I'll Be Seeing You Page 25

  Catherine could see the way Mac looked at Meg these days. She hoped it wasn’t too late. Edwin had never forgiven his mother for rejecting him. Meg had built up a wall around herself where Mac was concerned. And great as she was with Kyle in her own way, she chose not to see how hopefully he was always reaching out to her.

  Catherine caught a glimpse of a figure in the woods. She froze, then relaxed. It was a policeman. At least they were keeping an eye on the place.

  She heard the click of a key in the lock.

  Catherine breathed a prayer of gratitude. The daughter who made everything else bearable was safe.

  Now maybe for the moment she could stop being haunted by the pictures that had run side by side in the newspapers today, the official publicity head shot of Meg from Channel 3 and the professional head shot Annie had used for her travel articles.

  At Catherine’s insistence, Virginia had sent over all the papers delivered to the inn, including the tabloids. The Daily News, besides using the pictures, had printed a photocopy of the fax Meg had received the night Annie was stabbed.

  The headline of their article read: DID THE WRONG SISTER DIE?

  “Hi, Mom. I’m home.”

  For reassurance, Catherine took one more glance at the policeman at the edge of the woods, then turned to greet her daughter.

  * * *

  Virginia Murphy was the semiofficial second in command of the Drumdoe Inn. Technically hostess at the restaurant, and reservation clerk as needed, she was in fact Catherine’s eyes and ears when Catherine was not around or when she was busy in the kitchen. Ten years younger than Catherine, six inches taller and handsomely rounded, she was a good friend as well as a faithful employee.

  Knowing the financial situation at the inn, Virginia worked diligently to cut corners where it wouldn’t show. She passionately wanted Catherine to be able to keep the inn. She knew that when all this terrible publicity died down, Catherine’s best chance to get on with her life began here.

  It galled Virginia that she’d aided and abetted Catherine when that crazy interior designer came in with her violently expensive swatches and tile samples and plumbing-supply books. And that after the expense of the much-needed renovation!

  The place looked lovely, Virginia admitted, and it certainly had needed a face-lift, but the irony would be to go through the inconvenience and financial drain of renovating and redecorating only to have someone else come in and buy Drumdoe at a fire-sale price.

  The last thing Virginia wanted to do was to cause Catherine any more concern, but now she was getting worried about the man who had checked into room 3A. He’d been in bed since he arrived, claiming he was exhausted from running back and forth from Long Island to New Haven, where his mother was in the hospital.

  It wasn’t a big deal to send a tray up to his room. They could certainly handle that. The problem was that he might be seriously sick. How would it look if something happened to him while he was here?

  Virginia thought, I’m not going to bother Catherine yet. I’m going to let it go at least for another day. If he’s still in bed tomorrow night, I’ll go up and have a talk with him myself. I’ll insist that he allow a doctor to see him.

  * * *

  Frederick Schuller from Valley Memorial Hospital in Trenton called Mac late Friday afternoon. “I’ve sent the roster of medical staff to Miss Collins by overnight mail. She’ll have a lot of reading to do unless she knows what name she’s looking for.”

  “That was very quick,” Mac said sincerely. “I’m grateful.”

  “Let’s see if it’s helpful. There is one thing that might interest you. I was looking over the Manning Clinic list and saw Dr. Henry Williams’ name on it. I’m acquainted with him. He’s head of Franklin Clinic in Philadelphia now.”

  “Yes, I know,” Mac said.

  “This may not be relevant. Williams was never on staff here, but I remembered that his wife was in our long-term care facility for two of the three years Helene Petrovic worked at Dowling. I used to run into him here occasionally.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance he’s the doctor Petrovic may have been seeing when she was at Dowling?” Mac asked quickly.

  There was a hesitation, then Schuller said, “This borders on gossip, but I did make a few inquiries in the long-term unit. The head nurse has been there twenty years. She remembers Dr. Williams and his wife very well.”

  Mac waited. Let this be the connection we’re looking for, he prayed.

  It was clear that Frederick Schuller was reluctant to continue. After another brief pause he said, “Mrs. Williams had a brain tumor. She had been born and raised in Rumania. As her condition worsened, she lost her ability to communicate in English. Dr. Williams spoke only a few words of Rumanian, and a woman friend came regularly to Mrs. Williams’ room to translate for him.”

  “Was it Helene Petrovic?” Mac asked.

  “The nurse never was introduced to her. She described her as a dark-haired, brown-eyed woman in her early to mid-forties, quite attractive.” Schuller added, “As you can see, this is very tenuous.”

  No it isn’t, Mac thought. He tried to sound calm when he thanked Frederick Schuller, but when he hung up the phone, he said a silent prayer of gratitude.

  This was the first break! Meg had told him that Dr. Williams denied having known Petrovic before she joined the staff of the Manning Clinic. Williams was the expert who could have taught Petrovic the skills she needed to pass herself off as an embryologist.

  54

  “K yle, shouldn’t you be starting your homework?” Marie Dileo, the sixty-year-old housekeeper gently prodded.

  Kyle was watching the tape he’d made of Meg’s interview at the Franklin Clinic. He looked up. “In a minute, Mrs. Dileo, honest.”

  “You know what your Dad says about too much television.”

  “This is an educational tape. That’s different.”

  Dileo shook her head. “You have an answer for everything.” She studied him affectionately. Kyle was such a nice child, smart as a whip, funny and little-boy appealing.

  The segment with Meg was ending, and he turned off the set. “Meg is really a good reporter, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Trailed by Jake, Kyle followed Marie into the kitchen. She could tell something was wrong. “Didn’t you come home from Danny’s a little early?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.” He spun the fruit bowl.

  “Don’t do that. You’ll knock it over. Anything happen at Danny’s?”

  “His mother got a little mad at us.”

  “Oh?” Marie looked up from the meat loaf she was preparing. “I’m sure there was a reason.”

  “They put in a new laundry chute in his house. We thought we’d try it out.”

  “Kyle, you two wouldn’t fit in a laundry chute.”

  “No, but Penny fits.”

  “You put Penny in the chute!”

  “It was Danny’s idea. He put her in and I caught her at the bottom and we put a big quilt and pillows down in case I missed, but I didn’t, not once. Penny didn’t want to stop, but Danny’s mother’s real mad. We can’t play together all week.”

  “Kyle, if I were you, I’d have my homework done when your father gets home. He is not going to be happy about this.”

  “I know.” With a deep sigh Kyle went for his backpack and dumped his books on the kitchen table. Jake curled up on the floor at his feet.

  That desk he got for his birthday was a waste of money, Marie thought. She’d been about to set the table. Well, that could wait. It was only ten past five. The routine was that she prepared dinner and then left when Mac got home around six. He didn’t like to eat the minute he walked in, so he always served the meal himself, after Marie had left.

  The phone rang. Kyle jumped up. “I’ll get it.” He answered, listened, then handed the receiver to Marie. “It’s for you, Mrs. Dileo.”

  It was her husband saying that her father had been taken to the hospital from the n
ursing home.

  “Is something the matter?” Kyle asked when she replaced the receiver.

  “Yes. My Dad’s been sick for a long time. He’s very old. I have to get right to the hospital. I’ll drop you at Danny’s and leave a note for your father.”

  “Not Danny’s,” Kyle said, alarmed. “His mother wouldn’t like that. Leave me at Meg’s. I’ll call her.” He pressed the automatic dial button on the phone. Meg’s number was directly under those of the police and fire departments. A moment later he announced, beaming, “She said come right over.”

  Mrs. Dileo scribbled a note to Mac. “Take your homework, Kyle.”

  “Okay.” He ran into the living room and grabbed the tape he’d made of Meg’s interview. “Maybe she’ll want to watch it with me.”

  There was a briskness about Meg that Catherine did not understand. In the two hours since she’d come back from Trenton, Meg had been through Edwin’s files, extracted some papers and made several phone calls from the study. Then she sat at Edwin’s desk, writing furiously. It reminded Catherine of when Meg was in law school. Whenever she came home for a weekend, she spent most of it at that desk, totally preoccupied with her case studies.

  At five o’clock, Catherine looked in on her. “I thought I’d fix chicken and mushrooms for dinner. How does that grab you?”

  “Fine. Sit down for a minute, Mom.”

  Catherine chose the small armchair near the desk. Her eyes slid past Edwin’s maroon leather chair and ottoman. Meg had told her that they were duplicated in Arizona. Once an endearing reminder of her husband, they were now a mockery.

  Meg put her elbows on the desk, clasped her hands and rested her chin on them. “I had a nice talk with Fr. Radzin this morning. He offered the memorial mass for Helene Petrovic. I told him I couldn’t find any reason why Dad would have placed Petrovic at the Manning Clinic. He said words to the effect that there was always a reason for someone’s actions, and if I couldn’t find it, maybe I should reexamine the whole premise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mom, I mean that several traumatic things happened to us at once. I saw Annie’s body when she was brought to the hospital. We learned that Dad almost certainly had not died in the bridge accident and we began to suspect that he had been leading a double life. On the heels of that, Dad was blamed for Helene Petrovic’s false credentials and now for her murder.”

  Meg leaned forward. “Mom, if it hadn’t been for the shock of the double life and Petrovic’s death, when the insurers refused to pay, we would have taken a much longer look at the reason we thought Dad was on that bridge when the accident happened. Think about it.”

  “What do you mean?” Catherine was bewildered. “Victor Orsini was talking to Dad just as he was driving onto the ramp. Someone on the bridge saw his car go over the edge.”

  “That someone on the bridge obviously was mistaken. And Mom, we only have Victor Orsini’s word that Dad was calling him from that spot. Suppose, just suppose, Dad had already crossed the bridge when he called Victor. He might have seen the accident happening behind him. Frances Grolier remembered that Dad had been angry about something Victor had done, and that when Dad called Dr. Manning from Scottsdale, he had seemed really distraught. I was in New York. You were away overnight. It would be just like Dad to tell Victor he wanted to see him immediately, instead of next morning, as Victor said. Dad may have been insecure in his personal life, but I don’t think he ever had any doubts professionally.”

  “You’re saying that Victor’s a liar?” Catherine looked astounded.

  “It would be a safe lie, wouldn’t it? The time of the call from Dad’s car phone was exactly right and could be verified. Mom, Victor had been at the office a month or so when the recommendation for Petrovic went to Manning. He could have sent it. He was working directly under Dad.”

  “Phillip never has liked him,” Catherine murmured. “But, Meg, there’s no way to prove this. And you come up with the same question: Why? Why would Victor, any more than Dad, put Petrovic in that lab? What would he have to gain?”

  “I don’t know yet. But don’t you see that as long as the police think Dad is alive, they’re not going to seriously examine any alternative answers in Helene Petrovic’s murder?”

  The phone rang. “Ten to one it’s Phillip for you,” Meg said as she picked it up. It was Kyle.

  “We’ve got company for dinner,” she told Catherine when she replaced the receiver. “Hope you can stretch the chicken and mushrooms.”

  “Mac and Kyle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Catherine got up. “Meg, I wish I could be as enthusiastic as you about all these possibilities. You have a theory and it’s a good defense argument for your father. But maybe it’s just that.”

  Meg held up a sheet of paper. “This is the January bill for Dad’s car phone. Look at how much that last call cost. He and Victor were on for eight minutes. It doesn’t take eight minutes to set up a meeting, does it?”

  “Meg, Dad’s signature was on the letter to the Manning Clinic. That’s been verified by experts.”

  After dinner, Mac suggested that Kyle help Catherine with clearing the table. Alone with Meghan in the living room he told her about Dr. Williams’ connection to Dowling and possibly to Helene.

  “Dr. Williams!” Meghan stared at him. “Mac, he absolutely denied knowing Petrovic before Manning Clinic. The receptionist at Manning saw them having dinner together. When I asked Dr. Williams about it, he claimed that he always took a new staff member out for dinner as a friendly gesture.”

  “Meg, I think we’re onto something, but we still can’t be sure it was Helene Petrovic who accompanied Williams when he visited his wife,” Mac cautioned.

  “Mac, it fits. Williams and Helene must have been involved with each other. We know she had a tremendous interest in lab work. He’s the perfect one to have helped her falsify her curriculum vitae and to have guided her when she arrived at Manning.”

  “But Williams left Manning Clinic six months after Petrovic started to work there. Why would he do that if he was involved with her?”

  “Her home is in New Jersey, not far from Philadelphia. Her niece said that she was often away for hours on Saturday and Sunday. Much of that time may have been spent with him.”

  “Then where does your father’s letter of recommendation come in? He placed Williams at Manning, but why would he have helped Petrovic get her job there?”

  “I have a theory about that, and it involves Victor Orsini. It’s starting to fit, all of it.”

  She smiled up at him, the closest he’d seen to a genuine smile on her lips for a long time.

  They were standing in front of the fireplace. Mac put his arms around her. Meghan immediately stiffened and shifted to move out of his embrace, but he would have none of it. He turned her to face him.

  “Get it straight, Meghan,” Mac said. “You were right nine years ago. I only wish I had seen it then.” He paused. “You’re the only one for me. I know it now, and you do too. We can’t keep wasting time.”

  He kissed her fiercely, then released her, stepping back. “I won’t let you keep pushing me away. Once your life settles down again, we’re going to have a long talk about us.”

  Kyle begged to show the tape of Meg’s interview. “It’s only three minutes, Dad. I want to show Meg how I can tape programs now.”

  “I think you’re stalling,” Mac told him. “Incidentally, Danny’s mother caught me at home when I was reading Mrs. Dileo’s note. You’re grounded. Show Meg the tape, but then don’t even think television for a week.”

  “What’d you do?” Meg asked in a whisper when Kyle sat beside her.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. See, here you are.”

  The tape ran. “You did a good job with that,” Meg assured him.

  That night Meghan lay in bed for a long time, unable to sleep. Her mind was in turmoil, going over all the new developments, the connection of Dr. Williams to Petrovic, her sus
picions about Victor Orsini. Mac. I told the police if they’d stop concentrating on Dad they’d find the real answers, she thought. But Mac? She wouldn’t let herself think about him now.

  All this, yet there was something else, she realized, something that was eluding her, something terribly, terribly important. What was it? It had something to do with the tape of her interview at the Franklin Center. I’ll ask Kyle to bring it over tomorrow, she thought. I have to see it again.

  Friday was a long day for Bernie. He had slept until seven-thirty, real late for him. He suspected right away that he had missed Meghan, that she’d left very early. Her blinds were up, and he could see her bed was made.

  He knew he should call Mama. She’d told him to call, but he was afraid. If she had any idea he wasn’t in Chicago, she’d be angry. She’d make him come home.

  He sat by the window all day, watching Meghan’s house, waiting for Meghan to return. He pulled the phone as far as the cord would stretch so he didn’t lose sight of the house when he phoned for breakfast and lunch.

  He’d unlock the door, then when the waiter knocked, Bernie would leap into bed and call, “Come in.” It drove him crazy that he might miss Meghan again while the waiter was fussing with the tray.

  When the maid knocked and tried to open the door with her master key she was stopped by the chain. He knew she couldn’t see in.

  “May I just change the towels?” she asked.

  He figured he’d better let her do that at least. Didn’t want her to get suspicious.

  Yet as she passed him, he noticed that she looked at him funny, the way people do when they’re sizing you up. Bernie tried hard to smile at her, tried to sound sincere when he thanked her.

  It was late afternoon when Meghan’s white Mustang turned into her driveway. Bernie pressed his nose against the window, straining to catch a glimpse of her walking up the path to the house. Seeing her made him happy again.

  Around five-thirty, he saw the kid dropped off at Meghan’s house. If it wasn’t for the kid, Bernie could be hiding in the woods. He could be closer to Meg. He’d be taping her so that he could keep her. Could watch her and be with her whenever he wanted. Except for that stupid kid. He hated that kid.