He didn’t think to order dinner. He wasn’t hungry. Finally at ten-thirty his wait was over. Meghan turned on the light in her bedroom and undressed.
She was so beautiful!
At four o’clock Friday afternoon, Phillip asked Jackie, “Where’s Orsini?”
“He had an appointment outside the office, Mr. Carter. He said he’d be back around four-thirty.”
Jackie stood in Phillip Carter’s office, trying to decide what to do. When Mr. Carter was upset he was a little scary. Mr. Collins never used to get upset.
But Mr. Carter was the boss now, and last night her husband, Bob, told her that she owed it to him to tell him that Victor Orsini was going through all the files at night.
“But maybe it’s Mr. Carter doing it,” she had suggested.
“If it is Carter, he’ll appreciate your concern. Don’t forget, if there’s any trouble between them, Orsini is the one who’ll leave, not Carter.”
Bob was right. Now Jackie said firmly, “Mr. Carter, it may be none of my business, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Orsini is coming in here at night and going through all the files.”
Phillip Carter was very quiet for a long minute, then his face hardened and he said, “Thank you, Jackie. Have Mr. Orsini see me when he comes in.”
I wouldn’t want to be in Mr. Orsini’s boots, she thought.
Twenty minutes later she and Milly dropped all pretense of not listening as through the closed door of Phillip Carter’s office, they could hear his raised voice castigating Victor Orsini.
“For a long time I have suspected you of working hand-in-glove with Downes and Rosen,” he told him. “This place is in trouble now, and you’re preparing to land on your feet by going with them. But you seem to forget that you have a contract that specifically prohibits you from soliciting our accounts. Now get out and don’t bother to pack. You’ve probably taken plenty of our files already. We’ll send your personal items on to you.”
“So that’s what he was doing,” Jackie whispered. “That is really bad.” Neither she nor Milly looked up at Orsini when he passed their desks on his way out.
If they had, they would have seen that his face was white with fury.
On Saturday morning, Catherine went to the inn for the breakfast hour. She checked her mail and phone calls, then had a long talk with Virginia. Deciding not to stay for the lunch serving, she returned to the house at eleven o’clock. She found that Meg had been taking the files to her father’s study and analyzing them, one by one.
“The dining room is such a mess that I can’t concentrate,” Meg explained. “Victor was looking for something important, and we’re not seeing the forest for the trees.”
Catherine studied her daughter. Meg was wearing a plaid silk shirt and chinos. Her chestnut hair was almost shoulder length now, and brushed back. That’s what it is, Catherine thought. Her hair is just that little bit longer. The picture of Annie Collins in yesterday’s newspapers came to mind.
“Meg, I’ve thought it through. I’m going to accept that offer on Drumdoe.”
“You’re what?”
“Virginia agrees with me. The overhead is simply too high. I don’t want the inn to end up on the auction block.”
“Mom, Dad founded Collins and Carter, and even under these circumstances, there must be some way you can take some money out of it.”
“Meg, if there were a death certificate, there would be partnership insurance. With lawsuits pending there won’t be a business before long.”
“What does Phillip say? By the way, he’s been around a lot lately,” Meg said, “more than in all the years he worked with Dad.”
“He’s trying to be kind, and I appreciate that.”
“Is it more than kindness?”
“I hope not. He’d be making a mistake. I have too much to deal with before I even think in that direction with anyone.” She added quietly, “But you don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Kyle isn’t the greatest busboy. He was keeping an eye on you two and reported with great satisfaction that Mac was kissing you.”
“I am not interested—”
“Stop it, Meg,” Catherine commanded. She stepped around the desk, yanked open the bottom drawer, pulled out a half-dozen letters and threw them on the desk. “Don’t be like your father, an emotional cripple because he couldn’t forgive rejection.”
“He had every reason not to forgive his mother!”
“As a child, yes. As an adult with a family who deeply loved him, no. Maybe he wouldn’t have needed Scottsdale if he’d gone to Philadelphia and made peace with her.”
Meg raised her eyebrows. “You can play rough, can’t you?”
“You bet I can. Meg, you love Mac. You always have. Kyle needs you. Now for God’s sake, put yourself on the line and quit being afraid that Mac would be imbecile enough to want Ginger if she ever showed up in his life again.”
“Dad always called you Mighty Mouse.” Meg felt tears burning behind her eyes.
“Yes, he did. When I go back to the inn, I’m going to call the real estate people. One thing I can promise. I’ll raise their ante till they beg for mercy.”
At one-thirty, just before she returned to the inn, Catherine poked her head into the study. “Meg, remember I said Palomino Leather Goods sounded familiar? I think Annie’s mother may have left the same message on our home phone for Dad. It would have been mid-March seven years ago. The reason I can pinpoint it is that I was so furious when Dad missed your twenty-first birthday party that when he finally got home with a leather purse for you, I told him I’d like to hit him over the head with it.”
On Saturday, Bernie’s mother could not stop sneezing. Her sinuses were beginning to ache, her throat was scratchy. She had to do something about it.
Bernard had let dust pile up in the basement, she just knew it. No question about it, that had to be it. Now the dust was filtering through the house.
She became angrier and more agitated by the minute. Finally, at two o’clock, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get down there and clean.
First she heaved the broom and shovel and mop into the basement. Then she filled a plastic bag with rags and cleanser and threw it down the stairs. It landed on the mop.
Finally Mama tied on her apron. She felt the bannister. It wasn’t that loose. It would hold her. She’d go slowly, a step at a time, and test each stair before she put her weight on it. She still didn’t know how she’d managed to fall so hard ten years ago. One minute she’d been starting down the stairs, the next she was in an ambulance.
Step by step, with infinite care, she descended. Well, I did it, she thought as she stepped on the basement floor. The toe of her shoe caught in the bag of rags and she fell heavily to the side, her left foot bending beneath her.
The sound of Mama’s ankle bone breaking resounded through the clammy basement.
55
After her mother went back to the inn, Meghan phoned Phillip at home. When he answered, she said, “I’m glad to get you. I thought you might be in New York or at one of your auctions today.”
“It’s been a rough week. I had to fire Victor yesterday afternoon.”
“Why?” Meg asked, distressed at this sudden twist of events. She needed Victor available while she was trying to tie him to the Petrovic recommendation. Suppose he left town? So far she didn’t have any proof, couldn’t go to the police with her suspicions about him. That would take time.
“He’s a slippery one, Meg. Been stealing our clients. Frankly, from one or two remarks your dad made just before he disappeared, I think he suspected that Victor was up to something.”
“So do I,” Meg said. “That’s why I’m calling. I think he might have sent out the Petrovic letter when Dad was away. Phillip, we don’t have any of Dad’s Daily Reminders with his business appointments. Are they in the office?”
“They should have been with the files you took home.”
“I wo
uld think so, but they’re not. Phillip, I’m trying to reach Annie’s mother. Like a fool I didn’t get her private number when I was out there. The Palomino Leather Goods Shop contacted her and then gave me directions to her house. I have an idea that Dad may not have been in the office when that letter about Petrovic went to Manning. It’s dated March 21st, isn’t it?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I’m onto something. Annie’s mother can verify it. I did reach the lawyer who came out here with her. He wouldn’t give me the number but said he’d contact her for me.”
She paused, then said, “Phillip, there’s something else. I think Dr. Williams and Helene Petrovic were involved, certainly while they worked together and maybe even before then. And if so, it’s possible he’s the man Petrovic’s neighbor saw visiting her apartment.
“Meg, that’s incredible. Do you have any proof?”
“Not yet, but I don’t think it will be hard to get.”
“Just be careful,” Phillip Carter warned her. “Williams is very well respected in medical circles. Don’t even mention his name until you can back up what you say.”
Frances Grolier phoned at quarter to three. “You wanted to talk to me, Meghan.”
“Yes. You told me the other day that you only used the Palomino code a couple of other times in all those years. Did you ever phone our house with that message?”
Grolier did not ask why Meg wanted to know. “Yes, I did. It was nearly seven years ago, on March 10th. Annie had been in a head-on collision and wasn’t expected to live. I’d tried the machine in the office, but as it turned out, it had been accidentally unplugged. I knew Edwin was in Connecticut and I had to reach him. He flew out that night and was here two weeks until Annie was out of danger.”
Meg thought of March 18th seven years ago, her twenty-first birthday. A black-tie dinner dance at Drumdoe. Her father’s phone call that afternoon. He had a virus and was too sick to get on the plane. Two hundred guests. Mac with Ginger, showing pictures of Kyle.
She’d spent the night trying to smile, trying not to show how bitterly disappointed she was that her father was not with her on this special night.
“Meghan?” Frances Grolier’s controlled voice at the other end of the phone was questioning.
“I’m sorry. Sorry about everything. What you’ve just told me is terribly important. It’s tied to so much of what’s happened.”
Meghan returned the receiver to its cradle, but held onto it for several minutes. Then she dialed Phillip. “Confirmation.” Quickly she explained what Frances Grolier had just told her.
“Meg, you’re a whiz,” Phillip told her.
“Phillip, there’s the bell. It must be Kyle. Mac is dropping him off. I asked him to bring something over for me.”
“Go ahead. And Meg, don’t talk about this until we get a complete picture to present to Dwyer’s office.”
“I won’t. Our assistant state attorney and his people don’t trust me anyhow. I’ll talk to you.”
* * *
Kyle came in smiling broadly.
Meghan bent down to kiss him.
“Never do that in front of my friends,” he warned.
“Why not?”
“Jimmy’s mother waits at the road and kisses him when he gets off the bus. Isn’t that disgusting?”
“Why did you let me kiss you?”
“It’s okay in private. Nobody saw us. You were kissing Dad last night.”
“He kissed me.”
“Did you like it?”
Meg considered. “Let’s just say that it wasn’t disgusting. Want some cookies and milk?”
“Yes, please. I brought the tape for you to watch. Why do you want to see it again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay. Dad said he’ll be about an hour. He had to pick up some stuff at the store.”
Meghan brought the plate of cookies and the glasses of milk into the den. Kyle sat on the floor at her feet; using the remote control, he once again started the tape of the Franklin Center interview. Meg’s heart started to pound. She asked herself, What is it I saw in this tape?
In the last scene in Dr. Williams’ office, when the camera panned over the pictures of the children born through in vitro fertilization, she found what she was looking for. She grabbed the remote from Kyle and snapped the Pause button.
“Meg, it’s almost over,” Kyle protested.
Meg stared at the picture of the little boy and girl with identical sweaters. She had seen the same picture on the wall of Helene Petrovic’s sitting room in Lawrenceville. “It is over, Kyle. I know the reason.”
The phone rang. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.
“I’ll rewind. I know how.”
It was Phillip Carter. “Meg, are you alone?” he asked quickly.
“Phillip! I just found confirmation that Helene Petrovic knew Dr. Williams. I think I know what she was doing at the Manning Clinic.”
It was as though he hadn’t heard her. “Are you alone?” he repeated.
“Kyle is in the den.”
“Can you drop him off at his house?” His voice was low, agitated.
“Mac’s out. I can leave him at the inn. Mother’s there. Phillip, what is it?”
Now Carter sounded unbelieving, near hysteria. “I just heard from Edwin! He wants to see both of us. He’s trying to decide if he should turn himself in. Meg, he’s desperate. Don’t let anyone know about this until we have a chance to see him.”
“Dad? Phoned you?” Meg gasped. Stunned, she grasped the corner of the desk for support. In a voice so shocked it was barely a whisper, she demanded, “Where is he? I’ve got to go to him.”
56
W hen Bernie’s mother regained consciousness, she tried to shout for help, but she knew none of the neighbors could hear her. She’d never make it up the stairs. She’d have to drag herself into Bernard’s TV area where there was a phone. It was all his fault for not keeping the place clean. Her ankle hurt so much. The pains were shooting up her leg. She opened her mouth and took big gulps of air. It was agony to drag herself along the dirty, rough concrete floor.
Finally she made her way into the alcove her son had fashioned for himself. Even with all the pain she was in, Mama’s eyes widened in amazed fury. That big television! Those radios! Those machines! What was Bernard doing, throwing away money on all these things?
The phone was on the old kitchen table that he’d carried in when one of their neighbors put it at the curb. She couldn’t reach it, so she pulled it down by the cord. It clattered on the floor.
Hoping she hadn’t broken it, Bernie’s mother dialed 911. At the welcome sound of a dispatcher’s voice, she said, “Send an ambulance.”
She was able to give her name and address and tell what had happened before she fainted again.
“Kyle,” Meg said hurriedly, “I’m going to have to leave you at the inn. I’ll put a note on the door for your dad. Just tell my mother that something came up, that I had to leave right away. You stay with her. No going outside, okay?”
“Why are you so worried, Meg?”
“I’m not. It’s a big story. I have to cover it.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
At the inn, Meg watched until Kyle had reached the front door. He waved and she waved back, forcing a smile. Then she put her foot on the accelerator.
She was meeting Phillip at a crossroads in West Redding, about twenty miles from Newtown. “You can follow me from there,” he had hurriedly told her. “It’s not far after that, but it would be impossible for you to find it alone.”
Meg did not know what to think. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts and confused emotions. Her mouth was so dry. Her throat simply would not swallow. Dad was alive and he was desperate! Why? Surely no because he was Helene Petrovic’s murderer. Please, dear God, anything but that.
When Meg found the intersection of the narrow country roads, Phillip’s black Cadillac was waiting. It was easy to spot hi
m. There was no other car in sight.
He did not take the time to speak to her but held up his hand and motioned for her to follow him. Half a mile later he turned sharply onto a narrow hard-packed dirt road. Fifty yards after that the road twisted through a wooded area and Meghan’s car vanished from the view of anyone driving past.
Victor Orsini had not been surprised by the showdown with Phillip Carter Friday afternoon. It had never been a question of if it would happen. The question for months had been when.
At least he had found what he needed before he lost access to the office. When he left Carter, he had driven directly to his house at Candlewood Lake, fixed himself a martini and sat where he could look over the water and consider what he ought to do.
The evidence he had was not enough alone and without corroboration, would not stand up in court. And in addition, how much could he tell them and still not reveal things that could hurt him?
He’d been with Collins and Carter nearly seven years, yet suddenly all that mattered was that first month. It was the linchpin connecting everything that had happened recently.
Victor had spent Friday evening weighing the pros and cons of going to the assistant state attorney and laying out what he thought had happened.
The next morning he jogged along the lake for an hour, a long healthy run that cleared his head and strengthened his resolve.
Finally, at two-thirty Saturday afternoon, he dialed the number Special Investigator Marron had given him. He half-expected that Marron might not be in his office on Saturday, but he answered on the first ring.
Victor identified himself. In the calm, reasoned voice that inspired confidence in clients and job candidates, he asked, “Would it be convenient if I stopped by in half an hour? I think I know who murdered Helene Petrovic . . .”
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