She loved jewelry. It was hard to pass the L. Crown boutique in the lobby without looking in the showcase. It used to be that when she bought something that caught her eye she’d worry that one day Allan would come out of his dreamworld and ask to see the bankbook. He believed she was putting the bulk of the trust fund money in a savings account. Now she didn’t have that worry, and between Allan’s life insurance and the trust fund, he’d left her in great shape. When that damn house in Clinton sold, she was going to treat herself to an emerald necklace. Trouble was, a lot of people were squeamish about buying a house where someone had been murdered. She’d already reduced the selling price twice.
This morning she was debating about what to give Edwin for his birthday. Well, she still had two weeks to make up her mind.
The door opened. Karen forced a welcoming smile as Anne Webster came in. Now I’ll hear how she didn’t sleep well last night but got her usual nap on the train, she thought.
“Good morning, Karen. My, don’t you look lovely. Is that another new dress?”
“Yes, I just got it yesterday.” Karen couldn’t resist telling the designer’s name. “It’s a Scaasi.”
“It looks it.” Anne sighed and brushed back a strand of gray hair that had escaped from the braid that circled the top of her head. “My, I’m feeling my age this morning. Awake half the night and then, as usual, dead asleep on the train. I was sitting next to Ed Anderson, my next-door neighbor. He always calls me the sleeping beauty and says that someday I’ll wake up in the freight yard.”
Karen laughed with her. My God, how many times more do I have to hear the sleeping beauty story? she thought. Only three weeks, she promised herself. The day we close the deal, Anne Webster will be history.
On the other hand . . . This time she gave Anne a genuinely warm smile. “You are a sleeping beauty!”
They chuckled together.
89
BRENDON MOODY was watching when, at quarter of ten, Connie Santini, the secretary, came in and Karen Grant left the travel agency office. Something was bothering him about Anne Webster’s account of the evening she had spent with Karen Grant at Newark Airport. He had talked to Webster a week ago, and today he wanted to talk to her again. He walked over to the agency. As he opened the door, he attempted to plaster on his face the smile of a casual visitor. “Good morning, Mrs. Webster. I was passing this way and thought I’d drop by. You’re looking well. It’s good to see you again. I was afraid that by now you’d be retired.”
“How nice of you to remember, Mr. Moody. No, I decided to wait and have the closing in mid-August. Frankly right now business is really picking up and I sometimes wonder if I should have held off selling. But then when I get up in the morning and rush for a train and leave my husband reading the papers over coffee, I say, enough’s enough.”
“Well, you and Karen Grant certainly know how to give custom service,” Moody commented as he sank into a chair. “Remember you told me that the night Professor Grant died, you and Karen were at Newark Airport? Not too many travel agents will personally go to the airport to meet even the very best client.”
Anne Webster looked pleased at the compliment. “The lady we met is quite elderly,” she said. “She loves to travel and usually has a contingent of friends and relatives with her, at her expense. Last year we booked her and eight others at full first-class fare on a round-the-world cruise. The night we met her, she had cut short a trip and returned alone because she wasn’t feeling well. Her chauffeur happened to be away, so we volunteered to pick her up at the airport. It’s little enough to do to keep her happy. Karen drove and I sat in back talking to her.”
“The plane arrived at nine-thirty, as I remember,” Brendon said casually.
“No. It was supposed to arrive at nine-thirty. We got to the airport at nine. The flight had been delayed in London. They said it would get in at ten, so we went to the VIP Lounge.”
Brendon consulted his notes. “Then, according to your statement, it did arrive at ten.”
Anne Webster looked embarrassed. “I was wrong. I thought about it later and realized it was nearly twelve-thirty.”
“Twelve-thirty!”
“Yes. When we reached the lounge they said that the computers were down and there would be that long a delay. But Karen and I were watching a film on the TV in the lounge, so the time passed very quickly.”
“I’ll bet it did.” The secretary laughed. “Now Mrs. Webster, you know you probably slept through the whole thing.”
“I certainly did not,” Anne Webster said indignantly. “They had Spartacus on. That was my favorite movie years ago, and now they’ve restored the footage that had been cut out. I never closed an eye.”
Moody let it go. “Karen Grant has a friend Edwin who’s a travel writer, doesn’t she?” He did not miss the expression on the secretary’s face, the tightened lips. She was the one he wanted to question when she was alone.
“Mr. Moody, a woman in business meets many men. She may have lunch or dinner with them, and it does offend me that in this day and age anyone can read anything improper in their meetings.” Anne Webster was adamant. “Karen Grant is an attractive, hardworking young woman. She was married to a brilliant professor who understood her need to carve out her own life. He had an independent income and was extremely generous to her. She always talked about Allan in the most glowing terms. Her relationships with other men were totally on the up-and-up.”
Connie Santini’s desk was behind and to the right of Webster’s. Catching Brendon’s glance, she raised her eyes to heaven in the classic expression of total disbelief.
90
THE JULY 8 staff meeting at the clinic was almost over. There was only one patient left to discuss—Laurie Kenyon. As Justin Donnelly well knew, her case was the one that had engrossed everyone.
“We’re making breakthroughs,” he said. “Maybe even significant breakthroughs to what happened to her in those missing two years. The problem is that we don’t have enough time. Laurie will go home this afternoon and will be an outpatient from now on. In a few weeks she’ll go to court and plead guilty to manslaughter. The deadline from the prosecutor on the plea offer to manslaughter expires then.”
The room was quiet. In addition to Dr. Donnelly, there were four others at the conference table: two psychiatrists, the art therapist, and the journal therapist. Kathie, the journal therapist, shook her head. “Doctor, it doesn’t matter which alter personality writes in the journal, not one of them admits killing Allan Grant.”
“I know that,” Justin said. “I’ve asked Laurie to let us take her to Grant’s house in Clinton to act out what happened that night. She certainly gave us a vivid picture of being in that rocking chair on someone’s lap during abreaction, but she’s stonewalling me on doing the same thing with Grant’s death.”
“Which suggests that neither she nor her alters want to remember what happened there?”
“Possibly.”
“Doctor, her recent drawings have been much more detailed when she does the stick figure of a woman. Look at these.” Pat, the art therapist, passed some of them around. “Now they really look as though the figure of the woman is wearing a pendant of some sort. Will she talk about that?”
“No. All she says is that’s it’s clear she’s no artist.”
* * *
When Laurie came to Justin’s office an hour later, she was wearing a pale pink linen jacket and pleated white skirt. Sarah was with her and acknowledged Justin’s compliment on the outfit with quiet pleasure. “It caught my eye when I was shopping last night,” she explained, “and this is an important day.”
“Freedom,” Laurie said quietly, “brief, frightening, but still welcome.”
Then Laurie unexpectedly said, “Maybe it’s about time I tried your couch, Doctor.”
Justin tried to sound offhand. “Be my guest. Any reason why today?”
She kicked off her shoes and stretched out. “Maybe it’s just that I’m so comfortable with yo
u two, and I feel like my old self in this new outfit, plus it will be nice to see the house again before we move.” She hesitated. “Sarah tells me that after I plead guilty I’ll have about six weeks before sentencing. The prosecutor has agreed to consent before the judge to my remaining free on bail till the sentence. I know that the minute I’m sentenced I have to go to prison, so I’m going to have a wonderful time for those six weeks. We’re going to play golf and we’re going to fix up the condominium so I’ll be able to think about it while I’m away.”
“I hope you’re not going to forget to come in for your sessions with me, Laurie.”
“Oh no. We’ll come in every day. It’s just that there’s so much I want to do. I’m dying to drive again. I used to love driving. Gregg has a new convertible. I’m going golfing with him next week.” She smiled. “It’s nice to look forward to going out with him and not be afraid that he’ll hurt me. That’s why I’m able to lie down. I know you won’t hurt me either.”
“No, I won’t,” Justin said. “Are you in love with Gregg, Laurie?”
She shook her head. “That’s too strong. I’m too mixed up to love anybody, at least the way you mean. But the first step is just enjoying being with someone, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Laurie, could I speak to Kate?”
“If you want.” She sounded indifferent.
For weeks now, Justin had not had to hypnotize Laurie to summon the alter personalities. Now Laurie sat up, thrust back her shoulders, narrowed her eyes. “What is it this time, Doctor?” It was Kate’s voice they were hearing.
“Kate, I’m a bit troubled,” Justin said. “I want Laurie to make her peace with herself and with everything that happened, but not until the whole truth has come out. She’s burying it deeper, isn’t she?”
“Doctor, I am getting thoroughly sick of you! Can’t you get it straight? She’s willing to take her medicine. She swore she’d never sleep in the house again, but now she’s looking forward to going back to it. She knows that her parents’ death was a terrible accident and not her fault. That guy in the service station where she had the appointment to have her car checked had hairy arms. It wasn’t her fault he scared the bejesus out of her. She really understands that. Aren’t you ever satisfied?”
“Hey, Kate, all along you’ve known the reason Laurie broke that appointment to have her car inspected, yet you never told me. Why are you telling me now?”
Sarah thought of Sam, the attendant at the service station in town. She’d just filled the car with gas there yesterday. Sam had started work at the end of last summer. He was a big guy with thick arms. Yesterday he’d been wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and she’d noticed that even the backs of his hands were covered by a mass of thick curly hair.
Kate shrugged. “I’m telling you because I’m tired of keeping secrets. Besides, the wimp will be safe in prison.”
“Safe from what? Safe from whom?” Justin asked urgently. “Kate, don’t do this to her. Tell us what you know.”
“I know that while she’s out they can get to her. She can’t escape and she knows it too. If she doesn’t go to prison soon, they’ll make it happen.”
“Who threatened her? Kate, please.” Justin was cajoling, pleading.
She shook her head. “Doctor, I’m tired of telling you that I don’t know everything and the kid who does isn’t going to talk to you. He’s the smart one. You wear me out.”
Sarah watched as the aggressive look faded from Laurie’s features, as she slipped down and stretched out again on the couch, as her eyes closed and her breathing became even again.
“Kate isn’t going to be around much longer,” Justin whispered to Sarah. “For some reason she’ll feel her job is done. Sarah, look at these.” He held out Laurie’s drawings. “See this stick figure. Do you make anything of this necklace she’s wearing?”
Sarah frowned. “It looks familiar. I feel as though I’ve seen it.”
“Compare these two,” Justin said. “They’re the most detailed of the batch. You see how the center seems to be oval-shaped and set in a square with brilliants. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I wonder. . .” Sarah said. “My mother had some nice pieces of jewelry. They’re all in the safe-deposit box. One of them is a pendant. It has small diamonds all around the center stone—what is it—an aquamarine . . . no, it’s not that. I can see it. . . it’s—”
“Don’t say that word. That’s a forbidden word.” The command was spoken in a young, alarmed but sturdy boyish voice. Laurie was sitting up, staring intently at Sarah.
“What’s a forbidden word?” Justin asked.
“Don’t say it.” The boyish voice coming from Laurie’s lips was part pleading, part commanding.
“You’re the little boy who came to talk to us last month,” Justin said. “We still don’t know your name.”
“It’s not allowed to say names.”
“Well, maybe it’s forbidden for you, but Sarah can. Sarah, do you remember the stone that was in the center of your mother’s pendant?”
“It was an opal,” Sarah said quietly.
“What does opal mean to you?” Justin demanded, turning to Laurie.
On the couch, Laurie shook her head. Her expression became her own. She looked puzzled. “Did I drop off? I’m suddenly so sleepy. What did you ask me? Opal? Well, that’s a gemstone, of course. Sarah, didn’t Mama have a pretty opal pendant?”
91
AS ALWAYS, Opal felt the tension building inside her as they passed the sign that read ENTERING RIDGEWOOD. We look totally different, she assured herself, smoothing down the skirt of her navy-and-white print dress, a conservatively cut outfit with a V neck, long sleeves and a narrow belt. With it she wore navy shoes and a matching purse. Her only jewelry was a single strand of pearls and her wedding ring. She’d had her hair trimmed and colored a few hours ago. Now every ash blond strand was coiffed sleekly against her head. Large, blue-tinted sunglasses covered her eyes and subtly redefined the contours of her face.
“You look real classy, Carla,” Bic had said approvingly before they left the Wyndham. “Don’t worry. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Lee will recognize you. And what do you think of me?”
He was dressed in a crisp, white, long-sleeved shirt, a tan, single-breasted summer suit, and a tan-and-white tie with flecks of brown. His hair was now completely silver. Even though he’d let it grow a little longer, he had it combed back so that there was no suggestion of the wavy curls that he’d been so proud of in the early days. He’d also shaved the hair from the backs of his hands. He was very much the image of a distinguished clergyman.
Their car turned into Twin Oaks Road. “That used to be the pink house,” Bic said sarcastically as he pointed. “Try not to refer to it again, and don’t call the little girl Lee. Call her Laurie when you speak to her, which shouldn’t be much at all.”
Opal wanted to remind Bic that he was the one who had referred to her as Lee on the program, but she didn’t dare. Instead she went over the few words she would exchange with Laurie when they came face to face with her.
There were three cars in the driveway. One they recognized as belonging to the housekeeper. The second, a BMW, was Sarah’s. But the third, an Oldsmobile with New York plates—whose car was that?
“There’s someone visiting,” Bic said. “That might be the Lord’s way of providing us with a witness who can testify that Lee met us, should the need arise.”
It was just five o’clock. The afternoon sun’s slanting rays brightened sections of the deep green lawn and glistened through the brilliant blue hydrangeas that bordered the sides of the house.
Bic pulled into the driveway. “We’ll just stay a minute even if they encourage us to linger.”
It was the last thing on Sarah’s mind to encourage the Hawkinses to linger. She and Laurie and Justin were sitting in the den, and a smiling Sophie, having embraced Laurie for a full minute, was making tea.
While Laurie was packin
g her bags, Justin had surprised Sarah by suggesting he accompany them.
“I think it might be wise for me to be with you when Laurie gets home,” he explained. “I don’t necessarily anticipate an adverse reaction, but she hasn’t been there in five months, and a lot of memories are going to come flooding in. We can swing by my apartment building in your car, I’ll pick up mine and follow you out.”
“And you also want to be there to see if you can catch any breakthroughs,” Sarah had added.
“That too.”
“Actually, I’d be glad if you’d come. I think I’m as frightened as Laurie is of this homecoming.”
Unconsciously Sarah had stretched out her hand, and Justin had taken it. “Sarah, when Laurie begins serving that sentence, I want you to promise that you’ll get some counseling yourself. Don’t worry. Not from me. I’m sure you don’t want that. But it’s going to be rough.”
For an instant, feeling the warmth of his hand closing over hers, Sarah had felt less afraid of everything—of Laurie’s reaction to being at home, of the day in court next week when she would stand next to Laurie and hear her plead guilty to manslaughter.
When the doorbell rang, Sarah was especially grateful to have Justin there. Laurie, who had happily showed the doctor around the house, suddenly looked alarmed. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
Sophie muttered, “Ten to one it’s that pair.”
Sarah bit her lip in exasperation. God, these people were getting to be omnipresent. She could hear Reverend Hawkins explaining to Sophie that they had been looking for a box containing important papers and realized it had been mistakenly included in the things they’d shipped to New Jersey. “If I could just run down to the basement and get it, we’d be so grateful,” he said.