Let Me Whisper in Your Ear

by Mary Jane Clark

  So engrossed was she in the horror of the betrayal that she had just discovered, Laura didn’t hear the elevator doors sliding open down the hallway, as she picked up the telephone to call Matthew, three in the morning or not.

  138

  “LAURA, SLOW DOWN. I can’t understand you, honey,” urged Matthew, rubbing his eyes.

  “It’s Francheska! I think she was the one who spiked my drink. I think she killed Gwyneth and the others!” Laura rattled off frantically.

  “Laura, you’ve got to calm down, sweetheart. You haven’t been feeling well. It’s all been too much for you,” Matthew said softly.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a crazy person. I know what I’m talking about. I have proof—”

  Matthew shivered as he heard a click and the line go dead.

  139

  THE EMERALD-RINGED FINGER depressed the button on the telephone, abruptly ending Laura’s conversation.

  “What kind of proof, Laura?”

  Laura looked up to find Francheska standing above her, a kitchen knife gleaming in her other hand.

  “Francheska, how could you?” she whispered.

  “The world’s a tough place, Laura. You do what you have to do. It was just a matter of time before you put things together. You’d realize that I had a reason to want to see Gwyneth dead. You’d start questioning how I had the money not to work—and I don’t intend to work, Laura.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I know you too well. You’re like a dog with a bone when you get hold of something. You wouldn’t be able to just let things ride and I couldn’t afford to let you put the pieces together.”

  “Murder?” asked Laura incredulously.

  “It happens. Remember? Your friend Gwyneth helped clue me in on that.”

  Laura was silent. How was she going to get out of this?

  “Get up,” Francheska commanded, nudging Laura with her knee. “Your precious Matthew is probably on his way over here right now. Let’s go into the living room.”

  Laura rose from her seat as Francheska shifted behind her. Feeling the cold blade pressed to her neck, Laura walked slowly down the hallway.

  Think! Think! Laura didn’t like her chances if she turned to struggle with Francheska, with that knife in her hand.

  “Francheska,” she pleaded, “there must be some way we can work this out.”

  Her friend laughed coldly. “Yeah, right! For a smart girl, you talk real stupid. Imbécil! Did your little Jade teach you that Spanish word? There’s no way to work this out. I’m not going to prison for the rest of my life, or worse. I have all the money I’ll ever need and I intend to enjoy it.”

  They were in the living room now, the Manhattan skyline still sparkling outside the terrace windows.

  “But you said it yourself, Francheska, Matthew is on his way over here right now. Please, put down the knife and we’ll figure out what to do.”

  “I’ve already figured out what to do, Laura. By the time Matthew gets here, you’ll be gone. You were so distraught that you jumped. And I will be long gone.”

  “But the computer…” Laura’s voice trailed off.

  Francheska shrugged. “Matthew won’t check the computer. Not tonight anyway. And by tomorrow, I’ll be sure to delete the files I had so foolishly forgotten.”

  140

  WHERE THE HELL is a taxi?

  Matthew stood frantically on the corner of Third Avenue, waiting for what seemed like forever. Laura sounded so frantic. He wondered if he should call the police.

  No, he decided, as he ran west toward Park Avenue, hoping for better luck getting a cab there. The police weren’t necessary.

  He would be able to calm Laura down.

  141

  LAURA STOOD IN her nightgown on the open terrace, but she did not feel the cold.

  Of one thing she was sure. She was not going to go down without a fight.

  But how was she going to get out of this?

  “Just jump, Laura,” Francheska whispered urgently, the knife pressing at Laura’s jugular vein. “Make it easy on yourself.”

  Distract her. Laura turned to face her attacker.

  “How do you think your parents would feel, Francheska, knowing about what you’ve done, what you are going to do? They’ve already buried their son, but I bet they’d rather do that a hundred times over than know that their daughter is a murderer!”

  For just a moment, Francheska cast her eyes downward, giving Laura her chance.

  She ran to the other side of the telescope mounted at the edge of the terrace and, with the adrenaline only the truly terrified can feel, swung the black tube smashing into Francheska’s beautiful, enraged face.

  February Sweeps

  142

  Tuesday, February 1

  THE SPECIAL EDITION of Hourglass led with the news that police had apprehended the woman suspected to be Gwyneth Gilpatric’s murderer. Francheska Lamb was lying in Mt. Olympia Hospital under police guard. Lamb was thought to be responsible, as well, for the murders of Kitzi Malcolm and Gilpatric’s maid, but police would not be able to fully question her until she recovered from the head injuries sustained in a struggle with KEY News producer Laura Walsh, who had discovered Lamb’s implication in the murders.

  The last Hourglass segment recounted Gwyneth Gilpatric’s involvement in the death of Tommy Cruz at the old Palisades Amusement Park.

  As Eliza Blake signed off, Laura watched the television carefully as her first credit on Hourglass blazed from the screen. The moment was not at all what she had imagined it would be.

  The triumph of reaching her goal and discovering what had happened to Tommy Cruz that last summer at Palisades Park was darkly clouded by the discovery of her father’s role in the young boy’s death. The fact that her best friend was a murderer—indeed, had tried to kill Laura herself—left her deeply shaken and uncertain of her ability to judge people.

  But the ratings would be good.

  143

  ROSE POTENZA SWITCHED off the television set and walked over to the sofa to kiss her son.

  “Are you all right, Ricky?” she asked gently, her eyes filled with the deepest concern. “Ricky?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Mom. Leave me alone.”

  He had just watched the most powerful hour of television he had ever seen and he wasn’t sure how he felt. Just a month ago he was glad that Gwyneth Gilpatric was dead and jealous that he had not been the one to kill her—or at least confront her, as he had planned to do the night of her party.

  But after watching Hourglass tonight, he saw things a bit differently.

  It had all been an accident. Gwyneth had only been five years older than he was when Tommy had fallen to his death. She had panicked, too. The difference between them was that Gwyneth had gone on to have a hugely successful life and Ricky had just sat watching her smile week after week on television. It stuck maddeningly in his craw.

  Gwyneth should have gone to the police. But then again, he could have, too. Neither of them did.

  Was he really any better than she was?

  Maybe now he could finally talk to the doctor at Rockland about it.

  144

  Wednesday, February 2

  THE MORNING AFTER the first Hourglass broadcast of the February sweeps, Laura’s co-workers tried to congratulate her on her work, but it was hard for them to find the right words.

  “Great piece, but I know it must be hard for you.”

  “Nice work, Laura, but how did it feel to screw your own father?”

  “Man, if what happened to you happened to me, I’d have a nervous breakdown. It must help, though, having come into millions and living in Gwyneth’s apartment.”

  “I didn’t figure you as a ratings hound, Laura, but I’ve got to hand it to you. You really know how to come up with a story.”

  “Hey, Laura. It’s Emmy time! Figuring out who killed Gwyneth and solving the Palisades Park thing. You should really go for the gold when your next contract comes up for negotiati
on.”

  The soul of tact, these newspeople.

  Laura hid in her office and considered handing in her resignation.

  “Rough morning, huh?”

  Matthew stood in the doorway.

  “That’s the understatement of the New Year,” she said glumly.

  He came in and took a seat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I called a good New Jersey criminal attorney about your father.”

  “Mind? I’m thrilled. I’ve been thinking I have to do the same thing, but—”

  “Don’t explain,” Matthew interjected. “It’s all been too much. I’ll never forgive myself for not calling Detective Ortiz sooner with my suspicions about Casper’s Ghostland. Let me help you with this at least, Laura. I want to.”

  Laura looked at him gratefully, feeling tears welling in her eyes.

  “What did the lawyer say?” she asked solemnly, holding her breath.

  “Well, it’s better than we thought. He says that he can’t imagine any prosecutor getting involved in this case. True, Emmett shouldn’t have been giving the kids rides after the park was closed, but he did not cause Tommy’s death. Sad as it is, the kid did it to himself. And it seems the statute of limitations has run out for any criminal prosecution of Emmett’s cover-up. Prosecution had to commence within five years of Tommy’s secret burial. So Emmett won’t be doing any jail time for that.”

  Thank God! What Emmett had done was terribly, terribly wrong, and there had to be some penalty to pay. But the thought of his spending the rest of his life in state prison was more than she could bear.

  “And?”

  “And as far as any civil suit is concerned, even if the Cruzes decide to bring one, you can’t get blood from a stone. Emmett doesn’t have anything for them to get.”

  Laura thought of Gwyneth’s money, now hers. “I have money.”

  “Yeah, but that’s yours, not Emmett’s. The Cruzes can’t touch that.”

  She thought of the poor Cruzes. Their lives had been shattered, yet they were left to pick up the pieces without restitution or satisfaction. It wasn’t fair.

  “Not unless I give it to them,” she answered.

  145

  LAURA WANDERED FROM room to room of the apartment, careful not to look out to the terrace.

  This will always be Gwyneth’s place. It will never feel like mine.

  She knew that she was making the right decision as she called Roberta Golubock at Sotheby’s International Realty to make an appointment with her to come over and list the penthouse.

  She wasn’t quite sure how much the luxury apartment would bring, but she knew it would be in the millions. With that, and all the rest Gwyneth had left her, Laura knew she was a truly wealthy woman, in the enviable position of doing whatever she damned well pleased.

  She could give it all to the Cruzes. Or she could keep some of the money and invest it—and have the funds to do other good things, help other people. Laughing Jade sprang to her mind and Laura was sure she would put enough aside to fund the child’s college education.

  And what about Ricky Potenza? He had been just a child, innocent of any wrongdoing—his life, and his family’s, ruined by what had happened that long-ago night at Palisades Park. Maybe now she could help Ricky and his mother.

  Laura got out a legal pad and began to write, making a list of things she could do with her money to make things better, to somehow make amends in her own way for life’s inequities. As her pencil moved across the yellow page, she felt her spirits begin to lift.

  There was enough there to do a lot of good.

  She picked up the telephone to call Jade.

  ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY MARY JANE CLARK

  Do You Want to Know a Secret?

  Do You Promise Not to Tell?

  Let Me Whisper in Your Ear

  Close to You

  Nobody Knows

  Nowhere to Run

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  LET ME WHISPER IN YOUR EAR

  Copyright © 2000 by Mary Jane Clark.

  Excerpt from Dancing in the Dark copyright © 2005 by Mary Jane Clark.

  Excerpt from Hide Yourself Away copyright © 2004 by Mary Jane Clark.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-031725

  ISBN: 0-312-93809-8

  EAN: 80312-93809-3

  St. Martin’s Press hardcover edition / September 2000

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / July 2001

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  eISBN 9781429902908

  First eBook edition: February 2013

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Mary Jane Clark’s new novel

  DANCING IN THE DARK

  Coming in July 2005 in hardcover

  from St. Martin’s Press!

  PROLOGUE

  Thursday evening, August 18th

  Deprived of sight, her other senses were intensified. She stood in the darkness, seeing nothing, but hearing the persistent roar of the Atlantic Ocean in the distance and the soft flapping of wings right above her. Her nostrils flared at the smell of must and decay. The ground was damp and cold beneath her bare feet, her toes curling in the wet, sandy dirt. She felt something brush against her ankle and prayed it was only a mouse and not a rat.

  Three days in this dank chamber were enough. If she had to stay any longer, she would surely lose her mind. Still, when they found her, as she fantasized they would, the police would want to know everything. To survive this, she’d have to be able to recount every detail of what had happened.

  She would tell the police how he’d leave her alone for what seemed like hours at a time. She would tell them how he’d gagged her when he left so nobody would hear her screams and how he would only lower the gag to press his mouth against hers when he returned.

  The police would want to know what he’d said to her, but she would have to tell them that she had stopped asking him questions after the second day of captivity because he’d never answered. He’d expressed what he wanted by touch. She’d be sure to tell them how he’d caressed her and lifted her up, how he’d maneuvered his body against hers, how she had known she must follow his lead.

  As she continued to mentally organize the information the police would surely need from her, she felt a familiar rumble from her stomach. She had eaten sparsely of the meager provisions, but that didn’t really bother her. Hunger was a familiar friend. She knew the ability to survive with minimal sustenance was one of her most impressive strengths, though, of course, her parents didn’t see it that way. Nor did her former friends or teachers or the health care professionals who had worked so hard to steer her away from the path she had chosen for herself. They didn’t see what to her was only obvious. Not eating was the ultimate control.

  As she listened to a pigeon cooing from the eaves above her, she thought more about her parents. They must be frantic with worry. She imagined her mother crying, and her father pacing and cracking his knuckles, over and over, his annoying habit whenever he was upset. Was everyone in town out looking for her? She prayed they were. She hoped that anyone who had ever wronged her, anyone who had ever snubbed her, anyone who had ever hurt her, was worried about her now.

  The low rumble of the waves rolled in and out, and she began to rock to the rhythm, trying to soothe herself. It was all going to work out. It had to. She would tell the police what had happened, how he’d silently pulled her to her feet. Without words, he’d shown her what he wanted her to do by the way he moved his body next to hers. She had danced in the dark for him.
Danced again and again, trying desperately to please him. Dancing for her life.

  Four hours later

  The security guard raised his arm and pointed the flashlight at his wrist. Still an hour to go before his shift was over. Time for one last patrol.

  Strolling along the empty paths, George Croft pulled his handkerchief from his uniform pocket, wiping his forehead and the back of his neck. Except for the excessive heat, it was a night like many others in the quiet oceanside community. An occasional throaty snore emanated from the canvas cottages he passed. The rules permitted no loud talking after ten o’clock, and most lights were off by 11:00 P.M. The combination of sun, heat, and salt air had left the summer occupants ready for a good night’s sleep.

  Finishing up on Mt. Carmel Way, the guard cut across the grass and stopped to check the doors of Bishop Jane’s Tabernacle and the Great Auditorium one last time. The massive Victorian-style wooden structures were locked up tight as drums. The illuminated cross that shone from the top of the auditorium, serving as a naval landmark for passing ships, beamed into the night, signaling that all was well.

  He was satisfied that everything was in order, but he still had another fifteen minutes before he was officially off duty. God forbid something happened before 2:00 A.M., and he wasn’t on the grounds. He’d lose his job over that. And, although she didn’t live in his patrol area, that young woman was still missing. If some sick nut was intent on abducting another Ocean Grove girl, the guard wasn’t going to have it happen on his watch.

  Lord, it was hot. Longing for a drink of cool water, George turned his flashlight in the direction of the wooden gazebo which protected the Beersheba well. He knew the first well driven in Ocean Grove had been named for a well in the Old Testament. Beersheba’s waters had been good enough for the Israelites back then, and good enough for his town’s founding fathers, but he preferred the bottled stuff. Still, the gazebo was as good a place as any to wait it out until his shift was over.