She was grateful that Jane Clausen had phoned the housekeeper. “These are all Regina’s things,” she explained, as she took Susan into the guest room. “The furniture is from her apartment. Mrs. Clausen sits in here by herself sometimes. It would make your heart break to see her.”
It is a beautiful room, Susan thought. Elegant, but still comfortable and inviting. Rooms tell a lot about the people who furnish them.
Vera opened the top drawer of an antique desk and took out a legal-size manila envelope. “All the papers found in Regina’s stateroom are here.”
Inside were the kinds of memorabilia that Carolyn Wells had brought back from her cruise as well. In addition to the passenger list, there were a half-dozen copies of the daily shipboard news bulletins, with information about the upcoming ports of call, and a variety of postcards that seemed to be from those ports. Regina probably bought them as mementos of the places she had seen, Susan thought. Chances are she would have mailed them before reaching Hong Kong if she had intended to send them.
She put the passenger list in her shoulder bag, then decided to take a quick look at the postcards and bulletins. She flipped through the postcards, stopping when she noticed one from Bali that featured an outdoor restaurant. A table overlooking the ocean had been neatly circled in pen.
Did she dine there? Susan wondered. And if she did, why was it special? She skimmed through the newsletters until she found the one about Bali.
“I’m going to take this card and this bulletin,” she told Vera. “I’m sure it will be all right with Mrs. Clausen. I’m seeing her tomorrow, and I’ll tell her I have them.”
It was twenty after five when she finally managed to hail a cab, and it was ten of six before she opened the door of her apartment. Forty minutes to get ready for the big date, she thought, and I haven’t even decided what to wear.
89
Pamela Hastings sat in the waiting room of the intensive care unit at Lenox Hill Hospital, trying to comfort a sobbing Justin Wells. “I thought I’d lost her,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “I thought I’d lost her.”
“Carolyn’s a fighter—she’ll pull through,” Pamela said reassuringly. “Justin, a Dr. Donald Richards phoned the hospital to inquire about Carolyn and about you. He left his number. Isn’t he the psychiatrist you consulted for quite a while when you and Carolyn had problems earlier?”
“The psychiatrist I was supposed to consult,” Wells said. “I only saw him once.”
“His message was that he’d be glad to help in any way possible.” She paused, worried how he would react to what she was going to say next. “Justin, may I call him? I think you need to talk to someone.” She felt his body stiffen.
“Pam, you still think I did that to Carolyn, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” she said firmly. “I’ll say it to you as straight as I can. I believe that Carolyn is going to make it, but I also know we are not out of the woods yet. If—God forbid—she doesn’t make it, you’re going to need an awful lot of help. Please let me call him.”
Justin nodded slowly. “Okay.”
When she returned to the waiting room a few minutes later, Pamela was smiling. “He’s on his way over, Justin,” she said. “He sounds like a nice man. Please let him help you if he can.”
90
“I think I have solved a perplexing problem, Jim,” Alex Wright said cheerfully.
It was clear to Jim Curley that his boss was in good spirits. He looks terrific, he thought as he glanced in the rearview mirror, and better than that, he looks happy.
They were on the way to Downing Street to pick up Susan Chandler for the dinner at the main library, on Fifth Avenue. Alex had insisted on leaving early, just in case they got caught in heavy traffic. Instead, there were fewer cars than usual on Seventh Avenue, so they made excellent time. Must be Murphy’s Law or something, Jim thought. “What kind of problem did you solve, Mr. Alex?”
“By inviting Dr. Chandler’s father and stepmother to the dinner tonight, I was able to ask them to stop by the St. Regis and collect Dr. Chandler’s sister. It would have been quite awkward for me to arrive with a lady on each arm.”
“Oh, you could handle it, Mr. Alex.”
“The question is not if I could handle it, Jim. The question is do I want to handle it? And the answer is no.”
Meaning, Jim thought, that he wants to zero in on Susan, and not Dee. From what he had seen of the two women, he agreed with his boss. There was no question that Dee was a spectacular-looking lady, of course. He had seen that the other night when he had driven them. She seemed nice also. But there was something about her sister, Susan, that grabbed Jim. She seemed more natural, more like the kind of person you could invite into your home without apologizing because the place wasn’t so fancy, he thought.
At five after six they were in front of the brownstone where Susan lived. “Jim, how do you always manage to get a parking place?” Alex Wright asked.
“Clean living, Mr. Alex. You want me to turn on the radio?”
“No, I’m going upstairs.”
“You’re early.”
“That’s all right. I’ll sit in the parlor and twiddle my thumbs.”
“You’re early,” Susan said when she answered the lobby intercom, dismay apparent in her voice.
“I won’t get in your way, I promise,” Alex said. “I hate to wait in cars. Makes me feel like a taxi driver.”
Susan laughed. “All right, come on up. You can watch the rest of the six o’clock news.”
Of all the luck, she thought. Her hair was still wrapped in a towel. Her gown, a black tuxedo jacket with a long, narrow skirt, was hanging over the tub in the bathroom, an effort to steam out the last of the wrinkles. She was wearing the fuzzy white bathrobe that made her feel like an Easter bunny.
Alex laughed when she opened the door. “You look about ten years old,” he told her. “Want to play doctor?”
She made a face at him. “Behave yourself and turn on the news.”
She closed the bedroom door, sat at the vanity, and pulled out the hair dryer. I’d be out of luck if I couldn’t do my own hair, she thought. Although it never looks as good as Dee’s. “Dear God, I am late,” she murmured as she turned the dryer onto the highest setting.
Fifteen minutes later, at exactly 6:28, she looked in the mirror. Her hair was fine, the extra makeup obscured the strain from lack of sleep she had seen earlier in her face, the wrinkles were just about all out of the skirt, so everything seemed to be in order. Yet somehow she didn’t feel right. Had she been too worried, too rushed, or what? she asked herself as she picked up her evening bag.
She found Alex sitting in the den, watching the television as instructed. He looked at her and smiled. “You’re lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I watched the news, so I’ll tell you all about what went on in New York today once we’re in the car.”
“I can’t wait.”
She looks great, Jim Curley thought as he held open the car door. Really great. During the drive uptown to the library, he kept his eyes on the traffic, but he focused his attention on the conversation in the backseat.
“Susan, there’s one thing I’d like to clear up,” Alex Wright said. “I had not planned to ask your sister to the dinner tonight.”
“Please don’t worry about that. Dee is my sister and I love her.”
“I’m sure you do. But I suspect you don’t love Binky, and maybe I made a mistake inviting her and your father as well.”
Oh boy, Jim thought.
“I didn’t know they were coming,” Susan said, an edge of irritation apparent in her voice.
“Susan, please understand that I only wanted you with me tonight. Inviting Dee was not my intention, and when it happened, I thought that if I included your father and Binky, and asked them to bring Dee, I’d be making a statement.”
Good explanation, Jim thought. Now come on, Susan. Give the guy a break.
He
heard her laugh. “Alex, please, I think I’m sending the wrong signals. I didn’t mean to sound so irritable. You’ve got to forgive me. This has been a dreadful week.”
“Tell me about it, then.”
“Not now, but thanks for asking.”
It’s going to go okay, Jim thought, with a sigh of relief.
“Susan, this is something I don’t discuss much, but I do understand how you feel about Binky. I had a stepmother too, although in my case it was a little different. My father remarried after my mother died. Her name was Gerie.”
He usually never talks about her, Jim thought. He really is opening up to Susan.
“What was your relationship with Gerie?” Susan inquired. Don’t ask, Jim thought.
91
Although she had been inside the huge Fifth Avenue branch of the New York Public Library many times, Susan Chandler didn’t remember ever seeing the McGraw Rotunda, where the party was taking place—it was a magnificent space. With its soaring stone walls and life-size murals, it made her feel as though she had been transported back in time, to another century.
Despite the elegant setting, and despite the fact that she really was enjoying Alex Wright’s company, an hour later Susan found herself distracted and unable to relax. I should be enjoying a very pleasant evening, she thought, and here I am, preoccupied with thoughts of a very questionable man who runs a porn shop, and who may be able to identify the murderer of Regina Clausen, Hilda Johnson, Tiffany Smith, and Abdul Parki, the man who attempted to murder Carolyn Wells.
Four of those names had been added to the list during the last week.
Were there others?
Would there be others?
Why was she so sure that the answer was yes?
Maybe I should have stayed in the district attorney’s office, she thought as she sipped from a glass of wine and half listened to Gordon Mayberry, an elderly gentleman intent on telling her of the generosity of the Wright Family Foundation toward the New York Public Library.
As soon as they had arrived, Alex had pointedly introduced her to a number of what she gathered were key people. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or flattered, since it was clearly his way of proclaiming that she was his date for the evening.
Dee and her father and Binky came in minutes after she and Alex arrived. Dee, exquisite in a white sheath, had hugged her warmly. “Susie, have you heard I’m moving back, lock, stock, and barrel? We’ll have fun. I’ve missed not having you around.”
I actually believe she means it, Susan thought. That’s why what she’s been trying to pull with Alex is so unfair.
“Have you seen the book that is being presented to Alex tonight?” Gordon Mayberry asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Susan replied, forcing herself to focus her attention.
“A limited edition, of course. A copy will be given to all the guests, but you may enjoy taking a look at it before dinner. It will give you some idea of the enormous amount of good work the Wright Family Foundation has accomplished in the sixteen years of its existence.” He pointed to a lighted stand near the entrance to the rotunda. “It’s over there.”
The book was open to the center pages, but Susan turned it back to the beginning. On the dust jacket there were pictures of Alex’s father and mother, Alexander and Virginia Wright. Not a very cheerful looking couple, she thought as she studied their unsmiling faces. A quick study of the book’s table of contents showed that the first few pages contained a short history of the Alexander and Virginia Wright Family Foundation; the rest of the book was divided into sections according to the various charities: hospitals, libraries, orphanages, research facilities.
She leafed through it at random, then, thinking of Jane Clausen, she turned to the section that dealt with orphanages. Midway through those pages she stopped and studied a photograph of an orphanage. That must be a typical structure for that use, she thought. Typical kind of landscaping too.
“Really fascinating, isn’t it?”
Alex was at her side.
“Pretty impressive, I’d say,” she told him.
“Well, if you can tear yourself away, they’re about to serve dinner.”
Despite the elegance of the dinner, Susan once again found herself distracted so that she didn’t notice what she was eating. Her sense of foreboding was so strong as to seem like a physical presence. Nat Small, the porn shop proprietor—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Suppose it occurred to the killer that Nat might have noticed him hanging around the display window? He surely would get rid of Nat, too, Susan thought. Carolyn Wells may not recover, or if she does, she may not even remember what happened to her. That means that Nat is perhaps the only one who can identify the man who murdered Parki and the others, and pushed Carolyn.
Suddenly aware that Alex was asking her something, she focused enough to respond. “Oh no, everything is fine. And I absolutely love the food,” she said. “I’m just not very hungry.”
I should have the pictures from Carolyn’s cruise Monday, she thought. But what will I find? When Carolyn had phoned the program and mentioned the photograph, she had said the man who invited her to see Algiers was just in the background of that shot. What about Regina’s cruise? Maybe there are other, clearer pictures from that trip that caught him. I should have ordered them as well, she thought, mentally chastising herself for not having done that earlier. I’ve got to get them before it’s too late—before someone else gets killed.
The presentation of the book was made after the main course had been cleared. The director of the library spoke about the generosity of the Wright Family Foundation, and about the grant to purchase and maintain rare books. She spoke also of the “modesty and dedication of Alexander Carter Wright, who so unselfishly devotes his life to running the foundation and who shuns personal recognition.”
“See what a nice guy I am,” Alex whispered to Susan as he stood to accept the book the director was presenting.
Alex was a good speaker, his manner easy, gracious, and laced with a touch of humor. When he was seated again, Susan murmured, “Alex, do you mind if I switch places with Dee for dessert?”
“Susan, is anything wrong?”
“No, not at all. Peace in the family and all that. I can see that Dee is unhappy, having her ear bent by Gordon Mayberry. Maybe if I rescue her we’ll bond a little.” She laughed. “And I also need to have a word with Dad.”
Alex’s amused chuckle followed her as she walked to the nearby table and asked Dee to trade places. There’s another reason to do this, she acknowledged to herself—if I’m going to start dating Alex, I want to be very sure that Dee won’t be in the picture. If there is going to be a competition, then I want to head it off before it can get started. I don’t want to go through another situation like we had with Jack.
She waited until Mayberry had Binky’s ear before she turned to her father. “Dad, I mean Charles, this may sound crazy, but I need to have you send fifteen thousand dollars more to that photo studio in London first thing Monday morning.”
He looked at her, his expression changing from surprise to concern. “Sure I will, honey, but are you in some kind of trouble? No matter what it is, I can help.”
Sure I will. I can help.
The bottom line is that despite Binky and her obvious dislike of me, Dad’s always willing to be there for me, Susan thought. I’ve got to remember that. “I promise I’m not in any trouble, but I do ask that we keep this between us,” she told him. “I’m helping someone else.”
I know Nat Small may be at risk, she thought. And he may not be the only one. There could be another person marked to receive one of those turquoise rings with “You belong to me” engraved inside the band.
Why did the lyrics of that song keep running through her head? she wondered. Now she was hearing “Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle.”
Of course! Those words had been on the bulletin from the Gabrielle that she had found among Regina Clausen’s effects earlier in the day.
r /> I’ll have the pictures from the Seagodiva on Monday, Susan thought. I’ll ask Nedda if I can use the long conference table in her office to lay them out. That means by Monday night I should have found Carolyn’s picture. If the studio can make copies of the photographs from the Gabrielle by Tuesday afternoon, I’ll have them Wednesday. I’ll spend as much time as necessary going through them even if I have to stay up all night.
Binky finally had managed to deflect Gordon Mayberry onto someone else. “What are you two talking about?” she demanded as she turned her attention to Susan and Charles.
Susan caught her father’s conspiratorial wink as he said, “Susan was just telling me that she’s interested in collecting art, dear.”
92
Pamela Hastings arrived at Lenox Hill Hospital at noon on Sunday, and made her way through the now-familiar corridors to the ICU waiting room. As expected, she found Justin Wells was there already, looking disheveled, unshaven, and half-asleep.
“You didn’t go home last night,” she said accusingly.
He peered up at her with bloodshot eyes. “I couldn’t. They tell me she has stabilized somewhat, but still I’m afraid to leave her for any length of time. I’m not going inside her room again, though. The impression around here is that on Friday Carolyn started to come out of the coma, then must have remembered what happened to her, and the panic and fear drove her back under. She was conscious long enough, however, to say, ‘No . . . please . . . no! Justin.”’
“You know that doesn’t necessarily mean, ‘Please, don’t push me under a car, Justin,”’ she said as she sat next to him.
“Tell that to the cops. And to the doctors and nurses here. I swear, if I try to go near Carolyn, they all act like they expect to see me pull the plug.”
Pam noticed the convulsive opening and closing of his hands. He’s on the verge of a breakdown, she thought. “Did you at least have dinner with Dr. Richards last night?” she asked.