Fertile Ground (45 page)

Then why had she told so many lies? Why hadn’t she gone to the police when she heard Chelsea was murdered? Even if she’d thought that was a bizarre coincidence, why

hadn’t she gone when she heard Matthew had disappeared?

Maybe she was afraid to turn against her half brother, Lisa thought. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to believe he was a killer.

Or was she the killer?

She’d seemed genuinely devoted to her infant son. If anything happened to Andy, Paula had told Lisa, I’d kill myself. She was concerned about his breathing to the point that Lisa dropped the burger onto her plate. Grabbing her cell phone from her purse, she hunted in one of the side pockets for the card on which she’d written Curtis Rhodes’s home number.

She found the card and dialed, praying he was still in. He answered on the second ring.

“This is Lisa Brockman. I forgot to ask you before-now that there’s an heir, who inherits Andrew’s parents’ estate?”

“The baby. Paula inherits part of Andrew’s personal estate, according to his own will.”

“And if the baby dies, who inherits then?”

“Paula gets everything. Why? You don’t think she would harm Andy, do you?” He sounded shaken.

“She told me she’s worried because Andy stopped breathing once or twice. She said she took him to the pediatrician. She said she’s neurotic because her cousin’s child died of SIDS.”

“My God!” Curtis whispered.

“I think she’s laying the groundwork for SIDS. The pediatrician will say she was worried about it, that she was a conscientious mother. He’ll explain that Andy was at a higher risk because he was born premature, that there’s SIDS in the family.” Lisa took a breath. “I think she’s going to smother him in his sleep.” And take the money and run.

She said the same thing to Barone in her apartment an hour later. She hadn’t been sure he would come, even though she’d left an urgent message at the station. He

was polite as always when he stepped into her living room, but she sensed he was tired of responding to her calls. She watched his impassive face when she told him about Grace and Paula and the millions Paula stood to inherit, and knew before he spoke that she’d presented too many theories, that she’d lost credibility.

She told him so. “I know what you’re thinking—“Dr. Brockman’s theory of the day.” I don’t blame you for being skeptical. Talk to Grace. She’ll tell you Paula Rhodes received Chelsea’s eggs. And Andrew Rhodes’s cousins will tell you that he was about to divorce his wife before she conceived.”

“So what was the motive for the murders. Dr. Brock man?” Barone asked in a bland voice. “The money Mrs. Rhodes hopes to inherit, or Nestle’s fear that his role in the donor-egg switching and his other misconduct would be discovered?”

Was he being sarcastic? “The money.”

Barone nodded. “I’ll talk to the Rhodes family. I’ll contact Grace Fenton, too.”

She felt a wave of relief. “What about the baby? I’m convinced Paula plans to kill him. She won’t get the money if he’s alive, and SIDS is a perfect camouflage. No symptoms. No warning signs.”

“She told you she’s getting a monitor, didn’t she?”

“She said she’ll get one if Andy has another episode. So he won’t have one for a while, and when he does, it’ll be the fatal one. Can you take her in for questioning? That would scare her. She won’t kill Andy if she knows the police are watching her.”

“I have no cause to arrest her or even question her. Let me talk to Mrs. Fenton.”

An hour and a half later, Barone phoned Lisa. “Grace Penton and her family are gone,” he told her. “I drove out to Whittier and spoke to her mother. They skipped. The mother swears she doesn’t know where she is.”

And now there was no witness. “Her husband just left his job?”

“Apparently. I contacted the bank where he work she showed up this morning but left around ten, saying he was coming down with the flu. Before he left, he cleaned out a savings account.”

“Grace is afraid Paula will have her killed if she testifies. Paula’s going to kill her baby. Detective Barone. You have to arrest her.” Lisa’s voice sounded shrill to her ears.

“On what grounds? That she’s going to inherit millions? It’s not exactly a crime. Ostensibly, she’s a loving mother. You thought so. I’m putting out an APB on Mrs. Fenton. I’ll bring her in as a material witness.”

“What if you don’t find her in time?”

Barone sighed. “I’m doing the best I can. Dr. Brockman.”

She phoned Curtis Rhodes and told him the bad news. “Detective Barone is trying to find the nurse. In the meantime, I think you should advise Paula that you’re contesting the will and are demanding that DNA testing be done on Andy to determine who his mother is.”

“She can refuse, and a judge will support her. After all, she’s the birth mother. The will says nothing about not using donor eggs.”

“Yes, but this way, you’ll be putting her on notice, and she’ll think twice before harming Andy.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Mr. Rhodes?”

“I’ll talk to the family, and we’ll decide what to do.”

“Don’t take too long to decide, Mr. Rhodes. I don’t know how long Paula will wait.”

Berta eyed Lisa through the privacy window and admitted her into the grand entry hall.

“Momenta, par favor,” she said and disappeared.

Lisa took a few steps to her right and looked into an enormous sunken living room. Two oversized cream colored chenille sofas sat in the middle of the room on an area rug with muted shades of mint green and gray. In the far corner of the room was a black grand piano. Above the fireplace was a lithograph that, even from a distance, she recognized as a Chagall. There was something familiar about the feel of the room—the quiet, elegant beauty, the artwork. She’d probably seen it photographed in Architectural Digest.

“What brings you here this Sunday morning. Dr. Brockman?” Paula asked. “No bad news, I hope?”

Lisa turned around. “Thank goodness, no. Please call me Lisa, by the way.” She smiled. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Not at all. I’ve been packing and could use a break. I’m taking Andy to Alabama tonight to see his grandparents.”

“How long will you be gone?” Lisa asked, trying to sound casual. Was Paula running away because she was anxious about Nestle implicating her? Would Andy have iC7

a fatal episode and succumb to SIDS in Alabama?

“I’m not sure. To tell you the truth, with my husband gone, there’s nothing to keep me here. I don’t have many friends, and Andrew’s family hasn’t exactly welcomed me. What’s that?” She pointed to the wrapped, oblong box Lisa was holding.

“I came to bring you something. Actually, it’s for Andy.” She handed Paula the box.

“A present?” Paula smiled. “That’s so sweet. Let’s go in here.”

Lisa followed her into the living room and sat next to her on one of the sofas. She watched as Paula tore off the paper, opened the box, and stared at the contents beneath the white tissue paper.

“It’s the monitor,” Lisa said. “You sounded so anxious about Andy on the phone the other day. I was near a medical supply house and picked one up for you.”

She’d done so on Friday, before going to the Presslers to spend the Sabbath. The weekend would have been perfect—Sam had been there; the Presslers, as always, had made her feel welcome; she’d enjoyed playing with the children and getting to know Elana. But Lisa hadn’t been able to stop worrying about Andy, and wondering about Grace. As of this morning, Barone still hadn’t located the nurse.

“This must be expensive,” Paula said, looking up. “I can’t allow you to pay for it.”

Lisa wished she could read the woman’s mind. “It isn’t a big deal. And I’m happy to do it. Frankly, since we last talked, I’ve been anxious about Andy, just as you are. So I thought, why should you worry about SIDS? Why take even the smallest risk when there are monitors to prevent it, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s very easy to use. Here, I’ll show you.” Lisa demonstrated how the straps should be wrapped around the baby’s chest, how to read the dial. “The alarm is loud enough to wake you, so you can finally get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m touched.” Paula’s voice was soft, her drawl ronounced. “I honestly don’t know what to say, how to thank you. You hardly know us.” Her dark eyes were bright with tears.

“Knowing Andy’s safe is thanks enough.” Had Paula been convincingly teary when she told Chelsea how happy she was to meet her? How had she persuaded Chelsea not to tell her parents or her boyfriend? Had she promised to take care of Chelsea’s tuition? To pay her off? To let her help raise Andy? We can both be his mother, Chelsea, but only you and I can know.

Lisa lowered her voice. “We’ve only met once and talked a few times, but now that Matthew’s gone, I understand all too well the pain you’ve been going through since your husband’s death. And I thought about what you said—how there are no coincidences, how you and Chelsea were destined to meet. Maybe you and I were destined to meet, too. I’d like to think so, anyway.”

She smiled again and stood, proud of the fact that for once, her face hadn’t betrayed her. She slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Good luck with your interior decorating.” At the arched living room entrance, she turned. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! You’ll be happy to know they nabbed that man.”

Paula looked blank. “Which man?”

“The one who called you and pretended to be Detective Barone. The one who was following me.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Paula said, “Really? That’s wonderful.” She cocked her head and gazed at Lisa. “Who is he?”

“Just a reporter. Can you believe it?” She laughed. “And here I was terrified that he was going to kill me.”

“I’m so glad. Lisa. You must be enormously relieved.”

She nodded. “I am. Nothing will change the fact that Matthew’s dead, but it’s gratifying to know that the police have the murderer in custody. He was a lab technician at the clinic. I saw him every day.” She shuddered. “Apparently he killed Dr. Cantrell, too.”

Paula frowned. “I heard on the news that Dr. Cantrell killed himself.”

Lisa shook her head. “The police think he was murdered. To tell you the truth, I was shocked when the lab tech was arrested. I had this wild scenario in my head. I thought. What if Chelsea was killed because she tracked down the woman who received her eggs? What if Matthew was killed because he knew the identity of the woman? Crazy, isn’t it?”

“I have to say it sounds bizarre.” Paula’s smile revealed a hint of condescension. “Why would she kill Chelsea?”

“She panicked. Maybe she was afraid Chelsea would want her child back. Maybe there’s money involved.” Lisa shrugged. “I didn’t think it through. I did mention it to Barone.”

“Did you?” Paula nodded. “And what did he say?”

It was eerie, Lisa thought, looking evil in the face. “That I’d need proof, a witness who would testify as to who received Chelsea’s eggs. I think he was humoring me.”

“But you don’t have a witness?”

She wondered where Grace was. Had Barone found her? “No. It was just a theory, anyway.” She shrugged again. “And the police have their suspect in custody. I never would have believed him capable of murder. It’s funny, isn’t it, how people can fool you?”

“Very,” Paula said.

“Take good care of Andy.”

“You know I will,” she said softly.

“Don’t forget to take the monitor with you to Alabama.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lisa was fine until she was sitting in her car. When she turned on the ignition, she started shaking uncontrollably and had to wait a few minutes before she was calm enough to drive to a Judaica store on Pico, where she bought a silver match box and tray for Elana and story books for the children.

She’d told Elana this morning that she’d be going home today. “Spend next Shabbos with us,” Elana had said, and Lisa had happily accepted.

The Pressler house was empty when she returned from Paula’s. Lisa packed her few things and took the files, stack by heavy stack, to the trunk of her car. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with them when she got home—cart them upstairs or dump them in the trash. All that paper, all those trees. She smoothed the bedspread, gave a last look around the guest room, then slipped a note under the ribbon of one of the wrapped gifts on the desk, next to the spare key. She remembered to kiss the mezuzah on the front doorpost on her way out.

Back at home, she phoned Sam and he came right over. She couldn’t believe she’d ever doubted him. On Friday night they’d taken a long walk, and she’d told him everything about Paula, about Nestle. Now she described her visit to Paula.

“I still think you’re crazy for going there.” There was admiration in his voice and in the way he looked at her.

She loved the way he looked at her. She loved his smile, loved the way he was constantly adjusting his glasses and his skullcap, loved being around him. It seemed so natural and easy, eating sandwiches together at the dinette table, sitting -on the couch afterward and laughing morosely about their career options while Rosie O’Donnell chatted happily with one of her celebrity guests. His arm was almost touching her, and she leaned close to him and wondered if, like her, he was thinking about Matthew. She was resigned to the possibility that the police might never find his body, that she would never have the closure she needed. There were worse things in life.

Sam left to do some errands. She was used to long days crowded with patients and reports and didn’t know how to cope with idleness. There was nothing to do in her apartment—no dusting, no laundry to wash—and though she loved to read, she hadn’t been able to concentrate lately.

She was working on the daily crossword, listening to “Candle in the Wind,” when the phone rang. She ran to answer it, but it wasn’t Barone. It was Edmond. She apologized for not returning his call.

“I had a busy few days,” she said, and told him about the Hoffman delivery, wondering as she was talking whether he knew she’d gone to Nestle, whether he was aware of what Nestle had been doing. Edmond told her he was shocked about Norman Weld. She said she was, too—not really a lie.

“At least it’s over. Lisa. If there’s anything Georgia or I can do…” he said, and she promised to call if she needed help.