“That is absolutely impossible. The room or apartment is locked immediately. Everyone knows that.”
“Uh-huh.” Brower’s tone became confidential. “Nurse Markey, just between us, what do you think about Dr. Lane?”
She looked at him sharply, then paused before speaking. “I’m at the point where even if it means hurting someone I’m very fond of, I’m willing to lose another job by speaking my mind. I wouldn’t let Dr. Lane treat my cat. He’s probably the stupidest physician I have ever dealt with, and, believe me, I’ve dealt with my share of them.”
She stood up. “I also have had the honor of working with magnificent doctors. Which is why I cannot understand how the Prestige people chose Dr. Lane to run this establishment. And before you ask, that is the reason I check so frequently on residents about whom I am concerned. I don’t think he is capable of giving them the care they need. I’m aware that sometimes they may resent it, but I am only doing it for their own good.”
82
NEIL AND ROBERT STEPHENS DROVE DIRECTLY TO NEWPORT police headquarters. “Damn good thing you got that restraining order in yesterday,” Robert said to his son. “That guy was ready to skip. At least this way with his bank account tied up, we stand a chance at getting Cora’s money back, or some of it, anyhow.”
“But he doesn’t know what happened to Maggie,” Neil said bitterly.
“No, I guess he doesn’t. You can’t be an usher at a five o’clock wedding in New York, offer dozens of names of people who will state that you stayed for the entire reception, and be up here at the same time.”
“He had a lot more to say about his alibi than he did about his stock dealings,” Neil said. “Dad, that guy has nothing in that office to indicate that he’s dealing in securities. Did you see one financial statement, one prospectus, or anything like what you see in my office?”
“No, I did not.”
“Trust me, he’s not really working out of that dump. Those transactions are coming out of another place. And one that’s probably pulling this same sort of swindle.” Neil paused, looking grimly out the car window. “God, this weather is lousy.”
It’s getting cold and it’s pouring. Where is Maggie? he thought. Is she out in this somewhere? Is she scared?
Is she dead?
Once again, Neil rejected the thought. She couldn’t be dead. It was as if he could hear her calling to him to help her.
They arrived at the police station to find that Chief Brower was out, but Detective Haggerty saw them. “There’s nothing helpful to report,” he said candidly to their urgent queries about Maggie. “No one remembers seeing that Volvo station wagon in town last night. We’ve gotten in touch with Ms. Holloway’s neighbors here. When they passed her house on the way to dinner at seven o’clock, her car was in her driveway. It was gone when they returned at nine-thirty, so we have to assume that she left somewhere in that two-and-a-half-hour time frame.”
“That’s all you can tell us?” Neil asked, his tone incredulous. “My God, there’s got to be something more than that.”
“I wish there were. We know that she went over to that funeral museum Monday afternoon. We spoke to her before she left and after she returned.”
“Funeral museum?” Neil said. “That doesn’t sound like Maggie. What was she doing there?”
“According to Professor Bateman, she was helping him select visuals for some television series he’ll be doing,” Haggerty responded.
“You said ‘According to Professor Bateman,’ ” Robert Stephens said sharply.
“Did I? Well, I mean, we have no reason to doubt the professor. He may be a bit eccentric, but he grew up here, people know him, and he’s got no record of any trouble.” He hesitated. “I’ll be totally honest with you. Ms. Holloway seemed to indicate that there was something about him that bothered her. And when we checked, we did learn that, while nothing involving the police was in his history, he was responsible for a stir one afternoon among a number of the residents at the Latham Manor retirement home. Seems like they ended up throwing him out of the place.”
Latham Manor again! Neil thought.
“Bateman also volunteered that Maggie knew where the key to the museum was hidden, and that he had invited her to come back with her camera at any time.”
“Do you think she actually went there last night? Alone?” Neil asked incredulously.
“I wouldn’t think so. No, the fact is, there seems to have been a robbery at the museum last night—if you can believe it, a coffin is missing. What we are doing is interrogating some teenage kids from the general neighborhood who have given us trouble before. We think they’re probably responsible. We think they may also be able to give us some information about Ms. Holloway. If she had gone into the museum, and they saw her car parked there, I’ve gotta believe they would have made sure she was gone before they went in themselves.”
Neil stood to leave. He had to get out of there; he had to be doing something. Besides, he knew that there was nothing more he could learn here. But he could go back to Latham Manor and maybe find out something. His excuse would be that he wanted to talk to the director about the Van Hillearys’ possible application.
“I’ll check in with you later,” he told Haggerty. “I’m going over to Latham Manor and try to talk to some of the people there. You never know who might have some bit of information that could be of help. And I have a good excuse for visiting. I was by there on Friday to inquire about the facilities on behalf of a couple who are my investment clients, and I’ve just come up with a few more questions.”
Haggerty raised his eyebrows. “You’ll probably find out that we were there a little while ago.”
“Why?” Robert Stephens asked quickly.
“We spoke to the director and to one of the nurses there, a Zelda Markey, who it seems is a close friend of Professor Bateman’s. I can’t say more than that.”
“Dad, what’s your car-phone number?” Neil asked. Robert Stephens took out a business card and scribbled the number on the back. “Here.”
Neil handed the card to Haggerty. “If there are any developments, try us at this number. And we’ll be calling in to you every hour or so.”
“That’s fine. Ms. Holloway’s a close friend, isn’t she?”
“She’s more than that,” Robert Stephens said brusquely. “Consider us her family.”
“As you wish,” Haggerty said simply. “I do understand.” He looked at Neil. “If my wife were missing, I’d be going through the same kind of hell. I’ve met Ms. Holloway. She’s real smart and, I believe, very resourceful. If there’s any way she can help herself, trust her to do it.”
The look of genuine sympathy on Haggerty’s face brought Neil to an acute awareness of just how close he might be to losing someone who, surprisingly, he now couldn’t imagine living without. He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, and left.
In the car, he said, “Dad, why do I feel that Latham Manor is at the center of all this?”
83
“MAGGIE, YOU’RE NOT CALLING FOR HELP, ARE YOU? THAT isn’t wise.”
Oh God, no! He was back! His voice, hollow and echoing, was barely discernible through the rain beating on the earth above her.
“You must be getting wet down there,” he called. “I’m glad. I want you to be cold and wet and scared. I’ll bet you’re hungry, too. Or maybe just thirsty?”
Don’t answer, she told herself. Don’t plead with him. It’s what he wants.
“You ruined everything for me, Maggie, you and Nuala. She had begun to suspect something, so she had to die. And it was all going so well, too. Latham Manor—I own it, you know. Only the outfit that manages it doesn’t know who I am. I have a holding company. And you were right about the bells. Those women weren’t buried alive, maybe just a little bit sooner than God intended. They should have had more time. That’s why I put the bells on the graves. It’s my little joke. You’re the only one who really is buri
ed alive.
“When they exhume those women, they’ll blame Dr. Lane for their deaths. They’ll think it was his fault that the medicines got mixed. He’s a lousy doctor anyway, with a terrible record. And a drinking problem. That’s why I had them hire him. But your stupid interference does mean I won’t be able to call on my little angel of death to help the little ladies along to an early grave. And that’s too bad; I want the money. Do you know how much profit there is in turning over those rooms? Lots. Lots.”
Maggie shut her eyes, struggling to blot out his face from her mind. It was almost as though she could see him. He was crazy.
“I guess you figured out that the bell on your grave has no clapper, haven’t you? Now figure this out: How long will you last when the air vent is clogged?”
She felt a rush of dirt on her hand. Frantically she tried to poke open the vent with her finger. More dirt tumbled down.
“Oh, one more thing, Maggie,” he said, his voice suddenly more muffled. “I took the bells from the other graves. I thought that was a good idea. I’ll put them back when they bury the bodies again. Sweet dreams.”
She heard the thump of something hitting the air vent; then she heard nothing. He was gone. She was sure of it. The vent was packed. She did the only thing she could think of to help herself. She flexed and unflexed her left hand so that the string on her ring finger would keep the mud from hardening around it. Please God, she prayed, let someone see that the bell is moving.
How long would it be before she used up all the oxygen? she wondered. Hours? A day?
“Neil, help me, help me,” she whispered. “I need you. I love you. I don’t want to die.”
84
LETITIA BAINBRIDGE HAD ABSOLUTELY REFUSED TO GO TO the hospital. “You can cancel that ambulance or ride in it yourself,” she tartly informed her daughter, “but I’m not going anywhere.”
“But Mother, you’re not well,” Sarah Cushing protested, knowing full well that to argue with her was useless. When her mother got a certain mulelike look, there was no point in further discussion.
“Who’s well at ninety-four?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked. “Sarah, I appreciate your concern, but there’s a lot going on around here, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
“Will you at least take your meals on a tray?”
“Not dinner. You do realize Dr. Evans checked me out just a few days ago. There’s nothing wrong with me that being fifty wouldn’t cure.”
Sarah Cushing gave up the argument reluctantly. “Very well, but you’ve got to promise me one thing. If you don’t feel well, you’ll let me take you to Dr. Evans again. I don’t want Dr. Lane treating you.”
“Neither do I. Sneak that she is, Nurse Markey did see a change in Greta Shipley last week and tried to get Lane to do something about it. He, of course, couldn’t find anything; he was wrong and she was right. Does anyone know why the police were talking to her?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, find out!” she snapped. Then in a quieter tone, she added, “I’m so worried about that wonderful girl, Maggie Holloway. So many young people today are so indifferent or impatient with old fossils like me. Not her. We’re all praying that she’ll be found.”
“I know, and so am I,” Sarah Cushing agreed.
“All right, go downstairs and find out the latest. Start with Angela. She doesn’t miss a thing.”
* * *
Neil had called on the car phone to tell Dr. Lane he would like to stop by to discuss the Van Hillearys’ interest in residing at Latham Manor. He found Lane’s voice curiously indifferent when he agreed to a meeting.
They were admitted to Latham Manor by the same attractive young maid they had seen before. Neil remembered that her name was Angela. When they arrived she was talking to a handsome woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties.
“I’ll let Dr. Lane know you’re here,” Angela said softly. As she crossed the entrance hall to the intercom, the older woman came over to them.
“I don’t want to seem inquisitive, but are you from the police?” she asked.
“No, we’re not,” Robert Stephens said quickly. “Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”
“No. Or at least I certainly hope not. Let me explain. I am Sarah Cushing. My mother, Letitia Bainbridge, is a resident here. She has become very fond of a young woman named Maggie Holloway, who seems to have gone missing, and she is terribly anxious for any news about her.”
“We’re very fond of Maggie, too,” Neil said, once again experiencing the lump in his throat that now was threatening to undermine his composure. “I wonder if it would be possible to speak to your mother after we see Dr. Lane?”
Noting a look of uncertainty in Sarah Cushing’s eyes, he felt he had to explain. “We’re groping at straws to see if Maggie may have said anything to anyone, even casually, that might help us to find her.”
He bit his lip, unable to go on.
Sarah Cushing studied him, sensing his distress. Her frosty blue eyes softened. “Absolutely. You can see Mother,” she said briskly. “I’ll wait in the library for you and take you up when you’re ready.”
The maid had returned. “Dr. Lane is ready to see you,” she said.
For the second time, Neil and Robert Stephens followed her to Lane’s office. Neil reminded himself that as far as the doctor was concerned, he was here to discuss the Van Hillearys. He forced himself to remember the questions that he had intended to ask, on their behalf. Was the residence owned and operated by Prestige, or was it franchised by them? He would need proof of sufficient reserve capital.
Was there any allowance for the Van Hillearys if they opted to decorate and refurbish the suite themselves?
Both men were shocked when they reached Dr. Lane’s office. The man seated at the desk was so radically changed that it was like seeing and talking to a different human being. The suave, smiling, courteous director they had met last week was gone.
Lane looked ill and defeated. His skin was gray, his eyes sunken. Listlessly he invited them to sit down, then said, “I understand you have some questions. I’ll be happy to answer them. However, a new director will be meeting your clients when they come up on the weekend.”
He’s been fired, Neil thought. Why? he wondered. He decided to plunge ahead. “Look, I don’t know what’s been going on here, obviously, and I’m not asking you to explain the reasons behind your departure.” He paused. “But I am aware that your bookkeeper had been giving out privileged financial information. That was one of my concerns.”
“Yes, that’s something that has just been brought to our attention. I’m very sure it won’t happen again in this establishment,” Lane said.
“I can sympathize,” Neil continued. “In the investment business, we unfortunately always seem to face the problem of insider trading.” He knew his father was looking at him curiously, but he had to try to learn if that was the reason Lane was being fired. Secretly he doubted it and suspected that it had something to do with the sudden deaths of some of the residents.
“I’m aware of the problem,” Lane said. “My wife worked in a securities firm in Boston—Randolph and Marshall—before I took this position. It would seem that dishonest people crop up everywhere. Ah, well, let me try to answer whatever questions you have. Latham Manor is a wonderful residence, and I can assure you that our guests are very happy here.”
When they left fifteen minutes later, Robert Stephens said, “Neil, that guy is scared stiff.”
“I know. And it’s not just because of his job.” I’m wasting time, he thought. He had brought up Maggie’s name, and Lane’s only response was an expression of polite concern for her welfare.
“Dad, maybe we should skip meeting with anyone here,” he said as they reached the entrance hall. “I’m going to break into Maggie’s house to search it. Maybe there’s something there that will give us some idea of where she was going last night.”
Sarah Cushing was waiting for them, however. “I phoned up to Mother
. She wants very much to meet you.”
Neil was about to protest but saw his father’s warning glance. Robert Stephens said, “Neil, why don’t you pay a visit for a few minutes? I’ll make some calls from the car. I was about to tell you that I happened to keep an extra key to the new lock on Maggie’s door, in case she ever forgot hers. I told her about it. I’ll call your mother and have her meet us there with it. And I’ll call Detective Haggerty, too.”
It would take his mother half an hour to get to Maggie’s house, Neil calculated. He nodded. “I’d like to meet your mother, Mrs. Cushing.”
On the way up to Letitia Bainbridge’s room he decided to ask her about the lecture that Earl Bateman gave at Latham Manor, the one that got him banished from the place. Bateman was the last person to admit seeing Maggie yesterday, he reasoned. She had spoken to Detective Haggerty later, but no one had reported seeing her.
Had anyone thought about that? Neil wondered. Had anyone checked to confirm Earl Bateman’s story that he had gone directly to Providence after he left the museum yesterday afternoon?
“This is Mother’s apartment,” Sarah Cushing said. She tapped, waited for the invitation to enter, then opened the door.
Now fully dressed, Mrs. Letitia Bainbridge was seated in a wing chair. She waved Neil in and pointed to the chair nearest her. “From what Sarah tells me, you seem to be Maggie’s young man. You must be so worried. We all are. How can we help?”
Having deduced that Sarah Cushing had to be nearly seventy, Neil realized that this bright-eyed, clear-voiced woman had to be around ninety or more. She looked as if she missed nothing. Let her tell me something that will help, he prayed.
“Mrs. Bainbridge, I hope I won’t upset you by being absolutely frank with you. For reasons I don’t understand as yet, Maggie had begun to be very suspicious about some of the recent deaths in this residence. We know that only yesterday morning she looked up the obituaries of six different women, five of whom had resided here, and who died recently. Those five women died in their sleep, unattended, and none of them had close relatives.”
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