Piece of My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  She noticed that she was smiling involuntarily as she thought about Ben. Daniel was her college sweetheart, the love of her life, the father of her sweet, beautiful daughter. They were supposed to have spent their entire lives together.

  She still woke up in the middle of the night, anxious from the guilt about leaving him. She told herself again and again that he’d given her no choice. She had to leave, not only for her safety, but for Bella’s. At the same time, though, she had come to accept that loneliness would be her punishment for the divorce. If she didn’t spend the rest of her days with Daniel, she would have to spend them without romantic love.

  But then she met Ben. It was serious now. He knew Bella and adored her. Of course he adored her. Who didn’t? And last weekend, in San Francisco, she finally told him the truth about her past. The irony? Ben’s last name was Robinson, just like hers used to be when she was Roseanne Robinson, or Ro-Ro as her friends all called her. Oh, how she still missed that nickname, but she’d left it in the past, along with Daniel.

  * * *

  She found Bella slapping butter onto a hot Pop-Tart on the kitchen counter.

  “Can you at least use a plate or a paper towel or something?”

  She tapped her face with an index finger, and Bella planted a good morning kiss on her cheek.

  As her daughter perched on her tiptoes to reach for a plate, she said, “Mom, shouldn’t you care more about me eating junk food and not a few crumbs?”

  Bella was nine, going on thirty. In some ways, it felt like yesterday that she was riding around on her Frozen-themed toy Jeep. In others, it was a lifetime ago.

  “lf buttered toaster pastries are my daughter’s only vice, I’d say I’m doing pretty fine in the mothering department.”

  “Better than fine. The very best. You look nice, by the way. I know that’s your favorite dress. Oh, that’s right! You have the winery meeting today! You’re going to wow them.”

  Asked to pitch marketing ideas to a small but growing winery, her hope was to convince the owners to launch a high-end weeklong luxury winefest to draw oenophiles from all over the country.

  “Thanks, sweetie. My lucky dress and I can’t wow them if we’re late, though.” She needed to drop Bella off at her science camp before making the drive down to Willamette Valley.

  “I’ll grab my backpack, then I’m ready.”

  She was wiping a few pre-plate pastry crumbs from the counter when the phone rang. Her heart leapt at the sight of the 302 area code. Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Her former life. Her nerves settled when she realized she recognized the rest of the number.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s April. Sorry to call so early.”

  April Meyer, the owner of the Sand Bucket and her favorite former client. What began as a marketing job for a new restaurant in a vacation town had led to a close friendship. The Meyers were one of only three pairs of friends who knew how to reach the woman who used to be Roseanne Robinson.

  “I work full-time and have a nine-year-old who acts like a CEO. It’s never too early. Nighttime? Now, that’s another issue. I’m comatose by nine-thirty.”

  “Someone called me about you,” April said.

  This was the message she had been dreading since “Alicia Nelson” moved all the way across the country to the Pacific Northwest. Daniel had found her. He was going to ruin her life again. She braced herself for the news as April continued.

  “Her name’s Marcy Buckley. She’s lives in Washington, D.C.”

  “I don’t know who that is, but, April, you know how careful I’ve been about protecting my identity here. You’re probably the most honest person on the planet, but can you please tell a little white lie and say you don’t know where I am? For all I know, she’s working for Daniel to find me—”

  “She’s not. Her son is missing. But it is related to Daniel. Honey, you might want to sit down.”

  Chapter 54

  Leo was struck by the overpowering smell of disinfectant as he entered the Bleecker Street Boxing Gym.

  A man laced up his boxing shoes from a bench inside the door. Noticing Leo’s wrinkled nose, he said, “Trust me, bud, it’s better than the alternative. You’ll get used to it. Haven’t seen you here before. Are you looking for a sparring partner? My dad still likes to get in the ring, even though he’s turning seventy next month. You might be a good match for him.”

  “You want me to fight a septuagenarian? Friend, I’m only forty-seven years old.”

  The man immediately began to apologize, stumbling to explain that he could never guess a person’s age accurately, until he noticed the broad smile break out across Leo’s face.

  “You got me, man. Good one.”

  “I’m not actually here to box. I’m looking for a guy named Mason Rollins.”

  Leo had gone first to the NYU campus, where Rollins worked in the janitorial department. A co-worker said that Rollins was a regular at this boxing gym and could probably be found here before his shift.

  The man rose from the bench and did a quick visual scan. Two fighters practiced in the ring at the center of the space while a few men looked on, but most of the gym’s customers were working out with weights or punching bags. “There’s Mason. Past the ring, along that brick wall. You see that row of speed bags? The guy in the back corner. Bright blue trunks.”

  Leo thanked the man for his help and headed toward Rollins. Rollins’s hands flew in high and fast circles as he bounced the speed bag. Right, right, left, left. Leo was only ten feet away and Rollins still hadn’t shifted his gaze from the bag. But as Leo was about to speak, Rollins came to a sudden halt, grabbing the bag with both hands to stop it.

  “Pleased to meet you, Leo Farley.” Rollins’s dark hair was shaved nearly to his scalp, and he sported a short goatee that had not appeared in any of his booking photos. He was trim, but his loose-fitting Brooklyn Nets tank top exposed arms that reflected hours at the gym.

  “You recognize me,” Leo said.

  “When some convict accuses you of killing a man you never heard of, you tend to pay attention to the details. You’re the one who put Darren Gunther behind bars. If I had to guess, you might be the one person who’s certain I’m innocent.”

  “Innocent on that particular day, at least.”

  “Touché, Deputy Commissioner. I made some mistakes as a younger man, but I did not stab Lou Finney.”

  “No, but Darren Gunther’s not just ‘some convict,’ is he? You were at Finn’s Bar that night, before the fight broke out. You were celebrating Gunther’s twenty-first birthday with him, because the two of you were friends. Close enough friends that he was the one who posted bail after your first arrest.”

  Mason flashed a knowing smile, revealing a missing tooth on the right side of his mouth. “I was wondering when someone would figure it out.”

  Leo had had all of the police reports on both Gunther and Rollins for weeks. But the connection between the two men couldn’t be found in the NYPD’s records. Realizing that they had located Summer Carver through the prison visitation records, Leo had instead done a search of both men’s corrections histories. Among the documents he received were the archived records from the jail when Mason Rollins was bailed out for his first arrest, an assault at the age of nineteen. The person who posted his $250 bail was Darren Gunther.

  “How’d the two of you know each other?” Leo asked.

  “Our mothers were housekeepers for the same service. They’d help each other out—switch shifts as needed, or one would cook meals for the both of us while the other worked. So Darren and I got pretty tight in the process. He got the big scholarship to prep school and Vassar. I didn’t, but we stayed in touch—until you arrested him, of course.”

  “Was the knife yours?” Leo asked.

  Rollins shook his head. “Used to be, though, until that day. It was my birthday gift to him. He’d always admired it.”

  “You were talented with a knife,” Leo said. “You could throw one in the air and cat
ch it by the blade between your fingers.”

  Smile again. “You surely did your research.”

  Rollins’s first assault arrest stemmed from an argument after he was performing his knife tricks at a party and another guest complained and asked him to stop.

  “I’m surprised you’re being so forthcoming,” Leo said.

  “I told Darren from the very beginning I wasn’t going to lie for him. That stint I did upstate? I know it’s a cliché, but it actually changed me. I got my high school equivalence degree, even a couple of college credits. Got off drugs. Gave myself up to a higher power. I’m no saint, but I steer clear of trouble.”

  “But you knew Gunther was accusing you of a crime that he committed.”

  “He read an article about new DNA testing. High-speed magician stuff, where the lab could get my DNA off this speed bag years from now.” Rollins gave the bag a quick jab for emphasis.

  “It’s called touch DNA,” Leo said.

  “When I gave him the knife for his birthday, he wanted me to show him my knife tricks, so he knew I’d been handling the blade between my fingers that night. He said he managed to wipe down the handle of the knife with his shirt in the chaos after that bar owner went down, but didn’t touch the blade because it would seem too obvious if it were clean. When he read that article, he got a lightbulb over that big brain of his, wondering if I might have left some DNA behind on the blade.”

  “And that’s why he filed the petition for new DNA testing?” Leo asked.

  A corner of Rollins’s mouth lifted. “Can you believe it? The whole thing was a Hail Mary pass. He figured that another person’s DNA on the blade might be enough to get his conviction thrown out. Turns out they found it at the top edge of the handle, so he must have missed a spot. He actually didn’t realize there’d be a sample of my DNA in a database for comparison. I’m not entirely sure I believe him, but he at least says he didn’t mean for my name to get dragged into it.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve been speaking to him on a regular basis. Was this on the prison phones? I’m surprised he’d be so risky.”

  “Darren’s much too smart to make that kind of mistake. He sent someone else to deliver his messages.”

  Leo was fairly certain he knew who that person was. “Toby Carver?” he asked, holding up his phone to display a photograph of Summer’s half brother.

  “You know your stuff, Farley.”

  “The district attorney’s investigator tried to interview you. You declined. Why not defend yourself then?”

  Rollins held his gaze for several seconds before speaking. “I didn’t feel the need to talk to that man, because he didn’t know the connection between me and Darren. You did, so the jig is up, as they say. I meant it when I said I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law again. Declining an interview’s not a crime. Lying to a cop, on the other hand, might be, as I understand it.”

  “My guess is Darren also promised to share his court settlement with you if you kept quiet.”

  Mason said nothing.

  “Do you remember the waitress who was working at the bar that night?” Leo scrolled on his phone to an old photo of Clarissa DeSanto that he had gotten from Samantha Finney. “This is Clarissa DeSanto. She saw the two of you together, didn’t she?”

  “I think I’m done talking to you, Deputy Commissioner.”

  “Then I guess I’ll add your name to the charge of conspiracy to commit murder.”

  “Whoa, whoa—I told you, I was long gone by the time that man was killed.”

  “I’m not talking about Lou Finney, Rollins. Clarissa DeSanto was killed three months ago. Toby Carver ran her car off the side of the road in a fatal rollover crash. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Because you helped him and Darren Gunther plan it, to make sure she wasn’t around to tell other people that the two of you were friends.”

  Mason’s face contorted with fear. When he spoke again, his cool demeanor was replaced by genuine panic. “She’s… dead? I swear, I had no idea. I just assumed she was getting paid off, too.”

  “Right now, it looks like you, Toby, and your friend Darren killed her to spring your buddy from prison, set me up as a liar, and split the big paycheck he’d be getting from the state. So you better explain.”

  “I didn’t know any of this in advance. One day, some dude from the DA’s Office shows up, asking me about the night that Darren got arrested. When he told me my DNA was on that knife, I freaked out. I had no idea about touch DNA or whatever. Then the next day, that guy Toby tracked me down at my apartment. He said I’d get twenty percent of whatever money Darren hustled out of the state for locking him up. All I had to do was stay mum. Not tell anyone about my connection to Darren.”

  “What about Toby’s half sister, Summer? Was she involved?”

  Rollins shook his head. “At least, I don’t think so. Toby said she was a flake, but she really believed Darren was innocent. I got the impression she’s, like, in love with him or something. Toby was the one with the street smarts.”

  “And what about Clarissa?”

  “I told Toby there was a problem with their plan, because the waitress on duty that night had seen us together. I could tell we were getting on her nerves. Once my name got into the press as the big bad felon whose DNA was found on the knife, she’d probably recognize me and make the connection. Toby said it wouldn’t be a problem, though.”

  “You got that woman killed, Mason.”

  The color drained from his face. “No! Please don’t say that. I thought he meant she’d be getting a cut of the money, too. I got the impression Toby would be, as well. It seemed like they were doling out lottery money. I can’t believe Darren got me pulled into this.”

  “Maybe the two of you can talk about it when you join him in Dannemora.”

  “Please, no. You’ve got to believe me, I didn’t know they were going to hurt that girl. Let me help you. I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything?” Leo had a plan.

  Chapter 55

  Marcy Buckley paced in circles around her kitchen island, waiting for the phone to ring.

  From the moment Laurie had called this morning, all the links in the chain had connected. Marcy’s first call was to Sandra Carpenter, who easily recalled the name of the Rehoboth Beach restaurant where her daughter worked—the Sand Bucket. We used to call it the Sandra Bucket because I spent so much time there when I visited.

  From there, Marcy left a voicemail message for the restaurant, assuming they wouldn’t get back to her until the late afternoon. Instead, she received a return call within the hour from one of the owners, April Meyer. April was initially overjoyed to learn that Marcy and her husband were the ones who had adopted Michelle’s baby. That’s all she really wanted, was for her child to have a loving family.

  April remembered Michelle fondly and recalled counseling her during her unplanned pregnancy. That poor girl was so terrified to tell her mother what was happening. She was certain her mother would disown her.

  April was clearly floored when Marcy explained that the biological father was married to the woman who was responsible for marketing the restaurant’s opening launch. And then Marcy had moved on to the real bombshell: Johnny’s kidnapping.

  “We have reason to believe that Michelle reached out to this man and told him for the first time about the child they conceived. We think he’s extremely dangerous. If we’re right, he killed Michelle and has Johnny.”

  For the first time, the other end of the line had fallen silent. She thought the call had disconnected until April finally spoke. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

  If Marcy had to guess, April was in the process of contacting the woman who had been in charge of their marketing. Somewhere, a woman was learning that her husband had been unfaithful. That he had cheated with a young waitress that the woman had known and trusted. That a child had been born from the union. Her heart would probably be broken.

  Marcy prayed that whoever the woman was
, she’d be able to see that Johnny was the person who mattered most right now. He was an innocent child.

  The ringtone of her phone sent her heart racing. It was an unknown caller. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Buckley? My name is Roseanne Robinson. My ex-husband’s the man you’re looking for. His name is Daniel Turner.”

  * * *

  Marcy did her best to spell out what she knew about Michelle Carpenter’s life after Johnny’s birth. “It was a downward spiral. She became addicted to drugs, floating around for a few years. But she eventually recovered and was staying clean. She moved to Philadelphia and was making a living selling handmade jewelry online. She was attending meetings. She thought the drugs were her way of punishing herself for the affair she had, albeit unwittingly, with a married man.”

  Marcy saw no need to mention that Daniel had led Michelle to believe that they would be getting married and having children together.

  To Marcy’s surprise, Roseanne sounded genuine. “That poor girl. I can’t imagine what she was going through. I was in that restaurant at least once a week. I would talk to her all the time about her pregnancy. To think, she knew the whole time that I was married to the father. It must have been gut-wrenching for her.”

  “You had no idea he was having an affair?”

  “Danny and I went through a rough patch that one summer when I didn’t think we’d make it. He was always working, or on his phone, or running off to yoga. I thought he might be bored with our marriage. Sometimes I even wondered if there might be another woman in the picture, but I never confronted him about it. That must have been when he was with Michelle.”

  “Is that why you separated?” Marcy asked.