“I like it.” Mack segued to his next subject. “Not to ruin the mood, but since you brought work into this, did you see that the ratings for the Evening Headlines were down again this week?”
Eliza nodded as she took a sip of coffee. “I saw them.”
“And?”
“To tell you the truth, there’s not much satisfaction in it. Pete may be a sneaky creep, but I don’t relish any KEY News dip in the ratings. That’s bad for all of us.”
“Well, if Pete’s slide does continue, the rumor has always had it that you are next in line for the throne.”
“That may have been true once, but with my recent history, I’m not so sure now. I just hope that the Mole story didn’t do any permanent damage. Otherwise, Pete’s in like Flynn, bad numbers or not.”
Mack reached over and took Eliza’s hand.
“Look, you could always go public and tell what really happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do it on Here’s Looking at You, America. You couldn’t have a better forum. You can explain everything. Get it all out in the open. That is, if you think that America wants to know.”
Eliza felt the warmth of Mack’s touch, saw the look of tenderness in his eyes.
“Is America curious, or are you?”
“Both.”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” she promised. “But not now.” She looked down at Janie. Mack nodded.
Janie chirped, “I’m going to a pool tomorrow and Mrs. Twomey’s coming with us so she can see me swim.”
“I wish you could come to Louise’s party, Mack.”
“Well, somebody has to work and I have Memorial Day duty. So, ladies, today will be our holiday.”
Mack settled the check and the three walked along the street, wandering throughout the stores, poking around in antique shops, browsing through the art galleries. After having her face painted like an Indian by a sidewalk artist and eating most of a double chocolate ice cream cone, Janie fell asleep on the ride back to Manhattan and didn’t awaken when Mack carried her up to Eliza’s apartment.
“That’s what I love about Janie,” said Mack as Eliza came back from tucking the child in her bed. “She’s such a cooperative kid.”
Eliza felt a tightening in her chest. She’d been thinking about it all day. But she was afraid. Afraid to get close to someone else again. Afraid of letting herself love someone else . . . Afraid of letting go of John. She knew she had to get over it, knew she had to move on. But she just still wasn’t sure that she was ready.
“Do you want some coffee?” she asked, trying to delay things.
Mack came toward her and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her near.
“No. I don’t want any coffee.”
He bent forward and his lips touched her neck. Eliza felt their warmth on her soft skin, felt a tingling that moved down her entire body.
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” he said.
“But Janie’s just down the hall.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered.
Then his mouth was on hers and he pulled her closer still. Slowly, she felt herself letting go.
Eliza unbuttoned Mack’s shirt, at first tentatively, and then urgently. John was nowhere in the room.
Chapter 55
Janie splashed contentedly in the sparkling water of the Bears Nest swimming pool. As the only child at the Memorial Day barbecue, she was getting lots of attention.
Keeping her eyes trained on her little charge, Mrs. Twomey pulled a deck chair to the pool’s edge. Jean rolled up her white slacks and dangled her feet, clapping as Janie, holding tight to the side, gave her pounding rendition of a flutter kick. Even William took a break from offering gooey nachos to watch Janie gingerly put her head under the water.
Close by, Eliza, Yelena, Range and Louise sat in a cluster of lounge chairs, sipping their cold drinks and enjoying the clear late afternoon.
“I love it out here,” Eliza said aloud to no one in particular. “I think Janie and I should move out. It only took us a half hour to get here.”
“That’s because there was no traffic today. During normal rush hour, it’s double or triple that,” Range warned.
“That wouldn’t be a problem for me. Not with my hours. I doubt many people are on the road at four in the morning.”
“Bill never seemed to mind the commute much. He said it gave him time in the morning to get his thoughts organized, and it was a chance to decompress at the end of the day.” Louise’s face grew solemn. “Poor Bill.”
The group was silent.
Louise went on. “I hate when people say things like this, but it was a beautiful funeral, wasn’t it?”
Everyone nodded in agreement and, from poolside, Jean spoke up.
“You know, I thought that Bill should have been buried from St. Patrick’s. I go to eight o’clock Mass there every single Sunday morning and it’s just so magnificent. But the cathedral in Newark was beautiful and all, and if that’s where Bill wanted it, I guess that’s all that counts.” She looked like she would cry.
“Okay, everybody.” Range clapped his hands. “Buck up. Bill wouldn’t want us moping around. I’m going for a swim.”
“You’re right.” Louise stood up. “I’m going to put the chicken on the grill.”
“Oh let me help. I love to barbecue.” Eliza rose eagerly. “Want to come, Yelena?”
“Sure, but I’m just an observer. Don’t ask me to do anything too hard.”
“Think you could husk some corn?” Louise teased.
“That I could probably handle. But I should tell you, it comes in cans nowadays.”
The grill was ready. Louise placed the chicken and Eliza brushed on the tangy orange sauce.
“How are you really, Louise?”
“Not great. I keep wondering if Bill was thinking about this for a long time. I wish I had known, maybe I could have done something.”
Eliza put her hand on Louise’s shoulder. “I think we all wonder that.”
Yelena came out from the sliding glass doors onto the deck carrying a large salad bowl.
“I was thinking of calling Bill’s psychiatrist,” Louise admitted to Eliza. “Maybe he could give me some answers or at least some peace of mind.”
Eliza considered. “I’m sure Dr. Karas would be glad to talk with you. He’s very understanding. I should know, he’s my doctor, too. When I needed help, Bill gave me his number.”
Chapter 56
There it was. The inlaid mahogany box. It had no lock.
The box was opened and its contents extracted carefully . . . contents that were smooth and cool to the touch. Funny, that something so small could be so lethal.
As soon as the job was done, right back the gun would
go.
It was too bad, but there was no choice.
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Karas knew too much.
June
Chapter 57
The man pushed his shopping cart into the small space next to the staircase leading up to an elegant brownstone townhouse. The freshly painted black front door sported a heavy brass doorknocker. A lion’s head, the homeless man noted. Good enough. Another animal for the menagerie.
He opened up one of the plastic bags in his cart, rifled around inside and found what he was searching for. Looking over his shoulders from side to side, he surveyed the quiet East Side block. Seeing no one, he pulled out his weapon and aimed at the brownstone wall. The outline of the head, the curly mane, the eyes, nose and whiskers appeared.
Tit for tat, tit for tat. Spray them a lion’s head, this for that.
The man quickly capped the spray-paint can and shoved it back into the bag, stuffing it deep into the middle of the cart. Then he eased the shopping cart out of its hiding spot and continued walking down the street. Easy, not too fast, that will attract attention. Homeless people shouldn’t look like they are hurrying to or from anything.
He felt good.
He would take the time to observe his creation more carefully tomorrow night when he made his rounds to check on his pets. Tomorrow night, when he planned to talk to Dr. Karas again. He’d been watching Karas long enough.
Now it was late and he wanted to find a place to doze. He chuckled to himself.
A catnap.
Chapter 58
Louise Kendall sat in her shiny white kitchen sipping a second cup of coffee and reading the Record. Haines Wingard and the New Jersey primary were in the headlines.
Today was the final voting day of the primary season. At this point it was a foregone conclusion. Haines Malcolm Wingard would be his party’s candidate for president. It had been decided that on primary night Wingard would make his victory statement in densely populated Bergen County.
Louise noted with interest that the Park Ridge Marriott was to be Wingard headquarters for the evening. That was where the New Visions for Living fund-raiser would be held later that month. She felt a twinge of wistfulness, a mental picture forming of the organized chaos that must be going on there as the newspeople set up to broadcast from the ballroom. She had accompanied Bill on enough remotes to have become fascinated with what went into making live TV. She missed the excitement of being there as events unfolded. Even in the role of an observant guest, she had felt a part of history.
Louise finished reading the first section and was turning to the classifieds to check the real estate ads when the phone rang. Range Bullock was on the line. After the usual pleasantries, he got to the point of his call. He was down the road at the Marriott and was wondering if she felt like taking a ride over.
Louise fairly jumped at the chance. In the weeks since Bill’s death, she hadn’t felt like doing much of anything. Of course, the barbecue had been the first real opportunity to be with people again, to laugh and enjoy herself. She was glad that Range had been there.
“Why don’t you come over as soon as you can,” he was saying now. “We’ll do a quick tour and then grab some lunch.”
Louise gulped the last of her coffee and stowed the cup and saucer in the dishwasher. Louise remembered her Italian grandmother, a seventy-six-year-old widow when she sold her home of fifty years and moved into a small apartment. Nana was stubborn in her refusal to use the new dishwasher—the sink was always good enough for her, thank you very much. She used her first dishwasher as a liquor cabinet and washed her single plates and utensils by hand after every meal. Louise smiled a little. Now I am like my Nana, alone and dirtying just a few dishes a day, but at least I used the damned dishwasher.
She bounded up the stairs in a burst of energy, heading straight to the luxurious pale rose master bathroom. The Jacuzzi tub with its heavy brass fittings sat on a raised marble platform. Next to the tub stood the separate stall shower, complete with a marble bench providing a spot to sit and let the steamy spray pound down therapeutically. She opted for the shower. It was quicker. Leaning into the stall, Louise twisted the hot water valve on full, knowing that as top-of-the-line as this townhouse was, it still took a little while for the water to run hot. She turned toward the wall-length mirror over the double sink and took a hard look at her face. Taking a pair of tweezers from the vanity drawer, she plucked the stray hairs that broke the line of her well-formed eyebrows. Running her hands through her hair, she searched for those gray invaders that the colorist at the salon had missed. The tweezers pulled out those little buggers, too.
As she lathered her hair, she felt as if she had been given a gift, a chance for pleasure. Such opportunities had been rare lately. She grabbed the razor from the shower wall pocket. Might as well do the whole job. Louise bent down and lifted her leg, propping her foot on the marble bench, shaving carefully. She noted the condition of her feet and wished she’d had a more recent pedicure. That brought her up short. What are you worrying about? No one is going to see your feet.
She toweled herself dry with a thick pink bath sheet and slathered moisturizer on her legs, arms and torso. She smoothed a more expensive cream on her face and neck. After tieing on a cotton robe, she combed out her hair and began planning what she would wear. Beige slacks, white blouse, navy blazer, all linen. Her faux crocodile Belgian loafers. That would be safe.
Half an hour later, hair blown, face made up and body perfumed, Louise Kendall was easing her green Jaguar out of the garage beneath the townhouse. As she pulled out of the complex, she noted with satisfaction the approving look in the eyes of the guard at the gate. It was a clear, sunny June day and as she drove the short distance down Spring Valley Road, she had a sense of well-being.
Turning right into the area that was home to the Marriott, it was immediately apparent that this wasn’t just another day for the hotel. The parking lot was a jumble of huge white trucks with broadcast news service insignias painted on their sides. Technicians were busily laying miles of cable from the trucks to the podium and camera positions in the hotel ballroom.
Louise found a spot in the parking lot in the back of the hotel and entered through the rear doors. All she had to do was follow the purposeful men in T-shirts with tool belts hanging low on their hips.
Stepping cautiously into the expansive place, Louise immediately saw Range near the front of the ballroom. Dressed in a striped shirt, open at the neck, and khaki trousers, he stood erect and forceful. Perhaps feeling her eyes upon him, Range turned and spotted her. He strode over immediately, smiling broadly.
He thought she looked terrific. Range knew from pictures that he had seen of Bill and Louise from years gone by that a younger Louise had been pretty in a softer sort of way. As her life evolved, so had her face. It was more defined, more chiseled. Her jaw was strong. Her alert brown eyes glowed warmly, the white parts as white as a child’s. Her skin was smooth, but the lines at the corners of her eyes were pronounced. Her honey-colored hair brushed the top of her shoulders. It was shiny and natural-looking, although he knew that women with eighteen-year-old sons generally were not without gray. She moved with grace and assurance. Her body was great!
“Louise, it’s great to see you. You look wonderful!” He kissed her on the cheek. She smelled his aftershave. “I wanted to thank you again for the barbecue. I enjoyed myself and I think everybody else did, too.”
“I suppose I could act cool and say that your call was no big thing, but I can’t tell you how happy I was that you invited me today. I love this kind of thing.”
He put his arm firmly around her shoulders. “Come on, then. Let me show you around. The way we do things now is a little different from the last time you were at one of these.”
As they walked out to the parking lot, Range explained the latest technology that made coverage of news events ever more immediate. They went into the large white KEY truck that was, in effect, a mini–television transmission station. Pictures and sound from the victory celebration tonight would go through the wires from the ballroom into the truck, which would send the pictures from the satellite dish on its roof to a satellite cruising above the earth. The satellite dish on top of the KEY broadcast center in New York City would be turned in the direction of the sky satellite and transmit the pictures down to the news headquarters. Then the pictures would be sent out to the rest of the country by the KEY television network. If they chose, local stations could downlink the pictures themselves directly from the satellite. All that was needed were the satellite coordinates and a receiving satellite dish turned in the right direction. Everything was transmitted with such speed that the viewer at home would hear Haines Wingard’s victory speech with less than a second’s delay.
“Amazing, really, how all this is done.” Louise shook her head in wonder.
“It is, but we pretty much take it for granted at this point. Anyone with a satellite truck can transmit like this. At one time, the networks were the hot shots when it came to covering events like these, but now individual stations can do their own reporting this way. It’s really changing a lot of things in broadcast news. You hungry?”
“Famish
ed.”
“Great. Want to have lunch in the hotel?”
“Sure, but if you can leave for a while, I know an excellent little restaurant nearby.”
Ten minutes later, they were seated at the Esty Street Cafe. Owner Scott Tremble greeted them at the door and escorted them to a corner table.
“The food here is as good as you’ll find just about anywhere around here. You can almost close your eyes and point to anything on the menu and you’ll be satisfied,” Louise declared.
“In that case . . .” He shut his eyes and read what his finger had chosen. “I’ll have the seared scallop and spinach salad with honey dressing.”
She smiled. “Make that two.”
It felt good to smile. They chatted about the election and the candidates and the mood of the country. Range listened to her observations, responding with points of his own. She hadn’t been familiar with his political views but she found them to be quite similar to hers.
“So now we’re well into our campaign coverage planning. The conventions in July and August mean I’ll be on the road a lot this summer,” said Range, a bit wearily.
“I know it’s stressful, but you must love your job,” Louise observed.
“I used to love it a lot more. It was much more satisfying producing the Evening Headlines with Bill than it will ever be with Pete Carlson. I miss Bill. Apparently, America misses him as well. Our ratings are down.”
“Any talk of replacing the anchor? I remember Bill saying that a dip in the ratings can mean either a new anchor or a new executive producer.”
Range laughed. “Thanks. Well, I certainly hope it’s the former before the latter. And if Pete Carlson is replaced, Eliza Blake is next in line. I could live with that. Although she’s been having a bit of trouble herself lately. That could hurt her.”
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 16