Close to You (27 page)

The waiter arrived to take their drink orders and another brought hot, crusty rolls to the table. Eliza broke off a piece, dipped it into a tasty pesto, and ate it appreciatively.

“So far, so good. This bread is wonderful.”

They pored over the autumn dinner menu and both agreed they couldn't decide what to order, everything sounded so good. Braised duck ravioli with butternut squash and toasted pecans, and sautéed crabcakes with roasted spaghetti squash, crispy shallots and a cranberry glaze, made the cut as appetizers. For entrées, Eliza ordered the braised lamb shank with sweet potato
pierogi
and baby carrots, Samuel the grilled filet mignon of beef with roasted-garlic mashed potatoes and rosemary
jus.
Everything tasted even better than it sounded. Though sorely tempted, they passed on the fabulous dessert menu, but ordered coffee.

Eliza had avoided the subject all evening, waiting to bring it up now.

“Have you given any thought to my request, Samuel?”

His face looked pained. “I have, Eliza. Believe me, I have. But I'm just not ready to talk about losing Sarah yet And I certainly can't do it for a national audience. I hope you'll understand.”

He reached out across the table and put his hand over hers and looked earnestly into her eyes.

“Of course I do, Samuel. I shouldn't have asked you. It was terribly insensitive of me. I'm so sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about. I know that you had all the right intentions. I've always been interested in how these things came to be. What made you want to do this story at this particular time? Was our relationship and Sarah the catalyst?”

“Actually, I'm doing a story on another parent who lost a child. The story is about stalking and a newswoman who disappeared five years ago. But when I interviewed her mother, I got to thinking how horrible it was to lose a child—no matter what the age. You and Sarah came to mind.”

Eliza reached over and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across Samuel's forehead as her other hand held his. Agony was written all over the poor man's face.

“I'm so sorry, Samuel. About everything,” she whispered.

She could see that he was trying to shake himself out of his suddenly morose mood. Eliza watched as Samuel pulled a small pale-blue box tied with a white satin ribbon from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table between them.

“For you, Eliza. I hope you like it.”

She tugged at the end of the satin bow and opened the unmistakable Tiffany box.

“Oh, Samuel! They're beautiful!”

“I hoped you'd like them. We have to restock that jewelry collection of yours.”

“They're exquisite,” said Eliza, holding the diamond starfish earrings in her hands. “Exquisite . . . and much too extravagant.” This was starting to get out of hand.

“No, it's not. You don't know how much our time together has meant to me, Eliza. When I came to New York, I thought my life was over. Being with you makes me want to believe in the future.”

 

Even if Eliza had been inclined to invite Samuel in, the gray sedan was standing guard in front of the house and Janie was sleeping inside. Samuel didn't push it.

“I'll call you,” he said after he kissed her good night.

Eliza let herself into the house and called out quietly for Mrs. Garcia. The housekeeper was in the den watching television.

“How was she?”

“La muñequita
was tired tonight and went to bed right when I tell her.”

“Good. I'm glad. Any phone calls?”

“Sí.
Señora Blake called after Janie was sleeping. Her grandma say she calls tomorrow. And Señor McBride called, too.”

By the way her heart pounded at that news, Eliza knew she wasn't over Mack yet.

Larson drove home from Esty Street with a sinking feeling. Those investors who had so happily eaten on his dime tonight were not going to bite on putting money into his business. He could feel it.

He clicked the electronic door opener, slid the Mercedes into the garage and walked dejectedly into the house. The light was blinking on the kitchen Caller ID box. Larson picked up the receiver and punched in his code. There were no new messages.

Yet the flashing red light indicated someone must have called.

Larson pushed the review button. Carmine Carelli had called. Twice.

Of course Carmine had left no message. He was too smart for that.

Jesus. Why had he gotten involved with that crowd? They didn't fool around. He was going to come home one night to find some thug waiting to break his legs. And that would be the
best-case
scenario.

He grabbed a beer from the shelf in the refrigerator. Larson was about to close the door when he sensed something
was amiss. All the contents of the shelves had been pushed to the side.

Panic seized him as he opened the freezer compartment. The boxes of frozen peas and asparagus that he had so neatly arranged were a jumbled mess. He rifled beneath them frantically.

The frosty metal strongbox was gone.

Why had he saved that last letter from his mother? He had sold her jewelry, destroyed the promissory notes.

But he had kept that damned letter.

Sentimentality was for fools.

That character from Moonachie wasn't going to get much more than a slap on the wrist for what he had done to Eliza at the zoo. Even if Cornelius Bacon served some jail time, he would be out too soon.

That wasn't right.

He could get to Eliza again. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

Eliza was too precious. She had to be protected.

Bacon had to be stopped.

He worried about it all weekend. The phone trap wasn't working fast enough. Joe went to work earlier than he normally would on Monday morning, booted up his computer and clicked into his
ABERRANT BEHAVIOR
file.

Connelly scanned the entries, unsure of what exactly he was looking for. The caller must have said something that Joe could work with, something that might give him a clue to the identity of the harasser.

“Eliza, you are beautiful, even without your makeup.”

That was something to follow.

 

The security chief was waiting in Eliza's office when she arrived.

“I want you to think of anyone who has seen you without your makeup.”

“God, Joe. Where would I begin? Some days I come into the office without putting on any makeup. Anyone here could have seen me without it.”

“All right. Outside of the Broadcast Center,” Connelly pushed.

Eliza tried to recall the nearly impossible. Where had she been without makeup?

“Offhand, I remember a morning that the guy who sold me my house unexpectedly brought Janie a puppy. He saw me without my makeup.”

Joe wrote down Larson Richards's name. “Do you have his phone number?”

“Paige probably does, on the Rolodex.”

“Good. I'll have it checked out. Anyone else?”

The memory of Keith Chapel in the Dallas hotel gym flashed through Eliza's mind, but she couldn't bring herself to single him out. Besides, Keith worked in the Broadcast Center. He should just be considered along with everyone else.

Eliza shook her head. “No one comes to mind right now.”

“Well, keep thinking about it, Eliza. Call me if you remember anyone at all.”

The letter was written in flowery script on pale pink stationery.

Dear Larson,

I can't tell you how upset your father and I are at the recent turn of events between us. As your mother, I am heartbroken that you could say the things you said to us when you were here.

We have loved you and raised you since the joyous time you were born to us, working hard to nurture you and afford you every possible opportunity. For you to turn on us like this hurts us beyond anything that words can describe.

You said that we would be dead to you if we didn't give you more to bolster your business. I can't believe that it's come to this, especially since we have already helped you so much financially. Obviously you care more about your business than you do about our comfort. That's a painful realization for us.

We will not be threatened, Larson. If you feel that you must cut yourself off from us, so be it. But I pray that you will think about all this and come to your senses. Dad and

I love you very much and would be willing to forgive and forget what you said in anger.

I want you to know that everything we have will eventually be yours anyway, Larson. No matter whether you cut us off or not.

 

Love,

Mother

Augie looked at the date at the top of the paper; folded up the letter and stuck it in his pocket. A trip to the public library was in order. If a back issue of the
Record
confirmed what he suspected, Mrs. Richards had written this letter to her son just before she and her husband died.

“I don't know how I feel anymore, Mack. And I don't think any of this can be resolved on the telephone. If you do come back for Thanksgiving, maybe we can talk then.” Eliza glanced at her watch. She should be down in makeup. “I have to go.”

 

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Eliza frowned.

“God, I look awful.”

“No you don't, sweetie,” Doris reassured her, “and when I'm through with you, you'll look dynamite.”

“Well, you better get out a tub of concealer. Look at those bags!”

Doris gently patted the white cream on the gray circles beneath Eliza's eyes.

“You didn't sleep well again last night?”

“No. I fall asleep by midnight, but I'm wide awake at two. I lie there and think and worry, watching the clock and only getting more anxious that I won't be able to fall back to sleep and then I'll be exhausted the next day. It's a vicious cycle.”

“You've got a lot on your mind, honey. No wonder you
can't sleep. Think you should get some sleeping pills?” Doris suggested.

Eliza shrugged. “Maybe. But I want to avoid that if I can. I'm afraid I'll go into a deep sleep and won't wake up if something happens and Janie needs me. Besides, I'm so busy right now, I don't have time to get to the doctor.”

“I have some at home,” Doris offered. “I'll bring them in tomorrow. You can try them if you want and see if they work for you.”

The makeup artist's handiwork could only do its magic to a point. Eliza still looked tired.

“Try to rest up this weekend, Eliza. Turn your mind off.”

“How can I do that, Doris? Let's not even go into the guards outside my house and the kooks out there, wherever they are. Mack called.”

“What did
he
want?” Doris asked dourly.

“Someone sent him that picture of Samuel and me in the newspaper.”

“Good. I wish I'd thought of that.”

A half-smile formed on Eliza's painted lips. “He wants to try to work things out.”

“How do you feel?”

“Conflicted.”

 

In the president's office, Yelena Gregory watched the
Evening Headlines
with concern. Eliza wasn't looking her usual luminous self. In a perfect world perhaps it wouldn't matter what the person delivering the news looked like. But this was the real world. Presentation counted right up there with content if you wanted to get good ratings.

She could well understand the strain Eliza was under. Yelena had been keeping abreast of the security problems. Joe Connelly had reassured her just this afternoon that something should be coming from the phone company soon on the threatening calls.

It damned well better.

Susan Feeney had outdone herself. The Olive Oyl costume she had put together was spectacular. Janie wriggled in excitement, wearing a shirtwaist dress with Peter Pan collar, striped tights and black shoes. Susan had fashioned a turned-up nose of putty and found a black wig which she had swept back and pinned into a tight bun. The creation was adorable.

James wore a white sailor suit and hat, biting hard on a corncob pipe at the corner of his mouth and carrying a can of spinach. Rolling back the sleeve of the shirt, Susan had drawn an anchor tattoo on her son's arm.

The plan was for all of them to go into town together to the kickoff point of the Halloween parade. Eliza would break off and go to the school to be ready with the cider and donuts for the kids and their parents, while Susan would stay with Janie, James, Bumblebee Kelly and Ladybug Kimberly. The mothers, but not their children, were aware that the security guards would be following along nearby.

The scene in downtown HoHoKus was something straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting as scores of children assembled in their Halloween regalia—witches
and monsters, magicians and devils, pumpkins and princesses. While the most creative costumes were clearly homemade, Eliza noted with relief that many were obviously the store-bought kind. Not everyone was Martha Stewart out here, after all.

The kids marched along happily in the October morning sunshine. Eliza trained her video camera on their procession and promised to make a copy of the tape for Susan, who had her hands full with Kelly and Kimberly. When they reached the halfway point, Eliza broke away.

 

The trestle tables in the schoolyard were all set, covered with plates of cinnamon and powdered-sugar donuts and jugs of apple cider from nearby Demarest Farm. Eliza was stacking paper cups when Larson Richards approached.

“I figured I could find you here with Janie this morning. I didn't know you'd be manning the refreshment stand.”

“Just want to do my small part, Larson,” she answered in a dismissive tone. She continued arranging the cups, hoping he would get the hint and leave.