I'll Be Seeing You Page 17

  Now Frances was haunted by the question, is it possible that Edwin is still alive?

  He’d been so upset about business the morning he left.

  He’d had a growing fear that his double life would be exposed and that both his daughters would despise him.

  He’d had chest pains recently, which were diagnosed as being caused by anxiety.

  He’d given her a bearer bond for two hundred thousand dollars in December. “In case anything happens to me,” he had said. Had he been planning to find a way to drop out of both his lives when he said that?

  And where was Annie? Frances agonized, with a growing sense of foreboding.

  Edwin had an answering machine in his private office. Over the years, if Frances ever had to reach him, the arrangement was that she would call between midnight and 5 A.M. Eastern time. He always beeped in for messages by six o’clock and then erased them.

  Of course that number was disconnected. Or was it?

  It was a few minutes past ten in Arizona, past midnight on the East Coast.

  She picked up the receiver and dialed. After two rings, Ed’s recorded announcement began. “You have reached 203-555-2867. At the beep please leave a brief message.”

  Frances was so startled at hearing his voice that she almost forgot why she was calling. Could this possibly mean that he is alive? she wondered. And if Ed is alive somewhere, does he ever check this machine?

  She had nothing to lose. Hurriedly Frances left the message they’d agreed upon. “Mr. Collins, please call Palomino Leather Goods. If you’re still interested in that briefcase, we have it in stock.”

  Victor Orsini was in Edwin Collins’ office, still going through the files, when the private phone rang. He jumped. Who in hell would call an office at this hour?

  The answering machine clicked on. Sitting in Collins’ chair, Orsini listened to the modulated voice as it left the brief message.

  When the call was completed, Orsini sat staring at the machine for long minutes. No business calls about a briefcase are made at this hour, he thought. That’s some kind of code. Someone expects Ed Collins to get that message. It was one more confirmation that some mysterious person believed Ed was alive and out there somewhere.

  A few minutes later, Victor left. He had not found the object of his search.

  42

  On Sunday morning, Catherine Collins attended the ten o’clock mass at St. Paul’s, but she found it difficult to keep her mind on the sermon. She had been christened in this church, married in it, buried her parents from it. She had always found comfort here. For so long she had prayed at mass that Edwin’s body would be found, prayed for resignation to his loss, for the strength to go on without him.

  What was she asking of God now? Only that He keep Meg safe. She glanced at Meg, sitting beside her, completely still, seemingly attentive to the homily, but Catherine suspected that her daughter’s thoughts were far away as well.

  A fragment from the Dies Irae came unbidden into Catherine’s mind. “Day of wrath and day of mourning. Lo, the world in ashes burning.”

  I’m angry and I’m hurt and my world is in ashes, Catherine thought. She blinked back sudden tears and felt Meg’s hand close over hers.

  When they left church they stopped for coffee and sticky buns at the local bakery, which had a half-dozen tables in the rear of the shop. “Feel better?” Meg asked.

  “Yes,” Catherine said briskly. “These sticky buns will do it every time. I’m going with you to Dad’s office.”

  “I thought we’d agreed I should clear it out. That’s why we’re in two cars.”

  “It’s no easier for you than it is for me. It will go faster if we’re together, and some of that stuff will be heavy to carry.”

  Her mother’s voice held the note of finality that Meghan knew ended further debate.

  Meghan’s car was filled with boxes for packing. She and her mother lugged them to the building. When they opened the door into the Collins and Carter office suite, they were surprised to find that it was warm and the lights were on.

  “Ten to one Phillip came in early to get the place ready,” Catherine observed. She looked around the reception room. “It’s surprising how seldom I came here,” she said. “Your dad traveled so much, and even when he wasn’t on the road he was usually out on appointments. And of course I was always tied to the inn.”

  “I probably was here more than you,” Meg agreed. “I used to come here after school sometimes and catch a ride home with him.”

  She pushed open the door to her father’s private office. “It’s just as he left it,” she told her mother. “Phillip has been awfully generous to keep it undisturbed this long. I know Victor really should have been using it.”

  For a long moment they both studied the room: his desk, the long table behind it with their pictures, the wall unit with bookcases and file cabinets in the same cherrywood finish as the desk. The effect was uncluttered and tasteful.

  “Edwin bought and refinished that desk,” Catherine said. “I’m sure Phillip wouldn’t mind if we had it picked up.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  They began by collecting the pictures and stacking them in a box. Meghan knew they both sensed that the faster the office took on an impersonal look, the easier it would be. Then she suggested, “Mom, why don’t you start with the books. I’ll go through the desk and files.”

  It was only when she was seated at the desk that she saw the blinking light on the answering machine, which sat on a low table next to the swivel chair.

  “Look at this.”

  Her mother came over to the desk. “Is anyone still leaving messages on Dad’s machine?” she asked incredulously, then leaned down to look at the call display.

  “There’s just one. Let’s hear it.”

  Bewildered, they listened to the message and then the computer voice of the machine saying, “Sunday, October thirty-first, 12:09 A.M. End of final message.”

  “That message came in only hours ago!” Catherine exclaimed. “Who leaves a business message in the middle of the night? And when would Dad have ordered a briefcase?”

  “It could be a mistake,” Meghan said. “Whoever called didn’t leave a return number or a name.”

  “Wouldn’t most salespeople leave a phone number if they wanted to confirm an order, especially if the order was placed months ago? Meg, that message doesn’t make sense. And that woman doesn’t sound like an order clerk to me.”

  Meg slipped the tape out of the machine and put it in her shoulder bag. “It doesn’t make sense,” she agreed. “We’re only wasting time trying to figure it out here. Let’s get on with this packing and listen to it again at home.”

  She looked quickly through the desk drawers and found the usual assortment of stationery, notepads, paper clips, pens and highlighters. She remembered that when he went over a candidate’s curriculum vitae, her father had marked the most favorable aspects of the résumé in yellow, the least favorable in pink. Quickly she transferred the contents of the desk to boxes.

  Next she tackled the files. The first one seemed to have copies of her father’s expense account reports. Apparently the bookkeeper kept the original and returned a photocopy with Paid stamped across the top.

  “I’m going to take these files home,” she said. “They’re Dad’s personal copies of originals already in the company records.”

  “Is there any point in taking them?”

  “Yes, there just might be some reference to Palomino Leather Goods.”

  They were finishing the last box when they heard the outside door open. “It’s me,” Phillip called.

  He came in, wearing a shirt open at the neck, sleeveless sweater, corduroy jacket and slacks. “Hope it was comfortable when you got here,” he said. “I stopped by this morning for a minute. This place gets mighty chilly over a weekend if the thermostat is down.”

  He surveyed the boxes. “I knew you’d need a hand. Catherine, will you please put down that box
of books.”

  “Dad called her ‘Mighty Mouse,’ ” Meg said. “This is nice of you, Phillip.”

  He saw the top of an expense file sticking out of one of the boxes. “Are you sure you want all that stuff? It’s nuts and bolts, and you and I went all through it, Meg, looking for any insurance policies that might not have been in the safe.”

  “We might as well take it,” Meg said. “You’d only have to dispose of it anyhow.”

  “Phillip, the answering machine was blinking when we came in here.” Meghan took out the tape, snapped it into the machine and played it.

  She saw the look of astonishment on his face. “Obviously you don’t get it either.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  It was fortunate that both she and her mother had brought their cars. The trunks and backseats were crammed by the time the last box had been carried down.

  They refused Phillip’s offer to follow them and help unload. “I’ll have a couple of the busboys from the inn take care of it,” Catherine said.

  As Meghan drove home she knew that every hour she was not tracking down information on Helene Petrovic she would be going through every line of every page of her father’s records.

  If there was someone else in Dad’s life, she thought, and if that woman in the morgue is the Annie that Cyrus Graham met ten years ago, there might be some link in his files that I can trace back to them.

  Some instinct told her that Palomino Leather Goods might prove to be that link.

  In Kyle’s eyes, the trick-or-treating had been absolutely great. On Sunday evening he spread his collection of assorted candies, cookies, apples and pennies on the den floor while Mac prepared dinner.

  “Don’t eat any of that junk now,” Mac warned.

  “I know, Dad. You told me twice.”

  “Then maybe it’ll start sinking in.” Mac tested the hamburgers on the grill.

  “Why do we always have hamburgers on Sunday when we’re home?” Kyle asked. “They’re better at McDonald’s.”

  “Many thanks.” Mac flipped them onto toasted buns. “We have hamburgers on Sunday because I cook hamburgers better than anything else. I take you out most Fridays. I make pasta when we’re home on Saturdays, and Mrs. Dileo cooks good food the rest of the week. Now eat up if you want to put your costume on again and scare Meg.”

  Kyle took a couple of bites of his hamburger. “Do you like Meg, Dad?”

  “Yes, I do. Very much. Why?”

  “I wish she’d come here more. She’s fun.”

  I wish she’d come here more too, Mac thought, but it doesn’t look as though that’s going to happen. Last night when he’d offered to help her with the packing up of her father’s office she’d cut him off so fast his head had been spinning.

  Stay away. Don’t get too close. We’re just friends. She might as well put up a sign.

  She’d certainly grown up a lot from the nineteen-year-old kid who had a crush on him and wrote a letter telling him she loved him and please don’t marry Ginger.

  He wished he had the letter now. He also wished she’d feel that way again. He certainly regretted he hadn’t taken her advice about Ginger.

  Then Mac looked at his son. No I don’t, he thought. I couldn’t and wouldn’t undo having this kid.

  “Dad, what’s the matter?” Kyle asked. “You look worried.”

  “That’s what you said about Meg when you saw her on television yesterday.”

  “Well, she did and so do you.”

  “I’m just worried that I might have to learn how to cook something else. Finish up and get your costume on.”

  It was seven-thirty when they left the house. Kyle deemed it satisfactorily dark outside for ghosts. “I bet there really are ghosts out,” he said. “On Halloween all the dead people get out of their graves and walk around.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Danny.”

  “Tell Danny that’s a tall tale everyone tells on Halloween.”

  They walked around the curve in the road and reached the Collins property. “Now, Dad, you wait here near the hedge where Meg can’t see you. I’ll go around in back and bang on the window and howl. Okay?”

  “Okay. Don’t scare her too much.”

  Swinging his skull-shaped lantern, Kyle raced around the back of the Collins house. The dining room shades were up, and he could see Meg sitting at the table with a bunch of papers in front of her. He had a good idea. He’d go right to the edge of the woods and run from there to the house, yelling “Whoo, whoo,” and then he’d bang on the window. That should really scare Meg.

  He stepped between two trees, spread his arms and began to wave them about. As his right hand went back, he felt flesh, smooth flesh, then an ear. He heard breathing. Whirling his head around, he saw the form of a man, crouching behind him, the light reflecting off a camera lens. A hand grabbed his neck. Kyle wiggled loose and began to scream. Then he was shoved forward with a violent push. As he fell, he dropped his lantern and began clawing the ground, his hand closing over something. Still screaming, he scrambled to his feet and ran toward the house.

  That’s some realistic yell, Mac thought, when he first heard Kyle’s scream. Then, as the terrified shriek continued, he began to run toward the woods. Something had happened to Kyle. With a burst of speed he raced across the lawn and behind the house.

  From inside the dining room, Meg heard the screaming and ran to the back door. She yanked it open and grabbed Kyle as he stumbled through the door and fell into her arms, sobbing in terror.

  That was the way Mac found them, their arms around each other, Meg rocking his son back and forth, soothing him. “Kyle, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she kept repeating.

  It took minutes before he could tell them what had happened. “Kyle, it’s all those stories about the dead walking that makes you think you’re seeing things,” Mac said. “There was nothing there.”

  Calmer now, drinking the hot cocoa Meg had made for him, Kyle was adamant. “There was so a man there, and he had a camera. I know. I fell when he pushed me, but I picked up something. Then I dropped it when I saw Meg. Go see what it is, Dad.”

  “I’ll get a flashlight, Mac,” Meg said.

  Mac went outside and began moving the beam back and forth over the ground. He did not have to go far. Only a few feet from the back porch he found a gray plastic box, the kind used to carry videotapes.

  He picked it up and walked back to the woods, still shining the light before him. He knew it was useless. No intruder stands around waiting to be discovered. The ground was too hard to see footprints, but he found Kyle’s lantern directly in line with the dining room windows. From where he was standing he could see Meg and Kyle clearly.

  Someone with a camera had been here watching Meg, maybe taping her. Why?

  Mac thought of the dead girl in the morgue, then hurried back across the lawn to the house.

  That stupid kid! Bernie thought as he ran through the woods to his car. He’d parked it near the end of the Drumdoe Inn parking lot but not so far away that it stood out. There were about forty cars scattered through the lot now, so his Chevy certainly wouldn’t have been particularly noticed. He hurriedly tossed his camera in the trunk and drove through town toward Route 7. He was careful to go not more than five miles above the speed limit. But he knew that driving too slow was a red flag to the cops too.

  Had that kid gotten a good look at him? He didn’t think so. It was dark, and the kid was scared. A few seconds more and he could have moved backwards and the kid wouldn’t have known he was there.

  Bernie was furious. He’d been enjoying watching Meghan through the camera, and he’d had such a clear view of her. He was sure he had great tapes.

  On the other hand he’d never seen anyone so frightened as that kid had been. He felt tingly and alive and almost energized just thinking about it. To have such power. To be able to record someone’s expressions and movements and secret little gestures, like the way Meghan kept tucking her hair behin
d her ear when she was concentrating. To scare someone so much that he screamed and cried and ran like that little kid just now.

  To watch Meghan, her hands, her hair . . .

  43

  Stephanie Petrovic had a fitful night, finally falling into a heavy sleep. When she awakened at ten-thirty on Sunday morning, she opened her eyes lazily and smiled. At last things were working out.

  She had been warned never to breathe his name, to forget she’d ever met him, but that was before Helene was murdered and before Helene lost the chance to change her will.

  On the telephone he was so kind to her. He promised he would take care of her. He would make arrangements to have the baby adopted by people who would pay one hundred thousand dollars for it.

  “So much?” she had asked, delighted.

  He reassured her that there would be no problem.

  He would also arrange to get her a green card. “It will be fake, but no one will ever be able to tell the difference,” he had said. “However, I suggest that you move someplace where no one knows you. I wouldn’t want anyone to recognize you. Even in a big place like New York City people bump into each other, and in your case they’d start asking questions. You might try California.”

  Stephanie knew she would love California. Maybe she could get a job in a spa there, she thought. With one hundred thousand dollars she’d be able to get the training she’d need. Or maybe she could just get a job right away. She was like Helene. Being a beautician came to her naturally. She loved that kind of work.

  He was sending a car for her at seven o’clock tonight. “I don’t want the neighbors to see you moving out,” he’d told her.

  Stephanie wanted to luxuriate in bed, but she was hungry. Only ten days more and the baby will be born and then I can go on a diet, she promised herself.

  She showered, then dressed in the maternity clothes she had come to hate. Then she began to pack. Helene had tapestry luggage in the closet. Why shouldn’t I have it? Stephanie thought. Who deserves it more?