I'll Be Seeing You (34 page)

“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 suspicions 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.

He didn't think to order dinner. He wasn't hungry. Finally at ten-thirty his wait was over. Meghan turned on the light in her bedroom and undressed.

She was so beautiful!

At four o'clock Friday afternoon, Phillip asked Jackie, “Where's Orsini?”

“He had an appointment outside the office, Mr. Carter. He said he'd be back around four-thirty.”

Jackie stood in Phillip Carter's office, trying to decide what to do. When Mr. Carter was upset he was a little scary. Mr. Collins never used to get upset.

But Mr. Carter was the boss now, and last night her husband, Bob, told her that she owed it to him to tell him that Victor Orsini was going through all the files at night.

“But maybe it's Mr. Carter doing it,” she had suggested.

“If it is Carter, he'll appreciate your concern. Don't forget, if there's any trouble between them, Orsini is the one who'll leave, not Carter.”

Bob was right. Now Jackie said firmly, “Mr. Carter, it may be none of my business, but I'm pretty sure Mr. Orsini is coming in here at night and going through all the files.”

Phillip Carter was very quiet for a long minute, then his face hardened and he said, “Thank you, Jackie. Have Mr. Orsini see me when he comes in.”

I wouldn't want to be in Mr. Orsini's boots, she thought.

Twenty minutes later she and Milly dropped all pretense of not listening as through the closed door of Phillip Carter's office, they could hear his raised voice castigating Victor Orsini.

“For a long time I have suspected you of working hand-in-glove with Downes and Rosen,” he told him. “This place is in trouble now, and you're preparing to land on your feet by going with them. But you seem to forget that you have a contract that specifically prohibits you from soliciting our accounts. Now get out and don't bother to pack. You've probably taken plenty of our files already. We'll send your personal items on to you.”

“So that's what he was doing,” Jackie whispered. “That is really bad.” Neither she nor Milly looked up at Orsini when he passed their desks on his way out.

If they had, they would have seen that his face was white with fury.

On Saturday morning, Catherine went to the inn for the breakfast hour. She checked her mail and phone calls, then had a long talk with Virginia. Deciding not to stay for the lunch serving, she returned to the house at eleven o'clock. She found that Meg had been taking the files to her father's study and analyzing them, one by one.

“The dining room is such a mess that I can't concentrate,” Meg explained. “Victor was looking for something important, and we're not seeing the forest for the trees.”

Catherine studied her daughter. Meg was wearing a plaid silk shirt and chinos. Her chestnut hair was almost shoulder length now, and brushed back. That's what it is, Catherine thought. Her hair is just that little bit longer. The picture of Annie Collins in yesterday's newspapers came to mind.

“Meg, I've thought it through. I'm going to accept that offer on Drumdoe.”

“You're
what?”

“Virginia agrees with me. The overhead is simply too high. I don't want the inn to end up on the auction block.”

“Mom, Dad founded Collins and Carter, and even under these circumstances, there must be some way you can take some money out of it.”

“Meg, if there were a death certificate, there would be partnership insurance. With lawsuits pending there won't be a business before long.”

“What does Phillip say? By the way, he's been around a lot lately,” Meg said, “more than in all the years he worked with Dad.”

“He's trying to be kind, and I appreciate that.”

“Is it more than kindness?”

“I hope not. He'd be making a mistake. I have too much to deal with before I even think in that direction with anyone.” She added quietly, “But you don't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Kyle isn't the greatest busboy. He was keeping an eye on you two and reported with great satisfaction that Mac was kissing you.”

“I am not interested—”

“Stop it, Meg,” Catherine commanded. She stepped around the desk, yanked open the bottom drawer, pulled out a half-dozen letters and threw them on the desk.
“Don't be like your father, an emotional cripple because he couldn't forgive rejection.”

“He had every reason not to forgive his mother!”

“As a child, yes. As an adult with a family who deeply loved him, no. Maybe he wouldn't have needed Scottsdale if he'd gone to Philadelphia and made peace with her.”

Meg raised her eyebrows. “You can play rough, can't you?”

“You bet I can. Meg, you love Mac. You always have. Kyle needs you. Now for God's sake, put yourself on the line and quit being afraid that Mac would be imbecile enough to want Ginger if she ever showed up in his life again.”

“Dad always called you Mighty Mouse.” Meg felt tears burning behind her eyes.

“Yes, he did. When I go back to the inn, I'm going to call the real estate people. One thing I can promise. I'll raise their ante till they beg for mercy.”

At one-thirty, just before she returned to the inn, Catherine poked her head into the study. “Meg, remember I said Palomino Leather Goods sounded familiar? I think Annie's mother may have left the same message on our home phone for Dad. It would have been mid-March seven years ago. The reason I can pinpoint it is that I was so furious when Dad missed your twenty-first birthday party that when he finally got home with a leather purse for you, I told him I'd like to hit him over the head with it.”

On Saturday, Bernie's mother could not stop sneezing. Her sinuses were beginning to ache, her throat was scratchy. She had to do something about it.

Bernard had let dust pile up in the basement, she just knew it. No question about it, that had to be it. Now the dust was filtering through the house.

She became angrier and more agitated by the minute. Finally, at two o'clock, she couldn't stand it anymore. She had to get down there and clean.

First she heaved the broom and shovel and mop into the basement. Then she filled a plastic bag with rags and cleanser and threw it down the stairs. It landed on the mop.

Finally Mama tied on her apron. She felt the bannister. It wasn't that loose. It would hold her. She'd go slowly, a step at a time, and test each stair before she put her weight on it. She still didn't know how she'd managed to fall so hard ten years ago. One minute she'd been starting down the stairs, the next she was in an ambulance.

Step by step, with infinite care, she descended. Well, I did it, she thought as she stepped on the basement floor. The toe of her shoe caught in the bag of rags and she fell heavily to the side, her left foot bending beneath her.

The sound of Mama's ankle bone breaking resounded through the clammy basement.

A
fter her mother went back to the inn, Meghan phoned Phillip at home. When he answered, she said, “I'm glad to get you. I thought you might be in New York or at one of your auctions today.”

“It's been a rough week. I had to fire Victor yesterday afternoon.”

“Why?” Meg asked, distressed at this sudden twist of events. She needed Victor available while she was trying to tie him to the Petrovic recommendation. Suppose he left town? So far she didn't have any proof, couldn't go
to the police with her suspicions about him. That would take time.

“He's a slippery one, Meg. Been stealing our clients. Frankly, from one or two remarks your dad made just before he disappeared, I think he suspected that Victor was up to something.”

“So do I,” Meg said. “That's why I'm calling. I think he might have sent out the Petrovic letter when Dad was away. Phillip, we don't have any of Dad's Daily Reminders with his business appointments. Are they in the office?”

“They should have been with the files you took home.”

“I would think so, but they're not. Phillip, I'm trying to reach Annie's mother. Like a fool I didn't get her private number when I was out there. The Palomino Leather Goods Shop contacted her and then gave me directions to her house. I have an idea that Dad may not have been in the office when that letter about Petrovic went to Manning. It's dated March 21st, isn't it?”

“I believe so.”

“Then I'm onto something. Annie's mother can verify it. I did reach the lawyer who came out here with her. He wouldn't give me the number but said he'd contact her for me.”

She paused, then said, “Phillip, there's something else. I think Dr. Williams and Helene Petrovic were involved, certainly while they worked together and maybe even before then. And if so, it's possible he's the man Petrovic's neighbor saw visiting her apartment.

“Meg, that's incredible. Do you have any proof?”

“Not yet, but I don't think it will be hard to get.”

“Just be careful,” Phillip Carter warned her. “Williams is very well respected in medical circles. Don't even mention his name until you can back up what you say.”

Frances Grolier phoned at quarter to three. “You wanted to talk to me, Meghan.”

“Yes. You told me the other day that you only used the Palomino code a couple of other times in all those years. Did you ever phone our house with that message?”

Grolier did not ask why Meg wanted to know. “Yes, I did. It was nearly seven years ago, on March 10th. Annie had been in a head-on collision and wasn't expected to live. I'd tried the machine in the office, but as it turned out, it had been accidentally unplugged. I knew Edwin was in Connecticut and I
had
to reach him. He flew out that night and was here two weeks until Annie was out of danger.”

Meg thought of March 18th seven years ago, her twenty-first birthday. A black-tie dinner dance at Drumdoe. Her father's phone call that afternoon. He had a virus and was too sick to get on the plane. Two hundred guests. Mac with Ginger, showing pictures of Kyle.

She'd spent the night trying to smile, trying not to show how bitterly disappointed she was that her father was not with her on this special night.

“Meghan?” Frances Grolier's controlled voice at the other end of the phone was questioning.

“I'm sorry. Sorry about everything. What you've just told me is terribly important. It's tied to so much of what's happened.”