Marvin Crandell hadn’t been to the Annual Meeting of the National Society for Scholarly Research (NSSR) in ten years. From the minute he set foot in the room where he was to serve as a session discussant, people crowded around, eager to greet him. The session moderator had to make an announcement calling him to the dais so they could begin. Marv took his seat, perspiring and looking a little pale. “Terrible headache, Shannon,” he said to his post-doctoral assistant, Carrie Shannon. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ibuprofen on you?”

Carrie dug into her purse, retrieving a couple of tablets. He gulped them down with a glass of water, pouring and drinking another as the crowd settled. “Awfully close in here. Should have skipped breakfast,” he said, mopping his brow. “Left me with an upset stomach. Let’s get on with it.”

The room grew quiet. Every seat was taken. People stood along the walls and spilled out into the hall. Crandell was a big draw.

The session moderator was making introductions when Crandell convulsed and fell forward on the dais, sending a shock wave through the audience. Carrie yelled for someone to call for a doctor, but her instincts told her it was too late. A paramedic came within minutes, followed shortly by the doctor on call, who pronounced him dead of respiratory failure.

Dave Wolfe, president of NSSR and one of Marv’s former students, arrived with the hotel manager about the same time. The manager ordered the room to be cleared. Wolfe knelt down by Marv’s body, now stretched out on the floor. “Baruch dayan emet.” Seeing Carrie’s questioning look, he said, “Blessed is the true Judge. It’s the Jewish blessing on death.”

*****

Marv wouldn’t have been there had it not been for her. Months ago, when Carrie asked if he would serve as discussant for a session she’d proposed, he’d leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, an annoying grin on his face. “I’m a full professor. I’m faithful to my wife. There aren’t any new movies I want to see. It’s a no-brainer, Shannon. Why would I go to a convention?”

Carrie could see herself as she was then, leaning against the doorframe of his open office, refusing to rise to the bait. “Because we need you, Marv,” she’d said. “We really need that grant. Everybody on the grant review committee will be at NSSR. You know as well as I do that when they meet, they’ll skim over those proposals. If they come to our session, they might look twice when they see our proposal. You’re the only one with the professional savvy and political clout to pull them in to hear us.”

Marv scowled.

Carrie plowed on. “All you’d have to do is respond to our papers. With you as a discussant, our session will be packed. Otherwise, who’s going to show up to hear three post-doctoral fellows? I’m just asking you to think about what it could do for us. You don’t even have to read the papers. I can tell you what we’re doing over lunch, my treat.”

“Where is it this year?” Marv asked resignedly. Carrie knew she’d won. It was no small victory. Marvin Crandell was one of the greats in her field. The fact that he’d taken an interest in her work explained why she’d been able to land a post-doctoral fellowship at the prestigious university in New York where he taught. But he could dig in his heels. When he did, he couldn’t be moved.

When the program for the 1979 Annual Meeting of NSSR came in the mail, Carrie went straight to Marv. “How did you fast talk me into this, Shannon?” He thumbed through the program. “So we’re on Wednesday morning? That’s good. I can fly in Tuesday night and be out of there before noon.”

“The book awards are Wednesday right after our session,” said Carrie. “One of your former students is getting NSSR’s outstanding book award. I just finished reading it. Impressive—it’s based on her dissertation. You might want to stay on for that.”

“Oh?” Marv raised his eyebrows. He took one look at the program and closed it in disgust. “Wendy Gilford? She dropped out before the end of her first year. I wouldn’t walk across the street to hear anything she has to say.” He started to hand the program back to Carrie. “Wait a minute. What’s the title?” Finding it, he was silent for a moment. “You wouldn’t mind lending me your copy, would you? I’d like to have a look at that award winning book.”

When she returned with the book, Marv said, “Close the door, Carrie. Sit down a minute.” It was serious. Marv rarely called her by her given name.

He leafed through the book, shaking his head. “How well do you know Wendy Gilford?”

Carrie hedged. “We were in the same doctoral program. She was proud of the fact that she studied with you before she transferred.”

“Go on,” Marv looked up from the book.

“We don’t have much in common.”

“And?” Marv pushed.

She searched for words. She’d never liked Wendy, but she didn’t want to be unprofessional. “I don’t quite know how to put it. Wendy’s headed for the top. I’m just interested in doing good work.”

“Headed for the top no matter who gets stepped on?” Marv stood and began digging in a file cabinet. He pulled out a thick file, throwing it on his desk. “Another of my students. Possibly the best student I ever had. Jill Pierson—hard working, brilliant, a couple of years ahead of Wendy. To cut to the chase, Wendy invited her to spend spring break at the family home on the Gulf—Wendy’s from big money. I suppose you know that. They were swimming. Jill was supposedly caught in an undertow and drowned.” Carrie could sense the deep emotion beneath his controlled tone. “Wendy was ‘grief stricken’ and left the program—didn’t finish the spring semester of her first year. Something about it smelled. Now I see what she was up to. Carrie, this book is Jill’s dissertation. I guided her research. This is Jill’s work.”

“I should be sitting here in stunned silence,” said Carrie. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m not surprised.”

“I don’t know if I ever met anyone else I’d call amoral,” said Marv. “And Wendy’s smart, really smart. Did excellent work when she applied herself. Jill tried to mentor her. I don’t think you can mentor somebody like Wendy. I tried to tell her.” He sighed. “You know, when I saw Wendy’s journal article last spring, it seemed awfully close to Jill’s research. Should have done something then. Makes me wonder about a lot of things.” He sat brow furrowed, shaking his head. “I can’t let this award go through. I’ll write to her, give her the opportunity to withdraw her book. There’s time.”

“If she doesn’t?” Carrie asked.

“I don’t suppose she will.” Marv looked grim. “I’ll protest it from the floor of the convention if it comes to that.”

“She might like that, Marv. It would sell more copies of the book.” Carrie was serious. Wendy liked being the center of attention, the more sensational the better.

By the time Wednesday morning of the convention arrived, Carrie was more nervous about the book session to follow than about her own presentation. As predicted, Wendy hadn’t agreed to withdraw her book. Her reply to Marv was curt. “Jill Pierson and I had many conversations about our work. Were she still alive, I would have good reason to ask why her incomplete dissertation so closely parallels my own research.”

Marv informed Wendy that he would contact the Awards Committee and Officers of NSSR. As a courtesy, he sent her copies of letters he wrote. But she was ahead of him. Over the formal protest of the esteemed Marvin Crandell, Wendy Gilford was to receive her award. Marv intended to register a public protest at the awards ceremony.

True to his word, Marv flew in on Tuesday night of the week-long convention. He met Carrie at a breakfast sponsored by a group he founded at least two decades before. It was informal: no speeches, no ceremonies, just professional conversation with colleagues.

As they made their way through the breakfast crowd, Carrie saw Wendy Gilford, dressed in a bright pink silk suit with a short skirt and plunging neckline interrupted at the last minute by a lacey camisole. Marv leaned down and whispered, “I’ll stake my reputation on it, Shannon. That book is plagiarism. But this is your hour in the sun. Don’t let her distract you. Make the most of it. We want all those potential funders to take notice.” That was Marv, always the mentor. Smiling, he’d patted her on the back. “In case I’ve been guilty of failing to say so, I’m very impressed with your work. If I have anything to say about it, we’ll keep you on at the University. You don’t need me to launch you, you’re already sailing. Just trust your instincts.”

Marv was relaxed then, seemingly unperturbed by what was to come. So many people wanted to talk to him that it was almost time for breakfast to end when he took time to eat something. Wendy made her way through the crowd intercepting them at the breakfast buffet. She was as smooth as silk. “No hard feelings, Dr. Crandell.” Taking a cup of coffee from the waiter, she set it down, reaching for the cream. “I know it was a terrible personal blow when you lost Jill Pierson. I was close to her, too, although not so close as you were.” The deliberate innuendo in her tone was meant for those around.

Balancing his Danish and program notes in one hand, Marv picked up a cup of coffee, took a mouthful, and made a face. “Terrible coffee,” he said, turning away. “Is this the best they can do?”

He finished off his Danish, listening to people who wanted to see him, untypically, saying little. It was nearly time for their session when he extracted himself from the crowd, heading for the door, “I need some fresh air. Meet you at the session in a couple of minutes, Shannon.”

“More likely he wants a smoke. He really should quit.” Sandra Hogan, one of Marv’s doctoral students, sipped her coffee. “Have you seen Wendy Gilford? I thought she was here just a minute ago.”

When Carrie got to the session room, Wendy was already there, seated conspicuously on the front row, crossed legs on display. After Marv’s sudden death, she made a dramatic exit, running out of the room sobbing.

******

With a heavy heart, Carrie called Alice Crandel from the convention office. She gave her the tragic news, promising to meet her plane.

Returning to the session room, Carrie waited with Dave Wolfe for Marv to be taken to the morgue, “Carrie, I think Marv would want you to go on,” he said. “We can hold your session on Friday afternoon instead of the President’s reception. I’ll be your discussant.” As hard as it would be, Carrie knew he was right. It was generous of him to offer time for an event honoring his term as president of NSSR, too.

“There’ll still be enough time for a reception,” Wolfe said. “We’ll hold it in Marv’s honor.”

In the meantime, Wendy accepted her book award in a tear stained suit, dedicating her work to the memory of Marvin Crandell, “who guided the book’s early development and has been the source of my greatest inspiration and encouragement since I studied with him. Despite recent misunderstandings, I count Marv as mentor and friend.” When she heard the report, Carrie was grateful that she hadn’t been there to throw up in public.

Once Marv was taken care of, she went to her room. Carrie hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of crying. She’d lost more than a mentor. Marv had become a friend.

Despite the tears, her mind wouldn’t let go of what had happened. It was more than guilt over having talked him in to coming to the convention. Something felt wrong. Marv was a smoker, but respiratory failure out of the blue? At breakfast he’d said the coffee tasted terrible. She hadn’t thought so, assuming it was his way of cutting Wendy short. But what if someone had laced it with poison? If so, who, and why Marv?

Wendy was the obvious choice—but was the book kerfuffle sufficient motive? She was more likely to bask in perverse attention. Someone from the hotel staff poured the coffee. People picked up or were handed a cup. Now there’d be no way to know which cup Marv drank from.

She washed her face, subdued her unruly, short brown hair, and repaired her make-up. From there she went straight to hotel security. Officer Stanley Reid, head of security, was sympathetic, but unmoving. “The police were here. Doesn’t seem any call for an autopsy unless you have some real evidence. Mrs. Crandell saw no need. You’re welcome to talk with Lydia Ayles. She runs our convention office. If you find out anything I need to know, my door’s open.”

On the way to the convention office, she ran into Della James, a member of her graduate cohort. She hadn’t known Della very well, but it occurred to her that it might be smart to talk with anybody she met who’d also been in the same graduate cohort as Wendy or who’d studied with Marv. “I missed the book awards, Della. Were you there?” she asked.

“Yes and I was thoroughly disgusted,” said Della. “That suit was disgraceful, unprofessional—at least not for this profession! But then, Wendy’s never known how to relate to men except to try to get them in bed. She doesn’t care what us women think. The only reason I went was because word was out that Dr. Crandell registered a protest against giving her the award. I wanted to be there to add my two cents, but—wasn’t it awful? I confess, after Dr. Crandell’s death, I went to the book session out of curiosity. Did you know she tried to hire me to do a literature review for her when we were all in graduate school?”

Della was only too glad to elaborate. “Remember? It was a killer assignment our second year! Well, she had the nerve to say, ‘I already know how to do that. I can’t be bothered, not when I could be spending the weekend with this incredible man on Paradise Island in the Bahamas.’ I told her it would be unethical. She just laughed it off. I’m sure she found somebody else to do it.”

It was hard to extract herself from Della. But she wasn’t learning anything new.

Once she got away, Carrie talked to Lydia Ayles, Convention Coordinator. “I was expecting you. Stan Reid called,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m meeting his wife this evening. It was all so sudden. Mrs. Crandell wants to know if her husband was showing any symptoms,” Carrie improvised. “I was wondering if I could talk to the people who served at the breakfast he attended this morning. I don’t suppose they’ll be able to tell me anything, but maybe it will ease her mind.”

“Poor thing must be in shock,” said Ms. Ayles. “We are. Let’s see if I can find the names of the people serving this morning. We bring on a lot of extras for events. They’ll be here all day. We have a pretty tight schedule, but I’ve no objection if you chat with them informally as long as it doesn’t interfere with the work.” She gave her three names: Earl Grant, Marsha Tippins, and Leticia Rowen.

“I thought there were four people,” said Carrie. “Two at the buffet and two moving through the crowd collecting plates and cups.

“No, just three,” said Ms. Ayles. “Here are their assignments today and tomorrow. I’ll let them know it’s okay by me if you talk with them.”

Marsha Tippins was circulating with a tray of sandwiches when Carrie found her at a stand-up luncheon. She was far too busy to approach. But Sandra Hogan was there, still teary. “It’s devastating. Marv was a good man. The only reason I’m finishing my degree is because he gave me a second chance. You knew I dropped out my first year? When I came back, he didn’t pry. He just asked if I was in a better place.” Sandra was wringing her hands.

“A better place?”

“I was in an abusive relationship.” Sandra seemed eager to talk. “I couldn’t have survived if Marv hadn’t asked Wendy Gilford to mentor me. She gave me the courage to leave my boyfriend. She stuck with me all through the rest of that term, even after I dropped out. She even took me to her family home on the Gulf one weekend. She always reminded me that Marv believed in me so I should believe in myself.”

It was a side of Wendy that Carrie hadn’t seen. But then, Wendy was full of contradictions.

“Funny thing, when I returned to the university and asked Marv if I could pick up where I left off, he didn’t remember asking Wendy to support me.”

“Really? What did he say?” asked Carrie.

“He said, ‘Did I do that? It doesn’t sound like me.’ But I know he did. And I was so proud of her at the book awards ceremony.” It seemed to be a struggle for Sandra to keep her tears in check. Carrie understood.

Marsha Tippins stopped with a tray of bread rounds topped with warm Camembert and mushrooms. Sandra took one and faded into the crowd.

“These look delicious,” said Carrie, smiling at Marsha. “Weren’t you serving at the breakfast in that room next to the lecture hall this morning?”

“You were there?” Marsha asked.

“Ms. Ayles may have told you I want to chat with the people who served,” Carrie said. “Did you know the other three?”

“No. It’s the first time I’ve worked one of these events,” said Marsha.

“Ms. Ayles said there were just three of you, I thought there were four. ”

“Maybe somebody showed up in the wrong room,” said Marsha. “There were four and we were plenty busy. I didn’t notice the man who died. Poor guy. Sorry I can’t help you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to keep going.”

The contact list showed Earl Grant and Leticia Rowen at different events starting in about an hour. Carrie decided to visit the exhibit hall in the meantime. It would be a good place to run into people. She went straight to the University Press booth. They’d published Wendy’s book.

Ruth Mott, one of the representatives at the booth, was just about to take a break. “You just missed Wendy Gilford’s book signing. It was mobbed. I’m going for a coffee. Want to come along? If you’re Marvin Crandell’s post-doc student, you may want to think about publishing with us. We’re already looking to publish Sandra Hogan’s dissertation.”

“Sandra and Wendy are good friends,” said Carrie, picking up on the opportunity to talk about Wendy. They got a cup of coffee from one of the kiosks and found an out of the way corner.

“Sandra’s a real sweet kid,” said Ruth. “When they met, Sandra was in over her head with an abusive boyfriend. Wendy came to her rescue. Her motives may not have been pure as the driven snow, but she did Sandra a big favor by breaking up that relationship.”

“Wendy had an ulterior motive?” asked Carrie.

“I’ve known Wendy for a long time. Wendy always has an ulterior motive.” Sighing, Ruth stirred her coffee. “She wanted the boyfriend for herself. That scoundrel paid Wendy to keep tabs on Sandra! So all the time Wendy was ‘protecting’ Sandra, she was sleeping with the guy and taking money to tell him Sandra’s every move. It was never about money for Wendy. She wants things that belong to other people, especially men. She takes them, then dumps them. I don’t think Sandra ever knew the whole story. She won’t hear it from me.”

“Did you know Jill Pierson?” Carrie asked on impulse.

“The one who drowned?” asked Ruth. “Wendy talked about her. Said Jill was a total bore, couldn’t interest her in anything besides studies—thought she might be useful, though.”

“What do you think she meant?” Carrie asked.

“I have no idea. I wouldn’t try to second guess Wendy,” said Ruth.

“You were her editor?” asked Carrie.

“No. I didn’t want in that loop. I know her too well,” said Ruth. “We met right after she moved to the City. I was setting up a display in the college bookstore. We got to talking. After that she’d stop by my office now and then with a coffee for me. She’d talk. I’d listen. I thought she was a real confused kid. It’s like I was her confessor, an older woman, non-threatening. I already knew Sandra. Sandra worked for us when she was an undergraduate. I don’t think Wendy ever put that together. Or maybe she did and fed me information she wanted Sandra to know. Except it didn’t work. Wendy’s bent. I don’t know any other word for it. Frankly, I was relieved when she left the City. There was something about her I found terrifying.”

“But you reconnected?” asked Carrie.

“She sent me an outline of her dissertation after she graduated last year.” Ruth finished her coffee. “I referred her to another editor—one of the women. It’s been a very professional relationship. Maybe Wendy’s in a different place now. I confess to being skeptical.”

From the exhibit hall, Carrie went in search of Earl Grant. He was at a cocktail party, circulating with champagne. Accepting the last glass on his tray, she asked him about the breakfast. “There were supposed to be three of us, but this guy came in with a tray of Danish, said it was a last minute addition to the order. It was crowded, so I didn’t have any reason to question. He said Ayers asked him to expedite things by handling the coffee service so I could manage the buffet. He had an ID. Then just before breakfast ended, he rushed out with no explanation. Ayers says he wasn’t assigned. So who the hell was he?”

“That’s what I want to know,” said Carrie. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

“Kind of wimpy. Beard and moustache, hair tied back in a pony tail, big glasses. I dun-no—I didn’t pay that much attention.”

“How tall?”

“Maybe your height?  I think the hair was dark,” Earl frowned. “Nobody pays any attention to the help, not even the other help. Look, I have to keep moving.”

“Do you remember a name?”

“No. He didn’t say and I didn’t have time to study his ID.”

Carrie found Leticia Rowen just down the hall. “I’ve worked with Earl, nice kid. I hadn’t met Marsha. I didn’t meet the other guy who came in later. Sometimes they add on if an event is crowded. We were just glad for the help.”

“Earl says he left in a rush,” said Carrie.

Leticia laughed. “He was on his way to the toilet. It was slowing down so I stepped out to go to the Ladies since I had an event immediately after. The toilets are right there to the left as you go out that side door. He was just ahead of me, walking fast. Had his head down and went into the Ladies. Poor guy. I stepped out into the corridor to give him a chance to figure out his mistake. But he didn’t come right back out. A woman did. She said somebody came in, but she hadn’t seen who it was. I think she overreacted. She was going to call security. I don’t know if she did. I figured he was in an emergency situation or just waiting for the coast to be clear. I decided I could wait until after breakfast, give the poor guy a chance to exit without an audience.”

“You didn’t see him again?” Carrie asked.

“He never came back. Haven’t seen him since—but there’s a lot going on. It’s always luck of the draw, who you get assigned with.”

“Name?”

Letitia shook her head. “No. We never spoke.”

There was just enough time to stop at security before leaving for the airport. Reid listened thoughtfully. “Unidentified extra waiter? Yes, Lydia just told me. We’re following up.”

*****

Alice wanted to go straight to the coroner. They took a cab. On the way, Carrie told her what she’d learned.

“Did Marv ever talk about Jill Pierson’s death?” Alice asked, hesitating. “I thought not. Marv and I were close to Jill—to all his doctoral students really, but especially Jill. Marv thought there was more to the story when she drowned.” Her voice caught, “I know he was a smoker. But Carrie, Marv was healthy.”

Alice planned to spend the night with a friend, who met them at the coroner’s office. After identifying Marv, Alice requested an autopsy.

Shortly after returning to the hotel, it hit Carrie. At breakfast, there were several cups of freshly poured coffee waiting for them to pick up, but the waiter handed Wendy a cup. Wendy put it down to add cream. Marv, who hadn’t noticed that she’d set it down, took Wendy’s cup. She picked up one of the others. Was it deliberate? Or what if Marv wasn’t the target? Could it have been Wendy? The waiter was already leaving the room when Marv took Wendy’s cup.

She went straight back to hotel security, but Reid wasn’t there. She asked the officer at the desk to get her a room number. “Tell Officer Reid that I think Letitia Rowen is in extreme danger.” The last of the evening’s many social events were in full swing. She gave the officer details and told him where Letitia was serving. “I’m going there first.”

There was no time to waste.

Earl and Letitia were working the same event. When Carrie got there, Earl said Letitia hadn’t showed. “It’s not like her.”

Carrie called Lydia Ayles from the house phone. Ayles said Letitia had been in the office just before the event. On a hunch, Carrie ran to the Ladies room. She was too late. Letitia was crumpled in a heap on the floor, bleeding from a head wound. Carrie felt for a pulse. She couldn’t tell if Letitia were dead or alive.

Running for help, she nearly collided with a security officer and Ms. Ayles in the corridor. “Tell Officer Reid I’m going to that other room, 1203. I’ll need help, please!” She left them to attend Letitia, running for the elevators.

*****

Sandra was setting suitcases outside room 1203 when Carrie got there. “Checking out?” she asked

“How can you stay?” Sandra’s eyes were red and swollen.

“It was supposed to be Wendy,” said Carrie.

“What you’re talking about?” Sandra stepped back into the room. A carry-on bag sat on the bed.

Carrie stepped inside, leaving the door open. “I’m talking about coffee. You handed that cup to Wendy. You had no way of knowing she’d set it down and Marv would get Wendy’s cup because you were already on your way to the Ladies, head down, pulling off your fake moustache and beard. You were out within minutes and told Leticia Rowen you’d call security. Instead, you returned to breakfast, waiting for Wendy to drop dead. But she wasn’t there.”

“Oh God! Why did it have to be him and not Wendy?” Sandra wailed.

“You found out about Wendy and your ex-boyfriend,” Carrie said.

“I have a key to Wendy’s New York apartment.” Sandra sat down on the bed. Her voice was devoid of emotion. “I’d found a couple of her books. She said to drop them anytime. She wasn’t there very often after she went back West for graduate school. I walked in on them. I didn’t even know she was in the City. They laughed at me. Just laughed!” Sandra caught a sob. “That was the worst of it, having them laugh at me like it was some big joke. Then I started putting things together. She took me to the Gulf, it was before I left him. We were supposed to go for a swim. I was having stomach cramps and didn’t feel like it. She turned on me, said I was a complete loser. Like I’d done something to her by not going out for a swim? When Jill drowned, I knew it’s what she’d planned for me. There were other things, but you can’t pin her down. She’s evil, Carrie, truly evil. I wanted to stop her. How was I to know Marv was going to get her coffee? It was in her hands. How could I have forgotten about the cream? All I’ve done is destroy one of the best men in the world.”

“Letitia Rowen could have identified you.” Carrie spoke calmly, evenly, buying time for help to come. “She saw you leaving the restroom.”

“I didn’t want to hurt that girl. But don’t you see, Carrie? Somebody has to stop Wendy. I tried to do it, for Marv’s sake. You understand about Marv. You’re his a post-doc fellow. But think about us, his students? Jill was his student. I’m his student. He was our mentor. I wanted to stop her. And she took that award that should have been Jill’s. Please, Carrie I have to do this for Marv and for Jill.”

Carrie was on guard. Sandra was quicker. Hurling her carry-on at Carrie’s head, she bolted for the door. Carrie dodged. The bag hit the mirror, sending glass flying. Sandra raced down the hall, leaving everything behind, only to be met at the elevator by Officer Reid. A city police officer blocked the stairs. Sandra was taken into custody.

*****

“The police said it was nicotine poisoning, Carrie,” said Alice. They were at the airport Thursday morning, waiting for her plane. “How did you know it was Sandra?”

“Her hands,” said Carrie. “When she handed Wendy the cup, they were so delicate for a man and it looked as if a ring were missing. It didn’t register at the time. Later, she was taking an hors d’oeuvre. I guess I subliminally noticed it was the same hand, with a ring. When I realized Marv took Wendy’s coffee, it all came together.”

They were calling for Alice’s plane to board. “Thank God that girl, Letitia, wasn’t dead.” Alice hugged her, clinging for a moment. “Poor Sandra. She’s always been fragile. We had no idea how fragile. The worst of it is Marv’s gone and that horrible woman walks away, award for Jill’s work in hand.”

“I know, Alice,” said Carrie. “Wendy walks away for now. But I can’t help thinking of what Dave Wolfe said, ‘Blessed is the true Judge.’”

*****

The rescheduled session was a great success. As Dave Wolfe opened the reception following with a tribute to Marvin Crandell, Carrie smiled to herself. “You drew them in, Marv. Always the mentor.”

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