Had they killed her and taken her out in that coffin?
Oh, God, no, no, please!
“Neil, he may have spotted us. He’s turning around and coming back.”
Neil made an instant decision. “Dad, you follow him. Call the police. I’m staying here.”
Before his father could protest, Neil had jumped out of the car.
The Jaguar raced past them. “Go,” Neil shouted. “Go!”
Robert Stephens executed a precarious U-turn and pressed down on the accelerator.
Neil began to run. A sense of urgency so profound that it permeated every nerve ending in his body made him race onto the construction site.
The moonlight illumined the muddy, bulldozed acreage. He could see that trees had been felled, undergrowth cleared, paths staked out. And graves dug. Scattered, the holes yawned all around the area, seemingly at random, next to some of them, great piles of clay.
The cleared area seemed huge, extending almost as far as he could see. Was Maggie here somewhere? Had Payne been insane enough to dump the casket with her inside it in one of those open graves and then cover it with earth?
Yes, clearly he was that insane.
Neil began to crisscross the site, shouting Maggie’s name. At one open grave, he slipped, tumbled into it, and wasted precious minutes trying to get a toehold to scramble out. But even then he kept shouting, “Maggie . . . Maggie . . . Maggie . . .”
* * *
Was she dreaming? Maggie forced her eyes open. She was so tired. It was too much effort. She just wanted to sleep.
She couldn’t move her hand anymore. It was so stiff and swollen. She couldn’t scream anymore, but that didn’t matter. There was no one to hear her.
Maggie . . . Maggie . . . Maggie . . .
She thought she heard her name. It sounded like Neil’s voice. But it was too late.
She tried to call out, but no sound came from her throat. There was only one thing she could try. With painful effort she grasped her left hand with the fingers of her right hand and forced it up and down, up and down . . .
Vaguely she sensed from the tugging of the string that the bell must be moving.
Maggie . . . Maggie . . . Maggie . . .
Again she thought she heard her name being called, only it seemed fainter, and so very far away . . .
* * *
Neil was sobbing now. She was here. Maggie was here! He was sure of it! He could feel her presence. But where? Where was she? Was it too late? He had gone over almost all of the bulldozed area. She might be buried under any one of those mounds of dirt. It would take machines to dig through them, to move them. There were so many.
He was running out of time. And so was she. He could sense it.
“Maggie . . . Maggie . . .”
He stopped and looked around despairingly. Suddenly he noticed something.
The night was still. There wasn’t even enough breeze to stir a leaf. But over in the far corner of the lot, almost hidden by one of the giant piles of soil, something was glistening in the moonlight. And it was moving.
A bell. Moving back and forth. Someone was trying to signal from the grave. Maggie!
Running, stumbling around open pits, Neil reached the bell and saw that it was attached to a pipe, its opening almost packed with mud.
With his hands he began to claw at the dirt around it, claw and dig and sob.
As he watched, the bell stopped moving.
* * *
Chief Brower and Detective Haggerty were in the police car when the call from Robert Stephens was relayed to them. “Two of our guys have picked up the chase on the Jaguar,” the dispatcher said. “But Stephens thinks that the missing woman may have been buried on that outdoor museum site.”
“We’re almost there,” Brower said. “Dispatch an ambulance and emergency equipment out here now. With luck we’ll need both.” He leaned forward. “Turn on the siren,” he ordered.
When they arrived, they found Neil, using his hands like shovels, digging and clawing at the wet clay. An instant later, Brower and Haggerty were beside him, their powerful hands joining in the effort, digging, digging, digging.
Under the surface the soil became looser, less packed. Finally they reached the satiny wood. Neil jumped down into the hole, scraping dirt off the surface of the casket and hurling it away. Finally he yanked out the clogged air vent and brushed the entry site clear.
Sliding to the side of the wide grave, he got his fingers under the casket lid and with a superhuman effort yanked it partially open. He held it that way with his left shoulder as he reached in, grabbed Maggie’s limp body, and lifted it up to the eager hands reaching down from above.
As her face brushed his, he saw that her lips were moving and then heard her faint whisper, “Neil . . . Neil . . .”
“I’m here, love,” he said, “and I’ll never let you go.”
Sunday, October 13th
93
FIVE DAYS LATER, MAGGIE AND NEIL WENT TO LATHAM Manor to say good-bye to Mrs. Bainbridge.
“We’ll be up for Thanksgiving weekend with Neil’s parents,” Maggie said, “but I couldn’t leave without seeing you now.”
Letitia Bainbridge’s eyes were sparkling. “Oh, Maggie, you don’t know how we prayed that you’d be all right.”
“I think I do,” Maggie assured her. “And your caring enough to let Neil know about the bell I’d found on Nuala’s grave may have saved my life.”
“That was the clincher,” Neil agreed. “It led to my being sure that Liam Payne was involved. If I hadn’t followed him, it would have been too late.”
He and Maggie were sitting side by side in Mrs. Bainbridge’s apartment. He put his hand over Maggie’s, unwilling yet to have her beyond his reach, still living the nightmare of searching for her.
“Has everybody pretty well settled down here?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, I think so. We’re more resilient than you’d think. I understand the Prestige people have arranged to buy the residence.”
“Liam Payne will need a lot of the money he killed for to pay his lawyers, and I hope they don’t do him any good,” Neil said forcefully. “His girlfriend too, although she’s going to end up with a public defender. Realistically, I don’t think either one of them stands a chance of escaping conviction on multiple murder charges. I understand that Odile has confessed to deliberately switching medicines on orders from Liam.”
Maggie thought of Nuala and Greta Shipley, and of the women whom she had not known, all of whose lives Liam and Odile had cut short. At least I helped to stop them from killing again, she consoled herself.
“And they shouldn’t get off, either,” Mrs. Bainbridge said severely. “Were Janice Norton and her nephew Douglas involved in these deaths?”
“No,” Neil said. “Chief Brower told us that he believes that Hansen and Mrs. Norton were just involved with Liam’s scheme to swindle applicants to the residence. Even Odile didn’t know what they were up to. And Janice Norton had no idea that her nephew was working through Liam Payne. They’re up on fraud charges, not murder.”
“According to Chief Brower, Odile can’t talk fast enough, trying to get some sort of clemency,” Maggie said soberly. “She and Liam became involved when she worked in his former brokerage firm, just when he was buying this place. She had told Liam about what happened to Dr. Lane at the last nursing home, and when Liam proposed this scheme to her, she jumped at it. Dr. Lane simply isn’t a good doctor, so he was the perfect person to put in charge. Zelda Markey is a pretty lonely person. Odile made a friend of her and was able to remove herself from ever being connected to the deaths.”
“She was always chatting with Nurse Markey,” Letitia Bainbridge said, nodding.
“And pumping her for information. Odile dropped out of nursing school, but it wasn’t because she failed her courses. She knew exactly what drugs to combine to cause heart failure. Apparently several women whom Liam had targeted escaped only because Nurse Markey was so solicitous. Odi
le claims she begged Liam not to make her tamper with Mrs. Rhinelander’s medication, but he was too greedy. By then Nuala had decided to go into the manor provided she could have a two-bedroom unit.”
“Was it Connie Rhinelander’s death that made Nuala suspicious?” Mrs. Bainbridge asked sadly.
“Yes, and then when she found that bell on Mrs. Rhinelander’s grave, she apparently began to be sure that something terrible was going on at the residence. She must have asked some very pointed questions of Nurse Markey, who innocently reported them to Odile.”
“And Odile warned Liam,” Maggie said. Oh, Finnuala, she thought.
Bainbridge’s lips tightened. “Squire Moore’s god was money. I remember my father saying Moore actually bragged that it was more interesting to cheat someone out of it than make it honestly. Obviously Liam Payne is cut from the same evil cloth.”
“I would say so,” Neil agreed. “Liam was an excellent investment broker for the clients he didn’t cheat. Fortunately both Mrs. Gebhart and Mrs. Arlington should be able to reclaim the money they entrusted to him from Payne’s personal assets.”
“One last thing,” Maggie said. “Odile took that sketch Nuala and Mrs. Shipley had made. One of the maids had seen it and joked about it. Odile knew it could get people thinking.”
“I’m glad Dr. Lane wasn’t involved in all this.” Letitia Bainbridge sighed. “Oh, I must tell you. Our new director arrived yesterday. He seems very pleasant and comes highly recommended. He doesn’t have Dr. Lane’s charm, but we can’t have everything, can we? His wife is a refreshing change from Odile, although she has a rather braying laugh.”
It was time to leave. They would drive in tandem back to New York.
“We’ll visit you when we get back up here in November,” Maggie promised as she bent to kiss Letitia Bainbridge’s cheek.
“I’m already looking forward to it,” Mrs. Bainbridge said briskly, then sighed. “You are so pretty, Maggie, and so nice and so smart. You’re everything a grandmother would want for her grandson.” She looked at Neil. “You take good care of her.”
“He did save my life.” Maggie smiled. “He has to get some points for that.”
Fifteen minutes later they were ready to leave for New York. Her station wagon was already packed in her driveway. The house was locked up. For a moment, Maggie stood looking at it, remembering that night only two weeks ago, when she had arrived.
“It’ll be fun to come up here on vacations and weekends, won’t it?” she said.
Neil put his arm around her. “You’re sure it won’t hold too many bad memories?”
“No.” She inhaled deeply. “Not as long as you’re around to dig me up when I need help.”
Then she laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. Gallows humor has gotten me through some pretty bad times.”
“From now on, that will be my job,” Neil said as he opened the door of the station wagon for her. “Now remember, don’t speed,” he cautioned. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“You sound like your father,” Maggie said. Then she added, “And I like that just fine.”
Books by Mary Higgins Clark
Moonlight Becomes You
Silent Night
Let Me Call You Sweetheart
The Lottery Winner
Remember Me
I’ll Be Seeing You
All Around the Town
Loves Music, Loves to Dance
The Anastasia Syndrome and Other Stories
While My Pretty One Sleeps
Weep No More, My Lady
Stillwatch
A Cry in the Night
The Cradle Will Fall
A Stranger Is Watching
Where Are the Children?
Published by POCKET BOOKS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc.
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Copyright © 1996 by Mary Higgins Clark
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ISBN: 0-671-86711-3
ISBN 13: 978-0-7432-0624-2 (eBook)
First Pocket Books printing May 1997
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Cover art by Tom Hallman
Mary Higgins Clark, Moonlight Becomes You
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