Margel's Madness

In a tiger's house there are no puppy dogs.

– Chinese proverb

Prologue

Ocean City
July, 1978

      Helen raises her sunglasses, scans the beach as she runs a hand along a slender oiled arm. No sign of her girls anywhere, skittish things that they are, which concerns her not in the least. Even Bob–pathetic, whining little man–has slunk off toward the ice cream stand in some face-saving move, dragging Will out of range of her disgust. Such a disappointment in a husband, she thinks, adjusting the strap of her new polka dot two-piece; no challenge to him at all anymore. Still, he'll be gone soon–she has no use for them once they're broken–then the children will be hers alone. All that innocence, born of her own body for her own use. Nature's perfection.

      It's Margel who offers the most potential, of course–the only one of her three to sense the true nature of things. There's real danger here, the excitement of it almost unbearable at times. Hacking off her hair like that a brilliant stroke. It's important to find things that suit each of the children's personalities and this shook the girl, dampened her spirit. Exquisitely gratifying, though she might have offered a bit more resistance. Instead she'd turned inward–a disturbing trend of late and one that would need correcting.

      Distracted by the sudden commotion–the pointing, the shouting–she shields her eyes with a manicured hand, turns her gaze to the water and the girl bobbing far from shore. Now here's something; Margel's red suit, the suggestion of that ridiculous hair. Doing the deadman's float–the position their father taught them to signal trouble, save energy. Looking toward the beach and waiting for rescue; secure in the knowledge it will come. A child's trust is such a delicate thing, so easily crushed. Better done slowly, for the savoring of it.

      A sigh as she slides the glasses back on and lays back–turning her creamy complexion to the sun. Her smile enigmatic as the shouting increases, a spray of hot sand peppering her feet. Some man tearing frantically toward the surf. How long, she wonders, before Margel realizes she's seen her and has chosen not to come?

      Amazing the opportunities that drop in one's lap.

      Robin hovering at her side now, blubbering about her sister and pointing toward the water. "Mother," she wails, big tears dropping distastefully onto the new suit. "Margie!"

      Helen adjusts her sunglasses and sighs. "You're blocking my sun."

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