“No, I’m still looking at property. But I guess I won’t be seeing you around, since now you can get back to solving real crimes. Good-bye.”
Sam watched Amory get into the elevator. Another one who thinks he’s intellectually superior to an investigator, he thought. Well, let’s just wait and see. Sam could feel his nerves fraying as he walked back across the lobby. Whether or not Laura’s disappearance is a publicity stunt, the fact still remains that five women from the lunch table are dead.
He had been hoping Jean would get back before he left, so he was delighted to see her standing at the front desk. He hurried to her side, anxious to hear about her meeting with the lawyer.
She was asking about messages. Always afraid she’ll get another fax about Lily, Sam thought. And who can blame her? He put his hand on her arm. When she turned, he could see that her eyes looked as if she might have been crying. “Buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered.
“A cup of tea would be great.”
“Ms. Sachs, when Mr. Zarro returns, please ask him to join us in the coffee shop,” Sam said to the room clerk.
In the coffee shop he waited until Jean’s tea and his coffee had been served before he spoke again. It seemed to him that Jean was still trying to regain her composure. Finally he said, “I gather it didn’t go well with the attorney Craig Michaelson.”
“It did and it didn’t,” Jean said slowly. “Sam, I would stake my life that Michaelson handled the adoption and may know where Lily is now. I was rude to him. I practically threatened him. On the way back here I pulled the car over to the side of the road and called to apologize to him. I also pointed out that if he does know where she is, she might remember where she lost her hairbrush, and that might be a direct link to whoever is threatening her.”
“What did Michaelson say to that?”
“It was odd. He said that that had already occurred to him. Sam, I’m telling you he knows where Lily is, or at least how to trace where she is. He did say, using the words ‘I urge you most strongly,’ that I should have you or at least the district attorney’s office petition a judge to open the records immediately and warn her parents of this situation.”
“Then I would say that he obviously takes seriously what you told him.”
Jean nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think he did when I was in his office, but maybe my outburst—I swear I was on the verge of throwing something at him—may have convinced him. His attitude had done a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn when I talked to him twenty minutes later on the phone.” She glanced up. “Oh, look, here’s Mark.”
Mark Fleischman was making his way to their table. “I told Mark about Lily,” Jean said hurriedly, “so you can talk in front of him.”
“You did, Jean? Why?” Sam was dismayed.
“He’s a psychiatrist. I thought he might be able to offer some input into whether or not these faxes are real threats.”
As Mark Fleischman came nearer, Sam saw that Jean’s smile became genuinely pleased. Be careful, Jeannie, he wanted to warn her. In my book this guy is carrying a lot of baggage. There’s a tension bubbling under the surface in him that a cop like me can feel.
Sam also did not miss the way Fleischman momentarily covered Jean’s hand with his at her invitation for him to join them.
“I’m not interfering?” Mark asked, looking at Sam for reassurance.
“As a matter of fact, I’m glad to catch you,” Sam told him. “I was about to ask Jean if she had heard from Robby Brent today. Now I can ask you both.”
Jean shook her head. “I haven’t.”
“Nor, thankfully, have I,” Fleischman said. “Is there any reason you thought we might have heard from him?”
“I was about to tell you, Jean. Robby Brent must have left the hotel after dinner last night. So far he has not come back. We’ve pretty much determined that the call you thought came from Laura was made on a prepaid cellular phone that Brent had just bought, and we’re also fairly confident that the voice you heard was actually his. As you know, he’s a superb mimic.”
Jean looked at Sam, astonishment and distress reflected in her face. “But why?”
“At the luncheon at West Point on Saturday, did you hear Brent talk to Laura about possibly being on his new television series?”
“I did,” Mark Fleischman said. “But I didn’t know whether or not he was joking.”
“He did say there was a part Laura might want to play,” Jean confirmed.
“Both Carter Stewart and Gordon Amory think Brent and Laura may be pulling a hoax on us. What do you think?” Sam’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Mark Fleischman.
Behind his glasses, Mark’s eyes became thoughtful. He looked past Sam, then directly at him. “I think it’s entirely possible,” he said slowly.
“I disagree,” Jean said emphatically. “I absolutely disagree. Laura is in trouble—I feel it; I know it.” She hesitated, then decided against telling them that she felt as if she had heard Laura’s plea for help. “Please, Sam, don’t think like that,” she begged. “Don’t give up trying to find Laura. I don’t know what Robby Brent is up to, but maybe he was just trying to throw us off the track by pretending to be her and saying she was fine. She’s not fine. Really, I know she’s not fine.”
“Take it easy, Jeannie,” Mark said gently.
Sam stood up. “Jean, we’ll talk again first thing in the morning. I’ll want you to come to my office on that other matter we were discussing.”
Ten minutes later, with Eddie Zarro waiting in case Robby Brent returned to the hotel, Sam wearily got into his car. He turned on the engine, hesitated, thought for a moment, then dialed Alice Sommers. When she answered, he was struck once more by the silvery tone of her voice. “Any chance you have a glass of sherry for a tired detective?” he asked.
Half an hour later he was sitting in a deep leather chair, his feet on the ottoman, facing the fire in Alice Sommers’ den. Taking the last sip of sherry, he put the glass on the table beside him. It had not taken too much persuasive power to have Alice convince him to catnap while she prepared an early dinner. “You have to eat,” she pointed out. “Then you can go straight home and get a decent night’s sleep.”
As his eyes began to close, Sam gave a sleepy glance at the curio cabinet beside the fireplace. He was asleep before whatever object he saw there had triggered a startled response in his subconscious.
57
Amy Sachs went off duty at four o’clock, shortly after Sam Deegan left the Glen-Ridge House. She and Jake Perkins had arranged to meet at a McDonald’s about a mile away. Now, over hamburgers, she was filling him in on Sam Deegan’s activities and the conversation she had managed to overhear between him and, as she described him, “that uppity playwright, Carter Stewart.”
“Mr. Deegan came to the hotel looking for Mr. Brent,” she explained. “Eddie Zarro, the other investigator, was waiting for him. They both looked kind of mad. The minute Mr. Deegan couldn’t reach Brent on the phone, he made Pete, the bellman, take them up to Brent’s room. When Brent didn’t answer the door, Mr. Deegan told Pete to open it. That’s when they found out that Mr. Brent hadn’t come back last night.”
Between bites of hamburger, Jake was jotting in his notebook. “I thought Carter Stewart checked out after the reunion,” he said. “What made him come back this afternoon? Who was he meeting?”
“Stewart told Mr. Deegan that he had agreed to go over scripts for Robby Brent’s new television show. Then they were talking about a cell phone. I couldn’t get all of it because Mr. Deegan doesn’t speak loud. Mr. Stewart isn’t all that loud, either, but his voice carries, and I’ve been blessed with good hearing. In fact, Jake, they said my grandmother, even at age ninety, could hear a worm slither through the grass.”
“My grandmother is always telling me I mumble,” Jake said.
“Actually, you do mumble,” Amy Sachs whispered. “But, anyhow, Jake, when Mr. Deegan asked Mr. Stewart if he thought all this was a publicity trick by Laura
Wilcox and Robby Brent, Mr. Stewart seemed to think it was. And maybe I missed something, but didn’t Dr. Sheridan get a call from Laura Wilcox last night?”
Jake was practically salivating with the unexpected torrent of information. All afternoon he felt as if he had been watching a silent movie. He sat in the hotel lobby observing the activity but not daring to hang around the desk or obviously try to overhear the conversations. “Yes, Dr. Sheridan did get a call from Laura Wilcox. I happened to be around when they were talking about it in the small dining room.”
“Jake, I don’t think I’ve got this all straight. You know how it is—you hear part of one thing, then part of another. You can get only so near to people without seeming to be too near, but I get the impression that Robby Brent may have made that call last night and pretended to be Laura Wilcox.”
Jake’s hand was in midair, firmly grasping the uneaten portion of the hamburger. Slowly he lowered it to the plate. It was obvious he was mentally computing what Amy had just told him. “Robby Brent made that call and now he’s not around, and they think all this is just a publicity stunt for some new television series?”
Amy’s oversized glasses bobbled on her nose as she nodded happily. “Sounds like a reality series, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Do you think that maybe there are hidden cameras filming in the hotel now?”
“It’s something to wonder about,” Jake agreed. “You’re a sharp lady, Amy. When I open my own newspaper, I’m going to make you a columnist. Anything else you’ve noticed?”
She pursed her lips. “Just one thing. Mark Fleischman—you know, the really cute honoree who’s a psychiatrist—”
“Sure, I know him. What about him?”
“I swear he has a crush on Dr. Sheridan. He went out early this morning, and when he came back, the first thing he did was come rushing to the desk and phone Dr. Sheridan. I overheard him.”
“Of course,” Jake said, grinning.
“I told him she was in the coffee shop. He thanked me, but before he hightailed it into the coffee shop, he asked if Dr. Sheridan had received any more faxes today. He looked almost disappointed when I said no, and he asked me if I was sure she hadn’t gotten one. Even if he does have a crush on her, I think it’s a little nervy of him to ask about her mail, don’t you?”
“In a way I do, yes.”
“But he is nice, and I asked him just casually if he’d had a pleasant day. He said yes, he’d been looking up some old friends at West Point.”
58
After Sam Deegan left, Jean Sheridan and Mark Fleischman sat for nearly an hour at the table in the coffee shop. He reached over and covered her hand with his as she told him about meeting Craig Michaelson, about becoming convinced that Michaelson had handled Lily’s adoption, and about verbally attacking him when she felt he was refusing to understand that Lily might be in genuine danger.
“I did call to apologize,” she explained. “When I did, I pointed out that it’s just possible Lily might remember where she was when her hairbrush disappeared. That could be a direct link to who might have taken it, unless, of course, her adoptive parents are behind all this.”
“That’s a real possibility,” Mark agreed. “Are you taking Michaelson’s advice to petition the court to open the file?”
“Absolutely. I’m meeting Sam Deegan in his office tomorrow morning.”
“I think that’s smart. Jean, what about Laura? You don’t believe this is just some publicity stunt, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” Jean hesitated. It was nearly fourthirty, and the late afternoon sun was sending slanting shadows through the almost deserted coffee shop. She looked across the table at Mark. He was wearing an open sport shirt and dark green sweater. He’s one of those men who’ll always have a boyish look, she thought—except for his eyes. “Who was that teacher we had who called you an ‘old soul’?” she asked.
“That was Mr. Hastings. And what brought that up?”
“He said you were wise beyond your years.”
“I’m not sure it was meant as a compliment. You’re leading up to something, Jeannie.”
“I guess I am. My understanding of old souls is that they have great insight. When I got in the car after I left Craig Michaelson’s office, I was upset. I told you that. But then, Mark, if Laura had been in the car with me, I couldn’t have heard her speak more clearly. I heard her voice saying, ‘Jean, help me. Please, Jean, help me.’ ”
She scrutinized his expression. “You don’t believe me, or you think I’m crazy,” she said defensively.
“That’s not true, Jeannie. If anyone believes in the power of the mind to communicate, I do. But if Laura is really in trouble, where does Robby Brent fit into the picture?”
“I have no idea.” Jean raised her hand in a gesture of helplessness, then lowered it as she looked around. “We’d better get out of here. They’re already setting the tables for dinner.”
Mark signaled for the check. “I wish I could ask you to have dinner with me, but tonight I have the unique privilege of breaking bread with my father.”
Jean looked at him closely, not sure of how to respond. The expression on his face was inscrutable. Finally she said, “I know you’ve been estranged from him. Did he call you?”
“I walked past the house today. His car was there. Impulsively, quite impulsively, I went up and rang the bell. We had a long talk—not long enough to settle anything, but he did ask me to meet him for dinner. I said I would, on the condition that he would be prepared to answer certain questions I was going to ask him.”
“And he agreed?”
“Yes, he did. Let’s see if he keeps his word.”
“I hope whatever you have to work out can be worked out.”
“So do I, Jeannie, but I’m not counting on it.”
They got in the elevator together. Mark punched the buttons for the fourth and sixth floors.
“I hope your view is better than mine,” Jean said. “I overlook the back parking lot.”
“Then it is better,” he agreed. “I’m facing the front. If I’m in the room at the right time, I get to see the sunset.”
“And if I happen to be awake, I get to see who comes rolling in around daybreak,” Jean said as the elevator stopped at the fourth floor. “I’ll see you, Mark.”
The message signal on the phone in her room was blinking. The call was from Peggy Kimball and had come in only a few minutes earlier. “Jean, I’m on my break at the hospital, so I’ll make this fast. After I left you, it occurred to me that Jack Emerson worked for the clean-up crew in our office building around the time you were seeing Dr. Connors. I told you Dr. Connors always kept his file keys in his pocket, but he must have had a spare hidden somewhere because I remember that one day he forgot to bring his key ring to the office but still was able to open the files. So maybe Emerson or someone like him did get a look at your records. Anyhow, I thought you should know. Good luck.”
Jack Emerson, Jean thought as she replaced the receiver and sank down on the bed. Could he be the one who’s doing this to me? He’s always lived in this town. If the people who adopted Lily live here, too, he may know them.
She heard a sound and turned in time to see a manila envelope being slid under the door. She hurried across the room and yanked the door open.
An apologetic bellman was trying to straighten up. “Dr. Sheridan, a fax came for you right after a whole stack came for one of the other guests. Your fax got put in with his material. He just came across it and brought it down to the desk.”
“It’s all right,” Jean said softly, fear almost closing her throat. She closed the door and picked up the envelope. Her hand shaking, she ripped it open. It’s going to be about Lily, she thought.
It was about Lily. The fax read:
Jean, I am so terribly ashamed. I always knew about Lily, and I know the people who adopted her. She’s a wonderful girl. She’s smart; a college sophomore and very happy. I didn’t mean to make you think I was threatening her. I need mo
ney desperately and thought I could get it this way. Don’t worry about Lily, please. She is fine. I will be in touch with you soon. Forgive me and please let people know that I’m all right. The publicity stunt was Robby Brent’s idea. He’s going to try to straighten it out. He wants to talk to his producers before he has to make a statement to the press.
Laura
Her knees weak, Jean sank onto the bed. Then, crying with relief and joy, she dialed Sam’s cell phone.
Jean’s call jolted Sam from the peaceful nap he had been enjoying while Alice Sommers busied herself in the kitchen. “Another fax, Jean? Take it easy. Read it to me.” He listened. “My God,” he said. “I can’t believe that woman would do this to you.”
“You’re talking to Jean? Is she all right?” Alice was standing in the doorway.
“Yes. Laura Wilcox has been sending the faxes about Lily. She’s apologized, saying she never intended to hurt Lily.”
Alice took the phone from him. “Jean, are you too upset to drive?” She listened. “Then come over here . . .”
When Jean arrived, Alice looked into Jean’s face and saw the luminous joy she would have experienced herself if somehow years ago Karen had been spared. She put her arms around her. “Oh, Jean, I’ve been praying and praying.”
Jean hugged her fiercely. “I know you have. I cannot believe that Laura has done this to me, but I am sure that Laura would never hurt Lily. And so it was all about money, Sam. My God, if Laura was that desperate, why didn’t she just ask me straight out to help her? Half an hour ago I was ready to tell you that I thought Jack Emerson must be the one who knew about Lily.”
“Jean, come in, sit down, and calm down. Have a glass of sherry and tell me what you mean by that. What does Jack Emerson have to do with this?”
“I just learned something that made me believe he was behind it.” Obediently, Jean slipped off her coat, went into the den, sat on the chair nearest the fire, and, trying to keep her voice steady, told them about the call from Peggy Kimball. “Jack worked in that office at the time I was Dr. Connors’ patient. He planned this reunion to get us all here. In his den he has that picture of Laura that Robby Brent talked about. It all seemed to fit—until the fax was delivered. Oh, I didn’t tell you. The fax came in around noon but got mixed in with someone else’s stuff.”