Sure, Doug thought impatiently as he threw back the covers and got out of bed. Be like the cousins, who had generations of money behind the Layton name, who didn’t have to worry about scholarships, who had virtually automatic entry into the best schools.
Scholarships—he smiled at the memory. It had taken a lot of doing to keep ahead of the game. Fortunately he had been smart enough to maintain his grades at an adequate level, even if it meant occasionally having to make unauthorized visits to the offices of the professors to get an advance glimpse at crucial tests.
He remembered the mathematics professor in prep school who found him in her office. He had been able to talk his way out of that situation by turning the tables and asking if anything was wrong. He told her that he had gotten an urgent message, ordering him to see her immediately. The teacher ended up apologizing to him, saying that one would think students with SATs looming before them might have better things to do with their time than to leave silly messages.
He always had been able to talk himself out of trouble. More than a test grade was in question now, however; this time the stakes were enormous.
He knew that Mrs. Clausen always had an early breakfast, and if she didn’t have a meeting or doctor’s appointment, she could be counted on to linger over a second cup of coffee at the small table at the window of the dining room. She once had told him that watching the strong tide of the East River gave her a certain comfort. “All life is governed by a tide, Douglas,” she said. “When I become saddened, seeing the river reminds me that I cannot always control the events of my own life.”
She had welcomed his occasional calls requesting a chance to drop by for a cup of coffee so they could go over a particular grant request before it came up at the board meeting. On all but one grant his advice to her had been sound, and she had learned to trust and depend upon him. On only one matter had he deliberately given her misinformation, and he had done it so carefully that she had no reason to suspect anything was amiss.
Jane Clausen hasn’t got anyone left who is close to her, he reminded himself as he showered and dressed, careful to choose a conservative dark blue suit. That was something else—he had worn a jacket and slacks to the meeting yesterday. It had been a mistake; Mrs. Clausen did not approve of what she considered to be casual dress at board meetings.
I’ve had too much on my mind, Doug told himself with irritation. Jane Clausen is lonely and she’s sick; it shouldn’t be too difficult to calm her down.
In the taxi on the way to Beekman Place, he carefully rehearsed the story he would give her.
The concierge insisted on announcing him even though he said not to bother, that he was expected. When he stepped out of the elevator, the housekeeper was waiting at the apartment door, holding it open only a little. Her voice slightly nervous, she told him that Mrs. Clausen was not feeling well, and suggested he leave a message.
“Vera, I must see Mrs. Clausen for just a minute,” Doug said firmly, his voice low. “I know she’s at breakfast. She had a weak spell in the office yesterday and was upset when I begged her to call the doctor. You know how it is with her when she’s in pain.”
Seeing Vera’s uncertain look, he whispered, “We both love her and want to take care of her.” Then he put his hands under her elbows, forcing her to step aside. In four long strides he was across the foyer and through the French doors that led to the dining room.
Jane Clausen was reading the Times. At the sound of his footsteps, she looked up. Doug had two immediate impressions: her initial expression of surprise at seeing him was replaced by a look akin to fear. The situation is worse than I realized, he thought. His second impression was that Jane Clausen could not be more than hours away from another hospital stay. Her skin tone was ashen.
He did not give her a chance to speak. “Mrs. Clausen, I’ve been terribly troubled that you misunderstood me yesterday,” he said, his voice soothing. “I was mistaken when I said Regina had told me the orphanage in Guatemala was a favorite charity of hers, and, of course, I was mistaken when I suggested that you had told me that. The truth is that when he invited me to be on the board, Mr. March himself was the one who explained a great deal about that orphanage, and about how Regina happened to visit it and was so touched by the plight of the children there.”
It was a safe enough story. March wouldn’t remember having said it, of course, but he also would be afraid to deny it because of his growing awareness of his own forgetfulness.
“Hubert was the one who told you?” Jane Clausen said quietly. “He was like an uncle to Regina. It was just the sort of thing she would confide to him.”
Doug knew instantly he was on the right track. “As you know, I’m going down there next week so the board can have a firsthand report on the progress of the work being done at the orphanage. I know how precarious your health has been of late, but would you consider joining me so you could see for yourself the wonderful work the orphanage is doing for those poor kids? I’m sure if you did, any doubts you might have about the wisdom of continuing the grant would be resolved. And I promise I’d be at your side every waking moment.”
Layton knew, of course, that there wasn’t a chance in the world Jane Clausen could make the trip, yet he waited expectantly for her reply.
She shook her head. “I only wish I could go.”
It was as though he was watching ice melt. She wants to believe me, Doug thought, mentally congratulating himself. There was just one more area he had to cover: “I have an apology to make about leaving you unescorted at Dr. Chandler’s office on Monday,” he said. “I did have an appointment of long standing, but I should have broken it. The problem was, I could not reach the client, and she was coming in from Connecticut to meet me.”
“I gave you very short notice,” Jane Clausen said. “I’m afraid that’s getting to be a habit of mine. Yesterday I insisted another professional person see me almost instantly.”
He knew that she meant Susan Chandler. How much had she told that woman? he wondered. Had she brought him up? He was sure she had.
When he left a few minutes later, she insisted on walking him out. As they neared the door, she casually asked, “Do you see your Layton cousins much?”
She’s been checking, Doug thought. “Not in recent years,” he said quickly. “When I was little we saw them regularly. Gregg and Corey were my heroes. But when my father and mother separated, the contact was broken. I still think of them as my big brothers even though I’m afraid there was no love lost between their mother and mine. I don’t think Cousin Elizabeth thought my mother was quite her social equal.”
“Robert Layton was a wonderful man. I’m afraid Elizabeth, though, was always difficult.”
Doug smiled to himself as he rode down on the elevator. The visit had been successful. He was back in the good graces of Jane Clausen, and once again on the road to the chairmanship of the Clausen Family Trust. One thing was certain: From now on, and most certainly during the time left to Jane Clausen, he wouldn’t make any more mistakes.
Leaving the building, he took care to exchange a few words with the concierge, and to tip the doorman generously when he hailed a cab for him. Little courtesies such as those paid off. There was always the chance that either or both would remark on how pleasant Mr. Layton was.
Once in the cab, however, the look of benign good humor vanished from Doug Layton’s face. What had Clausen talked about to Dr. Chandler? he wondered. Besides being a psychologist, Chandler had a trained legal mind. He couldn’t help but be concerned, because she would be the first one to seize on something that didn’t ring true.
He glanced at his watch. It was eight-twenty. He should be at the office before nine. That would give him a good hour to get some paperwork out of the way before it was time to listen to today’s installment of Ask Dr. Susan.
40
On Wednesday morning, Susan woke at six, showered, and washed her hair, quickly blowing it dry with practiced ease. Muddy blond, she thought as she loo
ked in the mirror and rearranged a few stray strands. Well, at least it has a natural wave, and it’s low maintenance.
For a moment she studied her reflection, appraising herself dispassionately. Eyebrows, too heavy. If so, then they would just stay that way. She didn’t like the idea of tweezing them. Skin, good. She could at least be proud of that. Even the faint scar on her forehead, the result of connecting with the blade of Dee’s ice skate when they had both fallen at once while skating years ago, was almost gone. Mouth, like her eyebrows, too generous; nose, straight—that was okay—eyes, hazel like Mom’s; chin, stubborn.
She thought about what Sister Beatrice had told her mother when she was a junior in Sacred Heart Academy: “Susan has a stubborn streak and, in her, it’s a virtue. That chin comes jutting out, and I know there’s something going on that she thinks needs fixing.”
Right now I think a lot of things need fixing, or at least looking into, Susan thought, and I’ve got the list ready.
She took the time to squeeze a grapefruit for juice, then made coffee. She brought cup and glass into the bedroom while she dressed. A camel’s hair jacket and slacks and a maroon cashmere turtleneck sweater—both purchased at a great sale—were her choice of outfit. Last night’s weather report had indicated that it would be another one of those in-between days when a topcoat felt heavy and a suit wasn’t enough. This outfit should do the trick, she decided. Besides, if for any reason she got so busy today that she couldn’t get home to change, it would do comfortably for dinner with Dr. Donald Richards. Yes, Dr. Richards, whose favorite cruise ship was the Gabrielle.
In the interest of saving time, she decided against her usual walk and took a cab to the office, arriving at seven-fifteen. Entering her building, she was surprised to find that even though the lobby door was unlocked, the security desk was unmanned. The security in this place is nonexistent, she thought as she went up in the elevator. The building had been sold recently, and she wondered if this failure in service was the beginning of a subtle campaign by the new owners to get rid of existing tenants so they could raise the rents. Time to read the fine print on the lease, she decided as she got off the elevator to find the top floor completely dark. “This is ridiculous,” she murmured under her breath as she searched for the corridor light switches.
But even the lights did not brighten the hallway adequately. No wonder, Susan thought, noting that two of the bulbs were missing. Who’s managing this building now anyhow? she wondered ruefully. Moe, Larry, and Curly? She made a mental note to speak to the superintendent later, but once she was in her office the annoyance faded from her mind. She got to work immediately, and for the next hour she caught up on correspondence, then prepared to put in motion the plan she had made the night before.
She had decided to go to Justin Wells’s office and confront him about the tape and about her belief that his wife was the mysterious caller. And if he was not there, she was going to play that segment of Monday’s program for his secretary or receptionist. Certainly the most interesting thing on the tape was the call from “Karen,” in which she talked about meeting a man on a cruise ship who had given her a ring that sounded identical to the one found to have been in Regina Clausen’s possession. If, as she suspected, Wells in fact had requested the tape, then the woman who called herself Karen just might be someone his staff knew, Susan thought. And could it be a mere coincidence that Justin Wells’s wife was in an accident so soon after the phone call?
Susan scanned the rest of her notes, cataloguing points that still concerned her. “Elderly witness to Carolyn Wells’s accident.” Had Hilda Johnson been right when she declared that someone had pushed Carolyn? Equally significant, was Johnson’s murder a few hours later another coincidence? “Tiffany.” She had called to say that she had a turquoise ring with an inscription identical to the ones Regina and Karen had. Would she send it in?
I’ll have to talk about her on the program today, Susan thought. That way, maybe she’ll at least call in again, although actually I need to see her. If the ring is the same as the others, I’ve got to get her to come in and meet me. She just has to remember where it was bought. Or maybe she would be willing to ask her ex-boyfriend if he can remember.
The next notation on her list was about Douglas Layton. Jane Clausen had shown very real fear yesterday when she visited Susan and talked about him. Layton had acted suspiciously, Susan thought, the way he bolted minutes before Karen was due to arrive at the office. Was he afraid to meet her? And if so, why?
The last item concerned Donald Richards. Was it just a coincidence that his favorite cruise ship was the Gabrielle, and that his book was about vanished women? Was there more to this seemingly pleasant man than met the eye? Susan wondered.
She got up from her desk. Nedda surely would be in her office by now, and she would have coffee brewing. Susan locked the outer door and, slipping her office key in her pocket, went down the hall.
Again today, Nedda’s office door was unlocked. Susan went through the reception area, down the hall, and headed for the kitchen, following the inviting aroma of perking coffee. There she found Nedda, her notorious fondness for sweets in evidence, slicing an almond coffee cake she had just warmed in the oven.
The older woman turned when she heard Susan’s footsteps, then smiled brightly. “I saw your light and knew you’d be in at some point. You have a homing pigeon’s instinct when I stop at the bakery.”
Susan reached into the cabinet for a cup and went over to the coffeepot. “Why don’t you lock your door when you’re in here alone?”
“I wasn’t worried—I knew you’d be in. How’s the home front?”
“Quiet, thankfully. Mom seems to have recovered from her bout of anniversary blues. Charles phoned to ask me if I didn’t think the party was a real blast. Actually I did have a rather interesting date as a result of it. With Binky’s friend Alex Wright. Sophisticated; eminently presentable. He runs his family’s foundation. Very nice guy.”
Nedda raised her eyebrows. “My goodness gracious, as my mother would have said. I’m impressed. The Wright Family Foundation gives away a fortune every year. I’ve met Alex several times. A bit reticent perhaps, and he apparently hates the limelight, but from what I’ve heard he is very much a hands-on guy, and not someone who’s content to just get perks from being on the board. Supposedly, he personally checks out every major request for a grant. His grandfather started accumulating wealth; his father turned millions into billions, and the word is they both still had their first communion money when they died. I hear Alex is pragmatic, but I gather he isn’t cut from the same cloth. Is he fun?”
“He’s nice, very nice,” Susan said, surprised at the warmth in her voice. She glanced at her watch. “Okay, I’m off. Got a couple of calls to make.” She wrapped a generous slice of the almond coffee cake in a paper napkin and picked up her cup. “Thanks for the CARE package.”
“Any time. Stop by for a glass of vino tonight.”
“Thanks, but not tonight. I’ve got a dinner date. I’ll fill you in on him tomorrow.”
When Susan got back to her own office, Janet was there and on the phone. “Oh, wait a minute, here she is,” Janet said. She covered the receiver with her hand: “Alex Wright. He said it’s personal. And he sounded so disappointed when I told him you weren’t here. I bet he’s cute.”
Stifle it, Susan thought. “Tell him I’ll be right there.” She closed the door with unnecessary force, placed the cup and coffee cake on her desk, and picked up the phone. “Hello, Alex.”
There was amusement in his voice. “Your secretary is right. I was disappointed, but I have to say no one has ever referred to me as ‘cute’ before. I’m flattered.”
“Janet has a truly irritating habit of covering the receiver with her hand, and then raising her voice to give her off-the-cuff remarks.”
“I’m still flattered.” His tone changed. “I tried you at home half an hour ago. I thought that was a respectable hour, assuming you got to your office
around nine.”
“I was here at seven-thirty today. I like to get an early start. The early bird and all that sort of thing.”
“We’re compatible. I’m an early riser too. My father’s home training. He thought that anyone who slept past 6 A.M. was missing a chance to pile up more money.”
Susan thought of what Nedda had just told her about Alex Wright’s father. “Do you share his sentiments?”
“Heavens no. In fact, some days, when I don’t have a meeting, I deliberately pound the pillow or read the papers in bed, just because I know how much that would have irritated him.”
Susan laughed. “Be careful. You’re talking to a psychologist.”
“Oh my gosh, I forgot. Actually, I really feel sorry for my father. He missed so much in life. I wish he’d learned to smell the flowers. In many ways he was a magnificent human being. . . . Anyway, I didn’t call to discuss him, or to explain my sleeping habits. I just wanted to tell you that I had a very enjoyable time with you Monday evening, and I’m hoping you’re free again on Saturday night. Our foundation has made a grant to the New York Public Library, earmarked for the rare-books division, and there’s going to be a black-tie dinner in the McGraw Rotunda at the main library on Fifth Avenue. It’s not a big affair—only about forty people. Originally I was going to beg off, but I really shouldn’t, and if you come with me, I might actually enjoy it.”
Susan listened, flattered to realize that Alex Wright’s voice had taken on a coaxing tone.
“That’s very kind of you. Yes, I am free, and I’d love to go,” she said sincerely.
“That’s great. I’ll pick you up around six-thirty, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.”
His voice changed, suddenly hesitant. “Oh, Susan, by the way, I was talking to your sister.”
“Dee?” Susan realized she sounded astonished.
“Yes. I met her at Binky’s party after you left. She phoned my apartment last night and left a message for me, and I returned the call. She’s going to be in New York this weekend. I told her I was inviting you to the dinner and asked her to join us. She sounded pretty down about life.”