Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel (8 page)

Sam realized that Alice Sommers' invitation had been impulsive, and she was becoming not only apologetic but perhaps was even regretting having made the phone call.

"Alice, I would enjoy going very much," he said emphatically. He did not tell her that he had been at work since 4:30 A.M. on the Helen Whelan case and had just returned home, planning to go to bed early. A nap of an hour or two will take the edge off, he thought. "I was planning to stop by tomorrow," he added.

Alice Sommers knew what he meant. "Somehow I expected that you would. If you can make it at seven at my place, I'll give you a drink first, then we'll start over to the hotel."

"It's a date. See you later, Alice." Sam hung up and sheepishly realized he was inordinately pleased to receive the invitation; then he considered the reason for it. What kind of problem could Alice's friend, Jean Sheridan, be having? he wondered. But no matter how serious, it couldn't compare with what had happened to Helen Whelan early this morning as she was walking her dog.

20

This really is a big to-do, isn't it, Jean?" Gordon Amory asked.

He was sitting to her right, on the second tier of the dais where the honorees had been placed. Below them, the local congressman, the mayor of Cornwall-on-Hudson, the sponsors of the dinner, the president of Stonecroft, and several trustees were observing the packed ballroom with satisfaction.

"Yes, it is," she agreed.

"Did it occur to you to invite your mother and father to this grand occasion?"

If there had not been a wry note in Gordon's voice, Jean would have been angry, but at his touch of humor, she responded in kind. "No. Did it occur to you to invite
yours
?"

"Of course not. As a matter of fact, you've probably noticed that not one of our fellow honorees seems to have brought a beaming parent to share this moment of triumph."

"From what I understand, most of our parents have moved away. Mine were gone the summer I graduated from Stonecroft. Gone and split, as you may know," Jean added.

"As are mine. When I consider the six of us sitting here, supposedly the pride of our graduating class, I've decided that of all of us, Laura was probably the only one who enjoyed growing up here. I think you were quite unhappy, as was I, as were Robby and Mark and Carter. Robby was an indifferent student in a family of intellectuals, and was always being threatened with the loss of his scholarship to Stonecroft. Humor became his armor and his retreat. Mark's parents let the world know that they wished his brother had been spared, and that Mark had been the son who died. His reaction was to become a psychiatrist treating adolescents. I wonder if he has been trying to treat the adolescent inside."

Physician, heal thyself, Jean thought, and suspected that Gordon might be right.

"Howie, or Carter as he insists on being called, had a father who used to whack him and his mother around," Gordon continued. "Howie stayed out of the house as much as possible. You knew that he used to be caught peeking in windows. What was he trying to do, get a glimpse of normal home life? Don't you think that might be why his plays are so dark?"

Jean decided to sidestep that one. "That leaves you and me," she said quietly.

"My mother was a slovenly housekeeper. You may remember that when our house caught on fire, the joke in town was that that was the only way to really clean it. I now have three homes and confess to being positively obsessed with the need for cleanliness in every one of them, which is why my marriage failed. But then, that was a mistake from the beginning."

"And my mother and father had public brawls. Isn't that what you're remembering about me, Gordon?" She knew that was exactly what he was thinking.

"I was remembering how easily kids get embarrassed and that with the exception of Laura, who was always the golden girl of our class, you and Carter and Robby and Mark and I had a tough row to hoe. We certainly didn't need our parents to make it harder for us, but one way or the other, they all did. Look, Jean, I wanted to change so much, I got myself a whole new face. But when the chips are down, I sometimes wake up to find I'm still Gordie the nerd, the dopey-looking kid it was fun to pick on. You've made a name for yourself in academic circles, and now you've written a book that is not only critically acclaimed but a best-seller. But who are you inside?"

Who indeed? Inside, I'm still too often the needy outsider, Jean thought, but she was saved from answering when Gordon suddenly smiled boyishly and said, "One should never get too philosophical over dinner. Maybe I'll feel differently after they hang that medal on me. What do you think, Laura?"

He turned to speak to her, and Jean turned to Jack Emerson who was on her left.

"That seems to be an intense discussion you've been having with Gordon," he observed.

Jean noted the naked curiosity on his face. The last thing she wanted to do was continue with him the conversation she had been having with Gordon. "Oh, we were just gossiping about growing up here, Jack," she said glibly.

I was so unsure of myself, she thought. I was so thin and awkward. My hair was stringy. I was always waiting for my mother and father to start blasting at each other again. I felt so guilty when they told me that the only reason they were staying together was for
my
sake. All I wanted to do was grow up and get as far away as possible. And I did.

"Cornwall was a great place to grow up," Jack said heartily. "Never could understand why more of you didn't settle here or at least buy a country retreat for yourselves around here, now that you're all so successful. Incidentally, if you ever decide you want one, Jeannie, I have some properties listed that I can promise you are little jewels."

Jean remembered that Alice Sommers had told her the rumor was that Jack Emerson was the new owner of Alice's former home. "Any in my old neighborhood?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I'm talking about places with drop-dead river views. When can I take you around and show them to you?"

Never, Jean thought. I'm not coming back here to live. I just want to get out of here. First, though, I have to find out who is contacting me about Lily. It's just a hunch, but I'd stake my life that that person is sitting in this room right now. I want this dinner to be over so that I can meet Alice and the detective she has brought here tonight. I have to believe that somehow he will be able to help me find Lily and remove any threat to her safety. And when I am sure that she is well and happy, I need to go back to my adult world. Being here for twenty-four hours has already made me realize that, for better or for worse, whatever I have become was because of the life I led here, and I have to make peace with that.

"Oh, I don't think I'm in the market for a home in Cornwall," she told Jack Emerson.

"Maybe not now, Jeannie," he said, his eyes twinkling, "but I bet that someday soon I'll find a place for you to stay. In fact, I'm
sure
of it."

21

A
t these dinners the honorees are usually introduced in increasing order of importance, The Owl thought sardonically as Laura's name was called. She was the first to receive her medal, jointly presented by the mayor of Cornwall and the president of Stonecroft.

Laura's garment bag and small suitcase were in his car. He'd sneaked them down the backstairs, out the service entrance, and into the trunk without being observed. As a precaution he'd broken the light over the service entrance and worn a cap and jacket that could vaguely have passed for a uniform if anyone happened to see him, even from a distance.

Predictably, Laura looked beautiful. She was wearing a gold dinner gown that, as the well-worn saying went, "left nothing to the imagination." Her makeup was flawless. Her diamond necklace was probably fake but looked good. Her diamond earrings might be genuine. They were probably the last, or near the last, of the jewelry she'd received from her second husband. A little talent, helped by her spectacular good looks, had given Laura her fifteen minutes of fame. And, face it, she had an engaging personality—that is, if you weren't on the receiving end of her trashing.

Now she was thanking the mayor, the president of Stonecroft, and the dinner guests. "Cornwall-on-Hudson was a wonderful place to grow up," she gushed. "And the four years at Stonecroft were the happiest of my life."

With a thrill of anticipation, he imagined the moment when they got to the house, when he closed the door behind her and saw the terror begin to come into her eyes, the moment when she understood that she was trapped.

They were applauding Laura's speech, and then the mayor was announcing the next honoree.

Finally it was over, and they could get up to leave. He sensed that Laura was looking at him, but he did not meet her glance. They had agreed that they would mingle for a little while, then go to their rooms separately while everyone was saying good night. Then she would meet him at the car.

The others would be checking out in the morning and driving in their own cars to the memorial service at Alison's grave, and then on to the farewell brunch. Laura wouldn't be missed until then, and the supposition might easily be that she'd simply had enough of the reunion and had headed home early.

"Congratulations are in order, I suppose," Jean said, resting her hand a few inches above his wrist. She had touched the deepest and most ragged of the dog bites. The Owl felt a spurt of blood from the wound dampen his jacket and realized that the sleeve of Jean's royal blue dinner gown was in contact with it.

With a tremendous effort he managed not to give any hint of the pain that shot through his arm. Obviously Jean did not realize what had happened, and she turned to greet a couple in their early sixties who were approaching her.

For an instant, The Owl thought of the blood that had dripped onto the street when the dog bit him. DNA. It concerned him that it was the first time he'd ever left physical evidence behind—except, of course, for his symbol, but over the years everyone everywhere had missed that. In a way he'd been disappointed by their stupidity, but in another way he'd been glad. If the deaths of all those women were linked, it would make it harder for him to continue. If he chose to continue after Laura and Jean.

Even if Jean realized the spot on her sleeve was blood, she wouldn't have any idea where it had come from and how she had come in contact with it. Besides, no detective, not even Sherlock Holmes, would connect a spot on the sleeve of an honoree of Stonecroft Academy with blood found in the street twenty miles away.

Never in a million years, The Owl thought, dismissing the idea as absurd.

22

From the moment she met Sam Deegan, Jean understood why Alice had spoken so highly of him. She liked his looks: a strong face enhanced by clear dark blue eyes. She also liked the warmth of his smile and his firm handshake.

"I told Sam about Lily and about the fax you received yesterday," Alice said, her voice low.

"There's been another one," Jean whispered. "Alice, I'm so frightened for Lily. I almost couldn't make myself come down to dinner. It's been so hard to try to make conversation when I don't know what may be happening to her."

Before Alice could reply, Jean felt a tug on her sleeve as a cheery voice cried, "Jean Sheridan. My, how happy I am to see you! You used to baby-sit for my kids when you were thirteen."

Jean managed a smile. "Oh, Mrs. Rhodeen, it's so good to see you again."

"Jean, people want to talk to you," Sam said. "Alice and I will go over and get a table in the cocktail lounge. Join us as soon as you can."

It was fifteen minutes before she could break away from the local people who had attended the dinner and who remembered her growing up or who had read her books and wanted to talk to her about them. But at last she was with Alice and Sam at a corner table where they could speak without being overheard.

As they sipped the champagne Sam had ordered, she told them about the flower and note she had found in the cemetery. "The rose couldn't have been there long," she said nervously. "It almost has to have been put there by someone in the reunion group who knew I was going to West Point and was sure I'd stop at Reed's grave. But why is he or she playing this game? Why these vague threats? Why not come out with the reason for being in touch with me now?"

"May I be in touch with you now?" Mark Fleischman asked pleasantly. He was standing at the empty chair beside her, a glass in his hand.

"I was looking to ask you to have a nightcap, Jean," he explained. "I couldn't find you, then I spotted you over here."

He saw the hesitation on the faces of the people at the table, and acknowledged to himself that he had expected it. He had been perfectly aware that they were in a serious discussion, but he wanted to know whom Jean was with and what they were talking about.

"Of course, join us," Jean said, trying to sound welcoming. How much did he overhear? she wondered as she introduced him to Alice and Sam.

"Mark Fleischman," Sam said. "
Dr
. Mark Fleischman. I've seen your program and like it very much. You give darn good advice. I especially admire the way you handle teenagers. When they're your guests, you have a way of letting them vent their feelings and feel comfortable about doing it. If more kids opened up and got decent advice, they would realize they were not alone and their problems wouldn't seem so overwhelming."