She dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Do you remember my friend Vera?”
“Vera?”
“She had a tremendous future ahead of her, and then she met this married man, and she got pregnant, and—”
“I remember,” Mom said.
“I wasn’t going to let that happen to Marla. I raised the idea of adoption. That if she wanted to have the baby, then have it, but let a proper family, with a mother and a father and the financial means, raise the child. But Marla would have none of it. She said if her child were put up for adoption, she’d track it down, try to get it back.”
Gently, Mom said, “Agnes, it was her decision to make.”
Agnes focused on the nap of the bedspread, ran a palm across it. Softly, she said, “I was coming to accept that. And then an opportunity presented itself. Jack . . . Dr. Sturgess told me about a friend of his, Bill Gaynor, who was also a patient. Bill’s wife, Rosemary, too. They’d been trying for a long time to have a baby, but it wasn’t possible. And when Rosemary had a hysterectomy, that was the end of it. They’d been trying to adopt, found the process long and difficult and frustrating. Jack said he had an idea, something that would solve not just their problem, and mine and Marla’s, but his, too.”
“His?” I asked.
“He owed money. A lot of money. He’s addicted. He gambles. It’s why his wife left him. He worked out a deal months in advance with Bill Gaynor. A hundred thousand dollars and he could get them a baby. Marla’s baby. With a proper birth certificate and everything. Gaynor knew the deal was underhanded, but he didn’t tell his wife just how underhanded. Jack made it all seem legit, but to protect the mother’s anonymity, he told Rosemary everyone had to believe the child really was hers; that was how it had to be. So for a few months, before . . . before it was done, she lived in Boston. So no one in Promise Falls would question why she’d never looked pregnant.”
“Where is this going, Agnes?” Mom asked. “What did you do?”
Agnes needed several seconds to find the words. “I let my daughter believe her child had died,” she said.
Mom pulled her hand away from Agnes’s. “My God.”
Agnes looked down. “I wish I could say that was the worst of it.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
DUCKWORTH went back to his desk, sat down, thought.
There was something not right about any of this. Marla gives birth to a child but has no real memory of the event. This happens at the exact same time Rosemary Gaynor gives birth to a bundle of joy.
Except Rosemary Gaynor didn’t give birth.
He looked through his notes, found a cell phone number for Bill Gaynor. He picked up the receiver on his landline and dialed.
The phone rang several times, then: “Yes?”
It was just one word, but the man sounded agitated. There was car noise in the background.
“It’s Detective Duckworth, Mr. Gaynor. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s . . . it’s okay. What is it?”
“A couple of things. This may sound like an odd question, but I’m just going over some timeline issues, and a few other things.”
“Okay,” he said tentatively.
“About Ms. Gaynor—I was wondering, did she have the baby in Promise Falls?”
A pause. “No, no, she did not. We were out of town at the time.”
“I see. Where was that? Was it Boston? Was the baby born at a hospital in Boston?”
“Well, actually, let me just correct myself about that. Rosemary had Matthew almost the moment we returned. But I’d been working out of the home office in Boston, and I didn’t want to leave Rosemary home alone at such a critical time in her pregnancy, so we had made arrangements with a hospital in Boston.”
“Which hospital was that?”
“Uh, let me think. It’ll come to me in a moment.”
“Was there one doctor in particular your wife was seeing in Boston?”
A pause. Then: “There were a few. I don’t remember all the names off the top of my head. But what I was getting to is, the baby was not actually born there. In Boston.”
“So Matthew was, in fact, born in Promise Falls?”
“Yes, exactly. But we were literally back here only minutes when it happened. It was on the drive home; we were almost to Albany, and Rose’s contractions started, and I called Dr. Sturgess and he met us as the house and wow, before you knew it, the baby was born.”
“Dr. Sturgess?” Duckworth asked.
“That’s right. Jack Sturgess. Our family physician. And he’s been a friend of mine for a long time. Good man.”
“Why didn’t the doctor tell you to go straight to the hospital? Wouldn’t that have been wiser?”
Another pause. It almost sounded as though Gaynor was talking to someone else in the car. “I’m sorry; you were breaking up a bit there. What was the question?”
“I said, wouldn’t it have made more sense to go to the hospital?”
“Well, in retrospect, I suppose so. But Rosemary really wanted to be home, and the doctor was already on his way, so . . . that’s what happened. Is there some sort of problem? I mean, I have a proper birth certificate for Matthew, signed by Dr. Sturgess.”
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Gaynor. Listen, it sounds like you’re on the road, and I don’t want you getting a ticket for talking on your cell. I’ll get back to you later today.”
“But I don’t understand the point of your questions. I’m happy to help if you’ll just enlighten me about—”
“No, that’s fine, Mr. Gaynor. I’ll be in touch.”
Duckworth hung up.
The lying son of a bitch.
He sat at his desk, staring at his computer monitor without actually seeing anything. Thought some more. So Dr. Sturgess was not only present for the delivery of Marla’s child, but Rosemary Gaynor’s, too. Even signed the birth certificate.
Except Rosemary Gaynor did not give birth.
He needed a coffee. He went into the station kitchen, poured a cup for himself, and when he returned Carlson was at his temporary desk, a cell phone to his ear. When he saw Duckworth he ended the call, put the phone away.
“Sorry,” Carlson said. “Just my mom.”
Not caring, Duckworth shrugged.
Carlson said, “I checked out all those things you wanted me to. Struck out on the squirrels. No one saw anything. And I couldn’t interview those Thackeray students. But I had some luck at Five Mountains. Found where someone cut a hole through the fence. The more I think about it, though, the whole day was a waste of time. No one gives a shit about dead squirrels, Thackeray’s security chief took care of that would-be rapist, and there was no real harm done at Five Mountains, except for a fence they have to fix, which they may not even bother to do, since they’re planning to sell off everything that’s there. If I’m going to work in this department, give me some real work to do.”
Duckworth slowly looked over at him.
“Oh,” Carlson said, “you got a call while you were questioning that Pickens woman. Harwood? David Harwood?”
“He called?”
“Yeah. Total asshole.”
“What’d he want?”
“He said the Pickens woman didn’t do it. Didn’t kill the Gaynor woman. Said we’d made a big mistake.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I just did tell you. Right now. You were gone, and I went for coffee, and now I’m back, and I’m telling you.”
Duckworth looked through his notebook again, found David Harwood’s number. He was pretty sure it was his cell, not a home number.
He made the call.
It rang twice, and then: “Yes?”
“Mr. Harwood? Detective Duckworth here. You were trying to reach me?”
“Marla didn’t do it,” Harwood said. “Sarita Gomez, the Gaynors’ nanny? Well, she didn’t do it, either, but she was the one who took the baby to Marla’s house. Because Matthew really is Marla’s baby.�
�
“How do you know this?”
“Because I found Sarita, and she told me, and she’s with me right now.”
“And where the hell is that?” Duckworth asked.
SIXTY-NINE
David
“MY parents’ house,” I told Detective Duckworth. “I think you know where that is.” He had, after all, been here a few years ago when I was having my other troubles.
I put the phone away and said to Agnes, “Sorry. The police are coming.”
“Of course they are,” she said wearily.
“You said that you wished deceiving Marla had been the worst of it,” I said. “What could be worse than that?”
“I can answer that,” my mother said. “The lie was just the beginning. It was the aftermath. Look what you did to her. Look what you did to your child.”
Agnes mumbled something.
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“I thought it was the right thing to do. I was trying to look out for her. I was trying to give Marla a future.”
“By driving her mad? Agnes, she tried to steal a baby. You did that to her.”
“I know.”
Mom shook her head slowly, not taking her eyes off her sister. Agnes was still running her palm across the bedspread, studying the nap, but I was betting she could feel my mother’s eyes boring into her.
“You’ve always been hard, Agnes,” she said, “but I never knew you were a monster.”
I said, “But that’s not what you were referring to, is it, Agnes? When you said there were even worse things.”
Her head turned slightly my way. “Jack—Dr. Sturgess—had matters he had to deal with. When things started to unravel. Actions he had to take.”
“Like Rosemary Gaynor,” I said. “Did Sturgess kill her?”
Agnes shifted around so she could look at me directly. “No, he wouldn’t have done that. He . . . would never have done that. It doesn’t fit . . . It’s unthinkable.”
“All of this is unthinkable,” I said. “But Sarita had figured out what happened, and she told Rosemary.” I looked at Sarita. “Isn’t that right?”
She nodded. “I told her. She said she didn’t believe me, but I think she did.”
I continued. “Rosemary had to realize Matthew wasn’t a baby someone willingly gave up. The adoption was bogus. If she came forward, if she started asking questions, if it came out with what Dr. Sturgess had done, he’d be finished. He’d go to jail. You think he wouldn’t do whatever he had to?”
Agnes shook her head adamantly. “No . . .”
“If not Rosemary, then what are you talking about?”
“There was a man—he tried to blackmail Gaynor. Today.”
Sarita breathed in. “Marshall. I told him not to do it. I told him—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Agnes said. “Jack . . . dealt with him.”
Sarita put her hands to her mouth. “No, no, no.”
Agnes glanced at her. “Was he your boyfriend? He shouldn’t have done it. He was the author of his own misfortune. And . . . I believe there may have been someone else. An old lady.” A strange calm seemed to be coming over her. “It’s all over. Everything is over.”
There was a hard knock at the front door that we could all hear upstairs.
“Duckworth,” I said. “That was fast.”
“I’ll go,” Dad said, and slipped out of the room.
“You’re going to go to jail,” Mom said.
“Yes,” Agnes said. “Probably for a long time.” Then, almost wistfully: “Or maybe not.”
“I don’t see how Marla can ever forgive you. I know if it were me, I couldn’t.”
Agnes said nothing.
I walked over to Sarita, put a hand on each shoulder, and let her lean up against me. She was crying.
So much misery in one room.
Downstairs, I heard the front door open.
Agnes said to Sarita, “You’ll tell them?”
Sarita, half shielded by my shoulder, looked at my aunt and said, “I will tell them everything.”
Agnes’s face looked like it would crack when she smiled. “Thank you for that.”
It sounded like there was a heated discussion going on at the front door. I thought I heard Dad say, “Fuck you.”
Not the sort of thing I’d have expected Dad to say to a Promise Falls detective.
“Hang on,” I said, letting go of Sarita and heading for the bedroom door. As I came into the hall, I became aware of something in the air, as if someone were burning leaves or brush in the neighborhood. Then I saw two heads coming up the stairs. Dad in the lead, and Jack Sturgess just behind him. Sturgess’s left hand was gripped around my father’s right arm. In his right hand was the syringe I’d glimpsed before. He was holding the tip of the needle about an inch away from Dad’s neck.
“Agnes!” Sturgess said. “You in there?”
From inside the bedroom, Agnes said, “Jack?”
“Thought that was your car out front.” Sturgess and Dad had reached the top of the stairs. I stood, frozen, my eyes on the needle.
“It’s going to be okay, Dad,” I said. “Put the needle down,” I told the doctor.
Agnes appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Jack, Jesus Christ.”
Sturgess could see into the room. Saw Sarita, Mom on the bed. “What have you told them?” he asked Agnes.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Agnes said.
“It’s over,” I told him. “It’s all coming out.”
Sturgess’s eyes seemed to dance, as though he were trying to focus on a swarm of fireflies. The needle wavered by my father’s neck.
“Where’s the baby?” Agnes asked. “Is Matthew okay?”
“Outside, in the car, with his father,” the doctor said, stressing the last word. “His legal father.”
“What’s Gaynor doing?” I asked. “Waiting for you to come in here and kill the lot of us? How many needles you got? You think you can kill everyone here? Is that your plan? Because there’s more than just us. The police know, too.”
“Shut up,” he said. “Think you’re smart, but not smart enough to hide your fucking car.”
He had me there. He knew Mom’s Taurus from tailing me minutes earlier, and leaving it out front wasn’t the brightest thing I’d done today.
“Put the needle down,” Agnes told him. “You’re not hurting Don.”
I could see the fear in Dad’s eyes. He was frozen, scared to make any kind of fast move for fear that needle would be driven straight into him. We didn’t have to know what was in it. We knew Sturgess wasn’t giving out flu shots.
“We have to make a deal,” Sturgess said. “Everyone stays quiet, and I won’t kill him.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, it would have been laughable. “The police are already on their way,” I told him. “There aren’t any deals to be made.”
Sturgess tightened his grip on my father. Moved the needle a few millimeters closer to his neck.
“Then the old man comes with me. I need time. I need time to get away.”
I decided to stick with my best argument. “The police will be here before you hit the front door.”
“No,” Sturgess said. “They’re not coming. That’s bullshit. We’re leaving.”
He started to back up, carefully pulling my father with me.
“Don!” Mom cried from her spot on the bed. “Please don’t take him!”
With all that was going on, I almost hadn’t noticed that whatever it was I’d smelled in the hallway a minute ago was getting worse. I had a pretty good idea what it was.
“I’m serious,” I said. “Detective Duckworth called me a few minutes ago. He’s on his way here.”
Sturgess yanked even harder on Dad’s arm. “Then I guess we’d better go, old—”
The alarm was deafening. The high-pitched squeal went straight to my eardrums.
It had to be the smoke detector in the living room, the one outside the door to th
e kitchen. There was already smoke drifting up from the first floor.
I glanced back at my mother, who appeared to mouth the words “pork chops.”
SEVENTY
David
DAD must have figured this was his only chance.
While Sturgess was briefly distracted and overwhelmed by the wailing of the smoke detector, Dad wrenched his arm free and bolted—almost fell—in my direction.
Sturgess lurched after Dad, but I managed to get between them, reaching with both hands for the arm that had the syringe. I grabbed hold of his forearm and slammed it up against the wall, but the syringe didn’t fly out of his hand the way I’d hoped it would.
“Drop it!” I yelled.
His left hand reached over to try to take the syringe from his right. I shoved my body up against his, tried to roll over the front of him, block his free arm.
A knee came up out of nowhere and drove hard into my crotch, taking my breath away. The pain was excruciating, and for a second I lost my grip on Sturgess’s right arm. I stumbled back.
Madly he swung the syringe through the air as though it were a knife. I was jumping back and out of his way as we moved toward the stairs.
Dad came up behind Sturgess and kicked him in the back of his right thigh. The doctor dropped to the floor. I noticed that the syringe was no longer in his hand, but in the confusion I had lost sight of where it had gone.
“You son of a bitch!” Dad shouted.
I took advantage of Sturgess while he was down on one knee, and aimed a kick at his chest. I failed to catch him directly, and only knocked him off balance. His shoulder went into the wall. As I closed in on him, he pushed himself off and tackled me around the knees.
I went down.
More smoke began to billow its way upstairs. If those pork chops Mom had left untended on the stove were kicking up some flame, it was a safe bet that the overhanging cabinets and curtain at the window next to the stove were already ablaze.
Sturgess scrambled on top of me, straddled me so that he was sitting on my stomach, and drove a fist at my head. I turned my face away, felt the fist graze my left ear.
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