'Looks like nobody's home,' Serita said.
'Not yet,' Laura answered. 'My father is working late tonight. My mother should be home in a few minutes.'
'Are you going to wait out here?'
'I have a key.'
'Right,' Serita said. 'Well, good luck, Laura. Keep your cool.'
'I will.'
Laura turned away from the car and made her way to the door. She fumbled through her purse, found her key, placed it in the lock. The door opened easily. She moved into the house and closed the door behind her.
Her hand located the light switch from rote memory. She had been flicking that switch since she was a fat infant who had had to stand on her tippy-toes to reach it. She glanced about the surroundings of her youth as though they were all new to her. The familiar house seemed different today, like a book she had only skimmed through but never bothered to read from cover to cover.
Laura climbed the steps to the upper level of the house. She knew exactly where she was heading. At the very least, her mother was an organized person. Everything had its place. Mary Ayars lost nothing. It was a characteristic her youngest daughter had not inherited. Whenever Mary had visited Laura's office, she invariably asked, 'How can you work in this mess? How can you find anything?'
The truth was that half the time Laura could not find what she was looking for, but then again that was why she had Estelle. Estelle, who was up at Colgate with Judy's mystery key, kept great files, freeing Laura to create mass disarray in peace. Laura's mind worked fast, too fast sometimes. Ideas flew in and then details would slip out. Not so with her mother. Her mother was a plodder. She did one thing at a time and she did not take on a new task until the prior one had been completed.
My mother would never hurt me, never hurt our family. She loves us . . .
Laura's head pounded. Her mother. Her beautiful, loving, often smothering mother. Mary Ayars had taken care of her daughters when they were sick, had held them when they were scared of the dark. She had read them stories before bed and tucked them in with a kiss before sleep. Could it have all been a lie? Did Laura ever really know her mother? Questions like these ate away at Laura's brain, ate away at her ability to be rational. So few things in life were consistent. Her mother had always loved her unequivocally and unselfishly, but now Laura was forced to wonder about the very foundation of her life. Mary Ayars's ravishing facade was being slowly peeled away, and Laura no longer wanted to see what was underneath it.
There has to be a mistake. There just has to be . . .
But her mind knew that her mother held the key to David's death. How, why, she could not say. Her mother had hated David from the beginning, had begged Laura not to see him. Why? She had never even met him, had never even sat in the same room with him. Why was she so against their relationship? Couldn't she see how happy he made her, that for the first time she was truly in love? Had a thirty-year-old love affair blinded Mary so? Had the past forced her to fly to Australia, meet with David and . . .
And what?
A chill passed through the corridor. Laura did not know the answer to that question but it would come soon enough. Right now, there was something else that Laura had to do. She entered her parents' bedroom and made her way straight to the night-table on her mother's side of the bed. She pulled open the second drawer and spotted the blue cover almost immediately. She took it out, opened it, quickly glanced through the pages. In a matter of seconds, her fears were confirmed. She had known it was coming, had prepared herself for it, but the confirmation still wrenched her heart painfully.
It's true. My God, it's true . . .
A door opened downstairs. 'Hello?'
Her mother's voice. Even the sweet voice now seemed tainted. 'I'm up here, Mother.'
'Laura?' Mary called back surprised. 'What are you doing here?'
She placed the blue item from the drawer into her pocket. 'I came to talk to you,' she yelled down.
'At eight o'clock at night? Why didn't you call, darling?'
'I . . . I don't know.'
'You should get to a hospital. Dr Clarich says -- '
'I feel fine.'
'And how did you get here anyhow? Your car isn't in the driveway.'
Though the voice was only coming from downstairs, it seemed to echo from so far away. 'Serita drove me.'
'Then you'll be staying the night?'
Laura could hear the hope in her mother's voice. 'I don't think so. She'll be back for me in a little while.'
Mary moved into the kitchen. 'Why don't you come downstairs, Laura? All of this yelling is giving me a headache.'
A headache? Laura thought as she crossed the room. Did you ever see David get one of his headaches, Mother? No? Then you have no idea what a headache is. You think that slight prick of discomfort in your head is truly painful? What a laugh, but then again you have always had it soft, haven't you, Mother? You've always been shielded from life's hardships. You let your beauty twist and mold everything to suit your needs. You never worked a day in your life. You spent your life pretending to crave independence when all you wanted to do was make excuses. Dad always took care of you, kept you fed and clothed and happy like some overgrown child. And how did you repay him, dearest Mother? By betraying him. By sleeping with David's father and who knows how many others.
With each step Laura let the rage build and fester until her mind was ready to explode. Gone were thoughts of prudence, thoughts that maybe there was a logical explanation for all of this, thoughts that maybe her mother had nothing to do with David's death. Seething anger had crept into Laura and taken over reason. She strode into the kitchen and faced her mother.
Mary spun around and stared at her daughter's face worriedly. 'Laura,' she said, 'are you okay?'
Laura did not respond. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the item she had taken out of the night-table. When Mary saw what was in her daughter's hand, her eyes widened with fear. 'What are you doing with that?'
'I just got it out of your drawer,' Laura said.
'You have no right to go through my things.'
'And you had no right to kill my husband.'
The silence was staggering, suffocating. Mary took one step back, her hand fluttering to her throat. 'What did you say?'
'You heard me.' She flipped the passport toward her mother. Mary jumped back as if it were a chunk of hot coal. 'You were in Australia during our honeymoon. Don't deny it, Mother. Passports don't lie.'
Mary said nothing. She moved farther and farther back until she nearly crouched in a corner.
'How did you find out we were there, Mother? Did Dad tell you? Or Gloria?'
Mary closed her eyes and shook her head hard.
'Did they tell you or -- ?' Laura stopped speaking. Her mind jerked back to the break-in at their new house, the open calendar on the desk, the shredded photograph . . . 'It was you.'
'What?'
'You were the one who broke into our house while we were away, weren't you, Mother? That explains why there was no forced entry. You got the key to the house from my apartment, and I told you the alarm code when we first had it installed. You were the one who went through our calendar. That's how you knew where we were. And it was you who tore up the picture of David's father, wasn't it, Mother?'
Mary still said nothing, her body quaking in the corner.
Laura's shout vibrated through the room. 'Wasn't it, Mother?'
Mary's shoulders sagged. Finally, she nodded.
'But why?'
Mary began to speak in a voice that quivered on every word. 'Because I could tell something important was going on between you two,' she said. 'Your office had no idea where you were. Your father and sister said that you were probably on a business trip, but whenever you had traveled in the past you let me know. You never just took off without calling me. So I became scared. I went to your apartment to look for some clue, but there was nothing there. Then I saw the key to the new house you bought with David. I drove there and rummaged t
hrough the desk until I found David's calendar. It told me all about your secret elopement to Australia.'
'And what about the photograph? Why did you rip it up?'
Mary turned away, nervously repositioning the rings on her fingers. 'I didn't plan on ripping up any photographs, ' she said. 'The photo album was just sitting on the desk so I started to look through it. I was so upset . . . I guess I just lashed out at a photograph.'
'Not just any photograph,' Laura replied carefully, 'but a photograph of Sinclair Baskin. Do you remember him?'
'No, Of course not -- '
'Let me refresh your memory then,' Laura interrupted, fighting desperately to keep her temper in check. 'You stole Sinclair Baskin away from Aunt Judy thirty years ago.'
Mary's face went white. 'How . . . ?'
'You had an affair with him,' Laura continued, 'or have you had so many affairs over the years that a few have slipped your mind?'
Mary clasped her hands over her ears. Her eyes squeezed shut. 'No, no . . .'
'And now that I think of it, wasn't Aunt Judy dating Dad before you met him? Didn't you steal Dad away from her too?'
'No, no . . .'
'And Sinclair Baskin broke it off with you, didn't he? When he was finished having his fun and using you, he tossed you away.'
'That's not it at all ...'
'How could you do that to Dad? How could you sneak behind his back like that?'
Mary's head fell into her hands. For the first time, her voice was above a whisper. 'Don't you think I ask myself that every day? I love your father very much. I never, never, had another affair after that.'
'How big of you,' Laura shot back sarcastically.
'Back then,' Mary continued, 'your father was working at the hospital day and night. I never saw him. I took care of Gloria and sat at home all day watching soap operas. Sinclair came along. He was a handsome, charismatic, worldly man and I was young and naive. I fell for him. You of all people should understand the attraction. Your David probably possessed similar charms.'
'Don't compare what I had with David to your sleazy affair.'
'I'm not,' Mary replied. 'I'm just saying that I was lonely and young. I made a mistake. I don't expect you to understand, and I don't want your sympathy.'
'Good, because you're not going to get it. But I have another question. Why did you kill Sinclair Baskin?'
Her mother stopped. 'Kill Sinclair? He committed suicide like ...'
'Like who, Mother?'
'No . . . Nobody. Sinclair Baskin committed suicide. He shot himself in the head.'
'Another lie, Mother.'
'No, it's the truth -- '
'It's a lie!' Laura shouted. 'Sinclair Baskin broke it off with you. You were crushed, destroyed. After all, nobody breaks up with the gorgeous Mary Ayars, right? And according to his secretary, you were the last person to see him alive.'
'He committed suicide, Laura. Everybody knows that.'
'Wrong, Mother. Stan Baskin was there. He was hiding behind a couch. He saw his father being murdered.'
Mary's body swayed. Her head kept shaking, denying her daughter's words. 'I never harmed Sinclair, I swear it. Yes, we had an affair thirty years ago, but I had nothing to do with his death. You have to believe me. For thirty years, I've had to pay for what I did back then. We have all had to pay in ways I could have never imagined.'
'Including David?'
'It was never supposed to happen that way.'
'What way?'
'David was never supposed to die.'
Laura stopped in mid-breath. 'You killed him,' she said in a hushed voice.
'I didn't mean to,' Mary cried. 'I thought it would all end differently. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone.'
'You killed David!'
Mary shook her head. 'You don't understand. It was unplanned, an accident. I thought he'd react differently.'
'React differently? Did you really think that you could just talk him into leaving me?'
'Something like that ...'
'You thought he would dump me just like Sinclair Baskin dumped you thirty years ago?'
'It was a chance I had to take.'
'And when he refused, you had him killed.'
Mary's head snapped up. 'No! That's not it at all.'
'You hated him because of what his father did to you thirty years ago.'
'No!'
'And you didn't want your daughter to make the same mistake you made. After all, like father, like son, right? You decided he was no good.'
'That's not it,' Mary said. 'You don't understand.'
'How could you be so blind to David, Mother? He was nothing like his father. David was warm, sweet, considerate, caring -- '
'I know!' Mary interrupted loudly. 'I know he was a wonderful young man. I know he was nothing like his father. Don't you see? I never wanted him to die.'
Laura stopped. Her puzzled eyes locked onto her mother. 'Then why, Mother? If you thought he was such a wonderful man, why did you have him killed?'
'I didn't have him killed. I never killed anyone.'
'But you just said -- '
'I caused his death,' Mary explained, 'but I didn't kill him.'
Laura's mind spun. 'You're not making sense. You wanted to destroy a relationship between your daughter and a man you just described as wonderful. You wanted to break us up so badly that you flew to Australia, met with him, and begged him to stop seeing me, right?'
'Yes.'
'Then when he refused to leave me -- '
'He didn't refuse,' Mary said. 'David promised me he would never see you again.'
Laura could not believe what she was hearing. 'What are you saying?' she snapped. 'You talked David into leaving me?'
'I guess I did. But I didn't realize the cost. You were the one who said, like father, like son.'
'So?'
'So David loved you. He couldn't stand to be away from you. After we talked, I thought he was just going to leave you, disappear from your life. That's what he promised. And I knew you would be devastated. I knew how much you loved him. But you were strong and young. You'd be able to snap back from the heartbreak. Your family would help you. Don't you see, Laura? I just wanted David to leave you. I never wanted him to commit suicide . . . like his father.'
Laura felt her knees buckle. 'What?'
'Right after I convinced David to leave you he drowned. Doesn't that seem like a strange coincidence to you? I never imagined that my words would make him kill himself.'
Laura felt blows landing on her head. She tried to fend them off but there were too many and they were coming too fast. She felt dizzy, sick. 'Are you trying to tell me that David was so upset about his father's indiscretions that he committed suicide?'
'No. That's not it at all.'
'Why couldn't you have just left us alone?' Laura ranted, tears flowing freely now. 'We were happy and in love. Why should your disgusting affair have anything to do with us?'
'Unfortunately,' Mary said sadly, 'it had everything to do with you.'
'But why?' Laura demanded. She was on the verge of striking out physically at her mother, of punching and kicking until she dropped from exhaustion. 'David was an infant when Sinclair Baskin died. He was nothing like his father -- you yourself said that. Why was it so important for you to destroy my marriage?'
Mary swallowed. She stood upright, her spine rigid. She turned to face Laura as if she were preparing to receive a terrible blow. Her body trembled. 'Because,' she said slowly, 'you were married to your brother.'
Chapter 29
'This way, Miss.'
Estelle followed the president of First National of Hamilton into the bank. It was late, well past closing, but Estelle had managed to get him to come down and open the bank for her. How? Trade secrets. Estelle knew how to network better than anyone. She had taken the simple ritual of talking on the phone and transformed it into an art form. Give her a telephone and a local directory and Estelle could locate anybody or a
nything -- like the truth behind Judy's mystery key.
'Please have a seat. May I have the key please?'
Estelle handed him the key.
'And the notarized letter?'
She passed him the notarized letter Laura's attorney had drawn up giving Estelle full access to whatever the key might open.
The banker headed down the hallway. He returned a minute later with the box under his arm.
'Here it is.'
He handed her the box. Estelle opened it and skimmed through the contents. A lot of old bonds. An employment contract from Colgate College. Insurance claims.
On the bottom, Estelle found a diary from 1960. Laura's words came back to her.
'What exactly do you expect me to find, Laura?'
'I don't really know. Something to do with the past.'
'The past?'
'1960 to be more precise. Something happened to my aunt that year and I need to find out what.'
'I don't understand what you mean.'
'Neither do I. Don't worry about it. Just keep your eyes open for anything involving 1960.'
Without further delay, Estelle poured everything from the box into a small bag with the other items. She thanked the banker and hurried to the taxi. The chartered jet was fueled and waiting for her at the airport. Estelle looked at her watch. With a little luck, she could be back at Laura's apartment with the diary in just over two hours.
For more than a full minute, the kitchen remained silent. Only the sounds of Mary's sobs penetrated the stillness that surrounded the two women. Laura was too stunned to move, too stunned to allow the truth to go any deeper than the periphery of her mind.
'My brother?' she was finally able to utter. 'David was my brother?'
Mary nodded. 'Sinclair Baskin is your real father.'
'No,' Laura said with a dull voice. 'That can't be.'
'It's true. God, I wish it wasn't, but it's true.'
'But how ...'
'Because I was stupid and careless. During my affair with Sinclair, I became pregnant.'
'Maybe Dad was the one. Maybe Dad got you preg -- '
Mary shook her head. 'Your father and I had not slept together for nearly two months.'
'You became pregnant?'
She nodded.