Close to You (26 page)

Eliza nodded as Florence continued.

“But basically she was just a good, decent kid. Ever since she was a teenager she wanted to work in TV. But this isn't what Linda had in mind when she said she wanted to be on television.”

Eliza could identify with that, too. “I understand that her
career was really on the rise. I'm told there was calk of Linda being hired by KEY News.”

“Yes, an agent had approached her and submitted her audition tape and there was actually an interview set up. Linda was so excited about the possibility of going to work for one of the big networks.” Florence slumped a bit and looked down at the wringing hands in her lap. “But everything happened before Linda went in for those interviews.”

“Linda must have been very good. Agents don't usually do the approaching. You have to do the approaching and convince them to take you on.”

“She was good,” answered Florence softly. “I know I'm her mother and so I'm biased. But people said that when you met Linda, you felt like you knew her. That came across on TV as well.”

“Can you tell me about the period right before Linda disappeared?” Eliza asked gently.

Florence paused and then straightened resolutely. “Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Linda thought she was being followed. She called me crying about it a few times. I wanted her to move home and live with us until everything straightened out. If only she had.” The tortured blue eyes looked imploringly at Eliza.

“Linda went to the police?” Eliza led.

“Of course she did. In fairness to them, they put a police escort on her for a while, but while they were around, nothing happened. They said they couldn't go on escorting her forever. Linda said she wasn't going to live in fear. She started taking a self-defense course at her health club. But I guess she wasn't strong enough or skilled enough to save herself.”

“And after Linda disappeared? What happened then?”

“In the beginning, the police went all-out. They searched everywhere, interviewed people who knew her, questioned old boyfriends, spoke to her co-workers. The story was on the Garden State Network every night. People tied yellow ribbons around trees. There was a reward offered for information, but nobody came forward with anything. But if
you ask me, as time went on the police gave up. One of the detectives called me into the station and told me that the more time went by, the less chance there was of finding out what had happened. He said the police thought it probably was a mentally disturbed viewer who had become obsessed with Linda and since there were so many people who could have seen Linda on television, the suspect pool was limitless.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” said Eliza, reaching out to pat the woman's hand. “I appreciate you talking to us so candidly. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you.”

“It's worth it if it can somehow help to figure out what happened to my daughter. I want whoever did this to Linda to be caught.”

The cameraman took some reversal shots of Eliza making small talk with Mrs. Anderson to be used later in the editing room as cutaways. Next he videotaped close-up shots of some of the framed pictures of Linda.

As the group was leaving the house, Florence asked a question as an afterthought.

“Do you know Abigail Snow? She works at KEY.”

Eliza looked at her sharply. “Yes, I know Abigail. She works in our promotions department.”

“Would you please tell her I was asking for her? She and Linda were good friends when they worked together at Garden State Network. They took that self-defense course together. But after Linda disappeared, Abigail got her job in New York and we lost touch. My other daughter, Monica, sees her at the gym once in a while.” Mrs. Anderson sighed. “Yes, Abigail and Linda were great pals.”

 

On the way back to the Broadcast Center, Eliza and Keith rode in the backseat of the crew car and discussed the interview.

“Can you imagine what life has been like for that poor woman?” Eliza asked, staring out the window.

Keith shook his head.

“It's a parent's worst nightmare. Just wait until your
baby is born, Keith. The fear of losing that child will be beyond anything you can imagine.”

“That certainly gives me something to look forward to,” he said glumly.

Eliza looked at her producer sitting beside her, biting anxiously at the side of his thumbnail. Her disdain for Keith's behavior in Dallas had turned to pity. Here he was, going out to make his living in a very pressurized environment each day, clearly unhappy at home. With a child on the way, he was truly forced to join the world of adults. Big responsibilities and no turning back. It was easy to feel trapped.

Eliza wanted to tell him that she understood, but she refrained. He might misinterpret what she said and think she was reaching out to him. Better to keep the personal side of things out of their relationship.

“You know, Keith, I've been thinking. Maybe we should do a
FRESHER LOOK
on the loss of a child.”

“Sure, Eliza, whatever you say.” There was no enthusiasm whatsoever in Keith's voice.

Samuel waited for the light to change and strode across Fifth Avenue at Fifty-seventh Street. He was very concerned about Eliza. That nut at the zoo, all the threatening calls, the gift of lingerie, the burglary at her home. Samuel was on a mission to make her feel better and, in the process, to ingratiate himself as well.

He entered the cavernous street-level floor of Tiffany's and perused the dazzling display cases, spending a good deal of time looking at the rings. The diamonds, sparkling in their near-perfection, were cut in all carat weights and shapes. Solitaire, marquise, emerald, pear, oval, even heart-shaped. Samuel spotted a large emerald-cut white diamond beautifully set in platinum. If it came to it, as Samuel hoped it might, that ring would be perfect for Eliza.

Samuel spent another forty-five minutes in the jewelry store, looking for an appropriate gift among the treasures. Finally he found it. Eighteen-karat-gold-and-diamond earrings, designed by Elsa Peretti in the shape of starfish.

Perfect. They would remind Eliza of the sea, their shared love.

“Samuel! I was going to call you.”

“That's certainly good to hear.”.

“You might not think so when I tell you why.”

“Oh?”

“I'm going to be working on a piece about . . .” Eliza tried to find the right words and then decided it was best to be direct. “Well, it's a piece about parents who have lost a child. I was wondering if you could help me out with it.”

Samuel didn't know what to say.

“I know I'm putting you on the spot, Samuel,” Eliza apologized.

“Gee, Eliza, of course I'd want to help you in any way I could. What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, we're calling Sloan-Kettering to see if we can get permission to shoot in their pediatric unit, and we're trying to find some parents who are going through the painful process with their children right now. But I was thinking you might be willing to be interviewed from the other side of the loss.”

“It's awfully fresh, Eliza.”

“I know it is, Samuel. But that's one of the reasons why what you would have to say would be so strong.”

Eliza heard a long silence on the other end of the phone.

“Samuel?”

“I'm here, Eliza,” he answered wearily. “Can I think about it and give you my answer a little later?”

“Of course.”

“Are we still on for Saturday night?”

“We are if you don't mind going out to New Jersey again. I'm going to have Mrs. Garcia come and stay with Janie and I'll make a reservation at this restaurant I've been hearing such great things about. It's called Esty Street.”

Augie hadn't had a house to hit since Eliza Blake's and he was getting desperate. He still had a few of Eliza's things to take into New York. The New Jersey fence hadn't offered close to what Augie felt the jewelry must be worth. Those were quality pieces.

Even if Augie got a couple grand for them, it wasn't enough, though. He wanted the money he had invested in that bogus business deal of Larson's. But on the rare occasion that Larson took Augie's call, that son-of-a-bitch always gave him the runaround.

“Soon. Soon.”

Augie was sick and tired of “soon.” He wanted his money and he wanted it now. But his hands were tied. The papers Augie had signed stated that the money was committed to Richards Enterprises until the deal came to completion. Then, and only then, would the payoff come due.

What the hell was he supposed to do in the meantime? What if there never was a completion of the deal?

Augie dialed the telephone.

“Larson Richards, please. Augie Sinisi calling.”

“Mr. Richards is in a meeting, Mr. Sinisi.”

“Well, get him out of his damned meeting or I am going
to drive right up there and pull him out myself!”

“Just a moment, please.”

Augie smiled knowingly as he heard Larson pick up the phone less than a minute later. Larson didn't want a greasy car mechanic coming up to his plush office building.

“Hey, guy. How's everything?”

“Don't ‘Hey, guy' me, Larson. I want my money and I want it now.”

“Augie, Augie. You know that's not the way it works,” Larson answered with exasperation. “The deal isn't done yet.”

“Well, when the hell is the deal
going
to be done?”

“These things take time, Augie. Sometimes unforeseen things happen. Complications.”

“Complications? I'll give you complications.”

“Are you threatening me, Augie?” Larson's tone was smooth.

Augie knew better than to fall into that trap. He tried to steady himself.

“No, Larson. I'm not threatening you, but I need my money.”

“Business a little off, is it, Augie?” His voice was condescending and Augie hated him for it.

“Something like that.”

“That's something I can help you with. My car could use a tune-up.”

Augie's first reaction was to scream with rage at this smug jackass, but he controlled himself as he thought of a better plan.

“All right, Larson,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I'll pick the car up at your office in the morning and have it back there waiting for you by the end of the business day. Just leave your keys with the receptionist.”

Before he left the Broadcast Center for the weekend, Joe called his contact at the phone company.

“Have you gotten anything yet on those calls?”

“Joe, I told you. I promise to call the minute we have anything. Even then I can't tell you who it is and where the calls are coming from.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. But if you call me the second you've got it, I'll get the NYPD to call you right away so they can get the guy.”

“Got it.”

“Why is this taking so long, Fred?”

“Come on now, Joe. You know how this goes. It takes as long as it takes,”

Connelly took off his black-rimmed glasses and rubbed his strained eyes.

He was getting too old for this.

 

Starting with the
Entertainment Tonight
story on Monday and watching Eliza on the
Evening Headlines
every night, it had been a long, tense week and even Lori's therapeutic massages hadn't lessened the strain Jerry was feeling. The massages were supposed to alleviate pain, discomfort, muscle
spasms and stress. Jerry was suffering from all of them.

He couldn't shut his mind off. He wished he could, but he couldn't. Living with the knowledge that Eliza resided so close by was driving him to distraction. He needed a release.

As Lori packed up her case of oils, Jerry knew for certain that he would make another call tonight.

Tiny white lights glittered from the trees out front and a massive spray of fresh snapdragons, lilies and white roses in a large crystal vase greeted them as they entered the restaurant.

“Welcome to Esty Street.” Owner Scott Tremble smiled warmly and escorted Eliza and Samuel to their table against one of the mirrored walls of the tasteful dining room. Eliza could feel the eyes of several diners on her as she took her seat. She spotted Larson Richards sitting at one of the tables, but, thankfully, he wasn't looking in her direction.

“How does it feel to have people looking at you everywhere you go?” Samuel asked.

“Not as good as some might think,” Eliza said as she opened her heavy white napkin and spread it across her lap. “It goes with the territory and you get used to it, but you're always aware that anything you do, or anything you say, or even the way you look might be commented on later. Sometimes I ache for anonymity.”

“It's a bit like living under a microscope, I'd suppose.”

Eliza shrugged. “I shouldn't complain. I chose this. Most people in my profession would give anything to be in my shoes.”