On an island in Massachusetts, a woman professor investigates the deaths of her father and of her husband, which police claim were accidents. In the process she befriends a nice young woman, unaware it was she who murdered them. By the author of Sacrifice.
A wound of the heart need not be made by steel; Lack and loss make more than ample institution. Nor must its distance run be metered by a wheel, To leaf the thorn of pain past any restitution. A search for what medicines that sore may seal, Is sure to come at last to healing retribution.
JOANNA REED, Cut Flowers Sansome, Day & Co. Boston, 1994
To Linda, beautiful and brave
She knew the dock watchman's rounds. (Prologue)
Joanna dreamed the ocean had brought Frank home, delivered him in a rush of breaking waves up the walk, so seawater thumped and foamed against the cottage door ... ran under and soaked the rag rug there. (Chapter One)
Then, after their long time resting together, she and her child would be finally found in some far chamber—light brought to them at last with the voices of weary men, so they lay suddenly spangled, revealed in the glory of their vault of jeweled and shining stone.