I've Got You Under My Skin

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “Alison, that’s an interesting comparison. Have you been feeling like a bug under a microscope all these years? You had hoped to earn a medical degree, didn’t you?”

  Be careful, Alison warned herself. “Yes, I did.”

  “You had every expectation of being awarded a scholarship, isn’t that true?”

  “I was in contention,” Alison said evenly. “I came in second. It happens.”

  “Alison, I’ve done some research. Isn’t it a fact that just before your graduation, Robert Powell pledged some ten million dollars to your college for a new dormitory to be named ‘The Robert and Betsy Powell House’?”

  “I know he did.”

  “Is it true that the recipient of the scholarship was the daughter of a friend of Betsy Powell’s?”

  Alison, you’re bitter. You can’t let the bitterness show.

  It was as though Rod were shouting in her ear.

  “Of course I was disappointed. I earned that scholarship and everyone knew it. Throwing it to Vivian Fields was Betsy’s way of getting into the club Vivian’s mother ran.

  “But you see, all regret stopped right there. Rod had just signed a big contract with the Giants, and the first thing he did was to propose to me. We were engaged, and his wedding present to me was going to be sending me to medical school.”

  “Then why didn’t you invite Rod to the Gala, if you were engaged to him?”

  Alison attempted a smile. “Actually, it was just prior to our engagement. Rod thought I was very foolish to go to the Gala after what Betsy pulled on me.”

  It sounds all right, she thought. I didn’t invite him because I wasn’t in love with him. But then when he signed with the Giants and promised to send me to school, I agreed to marry him . . . She fought to keep control of herself.

  Alex Buckley’s eyes bored into her. “Alison, I would like you to close your eyes and visualize the moment you walked into Betsy’s room after you heard Jane screaming.”

  His tone was almost hypnotic. Obediently, Alison closed her eyes.

  She was in Betsy’s room. She stepped on the earring, and that startled her. She heard a door open and slipped into the closet behind her. She saw someone come in and take the other pillow from Betsy’s bed. Then that shadowy figure leaned over Betsy.

  Through a crack in the door she watched as Betsy’s body twisted and turned as the pillow suffocated her. Her muted groans were quickly stifled.

  Then the figure slipped away. Was I dreaming, Alison asked herself, or did I really see a face?

  She didn’t know. Her eyes snapped open.

  Alex Buckley saw the startled look on her face. “What is it, Alison?” he asked quickly. “You look frightened.”

  Alison burst out: “I can’t stand this anymore! I absolutely can’t stand it. I don’t care what people think about me. Let them wonder if I killed Betsy. I did not, but I will tell you this: when I ran into that room and saw she was dead, I was glad! And so were the others. Betsy Powell was evil and vain and a whore, and I hope she’s rotting in hell.”

  62

  Jane was next. She was not a heavy woman, but her broad shoulders and straight carriage gave her a formidable appearance. Her constant uniform of black dress and crisp white apron seems almost a caricature, Alex thought. Except for during formal dinners, none of his friends had their help dressed like that.

  She sat in the chair vacated by Alison. “Ms. Novak,” Alex began. “You and Betsy Powell worked together in the theatre?”

  Jane smiled thinly. “That sounds very glamorous. I cleaned the dressing rooms and mended the costumes. Betsy was an usher, and when a play closed, we would both be transferred to another theatre.”

  “Then you were good friends.”

  “Good friends? What does that mean? We worked together. I like to cook. I’d ask her and Claire to dinner some Sundays. I was sure everything they ate was takeout. Betsy was no cook. And Claire was such a sweet child.”

  “Were you surprised when Betsy moved to Salem Ridge?”

  “Betsy wanted to marry money. She decided living in a wealthy community was her best chance. Turns out she was right.”

  “She was thirty-two when she married Robert Powell. Wasn’t there anyone before that?”

  “Oh, Betsy dated, but no one had enough money for her.” Jane smirked. “You should have heard what she said about some of them.”

  “Was there anyone who was especially close to her?” Alex asked. “Someone who might have been jealous when she married?”

  Jane shrugged. “I wouldn’t say so. They came and they went.”

  “Were you upset when she asked you to call her ‘Mrs. Powell’?”

  “Was I upset? Of course not. Mr. Powell is a very formal man. I have a beautiful apartment of my own here. A cleaning service comes in twice a week, so I do no heavy work. I love to cook, and Mr. Powell loves gourmet food. Why would I be upset? I came from a little village in Hungary. We had only the barest modern ­conveniences—running water, sometimes electricity.”

  “I can see why you have been very content here. But I understand that when you rushed into Betsy Powell’s room that morning, you screamed ‘Betsy, Betsy!’ ”

  “Yes, I did. I was so shocked, I didn’t know what I was doing or saying.”

  “Jane, do you have any theory about who killed Betsy Powell?”

  “Absolutely,” Jane said firmly, “and in a way I blame myself for her death.”

  “Why is that, Jane?”

  “It is because I should have known those young women would have been in and out, smoking. I should have stayed up and made sure the door was locked after they went to bed.”

  “Then you think it was a stranger who came in?”

  “Either through the unlocked door or else during the party. Betsy had two walk-in closets. Someone could have hidden in one of them. She was wearing a fortune in emeralds, and don’t forget, one of the earrings was on the floor.”

  Behind the camera, watching and listening, Laurie found herself wondering whether Jane was right. Claire had suggested the same thing. And from what she could see, it was entirely possible that someone might have slipped upstairs during the party.

  Jane was telling Alex that she had put a velvet rope across both the main and back staircases of the first floor. “There are four powder rooms on the main floor,” she concluded. “There would be no need for anyone to go upstairs, unless he or she was planning to steal Betsy’s jewelry.”

  It’s as if they all put their heads together and decided on that story, Laurie thought.

  Alex was saying, “Thank you for talking to us, Ms. Novak. I know how difficult it is to relive that terrible night.”

  “No, you don’t,” Jane contradicted him, her voice even and sad. “To know how beautiful Betsy looked that night, then to see her face covered by that pillow and know she was dead, and to hear Mr. Powell moaning in pain . . . You don’t and can’t understand how hard it is to relive it, Mr. Buckley. You just can’t.”

  63

  Nina kept a frosty distance from her mother for the rest of the morning. When Alison went in for her interview with Alex Buckley, she joined Rod on the bench near the pool.

  “Mind if I sit with you for a while?” she asked.

  Rod looked startled, but then attempted a smile and said, “Of course not.”

  “Are you and Alison sorry you got into this situation?” Nina asked as she sat next to him.

  At Rod’s surprised look, she said, “Look, I got a tape, too, and so did Regina. I don’t know about Claire.

  “I could see that Alison was terribly upset when she played hers. So was Regina. Do you think that Josh Damiano made those tapes for himself, or do you think Rob Powell ordered him to make them?”

  “I don’t know,” Rod said carefully.

  “Neither do I. But I have to take
the chance that it’s Damiano’s game and pay the fifty thousand dollars he’s demanding. I think you should, too. I don’t know what Damiano overheard you say, but that police chief is dying to solve Betsy’s murder, and if he has something to run with, I’ll bet he’ll do it.”

  “You may be right,” Rod said, his tone noncommittal. “But what could he possibly have on you that would make you a suspect? Certainly not the fact that your mother dated Rob Powell before he married Betsy?”

  “It isn’t that,” Nina said, her voice friendly. “My mother is threatening to say I confessed to her that I murdered Betsy unless I pay the fifty thousand dollars to Josh.”

  Rod didn’t think he could be any more surprised than he already had been, but now his voice was incredulous. “She’s got to be bluffing.”

  “Oh, but she isn’t,” Nina said. “Now if Robert Powell hears that tape on which she’s saying how much she hated Betsy, any chance she has with him—which I believe is nonexistent, by the way—will be over. But if this is only Josh Damiano’s game, who knows? That’s why she wants me to pay the fifty thousand dollars he’s demanding—or else. But you see, I know Alison has much more to worry about than my mother being sure I broke up her big romance. I was very nice when the police were questioning all of us twenty years ago.” She paused and looked straight into his eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone that Betsy was absolutely cruel to Alison that night. She was gushing on and on about how proud Selma Fields was that her daughter, Vivian, had won the scholarship. She made sure to mention that Selma was throwing a fabulous party for Vivian, and then the whole family was sailing on their yacht to the Riviera. Alison was fighting back tears. When Betsy floated away, Alison said to me, ‘I am going to kill that witch.’

  “Now isn’t that information worth your paying Josh Damiano the fifty thousand dollars he’s demanding from Alison and the fifty thousand he wants from me? I want to leave here with something.

  “Rod, believe me, I hate to do this, but I have no choice. I need every nickel of that three hundred thousand dollars to buy my mother her own apartment and get her out of my life. If we live together much longer, I can promise you, I will kill her. I know just how Alison was feeling at the Gala.”

  She got up. “Before I leave you, I want to say how much I admire both of you. She married you to get an education, but she stuck by you when that fabulous career you should have had disappeared. My theory is that your hold on her is she confessed the crime to you. Isn’t that true, Rod?”

  Rod reached for his crutches and got to his feet. His face white with anger, he said, “It’s obvious you and your mother are cut from the same cloth. Alison is very smart, you know. Maybe she can dig up a few memories herself about how you were hounded for years by your mother because she kept ranting about losing Rob Powell to Betsy. Maybe you snapped and killed Betsy to make Robert Powell a widower. But there’s only one problem. In a million years, Alison wouldn’t murder anybody.”

  Nina smiled. “When do I get my answer?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rod said flatly. “Now if you don’t mind, will you please let me pass? My wife is coming out of the house, and I want to go to join her.”

  “I think I’ll just settle down on one of these lounge chairs,” Nina said cheerfully as she stepped aside to let him pass.

  64

  Jane went straight from the interview to the kitchen. She had already prepared vichyssoise, a Waldorf salad, and cold sliced ham for lunch.

  Robert Powell entered the kitchen a few minutes later. “Jane, I’ve been thinking. It’s quite warm out. Let’s eat in the dining room. How many do we have for lunch today?”

  Jane could see that his mood was much brighter than it had been in the morning. He was wearing a light blue sport shirt and khaki slacks. His full head of white hair complemented his handsome face. His straight carriage belied his chronological age.

  He doesn’t look anything like his age, Jane thought. He’s always looked like an English lord.

  Lord and Lady Powell.

  What had he asked her? Of course, how many would be at lunch today.

  “The four graduates,” Jane hesitated. “That’s the way I still think of them. Ms. Moran, Mrs. Craig, Mr. Rod Kimball, Mr. Alex Buckley, and yourself, sir.”

  “The lucky nine,” Rob Powell said cheerfully. “Or a motley crew. Which is it, Jane?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he opened the patio door and went outside.

  What’s gotten into him? Jane asked herself. This morning it seemed like all he wanted was to get them out of the house. Perhaps knowing that they’ll be on their way tomorrow is making him feel good. I don’t know what the others said in their interviews, but I know I came off fine.

  Filled with self-satisfaction, she began to set the table in the dining room.

  Josh appeared in the doorway. “I’ll finish that,” he said angrily. “You get the food out.”

  Jane looked at him, surprised. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

  “The matter with me is that I’m not a houseboy,” Josh snapped.

  Jane had just begun placing the silverware on the table. Startled, she straightened up. Her cheeks flushed, her lips tight, she spat out the words, “For the kind of salary you get, you have some nerve to talk like that about helping out in the house for a few days. Be careful. Be very careful. If Mr. Powell had heard you, you’d have been out the door in a minute. If I report this conversation to him, the same thing would happen.”

  “Well, listen to the lady of the house,” Josh snapped defiantly. “Whatever became of all the jewelry George Curtis gave Betsy? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. When Mr. Rob was on business trips, I used to drive Betsy to her trysts with George Curtis, and she’d be lit up like a Christmas tree when I took her to meet him. I know she kept it hidden in her room somewhere, but I never heard any mention of it being found. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, Mr. Rob Powell had no idea that affair was going on.”

  “You don’t know what you’re sure of,” Jane whispered fiercely. “So why don’t we both agree to keep our mouths shut? Tomorrow at this time they’ll all be on their way.”

  “One last thought, Jane. If Betsy had left Powell for George Curtis, she’d have taken you with her, for two good reasons. First, because you waited on her hand and foot. Second, because once she moved out of here and asked Powell for a divorce, he’d have hired private detectives to find out how long that affair had been going on and discovered that you covered for Betsy when he called her from overseas every time he was away on a business trip.”

  “And what do you think he’d have done to you if he knew you were driving her back and forth to her little love nest in his Bentley?” Jane asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  They glared at each other from across the table, then Jane said in a pleasant voice, “We’d better get moving. They were told that lunch would be served at one-thirty.”

  65

  After Alison fled from the den, Alex and Laurie did not speak until Jerry, Grace, and the camera crew were gone.

  Then Alex said quietly, “Two of our graduates have now given a worldwide audience a convincing reason why one of them might have killed Betsy Powell.”

  “They absolutely did,” Laurie said. “And who knows what Regina and Nina will have to say this afternoon? I would be surprised if all four of them don’t bitterly regret getting involved in this program, even for the money.”

  “I’m sure they already do,” Alex agreed.

  “Alex, why do you think Powell insisted we all stay here tonight—and that we don’t interview him until tomorrow morning?”

  “Building up the pressure on all of them, hoping one of them will crack? You and I will be the chief witnesses, if that happens,” Alex replied briskly. “My guess is that he’s bluffing.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better call my office. We’re
due inside in fifteen minutes.”

  “And I’m going to try my dad.”

  Alex sat back in the chair, pretending to look for something in his briefcase.

  He wanted to be here for Laurie if Leo Farley did not—or could not—answer the phone.

  66

  Leo’s cheery “Hello” took the edge off Laurie’s panic.

  “I hear you were out on the town last night, Dad,” she said.

  “Yes, I had a hot date at Mount Sinai. How’s your show going?”

  “Why didn’t you call me when you went to the hospital?”

  “So that you didn’t come rushing over here. I’ve had these episodes before. Jim Morris told me to calm down by watching game shows. Right now I’m watching an I Love Lucy rerun.”

  “Then I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from it. I’ll be down by seven thirty at the latest.” Laurie hesitated, then asked, “Dad, do you really feel all right now?”

  “I feel fine. Stop worrying.”

  “You make that very hard,” Laurie said wryly. “All right, go back to I Love Lucy. I’ll see you later.”

  With one hand she dropped the cell phone in her pocket. With the other, she impatiently fumbled for a tissue to brush away the tears that had begun to form in her eyes.

  Alex reached into his pocket and handed her his freshly pressed handkerchief. As she accepted it he said, “Laurie, it doesn’t hurt to let go a little occasionally.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “The day I let go, I’ll lose my grip for good. I keep hearing that threat ringing in my ears. The only way I have kept my sanity at all is by hoping Blue Eyes keeps his promise that I’m next. Maybe when he kills me, he’ll be caught. If he gets away, maybe Dad and Timmy can change their identities and disappear; who knows? But suppose Timmy and I are outside together? Or if I die, suppose Dad isn’t here to protect Timmy?”