Let Me Whisper in Your Ear

by Mary Jane Clark

  Feeling melancholy, Matthew left the computer running and went to the refrigerator for a beer. Why did it always come down to money? He remembered that, when he was a child, his parents worried about money, as his father’s business always seemed to be struggling. His parents fought often about money, very often ending with his mother in tears and his father storming angrily from their small Waukegan house. Young Matthew worried that his parents would divorce, but they never did. To this day, they lived in the house of his childhood, but Matthew didn’t like to go back there very much.

  He supposed that the situation of his childhood had something to do with why, at thirty-five, he was still single. He had wanted to establish himself, professionally and financially, before he even thought about marriage. That and the fact that no one had ever really lived up to his dream about whom he would want to spend the rest of his life with.

  Now there was Laura.

  He was extremely attracted to her physically, admired her brightness, and saw a vulnerability in her that touched him deeply. He wanted to get closer to her and get to know her better, but he sensed a reticence on her part. She seemed to be holding herself back. And he wasn’t sure what to do to bring her around.

  He went back to his desk and played around at the computer screen some more, downloading the Chuck Barris song about Palisades Park from the JUKE BOX. Matthew found himself humming the tune and thinking of Laura as he clicked onto FOND MEMORIES. Listed there were reminiscences of people who had loved the park.

  • “I remember each summer, it was a big treat to go to Palisades Park. My sister and I would look forward to it all winter long.”

  • “The ride operators would play matchmaker, pairing together single men and women. I met my first wife on the Himalaya.”

  • “My brothers and I would gorge ourselves on those mouthwatering roast beef sandwiches. The Palisades Park french fries were the best.”

  • “I’ve spent my life in a wheelchair. One of my happiest childhood memories is being bused to the park by off-duty police officers and being given free tickets for rides and food.”

  • “It was such a big thrill when I won by throwing that Ping-Pong ball into the narrow opening of that fishbowl filled with colored water and a single goldfish. But my parents made me dump the fish into the water at Jungleland. I still I have the fishbowl.”

  Matthew made special note of the next entry.

  • “I lived next door to the park, in Fort Lee, so I got to spend a lot of time there. The last summer that it was open, I used to think it was so cool that the guy who operated the Cyclone would give me free rides after the park closed for the night, if I’d just run and get him Cokes or cigarettes during the day when he couldn’t leave his post. Of course that was when little kids had no problem buying cigarettes. Anyway, I used to feel so special. Then I found out that the Cyclone guy had lots of kids working for him.”

  Something to ask Laura’s father about tomorrow.

  64

  Thursday, January 6

  LAURA STOPPED AT Dunkin’ Donuts, picked up a cup of coffee and a low-fat blueberry muffin, and walked the last few blocks to the Broadcast Center, dreading the call she would make when she got to her office. Did Detective Ortiz know about Gwyneth’s will? Was that why he wanted to talk to her?

  She was still in absolute shock over the lawyer’s letter. What had she done to deserve Gwyneth’s bequest? Laura hardly knew Gwyneth Gilpatric, really, and although she had been flattered by the anchorwoman’s attention, she had never quite understood why Gwyneth had singled her out. Laura liked to think that she held few illusions about herself. She knew she was bright and hardworking and had some talent, but she didn’t consider herself all that outstanding, considering the highly gifted people she worked with every day. Most of them had keen minds and some of them were driven to work even harder than she did, totally sacrificing their personal lives for the sake of their professional careers.

  Why had Gwyneth focused on her? Why had she left her a fortune? It was unbelievable, really, like winning the lottery!

  Of course, it will be great to have all that money, she thought, as her gloved hand reached beneath her wispy bangs and rubbed the scar on her forehead. The first thing she would do was schedule the expensive elective plastic surgery to wipe away the painful reminder of Emmett’s anger.

  Worrying about the rent and bills would be, incredibly, a thing of the past. She wouldn’t have to budget, wouldn’t have to carefully calculate how much of her credit card bills to pay off each month. She could afford to live anywhere she wanted, even if she chose not to live in Gwyneth’s opulent penthouse. She could sell it and find a place of her own choosing, a smaller apartment that fit her better. Or maybe she would move into Gwyneth’s for a while, and see what it was like to live as only a very small number of people were privileged to live.

  Laura could do anything she wanted and the realization of the infinite possibilities of that fact was only slowly seeping into her mind.

  The biting January wind whipped off the Hudson River, blowing across Laura’s exposed face and temporarily distracting her from the thoughts of what Gwyneth’s bequest would mean for her. She was chilled to the bone and cursed herself for not bothering to wear a hat.

  Gratefully, she reached the heavy revolving door to the warm Broadcast Center lobby. She greeted the receptionist and the uniformed guards, slipped her identification card across the security scanner and hurried to the elevator. Matthew Voigt, his own Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand, greeted her as the elevator doors slid open.

  “I just saw the crew downstairs in the cafeteria. We can leave in about twenty minutes.”

  “Fine,” Laura answered. “I have a phone call I have to make and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  She didn’t take off her coat when she got to her office. Slipping off the lid of the steaming cup of coffee, Laura took several sips to fortify herself. Then she dialed the number.

  “Twentieth Precinct.”

  “Detective Ortiz, please.”

  Laura waited.

  “Ortiz here.”

  “Detective Ortiz? This is Laura Walsh returning your call.”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Walsh. Thank you for getting back to me so promptly. I hope you can help me with something.”

  “Surely, if I can.”

  “In going through some of Miss Gilpatric’s papers, I’ve come across the name Emmett Walsh. Before I ran a national computer search, I thought I’d try you and see if that name means anything to you.”

  Laura’s heart pounded and she forgot completely about being cold.

  “Miss Walsh?”

  “My father’s name is Emmett Walsh.”

  “Then he knew Gwyneth Gilpatric also?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Laura answered, puzzled. “Of course, he knew of her from Hourglass and I spoke of her sometimes to him, but they didn’t have any personal contact.”

  “He never met her?”

  “No. Not that I know of.”

  Ortiz tried another tack. “Prior to the party, when did you last see Miss Gilpatric?”

  “A few days before Christmas. We exchanged gifts at her apartment.”

  “How would you describe her when you saw her? Her demeanor, I mean.”

  “She was fine.”

  “Could you tell if anything was bothering her?”

  “No. She seemed to be in a good mood when I got there. She was very cheerful.” Then Laura remembered the phone call. “But, as a matter of fact, she did get a phone call while I was there that she didn’t seem too happy about taking.”

  “Do you know who it was from?”

  “A doctor. Dr. Leonard Costello.”

  “You have a good memory, Miss Walsh.”

  Laura didn’t share the reason why the name of the caller was familiar enough for her to remember. Wait until she told Francheska about this conversation! A conversation Laura wished would end, but Detective Ortiz pushed on.

  “Could you te
ll me more about your relationship with Miss Gilpatric? I know on the night of the party you told me that she was a mentor to you?”

  “Yes. Gwyneth was very good to me. I first met her when I did my college internship here at KEY News. She took an interest in me then and she encouraged me to come back and work at KEY after graduation.”

  “So you’ve been working at Hourglass for several years now?”

  “No. Actually, less than a week. I found out I had gotten the new job on New Year’s Day.”

  “That is strange, is it not? Finding out about a new job on a holiday?” Ortiz’s voice trailed off.

  “In other businesses, maybe. But not in this one. Joel Malcolm called me at home and left a message on my machine.”

  “You weren’t home, then, on New Year’s Day?”

  “I was in the office in the morning. I guess you can imagine, work was very busy.”

  “You mean with the reporting of Miss Gilpatric’s murder?”

  “Yes. Everyone was stunned, but we had to get the news on the air.”

  “I’m interested in television news, Miss Walsh. What part did you play in the reporting of Miss Gilpatric’s death?”

  “I did her obit.”

  “Her obituary?”

  “Ah-huh.”

  “That must have been hard for you, under the circumstances,” the detective suggested. His accent was hardly noticeable.

  “Actually, I had done the obit already.” Why not tell him? He could find out if he asked around.

  “Really? Why would you have done that?”

  “We do it all the time, Detective. When someone is important enough to warrant a full television obituary, we often prepare them in advance.”

  “So KEY News has obits done on everyone big? All the celebrities and heads of state and people famous in their fields?”

  “No. Not everyone. But when we hear a rumor that someone noteworthy might die, we get working on the obit right away.”

  “Then you thought Miss Gilpatric was going to die, Miss Walsh?”

  Laura stuttered as she tried to explain to the detective why she had Gwyneth’s obit ready. Whether or not Alberto Ortiz believed her explanation, she could not tell. But she realized that the detective might be looking at her as a suspect in Gwyneth’s death.

  You have nothing to worry about, she told herself. Stay calm. Don’t protest.

  Matthew appeared at her office doorway, pointing to his watch and mouthing, Let’s go!

  “Detective Ortiz, I’m afraid I have to go now. I have a camera crew waiting for me to go out on a shoot. Can we continue this conversation some other time?”

  “Of course, Miss Walsh. I’ll be in touch.”

  Before she said goodbye, she blurted out, “Detective, you should probably know, I received a letter from Gwyneth’s lawyers yesterday. She had named me as a beneficiary in her will. I am inheriting a large portion of her estate.”

  He would find out anyhow, she thought. Better to volunteer the information.

  65

  EMMETT WENT THROUGH three different plaid flannel shirts as he waited for his daughter and the KEY News crew to arrive. The first he changed because he spilled coffee over himself. The second because he was perspiring so heavily.

  He had done what Laura had asked him to do. Vacuuming and dusting upstairs, sweeping out the basement below. He had sprayed the cellar with so much air freshener that now it smelled like a flower shop, or rather a funeral parlor, he thought grimly. Most importantly, he kept his promise to his daughter and had not had a drink yet today.

  Of course, it was only eleven A.M.

  He had two six-packs chilling in the fridge, waiting for him to break open the minute Laura and company left. It couldn’t come fast enough.

  The doorbell rang and Emmett coughed and swallowed hard as he went to answer it. Laura hugged her father, introduced her colleagues and pointed them to the stairs.

  “Matthew, why don’t you go take the crew downstairs so they can set up? I’ll stay up here with my dad and make some coffee.”

  “There’s a pot on the stove,” Emmett volunteered.

  “I’ll make us a fresh pot, okay, Pop?” She wanted to speak with Emmett alone before the interview. She had debated the whole ride out to New Jersey about whether to talk to Emmett about her phone conversation with Detective Ortiz. She did not want to upset her father, but she had to know what, if anything, went on between him and Gwyneth. The sooner the better.

  She heard the camera gear bumping against the wall as the crew made its way down the narrow steps. When conversation started to drift up from the cellar below, Laura silently shut the basement door. She turned to Emmett.

  “Pop, I know you’re nervous enough about this interview and I don’t want to upset you, but I got a very disturbing phone call today.”

  Emmett glanced furtively at the refrigerator. “Yeah?”

  “A detective investigating Gwyneth’s death called. He asked me if I knew an Emmett Walsh.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What do you think I told him?” Laura asked in consternation. “I told him my father’s name is Emmett Walsh.”

  “So?”

  “He said that he found your name in paperwork of Gwyneth’s.”

  “That’s odd.” Emmett shrugged. “I guess she must have known some other Emmett Walsh.”

  “Then I was right in telling him that you didn’t know Gwyneth?”

  “Absolutely right. It must be some kind of coincidence,” Emmett assured his daughter.

  The basement door opened and Matthew poked his head into the kitchen. “We’re ready when you are, Mr. Walsh.”

  As Laura followed her father downstairs, she asked herself what were the odds that Gwyneth had known another Emmett Walsh. Pretty infinitesimal. She knew that her father was good at keeping secrets. The distant memory of her mother’s deathbed flashed painfully through her mind.

  She took a seat at the side of the room, grudgingly allowing Matthew to conduct the interview. It’s better this way, she told herself. Let Matthew ask the questions. Don’t get involved in the past.

  Matthew began their session by praising the Palisades Park model, oohing and aahing over the tiny details like a little kid. He wanted to start the taping with Emmett giving a guided tour of the mini-park for the camera.

  “Just show me everything. Talk to me like you would if the cameras weren’t here.”

  Emmett obliged, nervously at first, but gaining confidence as Matthew encouraged him with his enthusiasm about the model. Emmett started at the Hudson Gate, took the cameras around the saltwater pool and down the midway, past the waffle stand, the cigarette wheel and the Caterpillar ride. He pointed out the hole in the fence where the kids used to sneak into the park without paying, talked about what he had seen on the Free Act Stage and eaten in the restaurant. The cameras rolled on the Hurricane, the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Boomerang as Emmett manipulated the rides’ moving parts. When they got past the bingo parlor, the Arcade and the intricately carved, carousel, the tour reached the Cyclone.

  “How long did you operate the Cyclone, Mr. Walsh?” Matthew asked.

  “Just one summer. The last one. I started working at the park when I was sixteen, started as a soda jerk. But the summer after I turned twenty-one, they let me operate the roller coaster.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give anyone famous a ride?”

  “Lots of the entertainers who came to the park stopped by.”

  “That must have been fun.”

  “Yep.”

  Since they had gotten to the Cyclone, Matthew detected a marked lessening of Emmett’s enthusiasm for his subject; the tenseness had developed again.

  “You know, last night I was fooling around on the Internet and looked up one of the Palisades Park websites,” remarked Matthew, trying to relax Emmett. “They have a section on it where people can write in their memories of the park. One guy wrote that he rem
embered doing errands for you in return for free rides.”

  Emmett looked sharply at Matthew, a stricken look on his face.

  “That wouldn’t have been legal. You’re not going to put that in your story, are you?”

  “No, that doesn’t really have anything to do with our story,” Matthew tried to reassure his interview subject. I just thought it was neat when I read it. You know … that the guy remembers that after all these years.”

  “Are we almost done yet?” asked Emmett impatiently.

  Matthew sensed from experience that he should get his last questions in now. His interviewee had just about had it.

  “I just want to ask a few more questions, Mr. Walsh. About Tommy Cruz. What do you remember about the time he disappeared?”

  “I only know what I read in the newspapers and what I heard around town. People were pretty shook up about it.”

  “Did you know Tommy?”

  “Sure. He was a town kid. He spent a lot of time in the park.”

  “Ever give him rides on the Cyclone?”

  “S’pose so.”

  “Do you remember anything specific about Tommy?”

  “Mister, there where thousands of kids who came through that park. After a while, they all seemed pretty much the same.”