Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry

by Mary Higgins Clark

  Gina felt whipsawed by the turn of events. For the past several weeks she had questioned her reluctance to commit to Ted. She knew she loved him deeply, but committing to spend her whole life with him was a decision that frightened her. Now she was being forced to consider life without Ted. The thought was impossible!

  But she needed to work this story. Young women, close to her age, had been victimized, and it was probably still going on. She felt certain that one of them had been murdered. If I walk away, how long will it take them to put someone else on the story? Will whoever they give it to pursue it the way I would have? Will there be more victims who might have been spared? This story is mine, and so is Ted. I will figure out a way to have both, she promised herself.

  “I’ve made my decision,” she said, surprised by the steely resolve in her voice. “I’ll break if off with Ted.” Looking at Geoff, she continued, “This is my story. I want to see it through.”

  It was Geoff who broke the silence. “All right, Gina. With Cathy Ryan dead and Meg Williamson reluctant to talk to you, where are you going next?”

  “I have one more card to play with Williamson,” she said. “Meg doesn’t know that her friend Cathy Ryan was murdered.”

  61

  “Shell-shocked” would have been a good word to describe Gina as she walked from the Empire offices and made her way to the subway. Operating on automatic pilot, she inserted her monthly pass and the gates flew open. She stared without seeing out the window of the train, woodenly trudged up the steps at her stop, and walked to her apartment. All that time in Nepal and Aruba and on the flights, she had agonized about what to say to Ted, how to respond to his question. Little did she know that Ted would get his answer in an email or text with the wording dictated by, of all people, a lawyer.

  She absently acknowledged the doorman’s greeting, but then stopped. Here’s as good a place to start as any, she thought to herself.

  “Miguel, I’m not seeing my friend Ted anymore. If he comes over, please don’t send him up. And if he calls, please don’t say whether I’m home or out.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, they sounded strange to her ears.

  “Oh, Miss Gina, I’m so sorry to hear that. You and Mr. Ted were very simpatico together. Of course I will give him no information about you.”

  Inside her apartment she numbly dropped her bag on the counter. It was approaching lunchtime, but she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. The thought of food made her think of the dinner she would not have. She dialed the restaurant and canceled the reservation. “Thank you so much for letting us know,” the man said in accented English. If only Ted would take the news as well as the restaurant had, she thought as she hung up the phone.

  “There’s got to be a better way to do this,” she said out loud as she opened her computer. She started by typing the lawyer’s words as she recalled them. “Dear Ted, I’ve chosen to go in a different direction. Goodbye.”

  Gina stared at what she had typed. These were the lawyer’s words except for the “Dear Ted.” I’m the one who’s supposedly the professional writer, she thought. I’ve got to be able to do better than that.

  It was small consolation that the hurt she was about to administer was for Ted’s own good. Hurt was hurt, no matter what the intent. If the situation were reversed, what would be less painful? Ted telling her it was over and not providing a reason or saying it was over because someone else had entered the picture?

  She began typing again. “Dear Ted, I’m sorry to say this in an email. I’ve met someone else and I want—” She deleted “want” and replaced it with “need”—“I need to go in a different direction. Goodbye.”

  She read and reread what she had written and shook her head. This version raised as many questions as it answered. When did she meet someone else? Do you change your whole life around after meeting someone in the next seat on an airplane or after a single conversation in a bar? No, you wouldn’t jeopardize what you have unless you were reasonably certain that the new situation offered the opportunity for a greater happiness. You’d only know that if you’d seen the new person several times, and after each meeting found yourself wanting more.

  If I can think of this, so will Ted. No matter what I tell him—I’m not telling him anything in the email—he’ll believe I was cheating on him, cheating on him the whole time I was asking him to be patient.

  Gina exhaled, conceding that there was no way to conclude this in anything resembling a soft landing. She began a new email. “Ted, I’ve chosen to go in a different direction. Goodbye. Gina.”

  Tears gushed down her cheeks as her finger pushed SEND.

  62

  Michael Carter could not escape the feeling of foreboding. He had to admit there was also a certain irony in his dilemma. His efforts to protect one of America’s foremost news organizations were potentially being undermined by a reporter or journalist or whatever she called herself. How did Gina Kane find out about Meg Williamson? He had contacted Lauren Pomerantz, who had given Meg’s name to him. He’d believed Lauren’s assurance that she had abided by her nondisclosure agreement, just as he’d believed Meg’s. Could Paula Stephenson or Cathy Ryan have reached out to Kane? He had no way of knowing. Did one of the other victims who’d settled talk to her? Maybe a victim he didn’t know about yet had opened up to her.

  After viewing Meg Williamson’s Rye home, Gina had to know Meg had received a settlement. But is that all she knows? Did she go beyond asking questions about Cathy Ryan’s time at REL, and start digging into whatever happened in Aruba?

  He considered keeping the information about Gina Kane’s inquiries to himself but decided against it. Why should I be the one doing all the worrying? he asked himself.

  Opening his laptop, he began typing an email to Sherman, with the usual blind copy to Junior: “Houston, we have another problem.…”

  63

  Gina spent the afternoon rereading the notes she had made from the Aruba trip a week and a half earlier, the “vacation” as Geoff had referred to it, and the ones she had jotted after her meeting with Meg Williamson. She was grateful for the periods of time, ten minutes just now, fifteen minutes earlier, when her mind focused on something other than Ted. You’ve got a job to do, she reminded herself. You can’t let your personal life interfere with that.

  She had two decisions to make regarding Williamson. Did she tell her she was 100 percent sure that Cathy Ryan was murdered? She was virtually certain someone tampered with her Jet Ski, so it was almost the truth, she reasoned. Gina smiled as the reporter in her kicked in immediately. She could hear herself asking, “Will you please explain to me what you mean by ‘almost the truth’?”

  The other challenge was how to reengage with her. Gina was convinced that Meg had been coached when she talked to her about Cathy Ryan being a troublemaker and difficult to work with at REL News. If she phoned or emailed and Meg made a date to see her again, whoever was coaching her would have an opportunity to prep her in advance. That assumed, of course, that Meg would agree to a second meeting. Gina recalled how abruptly and emphatically Meg had ended the interview at her home.

  Another possibility was to surprise her and just show up, Gina thought. Show up where? Going to her house when the daughter’s there would be a mistake. She was a protective mother. She wouldn’t be able to focus on what Gina was saying if the whole time she was there Meg’s mind was on her daughter.

  Gina assumed Meg worked conventional hours and finished around five to five-thirty. She must have an after-school sitter for her daughter. That would give them a little time to talk. If she insisted she had to go immediately to pick up her daughter, Gina would be ready with a response.

  The tinkling noise from Gina’s phone signaled the arrival of a text. The sender was Ted! It was four-thirty. His plane must have just landed at JFK. Her breath caught in her chest as she read it.

  Ha ha. Very funny. If this is your idea of an April fools joke, you’re off by 6 months. Confirm where and when tonight.
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  Oh my God, Gina thought. Could Ted possibly believe I was only joking? She looked at his text. He would always write “Love” or include a series of Xs and Os at the end. None of these were present. Ted must have some doubt, some suspicion that her text meant what she said.

  She pictured him walking off the plane and down the long corridors at JFK, his tie loosened and lowered an inch, one hand pulling his rolling suitcase, the other holding his cell phone, glancing at the screen, waiting for the message that all was well, that his only problem was that his girlfriend, the woman he wanted to marry, had a weird sense of humor.

  Unable to wait, he would try phoning. As if on cue, Gina’s cell phone began to vibrate on the table. She had forgotten to reset the ringer after this morning’s meeting. Less than a minute later her landline sounded. She put her head in her hands as she listened to the rings. Six long, loud ones with a pause between each. Her cheerful message followed by a beep.

  “Call me” was all he said before hanging up.

  I can’t be alone tonight, she decided. Gina dialed Lisa’s cell.

  “Hey there. What’s up?” Lisa answered.

  “If you’re not busy tonight, I could really use some fun company.”

  “Sure, I’m free. I thought tonight was the big dinner for you and—”

  “I’ll explain when I see you. Pedro’s at eight o’clock?”

  “We’re on.”

  “Oh, Lisa, one more thing. I told you I was working on a story about REL News.”

  “You did. That they might have some MeToo issues at the company.”

  “Have you told anybody else about what I’m working on?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Please keep it that way. See you tonight.”

  64

  There was far more traffic on the ride to White Plains than the previous time Gina had made the journey. Grateful that she had left extra time, she cruised past the office of Hannon and Ramsey. It was a small, glass-and-white-stone building occupied by several law and accounting practices, wealth management companies, and the PR firm. She was relieved to see that the structure did not have its own belowground parking. That would have made it trickier to spot Williamson when she exited.

  After finding a meter for her rental car, she stood on the sidewalk about thirty feet beyond the front door of the building. She did not want to risk having Meg see her and use a different exit. The unseasonably warm weather made the waiting more tolerable.

  At twenty after five, Meg walked out of the front door and turned in Gina’s direction. She came to an abrupt halt and glared at the journalist.

  “I have nothing more to say to you. You have no right to stalk me—”

  “Meg, you’ll want to hear what I have to say. I only need about ten to fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t have fifteen minutes. I have to be on time to relieve the sitter—” she said as she hurriedly walked away.

  “I respect that, Meg,” Gina said, striding quickly to keep up with her. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll talk while we ride together in your car. Drop me off on the street before you enter your neighborhood. I’ll take an Uber back to my car.”

  “I said I have nothing more to say to you, and I have no interest in anything you have to tell me. Just go away and leave me—”

  “Cathy Ryan was murdered in Aruba. Does that interest you?”

  Meg stopped in her tracks, her face betraying a level of shock and fear. “Oh my God.”

  “Come on,” Gina said. “Let’s go to your car.”

  They walked without talking the two blocks to the parking garage. Gina noticed that Meg’s eyes were continuously darting around, occasionally turning to look behind her.

  Meg clicked her key and a late model BMW coup flashed its lights. It wasn’t until after Meg had paid the attendant and they were driving on the street that Gina broke the silence.

  “You seemed very nervous while we were walking. Are you worried about being followed?”

  “I don’t know,” Meg said, her fists clenched on the steering wheel. “Sometimes they know things about my personal life that they shouldn’t know.”

  “Who’s ‘they,’ Meg? Who’s your contact at REL?”

  Meg ignored the question. “Tell me what happened to Cathy.”

  Gina, mindful that the fifteen-minute clock was running, quickly shared what she had learned in Aruba. She concluded by saying, “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to follow Cathy down to Aruba, to find out about the tour she signed up for, and to tamper with her ski while she was having lunch.”

  Meg’s expression went from shock to fear.

  Gina continued gently. “Meg, in her email Cathy wrote that she had a ‘terrible experience’ at REL News. I know you did, too. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Meg shook her head as she took one hand off the wheel and used it to wipe her eyes. Gina waited, hoping Meg would break the silence. She didn’t.

  Gina tried a different tack. “Whoever hurt you and Cathy, would I recognize his name?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly before clamming up again.

  Recognize his name, Gina thought. He’s got to be one of the on-air people or a top-level executive.

  “Meg, I know you accepted a settlement to keep quiet about something. You had every right to provide security for you and your daughter.”

  “She’s all I have,” Meg said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “You are involved, Meg. They used you to try to mislead me with the information about Cathy being a troublemaker at the company.”

  “Can’t you just go to the police, tell them what you know about Cathy, and let them take over?”

  “I wish it were that simple. The Aruba police have closed the case. I don’t have enough proof to convince the FBI to open an investigation.”

  “I want to help you, but I can’t,” Meg said flatly. “The only way I can stay safe is to do what they say and stay out of it. I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  Gina could see that they were nearing Meg’s neighborhood. It was time to play hardball. “Meg, you’re not safe and neither is your daughter. While in the process of going public, REL News is sitting on a time bomb. Careers and hundreds of millions of dollars may be at risk. Maybe they eliminated Cathy Ryan because she refused to settle. Or maybe Cathy and anybody else who knows their dirty secrets is too much of a risk to them.”

  Meg turned onto a street that in another block would lead to her home. She pulled to the curb and left the engine running. When she spoke, her voice was firm and determined. “I’ll help you under one condition: you promise to never contact me again.”

  “But how—?”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes,” Gina said, while already working on how to get Meg to retract the agreement.

  “There’s a person at REL News who knows a lot more than I do about the victims. I can persuade that person to contact you.”

  “Meg, I’ll honor that agreement. I am going to find out what’s going on at REL News. If I come across information that suggests that you or your daughter are in danger, do you really not want me to contact you?”

  Meg stared straight ahead. “All right. But no more showing up at my workplace or my house. If we have to be in touch, email me.” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Time’s up. Please get out of my car.”

  65

  Ted read the email in disbelief. Yesterday, Gina had written how much she was looking forward to seeing him. Now this.

  Gina was one of the most focused human beings he had ever met. She was certainly not the kind of woman who acted on impulse.

  What had changed her?

  Who had changed her?

  There was another meeting about the REL News prospectus starting in fifteen minutes. Ted shoved the phone into his pocket then took long strides across the lobby.

  As he pushed the button for the sixth floor, he could only wonder if it was something
he had said or done that had made Gina drop him like this.

  66

  Gina felt her breathing return to normal as she slowly jogged the few blocks west from Central Park to her apartment. It was approaching seven o’clock in the evening. She tried to avoid running in the Park after dark. Tonight she had been lucky. Eight members of a running club were just beginning their six-mile loop. Safety in numbers. She had fallen in behind them. Allowing them to set the pace freed her mind to wander.

  Just before she had left her apartment, a call from her father had taken her by complete surprise. While running she had replayed the conversation in her mind.

  “Gina, I have to tell you something. You know how tough it’s been for me these six months since your mother died. I want to thank you again for going with me on the trip. It was nice to not be alone among all the other couples.”

  He paused.

  Gina waited, apprehensive about what might come next.

  “Just before I left for the Nepal trip, I was down at the dock, doing a little cleanup on the boat.”

  Gina remembered smirking at the image. It had been an inside joke she and her mother shared. A few years earlier arthritic knees had forced him to stop playing tennis. Her mother’s encouragement that he take up golf had fallen on deaf ears. “It takes too long,” he had protested.

  “Dad, you’re retired, the one thing you have a whole lot of is time!” they had argued.

  He had spent his career on Wall Street in the bond business, and he had landed at Chubb Insurance.

  He had loved his job, but when the company was sold he retired.

  The following winter a friend suggested they try renting in Pelican Bay in Naples. During their first week, on a walk around the neighborhood they had bumped into Mike and Jennifer Manley, a retired British couple in their seventies.