebrate the holiday by virtually adopting a piece of Earth as seen from space.
The online adoption allows supporters to assign their name to one of the 64,000 available locations, essentially "adopting" a randomly selected piece of Earth. Once you've followed the simple adoption steps, you'll receive a personalized certificate for your unique numbered piece of Earth (on average 55 miles wide) featuring data from NASA's Earth-observing satellites.
You can then go on to print and share it on social media and check out other locations using NASA's interactive map which will reveal even more Earth science data from their Worldview website.
In Worldview, you are able to view images of vegetation on land as well as air quality measurements and even see how far pollution and soot from fires or volcanoes have traveled from land to the ocean. You'll also be able to see how your piece of Earth has changed over time since the majority of the data spans almost 30 years.
In addition, NASA will be teaming up with Amazon Web Services to bring you live 4K Ultra HD video from space. The event will be available to the public on April 26.
Ultimately, NASA's goal is to have the entire planet adopted by Earth Day and once all of the pieces have been adopted, they plan to start all over again, so that | 315 |
Provides a concise but comprehensive description of how impacts in the economy are derived from government support of technology development companies.
HAL has developed a reputation for thorough economic and social analysis. The focus of many federal S&T programs, and the rationale for continued federal support, has shifted towards clearly serving the needs of stakeholders and demonstrating benefits. We have used our technology assessment methodology in support of federal and provincial departments and agencies interested in determining these benefits. The methodology has been shown to be a useful tool in providing structure and consistency to our quantitative and qualitative assessments.
Present results from studies in a common format for analysis.
The HAL Technology Assessment Framework has five main parts. Central to the framework is the Study Company that undertakes contracted activities, technology development activities, and product development, production and marketing activities. The Study Company is influenced and assisted by the government through the procurement of goods and services, the activities of government laboratories, and government programs. The study company, in turn, influences the rest of Canadian industry by forming formal and informal alliances with other companies, and by unintentional diffusion of skills and knowledge to other companies. The Study Company also affects the Canadian users of its goods and services by providing quality and productivity improvements in their activities. In the end, the activities of the study companies, Canadian government, Canadian industry, and Canadian Users result in impacts on the Canadian economy in the form of infrastructure improvements, wealth creation, and the public good.
Economic returns from technology come from the commercialization and application of the technology rather than from its development. When assessing the potential payoff from technology development, it is these downstream benefits that must be identified and estimated.
Traditionally, impacts have been thought of in terms of direct wealth creation – stimulating the economy through the production and sale of tangible goods in the economy, usually by the private sector. In addition, we know that technology can enhance the social well-being of a country (the public good<|fim_middle|> associated with the government action.
Time frame plays an important role in the assessment of impacts. The major benefits attributable to R&D and technology transfer will accrue to society long after completion of particular government activities and over many years into the future.
The uncertainty of the level of benefits and costs from any particular implementation of technology. | ), and the infrastructure. Research into infrastructure improvement, such as faster communications systems or improved methods and codes, ultimately contribute to productivity, wealth creation and the public good.
Social and cultural values, codes, habits, rituals, heritage, expectations, etc.
Investment in the development of linkages or alliances among industrial partners, or between industrial and government (laboratory) partners, to yield new products and services for the future.
Infrastructure is an asset that is created or built up over time.
Infrastructure must be maintained regularly but also depreciates (or becomes obsolete) and must be upgraded or replaced over time.
Infrastructure requires significant resources (and time) to be changed or modified since it is an asset (i.e. has significant built-up value).
Infrastructure must be utilized to be productive – it does nothing by itself.
Much infrastructure is location-specific and needs to be interconnected or linked to produce benefits. Location of infrastructure is an important instrument of regional development policy.
When analyzing the results of a program, the following considerations should be kept in mind.
The impacts and effects to be considered are those which are directly due to the government action under review. These impacts and effects are called incremental, which is defined as the difference between what did happen with the government action (such as procurement), and what would have happened if the action had not been taken. If nothing changes as a result of the action, impacts and effects are the same with and without the action, and incrementality would be zero.
A concept related to incrementality is that of attribution. Even if the government action makes incremental differences in impacts, some fraction of the impacts may logically be attributable to other programs, funding sources, organizations or stimulants. Impacts and effects may have benefited from more than one government program or policy. Such incremental activities may give rise to impacts and effects that are not wholly (or fairly) attributable to the government action under consideration. In these cases, if the other programs or activities are to be credited with some of the impacts, these impacts must be attributed to the various contributing programs in some way. To the extent these other sources can be identified, they should share in the allocation of impacts and effects | 438 |
Sophie Lowe on new film Blame
15 June, 2011 by Sam Dallas
June has been a big month for young Australian actress Sophie Lowe<|fim_middle|> Melissa George and Sophie Okonedo in ABC series The Slap, which finished shooting last month.
Blame opens across Australia tomorrow. For cinema locations, visit the official website. The trailer can be seen here.
Check out the June/July issue of IF Magazine for a cover story on Blame.
afi-awards,
beautiful-kate,
blame,
road-train,
sophie-lowe,
the-slap
IF's Sophie Lowe portrait to show at Head On Portrait Prize exhibition
The Slap: Interview with director Rob Connolly
The 2008 AFI Awards nominees
'Blame' producer Ryan Hodgson appointed ScreenWest investment manager
Andrew Commis Wins ACS Top Award | .
After celebrating her 21st birthday 10 days ago, she is now anxiously waiting for her latest movie – psychological thriller Blame – to open in Australia.
It's a movie – written and directed by newcomer Michael 'Hank' Henry – that she instantly fell in love with.
The filmmakers knew immediately that Lowe would be perfect to play the role of Natalie – who is one of five young friends who aim to commit the perfect murder, in attempting to seek revenge for their friend's death.
"I really loved the role of Natalie – she really stood out to me because she's not what she seems," Sydney-based Lowe tells IF.
"She's got more going on throughout the whole film, which is really exciting to play – she's not just a regular character, it was something else I had to bring to it which I thought I'd love to do."
With few lines to speak, Lowe's performance in the Perth-based film is characterised by nuances such as black-painted fingernails or a little twitch in her face. It's the type of acting she enjoys.
"I love doing stuff like that, I love making the audience a bit skeptical and trying to leave them hanging on stuff and do stuff more internally than just saying words," she says.
She's an actress that doesn't mind playing the unconventional character – she admits it's fun and more entertaining to play.
Is there a character/situation she would refuse?
"No. It depends all in the character and the story but…I think if the character is good and I think I can do a good job then I'd definitely go for it," the Sophia Coppola fan says.
The young actress, who moved from England in 2000 when she was 10, gained attention after her film debut performance in Beautiful Kate – in which she received an AFI Nomination for Best Actress.
Since then Lowe has appeared in films Road Train, Blessed and The Clinic while entertaining TV audiences in such shows as All Saints and Satisfaction. She recently acted alongside pros | 411 |
2000/01 Macclesfield Town Away Football Shirt (S)
Condition: 9/10 Superb
Size: Adult's Small
Chest Measurement: 39-41 Inches / <|fim_middle|>9-103 CM
Manufacturer: Silkman Leisure
Colour: Red, blue trim
Official Silkman Leisure Macclesfield Town away football shirt from the 2000/01 season.
Condition of this original football shirt is 9/10 – Superb (see photos).
Material is bright, vivid and smooth. Fantastic looking shirt, ideal for a collector or for framing and a great piece of football memorabilia.
Sammy McIlroy took charge at the start of the 1993–94 season, and guided the club to the Football Conference championship in his second season as manager. However. the club was denied promotion to the Football League because the Moss Rose did not meet league requirements of having a 6,000 total capacity including at least 1,000 seats by the League's deadline of 31 December 1994.
Macclesfield Town won the Conference title again two seasons later in 1996–97, by which time the stadium had been upgraded and they were promoted to Division Three of the Football League in place of Hereford United.
See more Macclesfield Town Football Shirts. | 9 | 1 |
She has been your client for years. You remember when her son starred in the first grade play and now—how time flies—this same young man just graduated from college. She's a client and also a friend—it's a relationship built over years of conversations in your chair. And then you get the gut-wrenching call. The diagnosis<|fim_middle|> receiving the full dose of chemotherapy, the client is at risk for a primary metastasis—or the spread of cancer—to the scalp. However, Nancy notes, 20 years of research conducted by Dr. Hope Rugo, Professor of Medicine at the University of California San Francisco, indicates that there is only about a 2 percent chance of scalp metastasis with Cold Cap wearing breast cancer patients—a rate no greater than the non-Cold Cap using breast cancer patients.
Debra Neill Baker celebrated finishing chemotherapy and Cold Cap Therapy by getting a short, summer 'do.
To increase stylist awareness, The Rapunzel Project® has partnered with Kenra Professional. "We feel this subject really resonates with stylists," says Kenra Professional Artistic Director, Robb Dubré. "It's devastating to lose your hair while going through chemotherapy. Cold Cap Therapy allows patients to keep their hair, which is so uplifting and gives them more fighting power." Kenra has also placed The Rapunzel Project® logo, along with the Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon, on all cans of Volume Spray 25. Kenra representatives will also speak to stylists about Cold Cap Therapy during events they will participate in with The Rapunzel Project®.
For more information on Cold Cap Therapy and to receive free brochures to display in your salon, contact: info@rapunzelproject.org. | was positive, chemo has been prescribed and she is asking you to shave her head and find a wig.
It's the worst moment in any stylist-client relationship, and it happens way too often. One of the most frustrating aspects when a client undergoes chemotherapy and loses her hair is the helplessness you feel. After all, you're the hair expert, yet there is nothing you can do to help. But maybe there is!
Cold Cap Therapy is common in Europe and now, thanks to an organization called The Rapunzel Project®, it's gaining attention in this country. Here's how it works. A patient rents several specially designed, gel-filled caps that are frozen to -30 degrees Celsius. The first cap is placed over the head for 50 minutes before a chemo treatment and is worn for 20 minutes until it cools. Starting with the third cap, the caps are changed every 30 minutes for the duration of the treatment and then for an additional three to four hours afterward, during which time the liver dilutes the strength of the chemotherapy medication in the bloodstream.
Cold Cap Therapy patients wear the frozen caps for up to seven hours during their treatments to prevent chemotherapy-induced hair loss.
According to The Rapunzel Project® Co-Founder, Nancy Marshall, who is also a cancer survivor, the science behind the cap is straightforward. Chemotherapy attacks the body's fastest-growing cells, and along with the cancer cells, the hair follicles are also killed, which leads to hair loss. The cap constricts the blood vessels in the scalp, drastically reducing the rate at which the chemo drugs reach the follicles. It's admittedly cold and uncomfortable, but the results are heartwarming. Up to 90 percent of Cold Cap Therapy patients keep their hair!
Debra celebrates her 60th birthday with family, two months after wrapping up her chemo treatments.
Cold Caps are frequently used overseas, but here, they're relatively unknown. And that's something that Nancy is out to change, for the sake of stylists and their clients. "You can't make a choice if you don't know there is a choice," Nancy points out.
At The Rapunzel Project®, Nancy and Co-Founder Shirley Billigmeier, have been working to raise awareness within the medical community, but they keep hitting roadblocks. "The oncology community has been very slow to get behind this because we live in a very litigious society, and when practices have yet to be FDA approved, it's very difficult for a lot of doctors to be openly supportive even if they are quietly supportive," explains Nancy. One of the main reasons the FDA is acting cautiously has to do with a belief that Cold Caps could hinder chemotherapy's effectiveness. The thinking is that since the Cold Cap prevents hair follicles from | 572 |
Known as the town at the east-most end of Indonesia.<|fim_middle|> also the Natsai Beach which offers some beautiful panorama. | Merauke is the first town in Indonesia Archipelago that catches the first rays of the rising tropical sun. Officially, Merauke as the capital city of Papua province, Indonesia.
Merauke as one of the goals in Papua must be visited and enjoyed the beauty of nature. Found on February 12, 1902 by a Dutch citizen who tried to live among the indigenous population of Marind Anim and Sohores. The name Merauke itself is said to originate from an anecdote among Dutch settlers and indigenous. At that time, the settlers asked them for the name of the area. Misunderstanding the question, the locals pointed to the Maro River –the main river that passes the town – and said "Maro Ke" meaning "that is the River Maro". Over time, "Maro Ke" evolved into Merauke and became established as the name of both the town and the regency.
Covering a total area of 45, 071 square meters, the Merauke Regency is also known as one of the largest regencies in eastern Indonesia. It borders directly the neighboring country of Papua New Guinea in the east, Boven Digul and Mappi Regencies in the North, the Asmat Regency in the West, and the open Arafura Sea to its south. The regency consists of 20 districts, with the district town of Merauke being the most populated.
Merauke is also known as the staging point for hikers before venturing into the pristinely enchanting Wasur National Park, which is roughly only about 60 km away. For travelers, Merauke offers the most facilities such as banks, internet cafes, airline agents, restaurants, markets, and accommodation. A walk around the town is easy and will reveal some incredible insight into the past. Old graveyards and lots of classic churches highlight the town, while cruising down the Maro River one can observe the daily life of Papuan fishermen. A trip to the local market will be an eye opener, as you encounter various uncommon items.
Garuda Indonesia, Lion Air, and Sriwijaya Air serve daily flights to Merauke's Mopah Airport from Jayapura, Makassar, and Jakarta. Every two weeks Pelni's (Indonesia Sea Transportation Company) Tatamailau ship sails from Merauke to Agats and Sorong. The Kelimutu ship sails to Agats then sails through southern and Central Maluku, every four weeks.
Within and around the town of Merauke, there are a number of interesting sites worth visiting. For a start, the Sabang-Merauke Monument can confirm that you have indeed reached the east-most townIndonesia. As the name suggests, the monument is one of a pair of monuments, where the first stands in Sabang, Aceh Province, marking the west-most point of the Republic of Indonesia.
There is also the Pepera Monument which is the icon symbolizing the reunification of the Papua region into the Republic of Indonesia through a UN supervised referendum in 1969 known as Penentuan Pendapat Rakyat (Pepera) or the "Act of Free Choice".
Aside from the Wasur National Park, the natural beauty of Merauke can also be found at the Lampu Satu Beach. The beach is located only 4 km away from the center of Merauke and features a picturesque lighthouse which sheds beautiful light streaks from sunset. This is most probably what has given the beach its name since Lampu Satu in Bahasa Indonesia means "Single Light". There is | 750 |
29 May 2014, Boston, MA – Crossref Text and Data Mining services, allowing publishers to provide information that will simplify access arrangements for researchers who desire to mine and analyze scholarly publisher sites, is now<|fim_middle|> the future of scholarly communications through cross-publisher collaboration. Crossref provides a wide spectrum of services for identifying, locating, linking to and assessing the reliability and provenance of scholarly content. | available to Crossref Members. Crossref, a not-for-profit association of worldwide scholarly publishers, made the announcement at the Society for Scholarly Publishing Annual Meeting here today.
Publishers participating in Crossref Text and Data Mining services may now deposit full-text links in the metadata for their DOIs, as well as license URIs by which researchers can determine whether they have permission to mine a particular content item. Through Crossref's Application Programming Interface (API), researchers will then to be able to access the full-text, Crossref DOI–identified content across participating publishers' sites, regardless of their access models.
For all publishers, whether using open access or subscription business models, Crossref Text and Data Mining services easily direct researchers to the appropriate location of the full text content and licenses for that content. In addition, publishers can add download rate limits to the information they provide to minimize any impact of text and data mining activities on web site performance.
An optional part of Crossref Text and Data Mining services will allow a publisher to provide a click-through agreement if that publisher requires the researcher to agree to supplementary license terms before accessing content for text and data mining. For publishers whose general licenses already include permission for text and data mining, the click-through service will not be necessary. Crossref Text and Data Mining Services are provided at no cost to researchers, and at no cost to publishers during the first year of operation.
More information on Crossref Text and Data Mining services is available at http://0-www.crossref.org.lib.rivier.edu/tdm/index.html.
Crossref (www.crossref.org) serves as a digital hub for the scholarly communications community. A not-for profit membership organization of global scholarly publishers, Crossref's innovations shape | 347 |
A delicious high-fat, low carb salad that is best served with warm,<|fim_middle|> keto-friendly food that I enjoy eating so I will definitely have to try this recipe. | grilled, keto chicken sausage. This meal has the perfect balance of flavor and is keto-friendly. Thank you to al fresco Chicken Sausage for sponsoring today's delicious and easy recipe. Be sure to pick some of this keto-friendly chicken sausage up at your local grocer.
This week I have decided that I am ready to finally take the keto plunge. I admit I have tried so many diets in the past, but I feel like this one is the easiest to fit into my lifestyle. I am on day 5 and have already figured out how to track macros and plan meals. Ok, so maybe Jared does the scientific calculations behind this diet, but I do write up the meals and cook. This week, we stocked our fridge with foods that we can eat and have gotten used to not have sugar or carbs.
Is it easy? No, not at all, but I am determined to make this work. Quite frankly, I have no choice and want to start living my life again. Having extra poundage is no fun and hold me back from so much–but that is a whole other post!
Cheddar Cheese – most brands are net 0 carbs!
Proteins like al fresco Chicken Sausage– Only 3 net carbs per link for the Roasted Garlic & Herb!
Of course, we had other items on our list but the above items are the most-consumed one this week. Many of the meals I would make for dinner were almost keto friendly but typically just needed a carby side swapped out for a lower carb option. Mashed potatoes turned into mashed cauliflower, and chips turned into broccoli crowns.
But, I still get to eat the meats I love and al fresco is one of them! That is a total win in my book!
Since we got a new grill a few weeks ago that I can easily work, I have been grilling quite a bit!
My most recent are these al fresco Roasted Garlic & Herb chicken sausage links. I cut them in half and grilled them in a few minutes!
They were so juicy and flavorful and made the perfect protein to add to my Keto Chicken Sausage Salad with Bacon, Cheese, and Avocado.
You could prepare this meal in a few different ways too! You could eat the grilled sausage links alone, topped with cheese, or bacon. Then you could pair it with a cheesy avocado ranch side. I made a smaller batch for just Jared and I so I combined everything. This is best eaten right away, but can be eaten chilled as well (see how below)!
This recipe was so simple because it only involves a few minutes of grilling, cooking bacon, and some chopping. It made 4 hearty portions that each had an estimated 7 net carbs per serving. That is awesome in terms of the keto plan!
I took 3 tablespoons of sour cream and 1/2 tablespoon of ranch dressing spices to whip up a "ranch dressing" to lightly coat the salad. If you want to eat this the next day, I suggest only mixing the veggies and storing them separately from the proteins. This will make heating up the meats easier before adding them to the salad.
A few reasons why you should incorporate al fresco Chicken Sausage into your lifestyle is because it contains 70% less fat (30% less sodium) than traditional pork sausage, and it is gluten-free and super versatile! You can find it in your grocer's deli area near the other sausage and bacon products.
Will you be trying this Keto Chicken Sausage Salad with Bacon, Cheese, and Avocado? Get the printable recipe below!
Grill al fresco Chicken Sausage links for 7-9 minutes (about 4 1/2 mins per side). Cook bacon in the microwave or oven until crispy Chop up veggies- place them in a large bowl Mix sour cream and spices Add it sour cream, crumbled bacon and chicken sausage to the veggies in a bowl. Combine and enjoy.
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Yum! This looks amazing. You had me at avocado!
I love al fresco products. They are always delicious and I can see how they would be awesome in this dish.
I don't do Keto – because I have never really looked into it. But if THIS is Keto – I'm all about it! Fresco has THE BEST and most flavorful chicken sausage EVER!
This looks totally delicious. I would really like to try that sausage.
I'm down for anything with avocados. This looks so tasty!
YUM!!! This looks delicious. The keto Det is huge right now and I keep thinking that all this yummy food is a good reason to start.
The salad looks so good and healthy! Love the combination of ingredients! Yummm!
YUM! Preparing this salad next week! I'm doing Keto and already 20 pounds lighter!
This looks absolutely delish! I have a hard time finding | 1,011 |
A Trail of Crab Tracks
The award-winning author Patrice Nganang chronicles the fight for Cameroonian independence through the story of a father's love for his family and his land and of the long-silenced secrets of his former life.
For the first time, Nithap flies across the world to visit his son, Tanou, in the United<|fim_middle|>/2022 pg. 9
Publishers Weekly 04/25/2022 | States. After countless staticky phone calls and transatlantic silences, he has agreed to leave Bangwa: the city in western Cameroon where he has always lived, where he became a doctor and, despite himself, a rebel, where he fell in love, and where his children were born. When illness extends his stay, his son finds an opportunity to unravel the history of the mysterious man who raised him, following the trail of crab tracks to discover the truth of his father and his country.
At last, Nithap's throat clears and his voice rises, and he drifts back in time to tell his son the story that is burned into his memory and into the land he left behind. He speaks about the civil war that tore Cameroon apart, about the great men who lived and died, about his soldiers, his martyrs, and his great loves. As the tale unfolds, Tanou listens to his father tell the history of his family and the prayer of the blood-soaked land.
From New Jersey to Bamileke country, voices mingle, the borders of time dissolve, and generations merge. In A Trail of Crab Tracks, the third part of a magisterial trilogy by Patrice Nganang, the award-winning author creates an epic of war, inheritance, and desire, and of the relentless, essential struggle for freedom.
Author: Patrice Nganang
Library Journal Prepub Alert 01/01 | 290 |
Let me start by saying MaryEllen has the gift of healing: Two hospital admissions, extensive tests, MRI's, cat scans, referrals to several highly regarded specialists all were unable to accomplish or diagnose what MaryEllen was able to achieve applying her Myofascial program over a 3 month period. All this without the use of drugs, injections or surgery. I was suffering with serious bouts of Vertigo, herniated discs in my neck, (loss of the use of my left arm, numbness), back and hip pain, at times I was unable to walk or drive and uncontrollable high blood pressure. I could go on and on. MaryEllen's gift and training of Myofascial PT absolutely a life changer and saving grace. My thanks and lasting gratitude!
Myofascial release has made a huge, positive impact on my health and well-being. In the highly competent hands of Mary Ellen, all my foot pain due to plantar fasciitis has completely disappeared. ( This after two years of doctor visits,, custom orthotics,, and cortisone injections; none of these eliminated my pain). Mary Ellen has also shown me techniques and exercises at home, which resulted in increased relaxation. Mary Ellen is<|fim_middle|> professional Her warmth and easy going matter make sessions a pleasure.-Christine Z . | a caring, committed, and highly knowledgeable , well-trained | 11 |
HiQ signs a framework agreement with Telge AB, a company owned by Södertälje Municipality with operations in areas such as housing, recycling and electricity sales.
The agreement covers web development services and will be in effect for two years, with an option to extend.
"We are very happy about the new agreement with Telge AB. Businesses today are dependent on well-functioning IT solutions and we look forward to contribute with our experience and know-how," says Bo Ringdahl, Managing Director of HiQ Stockholm.
The framework agreement includes Telge AB and all of its 13 subsidiaries. The aim is to ensure that the company's needs for web development services are fulfilled.
"In order to offer the best services towards our customers it is important for Telge to use the most cost-effective technology. We think that HiQ as a new partner can help us in doing that," says Telge AB.
"This is an exciting client, reaching many individuals - in Södertäl<|fim_middle|> energy and district heating; recycling; port, water and sewage; power trading and electricity sales. The Telge Group, together with the business community, has started several successful companies based on the "Telge model". | je, in the region and all over Sweden. We are constantly working with improving and simplifying people's lives and look forward to help Telge in doing exactly that," says Lars Stugemo, President and CEO of HiQ.
Telge AB is one of Södertälje Municipality's wholly owned companies, aiming to create a more attractive Södertälje. Activities include management of residential, commercial and public buildings; purchasing; | 92 |
" Very light and comfortable product, much better than nasal mask. I love it! "
" the swift LT works as advertised. I would defintely recommend it. "
The Swift™ LT Nasal Pillow CPAP Mask with Headgear by ResMed is an innovative step in nasal pillow systems. All features aim for a good seal with a comfortable fit. Exhaled air is directed downward in a gentle flow.
ResMed has completed a total redesign of the Mirage Swift series of pillow masks. Changes can be seen on the headgear, pillow cushion, and overall performance.
Ultra-Quiet Almost twice as quiet than the original Swift and 71% quieter than the Swift II. The air vent is located on the frame instead of the cushion and disperses air gently downward more in line with natural breathing.
Small, Lightweight, and Travel Friendly At 2.3 ounces, this mask will not weigh you down. It has one of the smallest footprints that covers less of the face. The pillows rest gently just under the nose. The mask's frame is half the size of both previous Mirage Swift designs. It folds up for easy travel. The minimal design creates comfort and helps users with better therapy effectiveness and allows for reading or watching TV at bedtime, even with glasses on.
Improved Pillows Pillows now come with a dual-wall design that provides improved stability and comfort. Along with an added flexible pillow base, the cushion allows for movement without breaking the seal. All pillow sizes are interchangeable with the mask frame.
Headgear Unlike any headgear before, the Swift LT uses a patented rotating barrel to adjust the pillow angle. The stability arms expand to accommodate most facial widths including narrow or wide faces.
Easy Fitting The Swift LT comes with Small, Medium, and Large size pillows included and fitting is quick and easy. After initial fitting and adjustment of the Velcro straps, there is no need for daily readjustment.
Ease of Cleaning Assembly and disassembly are simple and easy, with very few parts, making for effortless cleaning or replacement of parts.
For Her ResMed offers a version of the Swift LT for women. Same great features with a feminine touch.<|fim_middle|>ainer: The Velcro retainer mentioned in the manufacturer's product insert is an "optional" item and not included in the package. Visit our website to purchase the Velcro Tube Retainer.
Soft Wraps: The Soft Wraps for Swift LT are sold separately. They are not included in this package.
SnuggleCover for Short Tubes: The SnuggleHose Cover for Short Mask Tubes will fit the short tube of the Mirage Swift LT Nasal Pillow CPAP Mask with Headgear.
To find the nasal pillow size, remove the nasal pillow from the mask frame. Turn the nasal pillow so the frame opening is facing toward you, and the word ResMed can be easily read. To the right side of the frame opening, locate a embossed clear letter indicating the size of the nasal pillow. The frame will not have a size because it is universal.
Are the Swift LT nasal pillow sizes interchangeable on the mask frame?
Yes. All Swift LT nasal pillows and mask frames are interchangeable.
Where is the Velcro tube retainer on the Swift LT? It wasn't with my mask.
The Velcro tube retainer doesn't come with the mask. It's listed on the website as an optional item. | The For Her version comes packaged with sizes XS, SM and MD nasal pillows. To read more visit this page: Swift™ LT for Her Nasal Pillow CPAP Mask with Headgear.
Tube Ret | 40 |
Le ruisseau de Bragayrac ou ruisseau des Secs est une rivière du sud de la France dans le département Haute-Garonne dans la région Occitanie c'est un affluent rive gauche de la Saudrune donc un sous-affluent de la Garonne par le Touch.
Géographie
De , le ruisseau de Bragayrac prend sa source sur la commune de Sabonnères, et se jette dans la Saudrune sur la commune de Sainte-Foy-de-Peyrolières.
Départ<|fim_middle|> petits affluents référencés
Hydrologie
Annexes
Articles connexes
La liste des rivières de France
Les débits des cours d'eau du bassin de la Garonne
Le bassin de la Garonne
le canal de Saint-Martory
Ligne CFSO Toulouse - Boulogne-sur-Gesse
Liens externes
Notes et références
Notes
Références
Système hydrologique de la Garonne
Cours d'eau en Haute-Garonne | ement communes traversées
Dans le seul département de Haute-Garonne communes : Bragayrac, Sabonnères, Sainte-Foy-de-Peyrolières.
Principaux affluents
Le ruisseau de Bragayrac a 2 | 58 |
New Fall Signature Specials to Try!
The cool fall weather is here! Which means it is the perfect time to come into El Segundo Fish Co. and enjoy all of our delicious fall signature specials!
We are featuring our delicious Alaskan halibut ceviche appetizer that is served with warm, homemade tortilla chips. We also have many delicious entrée specials to choose from. Our teriyaki ginger seafood skewers include salmon, mahi, shrimp, and swordfish that is all served over coconut jasmine rice with a side of hand battered tempura onion rings. Our linguini with clams and mussels is always a favorite, including linguini that is sautéed with Venus Clams, Prince Edwards Island Mussels, tomatoes, and spinach with a white wine sauce, and served with a side of Parmesan garlic bread. We are also featuring our crab stuffed tilapia with our fall signature specials, which are served with mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach and garlic.
If you are looking for something other than a delicious seafood dish when you visit, make sure to try our loaded chili cheeseburger, which is a ½ pound Angus patty that is loaded with homemade chili, cheddar cheese, grilled onions, and BBQ<|fim_middle|>6 oz. prime NY steak, and 5 garlic prawns served alongside garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed mushrooms.
For more information about our fall signature specials, or to make you reservation today, feel free to contact us! | sauce and served with coleslaw and sweet potato fries. Our tri tip street tacos are also one of our fall specials, with seasoned and grilled tri tip steak that is nestled on corn tortillas with shredded cabbage, onions, cilantro, and fresh avocado, served with black beans and Cajun rice.
If you are looking for the best of both worlds, make sure to order the Fish Co. surf and turf, which features a | 88 |
City living is becoming an increasing reality for most people especially in Asia. Growing cities must evolve to meet citizens' needs with forward-thinking and multidisciplinary innovation, and collaboration. Labels can be confusing, deceptive and often misconstrued. The terms 'green,' 'smart' and 'sustainable' are often used interchangeably.
Green cities have various interpretations. They look into people's health and environmental exposure to products and/or services. Clean energy is another consideration.
The CDP (Carbon Disclosure Project) says over 100 cities use more than 70 percent renewables. Green cities have a large proportion of land in the form of 'green spaces' such as parks and urban wetlands providing vital functions. Urban sprawl and changing land use have resulted in reduced flood drainage capacity (by 30% in Colombo, according to UN-Habitat's The State of Sri Lankan Cities 2018 report).
Smart cities use smart technologies to meet citizens' needs. Remote home automation and applications for appliances emphasise energy savings especially suited to cities with high smartphone use and other technologies. Results such as lower commuting times and better planned transport improve the quality of life.
The IESE Business School's Center for Globalization and Strategy compiles an index that analyses 165 cities in 80 countries. Its definition of a smart city covers nine dimensions: human capital, social cohesion, economy, environment, governance, urban planning, international outreach, technology, and mobility and transportation.
Sustainability implies meeting citizens' needs. A sustainable city is planned and managed considering all economic, environmental and social impacts while providing a resilient habitat for all existing populations<|fim_middle|> to get the people to accept it. Once they accept it, they will take responsibility and ownership over it.
Singapore's public transportation policy to forego cars is a classic example. Will a similar application in Sri Lanka receive the same consequences? It is essential that diverse qualified people connect for a common goal such as achieving the SDGs. For a town planning or public transportation policy in the Sri Lankan context, how policy makers will be selected and exercise their know-how with honesty against their power play with common SDG objectives for the country is a strong bottleneck.
In this era, we see recreation of identities and sustainability has undergone a similar transformation. In ancient living, sustainability was not a common discourse. People who lived in ancient times were in harmony with nature unlike today, where the focus is largely on the luxury that commercialization brings.
Thus, sustainability was not a new concept for people to spread but rather an integral part of their lifestyles that was put into practice. These people of the past were experts in terms of ecological and economic concerns. These civilizations had their own way of recycling, reusing and upcycling and hence, the resource needs on raw materials and finished goods were quite well matched. They were self-guided and their ideas were not borrowed.
Having undergone winds of change from urbanization, and accepting and conforming to the norms of the developed and powerful Western nations, the highly populated Asia is now resorting to sustainable solutions from the past to guide the present and the future.
It seems like we have been taken for a ride – having searched the world over only to finally realise that the solution has been in our traditional living, waiting to be discovered with a re-created identity of our own. | (human, animal and plant diversity) without compromising the ability of future generations also to experience these.
The local authorities of some 40 countries signed the Aalborg Charter in 2004, committing to sustainable cities and towns. Its elements include access to public resources; urban renewal actions; CO2 emissions reduction; ethical consumption; and reduce, reuse and recycle.
Meanwhile, the annual Arcadis Sustainable Cities Index considers city sustainability from a citizen's perspective. It ranks 100 global cities on the dimensions of people, profit and planet. City selection is data dependent – credible publicly available data sources are needed for cross city comparisons. Having publicly accessible data on local urban centres increases the chances of cities entering the index and improves accountability towards citizens.
UN-Habitat's report on The State of Sri Lankan Cities 2018 uses spatial and statistical data to assess nine provincial cities, and make recommendations. It is a step towards creating evidence based information for future choices.
Sustainable cities relate to Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) 11. Many urban local authorities are developing their own sustainability plans with public goals and informational updates on milestones achieved. They do this collaboratively with their stakeholders.
Cities can learn to become sustainable from other cities' experiences through networks such as the C40 Cities Climate Leadership Group set up to fight climate change and share cross city lessons. South Asian cities include Chennai, Dhaka, Jaipur, Karachi and Kolkata. The City Solutions Platform fast tracks climate solutions, and supports climate adaption by facilitating early engagement between cities and stakeholders especially the private sector.
Economic policy incentives are vital in moving investment and economic activities to promoting sustainable cities. In Singapore, strong and incremental state investment in quality public transport creates the right incentives for people to forego cars.
IKEA leads sustainability with a global store ban on single use plastic as well as its alleviation of New Delhi's air pollution. Farmers burning unwanted rice straw account for 33 percent of New Delhi's pollution, according to India's System of Air Quality and Weather Forecasting and Research. IKEA buys straw to develop rice straw based products, collaborating with state and local governments, NGOs and companies for sale by 2020.
Incentivising innovation is essential to meet urban challenges. The Cities for our Future challenge is a global effort by the Royal Institution of Chartered Surveyors together with the UK National Commission for UNESCO. It seeks problem solvers from surveying, urban design, architecture and engineering, to forward projects and policies on rapid urbanisation, climate change and resource scarcity.
In 2018, a Filipino material science engineer won the GBP 50,000 prize for his 'CUBO' home – a modular home built of engineered bamboo, which can be made in a week and assembled in four hours at a cost of around US$ 75 a square metre. It has tilted roofs for rainwater collection, reduces heat gain and uses stilts for floodwater entry prevention.
Touchingly, the design was based on his grandparents' rural bamboo hut.
Sustainability through acceptability. If it can be accepted, there is a high propensity that it can be continued after implementing. It is all about creating those investments with the right incentive for people. Human beings are creatures with the highest bargaining power and hence, policies need to be mutually agreed upon by the people. The next priority would be | 692 |
Texas center Cam Ridley, shown against Texas A&M-Corpus Christi last week, helped the Longhorns get past Washington on Thursday night in the Bahamas. (RODOLFO GONZALEZ / AMERICAN-STATESMAN)
BEVO BEAT Men's Basketball
Texas men enact revenge on Washington, 82-70
Sam Blum
PARADISE ISLANDS, Bahamas — David Crisp was on the ground as the buzzer sounded and his air-balled 3-pointer to end the first half was attempted, unsuccessfully to be tipped in by Joe Knight.
Texas entered the locker room with an 8-point lead and on pace for a stronger defensive showing than put together just a night before. The Longhorns used a 14-0 burst that spanned three minutes to gain control of the game, and forced the Huskies into 18 turnovers to keep that control, and Texas beat Washington 82-70 on Thursday night.
A night before, Shaka Smart said his team needed to take more pride on the defensive end of the ball, and a night later his team listened. After losing to Washington in the season's opening game on Nov. 13, it took less than two weeks for UT to enact revenge at Imperial Arena.
After Andrew Andrews made two straight 3s for Washington to cut the lead to 6, the Husk<|fim_middle|> lead over Longhorns in odd first half
See Chris Warren's 91-yard touchdown dash
Texas Tech takes 7-point lead over Longhorns in odd first half | ies used an entire 30-second shot clock to miss a couple of 3-point chances. They passed the ball around the perimeter but weren't able to find a shot that would have extended the comeback attempt.
Instead Andrews' last attempt was rebounded by Cameron Ridley, and it sealed a win and an effort that didn't seem present in the opening round.
Texas will play either Michigan or Charlotte in the fifth-place game of the tournament on Friday.
News on Bevo Beat is free and unlimited. Access to the rest of Hookem.com is included with an Austin American-Statesman subscription in addition to Statesman.com and the ePaper edition. Subscribe today at statesman.com/subscribe.
Next story: Texas Tech takes 7-point | 149 |
The Angry Birds franchise steam rollers on, this time with Angry Birds Transformers. But this game is radically different to others in the series,<|fim_middle|>The game is easy to play, with typically well made tutorials. It's free to play, meaning you can speed your progress with in-app purchases, but they are not necessary. Like the original Angry Birds, each level has a number of pigs (or Deceptihogs) to take out, by knocking down their towers. Instead of the catapult, you simply tap where you want your Autobird to shoot. The difficulty comes from the speed of the game – you have to pick your targets carefully for the most efficient hit, and time your transformations into vehicles to avoid falling objects.
The graphics are flashy, and there are great touches like slow motion if you have a close call with a falling tower. Levels are short and sweet, maintaining the on-the-go mobile feel to the game.
Angry Birds Transformers is currently iOS only, but it's coming to Android in two weeks. | a pseudo 3D side scrolling arcade shooter, and it's really fun to play.
Eschewing the seriousness of the Michael Bay movies, Angry Birds Transformers begins with an excellent homage to the opening sequence of the 80s cartoon series. The tone, with its tongue in cheek tagline 'Birds Disguised as Robots in Disguise', is light and fun.
| 78 |
Counselling in its traditional form is a form of "talk" therapy where the counsellor and client discuss the particular known issues and behaviours that bring a client to seek help. Counselling is often conducted in a shorter term context using some specialised or issue specific skills than does Psychotherapy.
In counselling specific problems are reviewed and addressed in order to bring greater clarity and understanding of the issues and of themselves. In many cases a present time incident such as a car accident, a death, job loss, or event that evokes tension, stress, anxiety, fear or<|fim_middle|> dimension allows discussion to also focus on the potential BodyMind characteristics of persons involved with dynamics with the client. The information allows one to gain potential insights into the primary inclinations and defences used by others of interest to the client, and which are often given away by bodily gestures and postures.
This information can create comparative advantages for clients in assessing strategies and key words to use in conversations in dealing situationally with these persons. This information is not typically found in conventional counselling disciplines and feedback from clients suggests it adds value to their sessions.
BodyMind counselling also brings awareness to the client of how their body reacts to their mind or thought patterns by protective postures, gestures, fidgets, and rituals. As a result clients normally report that their involvement in this form of counselling process creates a new level of conscious awareness of themself, new unconscious patterns of associated thought, a heightened sense of self-worth and ability to tackle ongoing life issues with new strategies and awareness. | shock, may cause a person to seek counsel and debriefing on what is happening to them.
The essence of talking is both to process the event and have a cathartic release if needed, and to be witnessed and seen with compassion. Counselling is effective at this level with helping a person to process and bring to completion some troubling concern, issue or event, so they can move on with their life, often with new learning and tools with which to adjust and face life.
BodyMind counselling employs recent scientific knowledge of Neuroscience and how we literally wire our minds and thinking into actual neural circuits in the brain. Neuroscience now tells us that we develop neural circuits or associated maps in our thinking which left unchallenged will keep us in the same thought patterns all through our life.
The intervention of counselling can change the thinking and mental associations a person typically adopts, with concurrent changes in the brain neural circuits that link and fire when that thinking occurs. Using particular counselling techniques we create change at both the mind and brain levels where this ingrained level of thinking and operating stems from..
BodyMind counselling employs the use of an understanding of BodyMind dynamics and how they present in our bodily features, postures, gestures and other body language. This information is derived from the Reichian and Bioenergetic schools of BodyMind science, and the work of Barbara and Allan Pease in body language psychology.
This | 279 |
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