Good Intentions (25 page)

Renee was aware that the woman was still talking even after she stopped listening. When had Philip aired the family laundry in front of Ali Henderson? The afternoon they had all run into him at lunch? The lunch in which poor Mrs. Henderson was supposedly so distraught over her husband’s incipient schizophrenia that she couldn’t bring herself to go to Philip’s office? “Don’t worry, Ali,” she could almost hear Philip saying. “There’s a little craziness in everybody’s family. My wife’s sister, for example. Her husband died and three months later she tried to slit her wrists.” Or maybe not at lunch at all. Maybe at dinner. The dinner he had missed with her because he was busy saving a potential suicide. My, my, but the world was conveniently full of people who were eager to do themselves in. “Did I tell you about my wife’s sister?” she heard Philip ask again, this time picturing him, not in the darkness of a public restaurant, but in the warm confines of Alicia Henderson’s private bedroom. Why had he found it necessary to break Kathryn’s trust in this way? What had it gotten him?

Stop it, she told herself, stomping her foot. You’re doing it again. You’re blowing everything out of
proportion. There are any number of ways Kathryn’s suicide attempt could have come up in conversation. Philip probably mentioned it quite innocently as a way of illustrating a point. She had to stop all these suspicions. Stop behaving like a prosecuting attorney, she told herself. Leave the lawyer at the office.

Renee looked around the room, her eyes focusing on the patio doorway. Philip was even now out there with Kathryn. He had been wonderful to her all night, staying close beside her, making sure that she was comfortable, that she had been introduced to everyone, that she was never alone and that her plate was always full. He had been doing his concerted best all evening to make Kathryn feel as if she were not some third wheel he was stuck with, but someone he genuinely wanted in his company, someone he cared about and wanted to have a good time. He was a determined escort, never allowing Kathryn the opportunity to sulk in a corner or to drift off by herself. Renee felt grateful to him for the kindness and sensitivity he was showing her sister. How could she subject him to her infantile ravings, even if they were all unspoken? She did him a disservice even with her thoughts.

“… Speak of the devil,” she heard her hostess exclaim, and Renee looked over to see Alicia Henderson approaching at a determined, if leisurely, pace.

“Alicia Henderson,” the tall redhead said, extending her hand and introducing herself to Renee as if this were their first encounter.

“Hello, Ali,” Renee replied, taking the woman up on her earlier offer. “We’ve met before,” she reminded her. Alicia Henderson looked surprised, then amused.

“Oh, that’s right. At Judy’s surprise party. I almost didn’t recognize you. Have you put on a little weight?”

“I was just remarking to Renee that her sister is so thin,” Melissa Lawless said, obviously delighted that her earlier observation could be worked into the conversation.

“How long is your sister going to be staying with you?” Alicia Henderson asked, adjusting the shoestring strap of her black leather dress.

“I have no idea,” Renee answered truthfully, seeing no reason to lie. Aside from the brief exchange she had had with her sister before the party, it was something that had never been discussed.

Alicia Henderson brushed her long red hair away from her face in an exotic sweeping gesture that Renee realized was fueled more by habit than necessity. Renee watched the hair immediately tumble back into place. “You have quite a full house then, what with Debbie there too,” Alicia Henderson said, casually dropping the name of Philip’s only child into the conversation.

“Debbie’s no trouble,” Renee lied.

“I would think she’s quite a handful. We went for lunch one day last week. Philip asked me if I wouldn’t mind taking her out, said that she spends a lot of time alone.” Alicia Henderson smiled broadly. “You know how hard it is to refuse Philip anything.”

Renee felt her mouth about to drop open and she resolutely held her lips firmly together, gritting her teeth. Why had Philip asked this woman to take his daughter out to lunch? And could she even ask him about it without risking a major confrontation?

“She seemed like quite a handful to me, but then I guess you’re used to handfuls,” Alicia Henderson continued obliquely.

“I beg your pardon?” Renee asked.

“Well, your sister, for one, what with trying to kill herself that way, and then, of course, there’s Philip …” Alicia Henderson’s voice got dangerously low.

“I beg your pardon?” Renee repeated, as if her voice were a recording, its needle stuck in a familiar groove.

“Excuse me,” Melissa Lawless chirped pleasantly, and was suddenly gone.

“Where
is
Philip tonight? I haven’t seen him.”

For the first time in the conversation, Renee felt her facial muscles relax and her mouth arrange itself into something close to a smile. There was something in Alicia Henderson’s last question that betrayed a certain anxiety. It was the voice of a woman who knows she is losing ground. So the affair had run its course, Renee thought, at least on Philip’s part. Renee instinctively relaxed her posture. Ali Henderson was no longer a threat to her, just an unpleasant reminder of Philip’s occasional lapse in taste. If Alicia Henderson hadn’t seen Philip, it was only because Philip hadn’t wanted to be seen.

“The last time I saw him he was heading for the patio.”

“Not alone, I’m sure.” Alicia Henderson’s voice was suddenly petulant, as if Renee were now an ally, and not a rival. Renee braced herself for the appalling possibility that this woman was about to confide the details of her affair with Philip.

“Never alone,” Renee replied evenly, telling the woman in two short words that she was not the first and probably not the last, but that they were all of the same
minor importance, and an indulgence on her part as much as Philip’s. Alicia Henderson’s well-manicured fingers swept through her long red hair nervously and then she was gone.

A few minutes later, Philip walked back through the balcony doors, Kathryn still at his side. She had obviously been laughing, and looked happier than Renee had seen her since her arrival. Renee’s small grin grew wider and more pronounced as Philip hurried past Alicia Henderson with scarcely a nod in her direction. Renee had seen that look before. He was definitely through with her. By the time Philip was at her side, Renee was smiling from ear to ear, her heart full of gratitude and love. Her husband had come home again.

“How’s the most beautiful woman at the party?” he asked, his arms encircling Renee’s waist, spinning her around playfully. “Having a good time?”

“A terrific time,” Renee told him, and realized it was true.

“Would you mind if we made a fairly early exit? I thought we might have a smaller party of our own.” He leaned forward, and Renee felt his tongue licking her ear.

“I’m ready anytime,” she said, feeling her body start to tingle, eager for him as she always was.

“Then let’s go,” he said, his arms around both Renee and her sister as he led them toward the front door. “Some guys have all the luck,” he said, and both women laughed.

T
he two women sat staring at each other from opposite sides of the desk. “Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee?” Lynn Schuster asked the pale blonde woman who balanced on the edge of the chair and trembled noticeably.

Patty Foster shook her head. She wore no makeup except for a subtle touch of mascara around her large hazel eyes. Her complexion was dotted with freckles. If this was a woman who spent hours lounging in the sun, as her neighbor Davia Messenger had claimed, she obviously covered herself with plenty of sunblock. Patty Foster smiled briefly, the corners of her mouth flexing up and then back down almost before the smile had time to register. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip.

“Of course, it’s not nearly as good as the coffee I had at your house,” Lynn said, trying to get the woman to relax. Patty Foster had been in Lynn’s office for almost ten minutes, and Lynn could scarcely recall interviewing anyone more obviously uncomfortable. Or frightened. “What’s your secret?”

“I add a bit of cocoa to the coffee,” Patty Foster answered tentatively, as if she weren’t sure Lynn’s question had been in reference to her coffee. “It was a trick my grandmother taught me.”

“Were you close to your grandmother?”

“She raised me.”

“Oh?”

“My parents died when I was very young. I guess that explains my father complex.” Patty Foster tried again to smile, but failed. “My grandmother took me in, looked after me like I was her own. She was strict, like Keith is with Ashleigh, but I learned a lot of things from her. It all worked out in the end.” The young woman promptly burst into tears. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, you told me that the doctor said that there were no signs of abuse …”

“Everything is fine, Mrs. Foster.”

Patty Foster pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose loudly. “I love her more than anything in the world, Mrs. Schuster. The thought that you might try to take her away from me scares me so much …”

“What else scares you?”

“What?”

“What else scares you?” Lynn repeated quietly.

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do.” Lynn stared deep into Patty Foster’s eyes. The young woman tried to look away, but couldn’t. Instead she blinked several times in rapid succession, and blew her nose again, although this time much more quietly.

“Does your husband scare you, Mrs. Foster?” Lynn’s voice was gentle, probing quietly, carefully, like a surgeon’s knife.

“No, of course not. What do you mean?” Patty Foster answered quickly, too quickly, then stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me about your husband.”

“Keith is a wonderful man. He’s gentle and thoughtful and good. Really, a good person. He’s a very important man.”

“So I understand.”

“A very busy man. He works long, hard hours.”

“It must be difficult for him some nights when he comes home tired after a hard day at work to have such a young child running around the place, making noise, occasionally misbehaving.”

“Ashleigh’s the light of his life,” Patty Foster told her, and Lynn made a mental note of the fact that she had used the same phrase as her husband. “It was hard for him at first,” Patty Foster confided, staring into her lap. “Like you said, he wasn’t used to having a small child around. He was a little jealous about all the attention I had to give her. But he got over that.” Patty Foster looked up from her lap and stared directly at Lynn, her eyes suddenly brimming over with a second onslaught of tears. “He never meant to hurt her,” she whispered. “You have to believe me. He just doesn’t realize his own strength sometimes.”

Lynn measured her next words very carefully. “Are you trying to tell me that your husband broke your daughter’s arm?”

“Would that mean you’d take Ashleigh away from me?” There was a renewed note of panic in Patty Foster’s voice.

“No, of course not,” Lynn said quickly, trying to reassure her. “But we have counseling sessions for families like yours …”

“Keith would never go.”

“I’m sure we could persuade him …”

“No, no. He’d never go.” Patty Foster jumped off her chair with such suddenness that it nearly toppled over.

“Mrs. Foster …”

“You think just because you say something, that’s the way it’s going to be? What’s it like to have such control over other people’s lives, Mrs. Schuster? What does it feel like to have people trembling in front of you, knowing that one wrong word could mean the loss of their child? How does it feel to have that kind of power?”

“Believe me, Mrs. Foster, I have no intention of trying to take Ashleigh away from you.”

“As long as we do what you say.”

“We’re trying to help you …”

“I made it all up,” Patty Foster exclaimed, her voice rising. “My husband has never touched Ashleigh. He loves her. He would never hurt her.”

“Mrs. Foster …”

“Ashleigh broke her arm at school. Keith has never been anything but a wonderful father to her …”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“The doctor examined her. He found no evidence of abuse. Ashleigh is a happy, healthy little girl, and no one is going to take her away from me.”

“No one wants to do that …”

“If you tell anyone I said any of those things, I’ll deny it. I’ll say you’re lying, that you made the whole thing up. Do you understand me? My husband is a very important man. He can make things very uncomfortable for people when he wants to.”

“I’m not afraid of your husband, Mrs. Foster, and you don’t have to be either.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patty Foster said evenly, and fled Lynn’s office.

Arlene, Lynn’s secretary, stuck her head quickly through the doorway. “Problems?”

“You’d better go after her. See that she’s all right. Oh, and close my door, will you? Thanks.” The door to Lynn’s office closed, surrounding her in welcome silence. “Now what?” she asked out loud, rubbing her eyes, hearing her mother tell her not to. She looked absently around the room, wondering how to deal with Patty Foster’s outburst. The woman had all but admitted that her husband had broken their daughter’s arm, and yet she had just as quickly denied it. Davia Messenger had been right about the abuse, just wrong about the perpetrator. She had been blinded by her eye for beauty, Lynn thought, and almost laughed, wondering what to do next. If she could locate Ashleigh’s teacher and get her to confirm that Ashleigh’s arm had not been broken in any playground fall, then that plus Davia Messenger’s accusations would probably be sufficient to force Keith Foster into counseling. But so far, Lynn had been unsuccessful in her attempts to locate Ashleigh’s teacher. Gulfstream Private School was closed for the summer, as Keith Foster had predicted, and Lynn had already checked out all the Templetons in Delray and in the greater Palm Beach area. She checked through her file on the Foster case to make sure of the correct spelling of the teacher’s name. None of the women she had talked to taught in the exclusive private school. Lynn stared at the telephone as if it could provide her with the right number to call. She still hadn’t tried Boca Raton or Pompano Beach, she thought, dialing
information. “Boca Raton,” she said, after the operator had asked her the city she was seeking. “Templeton. No, I don’t have an initial or an address. Just give me all you have.”