“I’ll be right back,” he said as he unfolded his long legs and stood up.
When he returned five minutes later, coffee cups in hand, Laurie was seated in the chair where Claire had been and was busy scribbling notes. “Thanks so much,” she said as he placed the cups on the table between them. “Are they all out there? I mean, is Claire talking to them about her interview with you?”
“I don’t know where Claire is, but there’s something funny going on with the rest of them,” Alex Buckley replied. “Regina is white as a ghost, and Nina and her mother are obviously having an argument on the patio. No surprise there. Alison and Rod are taking a walk near the pool. The way he has his arm around her, I think she’s terribly upset. She’s holding a handkerchief and dabbing her eyes.”
Astonished, Laurie asked, “What could have brought all that on?”
“When you and I left them, Claire followed only a few minutes behind,” Alex said, his brow furrowed. “We left the other three waiting for Josh to bring more coffee. I’m telling you, Laurie, something happened that upset all of them. Maybe I can get it out of Alison when I interview her.” His tone became crisp. “I know you want to talk to me about the interview with Claire.”
“Yes, I do,” Laurie said. “Why did you ask her so much about her relationship with Robert Powell?”
“Laurie, think about it. She and her mother had obviously been very tight for the first thirteen years of Claire’s life. Then Robert Powell enters the picture. No matter how glamorous it may have been for her to move into this mansion, there is no doubt from everything I have read that Claire’s mother and Powell were virtually inseparable. And why didn’t Claire go away to college as her friends did? Claire must have been home alone a lot of nights. From what I gathered, Betsy and Powell were out almost every night on the social scene. Why couldn’t Claire board at Vassar? Didn’t you hear and see the way Claire’s expression changed when she talked about Powell? I’m telling you right now that something was going on there,” Alex said vehemently.
Laurie stared at him, then nodded.
Alex smiled. “You caught it, too. I was sure you would. Whenever I’m preparing a case for trial, I have my investigators dig into the backgrounds of the people I’m defending as well as the ones who are on the witness stand testifying either for or against my client. One of the first things I learned was to dig below the obvious. If you ask me, Claire Bonner was not as heartsick at her mother’s death as she claims to be.”
“At first I was attributing her reaction to shock,” Laurie admitted. “Then I felt the same way. She only talked about her anger over the way the police treated her and the other girls. Not one word about grieving for her mother.” Laurie changed gears. “Now, before Alison Schaefer comes in, let me give you my first impressions of her.”
Alex sipped his coffee as Laurie continued. “Rod Kimball and Alison Schaefer were married four months after the Gala, and yet she hadn’t even invited him as her date that night. Was she rushing into a situation because of the way they were all grilled after Betsy’s death? The only other thing that I can see was that she lost out on a scholarship. It was awarded to the girl whose marks were second to hers but who happened to be the daughter of Betsy’s friend. Did the fact that Powell donated a ton of money to Alison’s college influence the scholarship award? Yes, I think it was the kind of scholarship donated by an alumnus, and the dean chose the winner at his discretion.”
Alex nodded. “You’ve done plenty of your own digging, I see.”
“Yes, I have,” Laurie agreed. “And I’ve wondered whether the fact that Rod had just signed a great contract with the Giants had anything to do with Alison suddenly marrying him. But if so, when he had that accident, she certainly stuck by him, didn’t she? Apparently he had always had a crush on her, from way back when they were in kindergarten. At the time they were married, he had a brilliant future as a quarterback. Even if the attraction was the fame and fortune of pro football, there had to be more to her feelings than that. The last twenty years are proof of it.”
“Or is it possible she was so upset about losing the scholarship that she smothered Betsy and confessed it to Rod? That would certainly have been his hold over her for all of these years,” Alex suggested.
There was a knock on the den door, and the cameraman looked in. “Laurie, are you ready for us yet?”
Laurie and Alex looked at each other. It was Alex who answered. “You bet we are. Please ask Alison Schaefer to come in now.”
51
Later that morning, Leo Farley stared at the ceiling as his doctor and longtime friend checked his heartbeat. “There’s nothing the matter with me,” Leo said, his tone icy.
“That’s your opinion,” Dr. James Morris replied mildly, “but believe me, this is where you’re going to stay until I discharge you. And before you ask me why again, let me explain again. You were still having heart fibrillations yesterday evening. If you don’t want to have a heart attack, you’ll stay put.”
“All right, all right,” Leo said with angry resignation. “But Jim, you don’t get it. I don’t want Laurie to know I’m here, and I can tell she’s already guessed. She never calls me on the way to work, but she did today. She was so persistent asking me where I was last night . . . I can’t have her worrying about me while she’s doing this program.”
“Do you want me to phone Laurie now and reassure her?” Dr. Morris asked.
“I know Laurie. If you call, it would upset her even more.”
“When do you usually talk to her?”
“After she gets home from the studio. I got away with it last night, but tonight she’ll expect me to go out and at least grab a hamburger with her. I don’t know what my excuse will be,” Leo Farley said, his voice somber but no longer angry.
“Look, Leo, I can tell you this. You had two episodes of fibrillation yesterday. If you don’t have any tonight, I will discharge you tomorrow,” Dr. Morris promised. “And don’t forget, I still know how to reassure my patients’ relatives about their health. If you let me tell Laurie that, barring any more fibrillations, I’m discharging you tomorrow morning, I think that would be the best way to go. So think about it. She can always stop in here tonight and see you. Doesn’t Timmy call her between seven and eight?”
“Yes. She has him call at quarter to eight so she’s sure to be free to talk.”
“Then why not have her here in time to take the call, and the two of you can talk to him together? From what you tell me, he can only make one phone call every evening.”
Leo Farley’s face cleared. “As usual, you have a good idea, Jim.”
Dr. Morris knew of Leo Farley’s desperate worry about the threat to his daughter and grandson. And it won’t be over until that Blue Eyes guy is rotting in prison, he thought.
He touched Leo’s shoulder, but managed to close his lips before he uttered the two most useless words in the English language, “Don’t worry.”
52
After Josh handed the three of them the tapes, Alison was the first to go into the bathroom, take the cassette player from the vanity drawer, insert the tape, and listen to it. Aghast, she heard her conversation with Rod about her sleepwalking into Betsy’s room. Near hysteria, she grabbed the tape and rushed outside. Rod had seen her from the window and hurried as fast as possible to join her.
Now, his crutches beside him, he sat on the bench near the pool with his arm around her, their backs to the production crew outside. She had managed to stop crying, but her lips were still trembling.
“Don’t you see, Rod?” Alison said. “That’s the reason Powell had Josh pick all of us up at the airport in that fancy Bentley at two-hour intervals, except for Claire, who arrived the night before. Powell wouldn’t have done that except for one reason. The Bentley was bugged. Rod, don’t you remember we talked about my sleepwalking into Betsy’s bedroom?”
“Shh,”
Rod cautioned, then looked around. There was no one within hearing distance. My God, I’m getting paranoid around this place, he thought.
He tightened his arm around Alison’s shoulder. “Alie, if they bring it up, say of course you were disappointed about the scholarship, but then it didn’t matter. You’d had a secret crush on me from the time we were in kindergarten.” He paused, then thought ruefully, at least that part was true for me.
“And you asked me to marry you, even though you believed I had been angry enough to kill Betsy Powell,” Alison said flatly. “You can’t deny that for all these years you have believed I might have killed her.”
“I know how much you hated her, but I never really believed that you could kill her.”
“I did hate her. I’ve tried to get over it, but I can’t. I still hate her. It was so unfair,” Alison said passionately. “Powell donated a ton of money to Waverly because Betsy was desperate to get into that fancy club. When the dean gave the scholarship to Betsy’s friend’s daughter, don’t you think I had a good reason to kill her? Did I mention that my fellow student flunked out her second year?”
“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice,” Rod said quietly.
“Rod, when everything you ever worked for and prayed for and dreamed about falls apart . . . I was half out of the chair to accept that award when the dean announced her name. You can’t imagine it!”
Then she looked at him, seeing the lines of pain on his handsome face, the crutches next to him. “Oh, Rod, how stupid of me to say that, to you of all people.”
“It’s all right, Alie.”
No it isn’t, she thought. It isn’t all right at all.
“Alison, they’re ready for you.”
It was Laurie’s assistant Jerry who was approaching them.
“Rod, I’m frightened I’m going to fall apart,” Alison whispered frantically as she stood up and bent to brush a kiss on his forehead.
“No, you’re not,” Rod said firmly as he looked up at the woman he loved so dearly. Her light-brown eyes, the most prominent features in her thin face, were ablaze. The tears had left her eyelids slightly swollen, but he knew the makeup artist would repair that.
He watched Alison as she walked to the house. In twenty years, he had not seen her so emotional. And he knew why—because she had a second chance at the career she wanted so desperately, the one that had been stolen from her.
A random thought hit him. Alie had let her hair grow longer, and now it was brushing her shoulders. He liked it that way. The other day she had said she was going to have it cut soon. He regretted that, but would never dream of saying so. There were so many things he had not told her over the past twenty years . . .
If she got through this program and received the money, Rod couldn’t help but worry, would it be her ticket to freedom—from him?
53
Nina was the second one who listened to her cassette. When she came back to the table her expression was almost triumphant. “This is more for you than it is for me,” she told her mother. “Why don’t you go in there and dwell on every word? And when you do, I don’t think you’ll be sobbing so much to Rob Powell that Betsy was your closest and dearest friend.”
“What are you talking about?” Muriel snapped as she stood up and pushed back her chair.
“The cassette player is in the center drawer of the vanity in the hall bathroom,” Nina said. “You should be able to find it.”
The contented expression Muriel had been wearing turned into one of uncertainty and worry. Without answering her daughter, she hurried to the hallway. A few minutes later the slamming of the bathroom door signaled her imminent return.
When she came out her face was set in hard angry lines. Her head jerked in Nina’s direction. “Come outside,” she said.
“Well? What do you want?” Nina demanded as soon as the door to the patio closed behind them.
“What do I want?” Muriel hissed. “What do I want? Are you crazy? Did you listen to that tape? It makes me sound terrible. And Rob asked me to have dinner tonight. Everything is going so well, the way it was before . . .”
“Before I ruined everything for you by introducing Rob Powell to Betsy when you were practically engaged to him,” Nina finished for her.
Muriel’s expression became hard and calculating. “Do you think Rob has heard those tapes?”
“I don’t know. I would guess he has, but that’s just a guess. The chauffeur may be blackmailing us as his own little game and not telling Rob.”
“Then give him the fifty thousand dollars.”
Nina stared at her mother. “You have got to be joking! Rob Powell is making a fool out of you with this sudden attention. If he’d wanted you, why didn’t he call you twenty years ago when Betsy died?”
“Pay that chauffeur,” Muriel said flatly. “Otherwise I will tell Rob and the police that you confessed to me you killed Betsy to give me another chance at Rob. I’ll say that you thought I’d be very generous to you when I became Mrs. Robert Nicholas Powell.”
“You would do that?” Nina asked, white-lipped.
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Muriel sneered. “And don’t forget that Rob’s million-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Betsy’s murderer can always be my consolation prize if you’re right about his interest in me not being genuine. He posted that reward twenty years ago and it’s never been withdrawn.”
54
After she’d seen Alison rush outside and Muriel ordered Nina to go with her to the patio, Regina knew she had to listen to her own tape.
On the way to hear it, she thought, Josh must be the one to have that letter. The cassette player was on top of the vanity. She inserted the tape, then numb with fear, pressed the button. The sound of her conversation with her son, Zach, was crystal clear, even though he was calling from England.
It’s as bad as it can get, Regina thought wildly. Now what happens if I don’t admit that I saved Daddy’s suicide note? Josh can produce it at any time. Then I could be arrested for lying to the cops when they questioned me for hours on end. He’d have both the tape and the letter to show as evidence.
Knowing she had no choice but to pay Josh whatever he was demanding, she went back to the table and pushed away her coffee, which was cold now.
Sour-faced as always, Jane promptly appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and a new cup. Regina watched as the steaming cup of coffee replaced the one she had ignored.
As Regina began to sip, the familiar nightmare replayed itself in her head. Riding her bike in the driveway of the beautiful home with the priceless view of Long Island that she had lived in for fifteen years. Tapping the switch that raised the garage door. Seeing her father’s body as it swayed in the breeze that rushed in from the Sound. His jaw had slackened, his eyes were staring, his tongue was protruding. A paper was pinned to his jacket. One hand was clenched around the rope. At the last moment had he changed his mind about dying?
Regina remembered how she had felt numb and emotionless, how she had reached up for the note, unpinned it as his body moved under her touch, read it, and, shocked, stuffed it in her pocket.
In it, her father had written that he had been having an affair with Betsy and bitterly regretted it.
Betsy had told him that the hedge fund Rob had begun was about to explode in value and to invest everything he could in it. Even then, at age fifteen, Regina was sure Betsy was doing that at Powell’s direction.
I couldn’t let my mother see that note, Regina thought now. It would have broken her heart, and I knew her heart would be broken enough by Daddy’s death. And my mother despised Betsy Powell. She knew what a phony she was.
Now someone had that note. It almost had to be Josh, who was hanging around all day helping Jane. What can I do? she asked herself. What can I do?
At that moment Josh came
into the room, a tray in his hands, to clear the table. He looked around to be sure they were alone.
“When can we talk, Regina?” he asked. “And I must tell you, you should have taken your son’s advice to burn your father’s suicide note. I’ve been thinking it over. No one has a stronger motive for killing Betsy Powell than you do. Don’t you agree? And don’t you think that the quarter of a million dollars you’re getting from Mr. Rob is little enough to assure that no one will ever see the note or hear the tape?”
She could not reply. Her face was frozen in a look of horror and self-reproach, and her eyes looked beyond Josh to something else—her father’s neatly dressed body, swaying from the rope around his neck.
55
As if by instinct, Claire raced upstairs to her old bedroom after her interview with Alex Buckley.
She knew it had not gone well. She had rehearsed her answers to the questions about the Gala, from being in the den together after the party ended to rushing into her mother’s bedroom early the next morning.
It had been easy enough to re-create that terrible moment: Rob on the floor writhing in pain, the coffee splattered on his hands, his skin already raised in angry blisters. Jane shrieking “Betsy, Betsy,” and holding the pillow that had smothered the life from her mother. The hair that had looked so glamorous when her mother had said good night to them was brassy in the early morning light, the radiant complexion now gray and mottled.
And I was glad, Claire thought. I was frightened, but I was glad.
All I could think of was that now I was free—now I could leave this house.
And I did the day of the funeral. I moved in with Regina and her mother in that tiny apartment. I slept on the couch in the living room.
There were pictures of Regina’s father all over the place. Her mother was sweet and kind to me, even though they had lost everything they had because he had invested in Robert Powell’s hedge fund.
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