Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Gina took a long sip of her coffee, savoring the sensation of the hot liquid passing downward from her throat. She thought to herself, I’m pretty sure I have enough to convince ER to send me down to Aruba. But I’d love to be able to tell them how, if at all, Meg Williamson fits into the story.

  With a little luck, Gina thought, she would get Meg’s number later in the day from Mrs. Ryan. She wanted to be completely thought out on what she would say to Meg before she made contact. Did Meg work at REL News for all or a portion of the three years Cathy Ryan was there? How close are/were Cathy and Meg? Did Meg even know that Cathy died two weeks ago? Did Meg also have a “terrible experience” at REL News? If no, did Cathy share anything about her experience with Meg? Or if Meg had accepted a settlement, would she even speak to Gina?

  She opened her email and hit NEW. After a few keystrokes, Geoff’s name appeared. Hi Geoff, I have some updates on the REL News situation I want to share with you. Are you free for a meet?

  Thirty seconds later his response chimed in. Tied up until 4. Can you come then?

  Okay. See you at 4.

  11

  Back in the apartment, on the chance that Geoff would give her an immediate okay, Gina pulled a few warm-weather clothes from her closet and laid them on her bed. She knew that if she ended up going, she would be there for two or three overnights, so it was not hard to put together everything she would need. She made a mental note to pick up some sunblock.

  While Gina waited, she went online and reread news accounts of the Natalee Holloway murder. For all I know, she thought, I might be interacting with some of the same locals who worked on Natalee’s case. What struck her was that Natalee’s parents had had to wait so long to find out what happened to their daughter and for an arrest to be made. Any doubt about the role of Joran van der Sloot, a resident she had met down there, played in her murder was erased when, a few years later, he killed another young woman.

  A text message arrived from Andrew Ryan. His mother had found Meg Williamson’s number.

  Great! Gina thought as she picked up her phone and started dialing. She decided to tweak the approach she had used when she was trying to find CRyan. After five rings and no answer an electronic voice identified the number she had dialed and invited her to leave a message. “Hi, my name is Gina Kane. I’m a print journalist. I’m writing an article about women who have gone to work for broadcast media companies over the last ten to fifteen years. I understand you worked at REL News. I’d love to speak with you. Please give me a call. My cell number is…”

  12

  Meg Williamson did not go into work at the PR firm in White Plains that morning. Instead she took her six-year-old daughter, Jillian, directly to the pediatrician. Jillian had been coughing during the night and had a slight fever. When they got home, Meg went through her phone messages. When she listened to the one from Gina Kane, she gasped and played it again.

  Terrified, she knew what she had to do. For the first time in almost two years, she dialed the number Michael Carter had given her. He answered on the first ring. “What is it, Meg?”

  “I just received a message on my phone. I wrote it down to make sure I got it right.” She read him Gina’s message.

  “First thing. Give me her name and the number she wanted you to use to call her back.” Meg gave him both. There was a long pause. Then, in a slow, deliberate voice Carter said, “I know how these reporters work. They reach out to a lot of people, but they end up interviewing only a handful of them. Ignore the message. Let her interview somebody else. You did the right thing. If she attempts to contact you again, call me.”

  “Of course, I will,” Meg responded quickly. “I promise—” The call had been disconnected.

  13

  In high school and college Gina had been very casual about arriving on time. When a class was taught in a lecture hall, she would often slink into a seat in the back row to avoid the attention of the professor. Her experience as a journalist had made her the opposite. She was now not only punctual; she always arrived early for her appointments. At 3:45 she was in the downstairs lobby of Empire Review with the guard announcing her arrival.

  When she exited the elevator, Jane Patwell was waiting to greet her. “It’s just as well you came early,” she said. “Geoff’s last appointment ended early. He’s ready to see you now.”

  She paused and added, “Gina, you look so pretty. I love that slacks suit. You should always wear blue. I mean especially that deep rich shade.”

  Gina knew what Jane was driving at. She thinks I’m dressing up for Geoff, she thought, amused. Am I? she asked herself with a smile.

  Jane knocked on Geoff’s door and opened it as he called, “Come in.”

  When he saw it was Gina, he stood up quickly and motioned her to the table by the window.

  “Now that it’s your show, how’s it going?” she asked as she settled into a chair.

  “Hectic, but all in all very good. Now, tell me, what’s new at REL News?”

  Gina quickly summarized her eventually successful attempt to find Cathy Ryan, her conversation with Andrew, and Cathy’s untimely death on the Jet Ski. She explained that she was in the early stages of pursuing a lead on a woman who worked with Cathy at REL News.

  Geoff paused, deep in thought. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me that the Jet Ski incident might not have been an accident.”

  “Precisely,” Gina said. “The only way to find out what really happened is for me to go down there, stay at the same hotel, meet whoever rented her the Jet Ski, and the investigator who worked on her case. Basically, just start asking questions.”

  “When can you leave?”

  “There’s an afternoon flight tomorrow from JFK straight to Aruba. I think I’ll need two to three days on the ground there.”

  “Will a three-thousand-dollar advance for expenses be sufficient?”

  “Yes.”

  “Book your flight. I’ll take care of the advance.”

  As she walked to the door he called to her. “Gina, if you’re right, and I think you are, someone went through an awful lot of trouble to arrange Cathy Ryan’s death to make it look like an accident. Be careful down there.”

  14

  I never thought I’d be on another trip so quickly, Gina thought as she boarded the JetBlue flight to Aruba. As soon as the Airbus 320 was in the air, she began to read the news accounts she had printed on the Holloway case.

  On a high school graduation trip to Aruba eighteen-year-old Natalee Holloway had disappeared.…

  Gina’s overall impression was that the local police had stonewalled the FBI’s attempts to investigate the disappearance. If they stiff-armed the FBI, she thought, I can only imagine what they’ll try to do to me.

  The email from Andrew Ryan, with several attachments, had arrived last evening. Along with the police report, Andrew had included several photos of Cathy, explaining in the email that these were the most recent he could find.

  Gina studied the pictures. One was on a beach. A smiling Cathy was standing next to a surfboard that was as tall as she was. Because she was the only one in the picture, it was hard to determine her height. A blue one-piece bathing suit hugged her trim, athletic body. Her long dark brown hair fell almost to her shoulders. Dimples were visible in a broad smile accentuated by exceptionally white teeth. Slightly round facial features suggested a certain tomboy quality.

  A second photo showed Cathy sitting at a table. A cake with lit candles was visible on the lower left. Gina wondered if this was taken at their mother’s birthday party just before Cathy left for Aruba. Cathy looked different. Her smile looked forced; the corners of her mouth barely turned up. Although she was looking at the camera, she appeared distracted, as if her mind was far away.

  Next Gina removed the police report and reread it carefully. She wasn’t concerned that she would not be able to meet Peter van Riper, the patrol officer who had responded to the call about an accident at the pier. She was told he was away
on vacation.

  She was far more interested in talking to Hans Werimus, the investigator who had conducted the interviews and who had reached the conclusion that Cathy’s death was the result of an accident. Werimus had agreed to see her on Thursday. That gave her the balance of today and tomorrow to meet the others on her list.

  * * *

  Aruba delivered on its reputation for good weather. It was sunny and seventy-seven degrees when Gina left the airport and boarded a taxi for the twenty-minute ride to the hotel.

  They weren’t kidding when they described this island as desertlike, she thought to herself. The gently rolling hills were mostly brown. From her research she knew that the best beaches and water conditions were on the northwest side of the island, where she would be staying. The other side was for the most part undeveloped.

  The Americana Hotel was busy during this week in October. From the information Andrew had sent her she knew that Cathy had stayed in Room 514. While registering at the desk, she asked if that room was available. The young woman clerk eyed her suspiciously. “Is there any reason you want that particular room?”

  Not wanting to tip her hand, Gina replied, “My mother was born on May 14. I’ve always considered five and fourteen to be lucky numbers.”

  “Well, your numbers continue to be lucky. I’m putting you in Room 514.”

  Gina refused help from the bellhop. She only had one small suitcase and it was on rollers.

  Not knowing what to expect, she inserted her electronic key into the room door lock. When the light turned green, she turned the door handle and stepped into the spacious L-shaped room.

  It turned out to be a large corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the Caribbean. A gentle, salty breeze off the water was blowing through the open windows. The king-size bed was positioned to capture the setting sun. Night tables were on either side of the bed. The wall unit housed the television and had three sets of drawers on each side below it. A newspaper and a booklet bearing the hotel’s logo were on the countertop.

  Gina tried to imagine what it must have been like for Andrew Ryan to come into this room and collect his sister’s clothes and toiletries, knowing that the reality of her death had barely set in.

  Trying to shake off those thoughts, she unpacked her things and glanced at her watch. 7:30. No wonder she was hungry. She had skipped lunch, and the snack on the plane had been minimal.

  Gina briefly touched up her hair and changed into a pair of summer-weight slacks and a short-sleeve shirt. She started to reach for the latest edition of ER from her travel bag, but instead grabbed the newspaper and the hotel booklet. Friends often asked her if she felt uncomfortable going to dinner alone. Her answer was “Quite the opposite.” Being raised as an only child had made her not only comfortable with it but fond of time spent losing herself in a book or a magazine article. There was nothing lonely about solitude; it was an opportunity.

  The hotel dining room was about half-filled. She accepted the maître d’s offer of a table in the corner. As she followed him, she overheard several conversations in English. One older couple was speaking a foreign language that she assumed was Dutch.

  There were two tables opposite hers, each occupied by a couple who appeared to be in their early to mid thirties. One pair clinked glasses, and she smiled at the conclusion of the toast he made. The only word she could hear was “beginning.” The other couple leaned across the table and kissed, lingering for a moment before they settled back in their chairs. Honeymooners, she guessed.

  She glanced over the wall of windows, past the pool, and studied the timeless, gentle motion of the blue-green Caribbean water. Given license to wander, her mind settled on the memory of her favorite picture of her parents. It was taken while they were on their honeymoon at the Southampton Princess in Bermuda.

  Next she browsed the Aruba Daily, the island’s only English-language newspaper. There were no stories about any crimes committed on the island.

  While eating, Gina casually glanced at the activities sheet that had been left on the wall unit in her room. All activities can be arranged by the hotel concierge. There was a daily trip for those interested in scuba diving, as well as lessons for beginners. There were three different snorkeling trips that would ferry guests to a reef just offshore. A See Aruba in a Day excursion would leave early the next morning and include breakfast and lunch.

  The next item attracted her full attention.

  Jet Skiers Delight! Four hours of fun! Our expert guide will lead you on a 90-minute trip along our beautiful coastline, stopping to point out historic and other fascinating destinations. Break for one hour for lunch at the famous Tierra Mar restaurant on the water. After a quick ride back to our beach, enjoy another hour of fun on your own on our state-of-the-art Jet Ski. Must be 16 years of age or older to operate ski.

  Change of plans, Gina thought to herself. Her original idea had been to rent a car and drive to the Jet Ski location and then to the restaurant. Why not experience for herself what Cathy was doing up until the last moments of her life?

  On her way back to her room she stopped at the concierge desk and made a reservation for the next day’s Jet Ski tour. A hotel jitney would provide free transportation to the ski rental facility. “Yes,” she was told, “there are taxis available if you prefer not to take the jitney.” She could tell that the concierge found it odd, even suspicious, that she wanted to get to the concession early.

  It was only nine-thirty, but she decided to go right to bed. She clicked off the light and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A faint glow of moonlight made the shapes of the furniture in the room barely visible. She tried to imagine what thoughts had been in her head as Cathy Ryan drifted off to sleep for the very last time.

  15

  Gina opened her eyes and glanced around the room. For a moment she was startled and didn’t know where she was. Everything looked so different from the small inns and tents they had stayed in during the hiking trip. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” she joked to herself as she glanced out the window at the sun slowly rising over the Atlantic.

  The small bedside alarm clock showed 6:45 a.m.

  She slipped on jogging clothes and a sun visor and went for a thirty-minute run along the main road. When she got back to her room, she carried her laptop to the small desk in the corner of the room. Fourteen NEW messages greeted her, nothing from Meg Williamson. The only message she opened was from Ted.

  Hey there. I didn’t call last night because I wanted to make sure I didn’t wake you up. Hard to describe how much I miss you. Even if I tried, I’d fall short. It’s tough being in love with a writer! LOL. LA is oven hot. Enjoy but be careful in Aruba. Love you to death. Ted

  Gina sighed and got up from her chair. Why can’t I feel about him the way he feels about me? It would be so much easier, she thought, if I was as sure about him as he is about me. She headed into the bathroom and ran water for a shower. She would go to the business office to print the pictures of Cathy before going to breakfast. Maybe the waiters would have more time to chat if she got there early.

  The breakfast room was almost empty when she entered. Two waitresses appeared to be on duty. A young couple wearing clothing more suited for a colder climate was finishing their meal. They’re probably headed to the airport and back to wherever, Gina thought.

  Gina had a choice to serve herself at the buffet or order from the menu. The buffet looked tempting, but it would reduce her chance to naturally interact with the waiters. Seating herself at a table near the window, she slid the pictures she’d printed of Cathy out of her beach bag and put them on the table.

  As she readied herself to talk to anyone who might remember meeting Cathy two weeks ago, she tried to focus on what information would be most helpful to her. According to Andrew, Cathy had come here alone. Cathy might have kept quiet about a plan to meet someone here, possibly whoever was negotiating with her on behalf of REL News. But why would the REL News negotiator go t
hrough the trouble to traipse all the way down to Aruba when it would have been much easier to see Cathy in Atlanta?

  Another possibility was that the negotiator might have surprised Cathy with his or her presence here. If Cathy put off talking to him by saying that she was going to Palm Beach and then Aruba for a few days, it would not have been hard to find the hotel where she was staying. As Gina knew well, newspeople were very good at getting sources to share confidential information.

  A waitress in a crisp short-sleeve white shirt and tight-fitting black pants came to her table carrying a pot. “Anna” was on the nameplate clipped to her breast pocket. “Yes,” Gina replied to her offer of coffee. As she was pouring, Gina pointed to the pictures of Cathy on the table.

  “My friend stayed at this hotel about two weeks ago. By any chance do you recognize and remember her?”

  “We have so many guests,” Anna started to say. She glanced at the picture, and her expression quickly changed, becoming more serious.

  “Your friend is the woman who died in the accident. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. So am I,” Gina replied. “I believe my friend, Cathy, might have met someone at the hotel just before,” she paused, “her accident. I’m trying to figure out who that might have been. Do you recall Cathy spending time with anyone?”

  “No. She was like you. By herself. I waited on her at dinner once. She was very nice. Very polite. I remember she asked for a table apart from the other guests. She brought a magazine to her table. But I never saw her reading it. She just stared out the window at the water.”