By Margaret Press,Joan Noble Pinkham
On a shimmering, Massachusetts morning, Martha Brailsford stepped aboard the "Counterpoint" and went for the final sail of her existence. She had no manner of figuring out that the boat's proprietor, Tom Maimoni, had a gloomy part, that he'd lured different ladies onto his boat. What occurred that morning of July 12, 1998? Was Martha's loss of life an accident? Or, was once she murdered? Would there be adequate facts for a jury to convict Maimoni? during this nonfiction debut, secret novelist Margaret Press takes us into the guts of Salem, introducing a solid of real-life characters—the different ladies who encountered Maimoni, the group of devoted investigators, the "lobsterman," and the modern day witch of Salem. because the lives of those townspeople intertwine, readers are drawn in to an fascinating maze of shock and contradiciton, the place all of the paths lead again to that fateful July morning aboard the "Counterpoint."
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He told Rosemary again how much he missed his wife and how much Rosemary reminded him of her. He laid his head on her shoulder, then on her lap, and clung to her. Rosemary kept telling Mahoney that she was not his wife, that she felt badly for him, and that in time he would heal. He would meet someone else. Interspersed with her comments were her polite but firm refusals as his hands wandered too far up her shorts. “You know, your work with NASA really seems interesting,” Rosemary said, desperately trying to keep the situation normalized.
And the quiet condos. The conversation drifted to sailing. Tom had a boat. ” he asked her. Tom Maimoni would never call it a boat ride. The corgi, whose name was Salli, approached Kitty’s chair and climbed up into her lap. It was an affectionate gesture. I like you, the Corgi seemed to suggest. He’s a bit scattered. But I will protect you. Kitty was still processing his question. ” she asked, looking up. ”Would you like to crew for me? ” Kitty thought of Gramma Mishkin. “Actually, I don’t think so.
The harder he pulled, the tighter she gripped the doorway and the louder she protested. As she did, his hands locked more tightly. Only by relaxing a bit did she sense his own grip easing. A subtle biofeedback mechanism. But Rosemary felt fear when she looked into his eyes. They had changed from pitiful to something completely different—a violent, far-away look that terrified her. All of a sudden he released her. Rosemary swung around and headed for the steps. When she had climbed halfway up and was reaching for the hatch, Mahoney once again grabbed her, encircling her waist with his arms.