Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair

  “Great idea. And how about a snack now? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” I looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s nearly one thirty-five.”

  “I’m on a diet. In readiness for Christmas.”

  I laughed. “But Sarah, you look fantastic. You are svelte.”

  “I could still lose a few pounds. But okay, why not? I’ll have a taste of the smoked salmon.”

  “Coming up,” I said, reaching for a slice of bread. The phone rang, and I picked it up.

  “Hello, Puss, it’s me, and we’re here,” Andrew said. “And guess what, it’s snowing! Mal, it’s gorgeous, just like a fairyland. All white. And the snow is glistening in the sun. I promised the kids a snowball fight later.”

  “That’s great, but make sure they wear their Wellies and are wrapped up well, honey, won’t you?”

  “I will, don’t worry so, Puss.”

  “Is Nora there, Andrew?”

  “She certainly is, and so is Eric. He’s got the fires going throughout the house, and Nora made a wonderful vegetable soup and baked a loaf. We’re going to have lunch in a few minutes. And this soup! It smells delicious! So don’t worry your little head about us, everything is fine at Indian Meadows.”

  “Just goes to show how well you can manage without me,” I muttered.

  “Oh, no I can’t,” he asserted, his voice dropping. “There’s no way I can manage without you, Mal.”

  “Nor me you,” I responded. “I love you.”

  “And I love you. Big kiss, darling. And a big kiss to Sarah. I’ll see you both for supper tomorrow night. Tell her I’m looking forward to her spaghetti primavera.”

  “I will, and have a nice time with the kids.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was snowing again, as it had yesterday. But tonight the snowflakes were light, and as I glanced out the window, I noticed that they were melting the moment they hit the pavement. So it couldn’t be the weather which was making Andrew late getting home.

  Putting my glass of white wine down on the coffee table, I left the den, crossed the entrance hall, and went into the kitchen.

  Sarah swung around when she heard me come in. “I’ve turned off the water for the spaghetti. No point boiling it yet. I’ll make everything at the last minute, once Andrew and the twins arrive.”

  I nodded, and automatically my eyes went to the kitchen clock. It was ten past eight. “I can’t imagine where he is, why he’s not home yet, Sash,” I said.

  “Anything could be holding him up,” Sarah answered, putting the lid on the pot of hot water. “Traffic. Snow.”

  “It can’t be the snow. I just looked out the den window, and it’s not even settling on the ground.”

  “Not on East Seventy-second Street, maybe, but if it’s snowing in Connecticut, it could be slowing Andrew down, and everyone else who’s coming back to the city on Sunday night. There’s probably a backup of cars.”

  “That’s true, yes,” I said, seizing on this possibility, wanting to ease my worry. But the fact was, Andrew was rarely, if ever, late, and that was what troubled me now. Sarah knew it as well as I did, but neither of us was voicing this thought at the moment.

  I said, “I’m going to try Anna again, maybe she’s home by now.”

  “Okay, call her,” Sarah agreed.

  Lifting the receiver off the wall phone in front of me, I dialed the gardener’s number at Indian Meadows. It rang and rang as it had earlier this evening. I was about to hang up when the phone was finally answered.

  “Hello,” Anna said.

  “It’s me. Mal,” I said. “You must have been out, Anna, I’ve been trying your number for ages.”

  “I was in Sharon. I went to visit my sister, and I—”

  “Did you see Andrew before he left today?” I interrupted, wanting to get to the point.

  “Yes, I did. Why?”

  “What time was that?”

  “About two, somewhere around there.”

  “Two. But that’s over six hours ago!” I cried, and looking across at Sarah, I couldn’t help transmitting my anxiety to her. She came and stood next to me, her face suddenly as full of concern as mine was.

  “You mean he’s not arrived home yet?” Anna asked.

  “No, he hasn’t, and I’m starting to worry. It never takes more than three hours at the most, and Andrew does it in less time than that.”

  “There’s snow up here, Mal, and he may have hit more of it on the way down to the city. Oh, and there’s another thing, he did say something about needing to do some Christmas shopping. That could’ve delayed him.”

  “That’s true, yes, and maybe he did stop off at a couple of shops on the way in. Everything’s open at this time of year, and stays open late. I guess that’s what happened, and thanks, Anna, you’ve made me feel less anxious.”

  “Try not to worry, Mal, I’m sure he’ll be there any second. And you’ll call me before you leave for England, won’t you?”

  “Yes, during the week. Bye, Anna.”

  “Bye, Mal.”

  We hung up, and turning to Sarah, I said, “Andrew told Anna he needed to do some Christmas shopping. I’m sure that’s the explanation. Don’t you think?”

  Sarah nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. “He loves all those little antique shops in the area. Also, the twins might have wanted to go to the bathroom, or wanted something to eat, and so he could’ve stopped several times. We often stop, if you think about it, for those very reasons.”

  “But why hasn’t he called me? It’s not like him not to be in touch, you know that,” I muttered, biting my lip.

  The doorbell rang several times.

  Sarah and I looked at each other knowingly, and we both broke into happy smiles.

  “There he is! And wouldn’t you know he doesn’t have his key!” I exclaimed, laughing with relief as I hurried into the entrance hall.

  As I unlocked the front door and pulled it open, I cried, “And where have all of you be—” The rest of my sentence remained unsaid. It was not my husband and children who stood there, but two men in damp overcoats.

  “Yes?” I stood staring at them blankly, and even before they told me who they were, I knew they were cops. As a New Yorker, I recognized them immediately, recognized that unmistakable look. They were plainclothes police officers from the N.Y.P.D. My chest tightened.

  “Are you Mrs. Andrew Keswick?” the older of the two cops asked.

  “Yes, I am. Is there—”

  “I’m Detective Johnson, and this is Detective DeMarco,” he said. “We’re from the Twenty-fifth Precinct. We need to talk to you, Mrs. Keswick.”

  They both showed me their shields.

  I swallowed several times. “Is there something wrong?” I managed to say, my eyes flying nervously from him to his partner. I dreaded the answer; my heart began to clatter.

  “Can we come in?” Detective Johnson said. “I think it would be better if we spoke inside.”

  I nodded, opened the door wider, and stepped back to let them enter the apartment.

  DeMarco closed the door.

  Sarah, who had been hovering in the background, said, “I’m Sarah Thomas, an old friend of Mrs. Keswick’s, a friend of the family, actually.”

  Detective Johnson nodded, and Detective DeMarco murmured, “Ms. Thomas,” and inclined his head, scrupulously polite.

  I led them into the living room and said, “Is there some sort of problem? My husband’s late getting home. I, we, that is, Sarah and I, have been a bit worried. He’s not been in an accident, has he?”

  “Let’s sit down, Mrs. Keswick,” DeMarco said.

  I shook my head. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please.”

  DeMarco cleared his throat and began, “Something tragic has happened. I think we should sit down.”

  “Tell me.” My voice quavered as I spoke, and a dreadful trembling took hold of me. Sudden fear surged through my body, and reaching out, I gripped the top of the wing chair to steady myself.
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  “We found your husband’s Mercedes on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. Your husband was hurt—”

  “Oh, my God! Is he badly injured? Where is he? Oh, God, my children! Are they all right? Where are they? Where’s my husband?”

  My heart was racing. Filled with a mixture of panic and dread, I moved forward and grasped DeMarco’s arm. Urgently, I said, “Why didn’t you bring my children home? Which hospital is my husband in? The twins must be frightened. Take me to them, please.”

  Gasping, fighting my tears, I swung to Sarah and cried, “Come on, Sash, let’s go! We must go to the twins and Andrew. Come on! They need me.”

  “Mrs. Keswick, Ms. Thomas, just a minute,” DeMarco said.

  I stopped, looked at him. There was something odd in his voice. My stomach lurched. He was going to say something awful, something I didn’t want to hear. I knew it instinctively.

  He said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Keswick, but your husband has been shot. He’s—”

  My eyes opened wide. “Shot! Who shot him? Why?” The blood was draining out of me; my legs had gone weak.

  My eyes flew to Sarah. Her face had turned the color of bleached bone. In an unusually high voice, she exclaimed, “I thought the car was in some sort of accident.”

  I stood staring at her; somehow I had thought the same thing.

  “No, Ms. Thomas,” DeMarco said.

  “He’s not badly hurt, is he?” Sarah asked, endeavoring to speak in a more controlled voice.

  “Where are my children?” I demanded before either of the detectives could answer her. “I want to go to my children and my husband.”

  “They’re all at Bellevue,” Detective DeMarco said. “And so is your dog. I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but your—”

  “My children . . . are . . . all right . . . aren’t they?” I interrupted, speaking very slowly, fearfully.

  Detective Johnson shook his head. He looked dour.

  DeMarco said, “No, Mrs. Keswick. Your husband, your children, and your dog were all fatally shot this afternoon. We’re very sorry.”

  “No! No! Not Andrew! Not the twins! Not Jamie and Lissa! It’s not possible! It can’t be true,” I cried, gaping at DeMarco, uncomprehending. I began to shake.

  I heard Sarah saying over and over again, “Oh, my God, my God!”

  I stepped away from DeMarco, stepped away from the chair, and went lurching across the room to the entrance hall, shaking my head from side to side, denying, denying. Blindly I reached out, grabbing at air, at emptiness.

  I had to get out of here.

  Get to Bellevue.

  Bellevue.

  That’s where they were.

  My husband.

  Get to Andrew.

  To Lissa and Jamie.

  Get to my children.

  My children needed me.

  My husband needed me.

  My little Trixy needed me.

  He’d said they were dead.

  All dead.

  The four of them.

  NO!

  The room became very bright, and it began to sway and move.

  I heard it then. The noise.

  It was a terrible, piercing scream that went ripping right through me. A bone-chilling scream rising higher and higher. It sounded like the scream of an animal being tortured, of an animal in torment.

  It grew louder and louder until it filled my mind absolutely. And it deafened me.

  As the floor came up to hit me in the face, I knew that it was I who was screaming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When I regained consciousness, I was lying on one of the sofas in the living room.

  As I opened my eyes, it was Sarah’s face I saw. She sat in a chair next to me.

  “Mal,” she whispered, reaching out, taking hold of my hand. “Oh, Mal, darling.” Her voice broke, and tears welled in her dark, compassionate eyes. I saw the pain on her face.

  I grasped her hand tightly, pinning her with an intense gaze. “Tell me it’s not true, Sash,” I pleaded tearfully. “Tell me it’s not. They’re all right, aren’t they? It’s been a horrible mistake, hasn’t it?”

  “Oh, Mal,” was all she could say, in a muffled voice. She was unable to continue speaking, and tears trickled down her strained white face.

  I saw him then.

  Detective DeMarco.

  He was standing near the living room window, looking across at me. Fleetingly, a look of pity washed over his face and was instantly gone; but I knew without a doubt that it was true.

  It had happened.

  It was not a bad dream from which I had just awakened.

  It was real, this nightmare.

  My eyes shifted. Through my tears I could see his partner, Johnson. The older detective was standing by the small antique desk in front of the window overlooking Seventy-second Street. He was speaking on the phone. I heard him say, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  I shouted in a shrill, angry voice, “I want to go to my husband and my children. I want my family. I want my dog. I want to be with them.” I tried to struggle off the sofa, but Sarah put her arms around me, held me still, endeavored to soothe me.

  “I want my babies,” I shouted through my wracking sobs. “I want my family. I’m going to them now.” I continued to struggle against Sarah, but she held me tightly.

  “Yes, we are going, Mal, in a few minutes.” Sarah’s voice was low, drained. She went on. “The detectives are going to take us to the mor—to Bellevue. I just gave Detective Johnson your mother’s number. He’s been talking to her and David. They’re coming now; they’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

  I clung to Sarah, sobbing against her shoulder. I wanted Andrew, I wanted the twins. What had happened this afternoon? I didn’t understand. Who had shot my family? And why? Why had this happened to us? Why would anybody shoot a decent man like Andrew? Shoot innocent little children and a dog? Why ?

  Suddenly I heard the front door and my mother’s voice exclaiming, “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Mrs. Keswick? I’m Mrs. Nelson, her mother.”

  I pulled away from Sarah. My mother was rushing toward me across the living room. Her face was stricken, ashen, her eyes full of horror and disbelief.

  “Oh, Mom!” I cried out. “Oh, Momma! Andrew and the twins have been shot And Trixy. Why, Mom? I don’t understand.”

  My mother sank down heavily on the sofa, wrapped her arms around me, and held me close to her. “It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered, and she kept repeating this like a litany. She began to weep, and we held on to each other desperately, struggling with our pain and heartbreak.

  Between sobs, my mother said, “I don’t know how to help you, Mal, but I’m here for you, darling. Oh, God, how can anybody help you? This is too much for anyone to bear.” She rocked me in her arms, weeping, and whispered in a cracking voice, “I can’t believe it. Lissa and Jamie gone, Andrew gone. It doesn’t make any sense. What has this world come to? It’s godless. Godless.”

  After a few minutes, David left the detectives and came over to the sofa, knelt down on the floor in front of us, and put his arms around my mother and me.

  His voice was gentle, caring. “I’m so very, very sorry, Mal. I’m here for you and your mother. I’ll do anything to help you both. All you have to do is ask me. Anything at all, Mal.”

  Eventually I managed to sit up. Gently, I extricated myself from my mother’s arms. She lay back against the sofa; her face was haggard.

  David rose, came and sat in a chair near me. “Take your time, Mal, we’re in no hurry.”

  I looked at him, tried to speak, but I couldn’t say anything. I began to weep once more. Wrapping my arms around my body, hugging myself, I moved backward and forward on the sofa, making low, keening noises. I was distraught, I was in an agony of mind, soul, and body. Every part of me felt as if it had been bludgeoned.

  Finally I stopped moving and leaned back, closing my eyes. But the tears kept coming, seeping o
ut from underneath my lids.

  Opening my eyes at last, I gazed at David helplessly. He gave me his handkerchief.

  After I wiped my eyes, I said in a shaky voice, “I want to see my family.”

  “Of course, and you shall,” David said. “The detectives are ready to take you to Bellevue, Mal. We’ll all come. Your mother and Sarah and I. We’ll be with you.”

  I could only nod my understanding.

  David said, “Can I get you anything? Anything to drink? Brandy, maybe?”

  I shook my head. “Just water, please.”

  My mother stood up shakily. “I’ll get it, I need a glass myself.”

  Sarah said, “I’ll come with you, Auntie Jess.”

  David took hold of my hand, held it tightly in his, wanting to comfort me. His light gray eyes were full of sympathy, and his tactfulness and concern were palpable. I was thankful he was here. I had grown to know him quite well since he’d married my mother, and he was kind and considerate. He was also quick, efficient, and smart, and as a criminal lawyer he knew how to properly and effectively deal with the police.

  After a second, he said, “I need to talk to the detectives, Mal. I didn’t learn much from them on the phone. My fault, I didn’t give them a chance to fill me in. Your mother and I just raced around here within minutes of receiving their call.”

  He started to get up, but I wouldn’t let go of his hand.

  Puzzled, he looked at me closely. “What is it, Mal?” he asked.

  “Can you bring them over here? I want to hear what they have to say.”

  Nodding, he rose and strode across the floor. He stood talking to Johnson and DeMarco for a few minutes, and then the three of them came back and sat down near me.

  Detective Johnson said, “We don’t know what happened, Mrs. Keswick.” He threw David a quick glance, and went on in a low voice. “It could have been a crime of opportunity, such as robbery, we’re just not sure. And we won’t be able to give you any real answers until we’ve done a proper investigation.”

  David said, “You told me you found the car on Park Avenue at One Hundred Nineteenth Street. At the traffic light there.”

  “Yes,” Johnson said.