Morning, Noon & Night

by Sidney Sheldon

  “I do want a taxi.”

  Steve walked into the crowded Greyhound bus terminal and looked around. Julia was nowhere to be seen. She’s gone, Steve thought despairingly. A voice on a loudspeaker was calling out the departing buses. He heard the voice say, “…and Kansas City,” and Steve hurried out to the loading platform.

  Julia was just starting to get on the bus.

  “Hold it!” he called.

  She turned, startled.

  Steve hurried up to her. “I want to talk to you.”

  She looked at him, angry. “I have nothing more to say to you.” She turned to go.

  He grabbed her arm. “Wait a minute! We really have to talk.”

  “My bus is leaving.”

  “There’ll be another one.”

  “My suitcase is on it.”

  Steve turned to a porter. “This woman is about to have a baby. Get her suitcase out of there. Quick!”

  The porter looked at Julia in surprise. “Right.” He hurriedly opened the luggage compartment. “Which is yours, lady?”

  Julia turned to Steve, puzzled. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “No,” Steve said.

  She studied him a moment, then made a decision. She pointed to her suitcase. “That one.”

  The porter pulled it out. “Do you want me to get you an ambulance or anything?”

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  Steve picked up the suitcase, and they headed for the exit. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said coldly.

  “You’d better have something. You’re eating for two now, you know.”

  They had breakfast at Julien. She sat across from Steve, her body rigid with anger.

  When they had ordered, Steve said, “I’m curious about something. What made you think you could claim part of the Stanford estate without any proof at all of your identity?”

  Julia looked at him indignantly. “I didn’t go there to claim part of the Stanford estate. My father wouldn’t have left anything to me. I wanted to meet my family. Obviously they didn’t want to meet me.”

  “Do you have any documents…any kind of proof at all of who you are?”

  She thought of all the clippings piled up in her apartment and shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

  “There’s someone I want you to talk to.”

  “This is Simon Fitzgerald.” Steve hesitated. “Er…”

  “Julia Stanford.”

  Fitzgerald said skeptically, “Sit down, miss.”

  Julia sat on the edge of a chair, ready to get up and walk out.

  Fitzgerald was studying her. She had the Stanford deep gray eyes, but so did lots of other people. “You claim you’re Rosemary Nelson’s daughter.”

  “I don’t claim anything. I am Rosemary Nelson’s daughter.”

  “And where is your mother?”

  “She died a number of years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Could you tell us about her?”

  “No,” Julia said. “I really would rather not.” She stood up. “I want to get out of here.”

  “Look, we’re trying to help you,” Steve said.

  She turned on him. “Are you? My family doesn’t want to see me. You want to turn me over to the police. I don’t need that kind of help.” She started toward the door.

  Steve said, “Wait! If you are who you say you are, you must have something that will prove you’re Harry Stanford’s daughter.”

  “I told you, I don’t,” Julia said. “My mother and I shut Harry Stanford out of our lives.”

  “What did your mother look like?” Simon Fitzgerald asked.

  “She was beautiful,” Julia said. Her voice softened. “She was the loveliest…” She remembered something. “I have a picture of her.” She took the small gold heart-shaped locket from around her neck and handed it to Fitzgerald.

  He looked up at her a moment, then opened the locket. On one side was a picture of Harry Stanford, and on the other side a picture of Rosemary Nelson. The inscription read TO R.N. WITH LOVE, H.S. The date was 1969.

  Simon Fitzgerald stared at the locket for a long time. When he looked up, his voice was husky.

  “We owe you an apology, my dear.” He turned to Steve. “This is Julia Stanford.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Kendall had been unable to get the conversation with Peggy out of her mind. Peggy seemed incapable of coping with the situation by herself. “Woody’s trying hard. He really is…Oh, I love him so much!”

  He needs a lot of help, Kendall thought. I have to do something. He’s my brother. I must talk to him.

  Kendall went to find Clark.

  “Is Mr. Woodrow at home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I believe he’s in his room.”

  “Thank you.”

  She thought of the scene at the table, with Peggy’s bruised face. “What happened?” “I bumped into a door…” How could she have put up with it all this time? Kendall went upstairs and knocked on the door to Woody’s room. There was no answer. “Woody?”

  She opened the door and stepped inside. A bitter-almond smell permeated the room. Kendall stood there a moment, then moved toward the bathroom. She could see Woody through the open door. He was heating heroin on a piece of aluminum foil. As it began to liquify and evaporate, she watched Woody inhale the smoke from a rolled up straw he held in his mouth.

  Kendall stepped into the bathroom. “Woody…?”

  He looked around and grinned. “Hi, Sis!” He turned and inhaled deeply again.

  “For God’s sake! Stop that!”

  “Hey, relax. You know what this is called? Chasing the dragon. See the little dragon curling up in the smoke?” He was smiling happily.

  “Woody, please let me talk to you.”

  “Sure, Sis. What can I do for you? I know it’s not a money problem. We’re billionaires! What are you looking so depressed about? The sun is out, and it’s a beautiful day!” His eyes were glistening.

  Kendall stood there looking at him, filled with compassion. “Woody, I had a talk with Peggy. She told me how you got started on drugs at the hospital.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “No. It’s the most terrible thing that ever happened to you. Do you have any idea what you’re doing with your life?”

  “Sure I do. It’s called living it up, Sis!”

  She took his hand and said, earnestly, “You need help.”

  “Me? I don’t need any help. I’m fine!”

  “No, you aren’t. Listen to me, Woody. This is your life we’re talking about, and it’s not only your life. Think of Peggy. For years you’ve put her through a living hell, and she stood for it because she loves you so much. You’re not only destroying your life, you’re destroying hers. You’ve got to do something about this now, before it’s too late. It’s not important how you got started on drugs. The important thing is that you get off them.”

  Woody’s smile faded. He looked into Kendall’s eyes and started to say something, then stopped. “Kendall…”

  “Yes?”

  He licked his lips. “I…I know you’re right. I want to stop. I’ve tried. God, how I’ve tried. But I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can,” she said fiercely. “You can do it. We’re going to beat this together. Peggy and I are behind you. Who supplies you with heroin, Woody?”

  He stood there, looking at her in astonishment. “My God! You don’t know?”

  Kendall shook her head. “No.”

  “Peggy.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Simon Fitzgerald looked at the gold locket for a long time. “I knew your mother, Julia, and I liked her. She was wonderful with the Stanford children, and they adored her.”

  “She adored them, too,” Julia said. “She used to talk to me about them all the time.”

  “What happened to your mother was terrible. You can’t imagine what a scandal it created. Boston can
be a very small town. Harry Stanford behaved very badly. Your mother had no choice but to leave.” He shook his head. “Life must have been very difficult for the two of you.”

  “Mother had a hard time. The awful thing was that I think she still loved Harry Stanford, in spite of everything.” She looked at Steve. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t my family want to see me?”

  The two men exchanged a look. “Let me explain,” Steve said. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “A short time ago, a woman showed up here, claiming to be Julia Stanford.”

  “But that’s impossible!” Julia said. “I’m…”

  Steve held up a hand. “I know. The family hired a private detective to make sure she was authentic.”

  “And they found out that she wasn’t.”

  “No. They found out that she was.”

  Julia looked at him, bewildered. “What?”

  “This detective said he found fingerprints that the woman had taken when she got a driver’s license in San Francisco when she was seventeen and they matched the prints of the woman calling herself Julia Stanford.”

  Julia was more puzzled than ever. “But I…I’ve never been in California.”

  Fitzgerald said, “Julia, there may be an elaborate conspiracy going on to get part of the Stanford estate. I’m afraid you’re caught in the middle of it.”

  “I can’t believe it!”

  “Whoever is behind this can’t afford to have two Julia Stanfords around.”

  Steve added, “The only way the plan can work successfully is to get you out of the way.”

  “When you say ‘out of the way…’” She stopped, remembering something. “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “Two nights ago I talked to my roommate, and she was hysterical. She said a man came to our apartment with a knife and tried to attack her. He thought she was me!” It was difficult for Julia to find her voice. “Who…who’s doing this?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably a member of the family,” Steve told her.

  “But…why?”

  “There’s a large fortune at stake, and the will is going to be probated in a few days.”

  “What does that have to do with me? My father never even acknowledged me. He wouldn’t have left me anything.”

  Fitzgerald said, “As a matter of fact, if we can prove your identity, your share of the overall estate is more than a billion dollars.”

  She sat there, numb. When she found her voice, she said, “A billion dollars?”

  “That’s right. But someone else is after that money. That’s why you’re in danger.”

  “I see.” She stood there looking at them, feeling a rising panic. “What am I going to do?”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re not going to do,” Steve told her. “You’re not going back to a hotel. I want you to stay out of sight until we find out what’s going on.”

  “I could go back to Kansas until…”

  Fitzgerald said, “I think it would be better if you stayed here, Julia. We’ll find a place to hide you.”

  “She could stay at my house,” Steve suggested. “No one will think of looking for her there.”

  The two men turned to Julia.

  She hesitated. “Well…yes. That will be fine.”

  “Good.”

  Julia said slowly, “None of this would be happening if my father hadn’t fallen off his yacht.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he fell,” Steve told her. “I think he was pushed.”

  They took the service elevator to the office building garage and got into Steve’s car.

  “I don’t want anyone to see you,” Steve said. “We have to keep you out of sight for the next few days.”

  They started driving down State Street.

  “How about some lunch?”

  Julia looked over at him and smiled. “You always seem to be feeding me.”

  “I know a restaurant that’s off the beaten path. It’s in an old house on Gloucester Street. I don’t think anyone will see us there.”

  L’Espalier was an elegant nineteenth-century town house with one of the finest views in Boston. As Steve and Julia walked in, they were greeted by the captain.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “Will you come this way, please? I have a nice table for you by the window.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Steve said, “we’d prefer something against the wall.”

  The captain blinked. “Against the wall?”

  “Yes. We like privacy.”

  “Of course.” He led them to a table in a corner. “I’ll send your waiter right over.” He was staring at Julia, and his face suddenly lit up. “Ah! Miss Stanford. It’s a pleasure to have you here. I saw your picture in the newspaper.”

  Julia looked at Steve, not knowing what to say.

  Steve exclaimed, “My God! We left the children in the car! Let’s go get them!” And to the captain, “We’d like two martinis, very dry. Hold the olives. We’ll be right back.”

  “Yes, sir.” The captain watched the two of them hurry out of the restaurant.

  “What are you doing?” Julia asked.

  “Getting out of here. All he has to do is call the press, and we’re in trouble. We’ll go somewhere else.”

  They found a little restaurant on Dalton Street and ordered lunch.

  Steve sat there, studying her. “How does it feel to be a celebrity?” he asked.

  “Please don’t joke about that. I feel terrible.”

  “I know,” he said contritely. “I’m sorry.” He was finding it very easy to be with her. He thought about how rude he had been when they first met.

  “Do you…do you really think I’m in danger, Mr. Sloane?” Julia asked.

  “Call me Steve. Yes. I’m afraid you are. But it will be for only a little while. By the time the will is probated, we’ll know who’s behind this. In the meantime, I’m going to see to it that you’re safe.”

  “Thank you. I…I appreciate it.”

  They were staring at each other, and when an approaching waiter saw the looks on their faces, he decided not to interrupt them.

  In the car, Steve asked, “Is this your first time in Boston?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s an interesting city.” They were passing the old John Hancock Building. Steve pointed to the tower. “You see that beacon?”

  “Yes.”

  “It broadcasts the weather.”

  “How can a beacon…?”

  “I’m glad you asked. When the light is a steady blue, it means the weather is clear. If it’s a flashing blue, you can expect clouds to be near. A steady red means rain ahead, and flashing red, snow instead.”

  Julia laughed.

  They reached the Harvard Bridge. Steve slowed down. “This is the bridge that links Boston and Cambridge. It’s exactly three hundred sixty-four point four Smoots and one ear long.”

  Julia turned to stare at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  Steve grinned. “It’s true.”

  “What’s a Smoot?”

  “A Smoot is a measurement using the body of Oliver Reed Smoot, who was five feet seven inches. It started as a joke, but when the city rebuilt the bridge, they kept the marks. The Smoot became a standard of length in 1958.”

  She laughed. “That’s incredible!”

  As they passed the Bunker Hill Monument, Julia exclaimed, “Oh! That’s where the Battle of Bunker Hill took place, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Steve said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Battle of Bunker Hill was fought on Breed’s Hill.”

  Steve’s home was in the Newbury Street area of Boston, a charming two-story house with comfortable furniture and colorful prints hanging on the walls.

  “Do you live here alone?” Julia asked.

  “Yes. I have a housekeeper who comes in twice a week. I’m going to tell her not to come in for the next few days. I don’t want anyone to know you
’re here.”

  Julia looked at Steve and said warmly, “I want you to know I really appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

  “My pleasure. Come on, I’ll show you your bedroom.”

  He led her upstairs to the guest room. “This is it. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s lovely,” Julia said.

  “I’ll bring in some groceries. I usually eat out.”

  “I could—” She stopped. “On second thought, I’d better not. My roommate says my cooking is lethal.”

  “I think I’m a fair hand at a stove,” Steve said. “I’ll do some cooking for us.” He looked at her and said slowly. “I haven’t had anyone to cook for for a while.”

  Back off, he told himself. You’re way off base. You couldn’t keep her in handkerchiefs.

  “I want you to make yourself at home. You’ll be completely safe here.”

  She looked at him a long time, then smiled. “Thank you.”

  They went back downstairs.

  Steve pointed out the amenities. “Television, VCR, radio, CD player…You’ll be comfortable.”

  “It’s wonderful.” She wanted to say, “Just like I feel with you.”

  “Well, if there’s nothing else,” he said awkwardly.

  Julia gave him a warm smile. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Then I’ll be getting back to the office. I have a lot of questions without answers.”

  She watched him walk toward the door.

  “Steve?”

  He turned around. “Yes?”

  “Is it all right if I call my roommate? She’ll be worried about me.”

  He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I don’t want you to make any telephone calls or leave this house. Your life may depend on it.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “I’m Dr. Westin. Do you understand that this conversation is going to be tape-recorded?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Are you feeling calmer now?”

  “I’m calm, but I’m angry.”

  “What are you angry about?”

  “I shouldn’t be in this place. I’m not crazy. I’ve been framed.”