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Margaret DiCanio, writes nonfiction, mystery, and has edited New England chapter of the Mystery Writers of America newsletter and served as its president. Read her book on Armenian survivors profiled here.

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Margaret DiCanio

 
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Memory Fragments from the Armenian Genocide: A Mosaic of a Shared Heritage Mosaic of a Shared Heritage brings together thirty profiles of North Americans of Armenian descent. All exemplify the philosophy that ďdoing well is doing good,Ē a credo handed down to them by family members who lost everything when they fled from the Turkish massacres.

Family stories of how survivors escaped, survived, and made new lives are filtered through the memories of succeeding generations. The profiles reflect how the actions of the survivors shaped the lives of succeeding generations.

Armenian immigrants feared their heritage might be lost in North America. Their fears proved to be unfounded. Children and grandchildren retain the culture passed on to them. At the same time, they hold dear the values of the New World that enabled their families to live free of political repression.

While details of their daily lives differ, most of those profiled share a reverence for education. In the New World, they flourish as intellectuals, artists, teachers, entertainers, and entrepreneurs, thereby filling leadership roles decimated by Turks early in their campaign to wipe out the Armenians. By making the most of their talents, they do homage to those who sacrificed so much.
 
 
 
 

Margaret DiCanio has been a freelance writer for 17 years, during which she has published 10 nonfiction books. Among the ten are three encyclopedias still in print. They are: Encyclopedia of American Activism: 1960 to the Present (ABC-CLIO, 1998); Encyclopedia of Violence: Origins, Attitudes, Consequences, (Facts on File, 1993); and Encyclopedia of Marriage, Divorce, and the Family, (Facts on File, 1989, iUniverse, 2001). DiCanio self-published Memory Fragments from the Armenian Genocide: A Mosaic of a Shared Heritage (Mystery and Suspense Press, 2002)

DiCanioís short mystery "The Bag Lady Caper" appeared in New Mystery in the summer of 1999 and was reprinted in Mystery in Mind (Parapsychology Press, 2003). Her short story "Tunnel of Malice" appeared in Futures in the fall of 2001 and was a finalist for the 2002 Derringer Award given by the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Her short story "The Guardian" appeared in the 2003 summer issue of Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine (FMAM). Another will be published in the winter issue of FMAM. Two short stories, "Heavenís Triage" and "Legacy of Glass," were both 2002 New Century Award finalists.

DiCanio served four years as the president of the New England chapter of the Mystery Writers of America and has functioned as the editor of the chapterís newsletter on and off for seven years.

Enjoy this short mystery story as it appeared in goodgoshalmighty

The Humvee Did It

By Margaret DiCanio

Most residents in Riverton, West Virginia believe the story began with the Humvee parked in the Blossom driveway. The story actually began when Judge Newton Blossom gave his wifeís 1932 fire truck, Bertha, to a junk dealer for scrap. The junk dealer sold the antique pumper to the Emergency Vehicle Transportation Museum in Deep Freeze, North Dakota for $85,000.

When Elena Blossom got off the phone with the museum in a futile attempt to buy back Bertha, she said, "Nelson, how could you do that to me? You know how much she meant to me."

"A judge has a duty to uphold the dignity of his office, my dear, and to serve as a role model for the community. A fire engine on my property made me look ridiculous. Letís hear no more about it."

Elena hadnít minded that Nelson married her for her money. Even as sole heir of the Blossom fortune, Elena knew someone as ugly as she couldnít expect much in the way of a mate. Her father often wondered aloud why she hadnít been born handsome like his family, the Montgomerys. Her mother always added that Elena wasnít graceful like her family, the Delworths.

Elena hadnít minded Nelsonís affairs. Except for the time he and his administrative assistant, Annabel, decided to have a quickie in a stuck elevator at the courthouse and the door opened on the first floor to a waiting crowd. The flurry of talk about removal went nowhereógiven Nelsonís lifetime appointment to the bench.

Elena did mind the loss of Bertha. Bertha didnít deserve to be treated as scrap metal. She had a proud heritage of saving lives.

When Elena spent $100,000 to buy Barbara, a 1949 pumper, she wondered whether she should increase her husbandís yearly allowance to $150,000. After all he was human and Barbara was a fire truck. On the other hand, she said to her new friend, "You give me more pleasure and youíre in mint condition."

Nelson returned from still another judicial conference, accompanied by his administrative assistant, to find Elena driving Barbara in the Foundersí Day Parade. Clinging to Barbaraís sides were 12 members of Brownie Troop 102.

Barbara mysteriously disappeared from the Blossom driveway. The front-page headline in the Riverton Gazette read "Mystery Burglar Steals Antique Pumper." Barbara surfaced in Beats Walking Transportation Museum in New Mexico. The museum paid $500,000 to the seller. The judge bought himself a new Lamborghini with money he saved from skipping lunch.

For several months after Barbara disappeared, the Blossomís home life went on serenely. Elena continued her volunteer work as leader of Brownie Troop 102 and as coordinator of the Blossom Elementary School carpool. On weekends, she cooked at the battered womenís shelter.

Nelsonís capricious decisions made experienced attorneys avoid his court whenever possible. He generally spent several afternoons each week trying to hit golf balls across the pond at the bottom of the front lawn. The housekeeper said to the gardener, "There must be a two-foot layer of golf balls at the bottom of the pond."

"Must be three feet," said the gardener.

Convinced he would win the "Judge of the Year Award," at the annual Silt County judicial conference, Nelson was busy writing his acceptance speech when the end of his tranquil life came in the form of the 10 oíclock news. Elena was enchanted by a segment devoted to the HMMVW, the High Mobility, Multi-Purpose, Wheeled Vehicle, better known as the Humvee. The reporter told his viewers, "The Humveeís versatility is the stuff of legends. In Operation Desert Storm, among its many duties, it served as: a command-and-control vehicle; an ambulance; and a mount for machine guns and grenade launchers. Able to go over exploding land mines without danger to the passengers, the Humvee can climb 60-degree slopes. Best of all, its vertical exhaust pipe and water-tight motor compartment permit it to travel through water up to five feet. Marine Humvees serve for 14 years before being retired. Iíd say they deserve a pension."

Elena called her broker in the morning, "I want the oldest Humvee you can findóone with a history." A week went by with no word from the broker. Impatient, Elena called him.

"They are scarce," he said. "Iíve located one for sale, but the price is too high. You can get a new civilian version for less."

"I donít want a new civilian version."

The broker sighed. He was fond of Elena, but her priorities sometimes baffled him.

"The retired Marine who owns it insists on meeting any prospective buyer. Heíll only sell to someone who will give his Humvee a good home." Elena chartered a plane the next morning to Wagon Stop, Alabama.

Colonel Daniel Michael Broome approved of Elenaís reverence toward his beloved Tillie. "She got me through Desert Storm. Weíve been through a lot together. I wouldnít sell her, but I need the money to keep a forest out of the hands of developers."

Elena was quiet for several seconds, while she examined the colonelís face. "Why donít I buy the land, Colonel, and you keep Tillie. My broker will find me one of Tillieís sisters."

"I canít let you do that, Mam."

"Colonel, Iíve got more money than God. My husband is just waiting for me to die to get his hands on it. The more I spend now, the less heíll have then."

During his thirty-year career as a Marine, the colonel was known by his aids for his shrewd assessment of people. He said, "Letís go for a ride. Iíll show you the land."

Deep in the woods, sitting on a log, the colonel encouraged Elena to tell him about her life. When she told him about being ugly, he said, "How thick were your parents glasses."

"They didnít wear glasses."

"They needed them. Tell me about Nelson."

"At the tale of the judge and his assistant in the elevator, the colonel laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. He wiped his face with a huge white handkerchief. "Mam, you tell a great story."

"I do?"

"I can picture Nelson with his wienie hanging out and Annabel with her pantyhose wrinkled around her ankles." For the first time, Elenaís humiliation flowed away like cool water and she laughed until she cried into the colonelís handkerchief. He patted her back.

As she dried her eyes, Elena said, "Can I come and visit Tillie from time to time."

"I insist you take her home with you, since youíre going to buy the land."

Itís better if I leave Tillie with you. She might disappear from my driveway like Bertha and Barbara, my fire engines did."

No amount of persuasion could change the colonelís mind. Marines are single-minded. The colonel didnít like bullies and he had a plan.

"Weíll drive to Riverton. On the way, you can learn to handle Tillie. Driving a Humvee is not like driving an ordinary car. They have camps to teach new owners how to drive their civilian Hummers.

Home in Riverton, the colonel insisted that Elena leave Tillie in the driveway with the key in the ignition. For three days, the colonel, equipped with infrared camera and binoculars, watched the driveway from the woods at the edge of Elenaís estate. At midnight on the third day, Nelson, dressed in black, crept from the house and slipped into the Humvee. Several minutes passed before he was able to start it.

Heís so damned arrogant, thought the colonel. A good Marine reads the manual.

Nelson couldnít maneuver the turn needed to head out to the main roadójust as the colonel had predicted. He shifted into reverseójust as the colonel had predicted.

"Iíll stroll down the drive," said the colonel to the owl sitting in the tree above him, "and take a picture of the honorable judge sitting in Tillie in three feet of water. Then Iíll personally deliver the picture to the Riverton Gazette. Iíll even write the headline, "Identity of Mystery Burglar Revealed."

Tillie did sink through three feet of water--just as the colonel had predicted. She kept sinking through three feet of golf balls, which the colonel had not predicted. The Riverton Gazette headline read, "Judge Dies in Tragic Accident."

With a few hundred hours of intensive care, Tillie was restored and able to look forward to twenty years of Foundersí Day Parades with the colonel and his lady.

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