Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (15 page)

“Did Miss Gilpatric have any enemies that you know of?”

“No, sir. I don't know of any.”

“Had she been upset about anything?”

“She really didn't tell me much, sir. I was her maid, not her friend.”

“I understand.” Ortiz nodded. “But maybe you overheard her talking to someone. A telephone conversation, perhaps,” the detective fished.

Delia stared down at the hands clasped in her lap.

“Please, Miss Beehan. Anything you can tell me might be a big help.”

“Well,” the maid began reluctantly, looking into Ortiz's surprisingly gentle brown eyes, “I know she had words with Mr. Malcolm.”

“That would be Joel Malcolm, the executive producer of
Hourglass?
” Ortiz prompted.

“Um-hmm.”

“When was this?”

“The day before the party. Well, the night, actually.”

Ortiz scribbled in his notebook. “So Mr. Malcolm was here that evening?”

“No. Madam talked to him on the phone in her bedroom.”

“What did you hear?”

Delia was clearly uncomfortable as she tried to explain. “I've never heard her use the language she used that night. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I listened outside in the hallway.”

Ortiz's face betrayed no judgment. He waited for her to continue.

“I heard her tell Mr. Malcolm that she was leaving
Hourglass.
” Delia watched the detective's face for a reaction. She got none.

“And.”

“Well, of course, I didn't hear what Mr. Malcolm said, but Madam was very angry. She said that she didn't owe him anything. That he owed
her.
That she was the reason for his success. Then he must have said something that really made her mad because she started calling him all sorts of names and yelling terrible things he should do to himself.”

“Okay,” said Ortiz approvingly. “That's a big help. Now I want to ask you about just a few other things. As you know, we took some of Miss Gilpatric's things with us the night of the party. One was her appointment book. I see she had some surgery scheduled this week?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know what it was for?”

“She didn't tell me, sir.”

Again Ortiz sensed her hesitation. “She may not have told you, but do you know anyway?”

The maid reddened slightly. “I think it was plastic surgery.”

“Face-lift?”

“Yes.”

“Has the doctor's office called about confirming her appointment?”

“No, sir, but why would they? I think everyone knows about Madam's accident. In fact, Dr. Costello was here at the party.”

“Dr. Costello was her plastic surgeon?”

The maid nodded.

“But the Day-Timer entry says ‘Dr. Koizim.'”

Delia looked puzzled and shrugged.

“Okay, Miss Beehan. One last thing. Miss Gilpatric's checkbook. There are very few entries in it.”

“That's because her accountant takes care of most of her business. She has the other checkbook just for spur-of-the-moment things that come up.”

Or checks she doesn't want anyone to know about,
thought Ortiz.

“That makes sense,” he agreed. “But there is a recurrent name here. It seems Miss Gilpatric wrote a check every month to someone named Emmett Walsh. Do you know who that is?”

Delia paused to consider the detective's question. “No, I never met or heard Madam speak of any Emmett Walsh. But she was very fond of a young woman at
KEY News
named
Laura
Walsh. Ms. Walsh was here just before Christmas.”

Ortiz flipped back the pages of his notebook until he found the list of people he was looking for.

“Oh, yes. Miss Walsh was at the party, too, wasn't she?”

“Yes, sir, she was.”

Detective Ortiz closed his notebook.

49

S
HE HAD WAITED
what seemed like forever for his decision, but once Joel Malcolm's call had come, Laura had had to move quickly to
Hourglass.
She hadn't even had time to clear out her old desk in the Bulletin Center.

At the end of her first day in her new position, Laura ached to get home, heat up a bowl of soup and soak in a hot, sudsy bathtub. Instead, she had to make a stop at her old office and clean out her drawers for whoever would be taking her place. Then she had promised to have dinner with Francheska, who wanted to take her out to celebrate the new job.

Her makeup having worn off hours before, Laura knew she looked as tired as she felt when she bumped into Mike Schultz as he was leaving the Bulletin Center for the day.

“Whoa. You look beat. What are they doing to you over there?” Mike asked jokingly. “I knew that you'd really appreciate working for me once you had a taste of Joel Malcolm.”

Laura shook her head and pulled Mike aside to a spot in the hallway where fewer people might overhear their conversation.

“Mike, that guy's a ratings-driven madman!”

Mike laughed out loud. “Well put. But he's also a television genius. You are going to learn a lot from him. Tell me what happened today.”

Laura briefed him on the high points of the staff meeting and Joel's plan for ratings glory.

“What you're telling me doesn't surprise me, Laura. Malcolm is a fanatic about his baby. It has always galled the hell out of him that
Hourglass
doesn't beat
60 Minutes.
He smells blood now. As he sees it, this is the opportunity of a lifetime for the broadcast and he is not about to blow it.”

Laura grimaced. “The whole meeting left a rotten taste in my mouth. Mike, what have I gotten myself into?” she wondered aloud.

Mike put his big paw on her shoulder. “Hang in there, kid. You'll get used to him. This was your dream, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Laura agreed wryly. “Be careful what you wish for.”

50

W
ITH NEWSPAPER SPREAD
over the kitchen table, Emmett was peeling potatoes when the telephone rang. He quickly washed his hands at the sink and got to the wall phone on the fourth ring.

“Mr. Walsh?”

“Yes?”

“Hello, sir. My name is Matthew Voigt. I work with your daughter at
KEY News.
”

“Is Laura all right?” Emmett asked anxiously.

“Oh, yes, sir. She's just fine. In fact, we are working on a story together. Laura may have told you about it, a piece on Palisades Amusement Park?”

Emmett clenched his fist around the telephone receiver.

“Yes. She mentioned something about it.”

“Well, Mr. Walsh, Laura tells me you operated the Cyclone for the last few seasons at Palisades. I bet you have some wonderful stories to tell.”

“What kind of stories?” Emmett asked suspiciously. He'd be damned if he was going to get into the Tommy Cruz thing, not even for Laura.

“Memories, Mr. Walsh. What the park was like. The people who came. Any celebrities you buckled into the roller coaster. That sort of thing.”

“I'm not much for storytellin'.”

Matthew was not to be dissuaded. “You know, Mr. Walsh, this is Laura's first story for
Hourglass.
It's important that it turn out well.”

“Why isn't Laura calling me herself?”

“It's better if I do, sir. Of course this is Laura's story, but since you are her father, it would make more sense for me to interview you. We want to avoid any conflict of interest.”

Emmett wasn't sure what exactly “conflict of interest” was, but he understood that his daughter needed to do a good job on her story. He guessed he could be careful about what he told this Matthew fellow.

“All right,” Emmett agreed reluctantly.

“Wonderful! I'll call you in a few days to set up a time when we can come out there to interview you. Maybe we could do it on the site of where the old roller coaster used to stand.”

“I doubt that, mister. There's a big fat condominium complex sitting right on top of it.”

“At your home, then?”

Emmett glanced around the kitchen, seeing it through a stranger's eyes. He didn't want this tired old place on national television.

“I have an idea, Mr. Voigt. Did Laura tell you about the miniature Palisades Park I built in the basement? Maybe you'd like to see that and we could do the interview down there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Returning to the cut potatoes, Emmett threw them into hot Mazola corn oil and watched them fry. When they were a crispy, golden brown, he scooped the potatoes from the oil and drained them on paper towels. A liberal sprinkling of salt and Heinz malt vinegar followed. He tasted one of them, relishing the flavor.

Just like they used to make them at Palisades Park.

51

L
AURA DEPOSITED THE
large cardboard box packed with the last of her things from the Bulletin Center in her new office, switched off the lights, locked the door and headed toward the ladies' room to freshen up before meeting Francheska. She looked into Matthew's office as she passed. He was still at his desk.

“You are making me feel guilty.” She stopped at his doorway, smiling. “Should I be staying late, too?”

Matthew grinned. “Not tonight, my pretty. But you are going to have plenty of late nights here. Get out now, while you can. Hey, I could knock off now, too. Want to stop and have a drink?”

“Can I have a rain check? I'm meeting a friend for dinner tonight.” Laura glanced at her watch. “And I'm going to be late.”

“Sure, we'll do it another time. Where are you going for dinner?”

“Picholine.”

“Mmmm. May I ask, male friend or female friend?”

“My best friend, Francheska. She's treating me in honor of my new job.”

“Generous friend.”

“Yup. And she's going to be livid if I don't make our reservation. I'll see you tomorrow.” Laura turned to leave.

“Hey, Laura,” Matthew called after her, “I just talked to your father.”

Laura froze in her tracks and turned back to the doorway.

“You did? How come?”

“I thought I'd get his interview set up.”

“What did he say?” Laura asked, trying not to show she was bothered.
Matthew should have asked me if he could call, talked to me about it in advance. This is my story. My father.

“He seemed a bit reluctant at first, but finally he agreed to talk. That little amusement park of his sounds cool. I think it should make a great visual for the piece.”

Laura thought of the dark basement with the steep, chipped wooden stairs that led down to it. She pictured Matthew and the camera crew carrying their gear over the worn carpeting in the living room, through the tight kitchen and down the old stairs to the musty-smelling cellar. What would they think, knowing that this was where she came from? It shouldn't matter what they thought. Though she was disappointed in herself for feeling this way, she did care.

Even more worrisome was what her father might do and say.
If he drinks that day, I'll die,
she thought. If Emmett drank, he would slur his words and rant on and on. Even worse was the possibility of his getting angry and mean.

Please, God, let him have one of his good days.

This story idea of hers, her ticket to
Hourglass,
had seemed like such a good one.

She knew the town, knew the history of the amusement park, and had always been intrigued by the stories she had heard about the little boy who had disappeared that last summer. Why hadn't she foreseen how complicated it could become for her personally? Nothing that involved Emmett was ever easy.
Why don't I ever learn?

Laura said good night to Matthew, freshened her makeup and left the Broadcast Center, hailing a cab on the cold dark street outside. She got into the yellow car, told the driver her destination and, settling back onto the black plastic seat, heaved a deep sigh.

Definitely not a good first day.

52

T
HE RAVEN-HAIRED BEAUTY
sat at the bar at Picholine on West 64th Street, waiting for her friend and savoring her vodka martini. She was well aware that she was getting the long onceover from almost every man who walked into the restaurant. She didn't bother trying to pull down the hem of her dress, which had risen just a bit too high on her crossed, shear-black-stocking-clad thigh.

You never knew when you were going to meet someone interesting and it paid to go to good places. That was how she had met Leonard. She knew the guy was a sleazeball when he tried to pick her up at the bar at the Carlyle, while his wife sat unsuspectingly at the hotel restaurant nearby. But she had given him her phone number anyway, swayed by his rugged good looks, his beautiful suit, an intoxicating aftershave and the Rolex watch gleaming from beneath his starched white cuff. What a stupid fool she had been!

She had spent two years of her life on Leonard. Two years too much.

Francheska drained the last of her drink from its stemmed glass and ordered another. She rolled the olive around in her mouth a few times before she bit down, chewed and swallowed it.
Where was Laura?

Her momentary exasperation changed to admiration tinged with envy when she thought of her best friend. Laura had spent the last years paying her dues and now she was reaping the rewards of her labors.
KEY News Hourglass
producer!

Francheska had watched her friend work long hours, in the beginning, for little money. After she got involved with Leonard, Francheska had all the time in the world to do as she pleased, but Laura had been devoting herself to her broadcast journalism career. Francheska had partied and shopped and vacationed. Laura had spent her hours at
KEY News.

Not that Laura didn't like to go out and have a good time. On the contrary, Laura could party with the best of them. Yet Laura never let a good time interfere with her first priority, her career. Francheska wished now that she had been more like her former roommate. But it had been easier to let Leonard pay the freight and sit back and enjoy the good life.