Midnight Voices (20 page)

What if Rebecca hadn’t gone to the hospital at all, or New Mexico either?

What if she’d died?

Though it was almost fall, summer still held the city in its grip that afternoon, and as Caroline walked north three blocks then turned west toward Eliot Academy the dank heat of the afternoon closed around her, making her clothes stick to her skin, and her hair feel limp and straggly. But it wasn’t only her body the heat was affecting, but her mind as well, for with every step she took, the more her nerves began to tingle and strange thoughts flit through her head.

She was within a block or two of the last streets Brad had trod when he went out for his last run.

The streets where he’d thought people were watching him, following him.

The streets Andrea had wandered the last days of her life, going to and from work, running errands, doing all the little things that other people were doing right now.

Things like she was doing.

Was the killer here somewhere, watching someone else?

Watching her?

She looked around, scanning the people on both sides of the street. Was anyone watching? Or making a show of not watching? What about the man across the street, his back to her as he gazed into a shop window. Was he really looking at something in the window, or was he only pretending?

He moved on, without so much as a glance in her direction. But he wouldn’t look directly at her, would he? He could have seen her reflection in the shop window; known that she was watching him. She tracked him all the way to the corner, where he turned left and disappeared down Amsterdam Avenue.

Stupid!
Caroline said to herself.
Stupid and paranoid, just like Brad!
Except that Brad was dead, and so was Andrea, so why shouldn’t she be paranoid? And with two people dead—her husband and her best friend—was it really paranoia? Of course not!

Or was it? Where was the connection? It was a year since Brad had been killed. And Andrea hadn’t been out running in the park, making herself an easy target. She’d been at home in her apartment.

So it was paranoia.

But even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from searching the faces of the people around her, looking for something—anything—that might hint at danger. Now, with the Academy only a block away, she could feel eyes watching her—sense someone behind her. Now it was she who stopped to peer into a shop window, surreptitiously glancing at the sidewalk behind her.

Empty.

Whoever it was had slipped into a doorway, or maybe even one of the shops. She lingered at the window, facing a display of cutlery, the knives laid out in sprays.
Like flowers,
she thought, and immediately wondered where such a strange idea might have come from. Then another thought came into her mind: I’m going to be late. She glanced at her watch, and saw that she was right—the ten-minute walk had already taken her nearly twenty minutes. But still she stood rooted to the spot, certain that at any moment whoever had been following behind her would reveal himself.

Unless he wasn’t on the street at all.

A building? Could he be watching from above, looking down at her, watching her, laughing at her nervousness?

She spun away from the shop window, and scanned the windows of the buildings across the street. Above the shops were apartments, most of them with curtains drawn; someone could be peering at her from any one of them.

Now she felt panic rising inside her—an unreasoning, overwhelming terror that made her want to turn and run back to the shelter of home, to lock the heavy door of the apartment, shut out all the dangers that suddenly seemed to fill the streets.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe! It was as if steel bands were wrapped around her chest, bands that were getting tighter with every second that passed. Instinctively, she reached out and braced herself against the window, then jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she found herself looking into the eyes of a middle-aged woman, who looked vaguely familiar.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked.

Somehow the words broke the grip of the panic that had seized Caroline, and she nodded as the terrible constriction in her chest eased and she was able to catch her breath. “I—I’m not sure what happened. I just . . .” But then her voice trailed off as she realized exactly what had happened: she’d let her paranoia get control of her, and had a panic attack. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Thank you.”

The woman nodded, smiled at her, then continued on her way toward the park. Caroline watched her go, suddenly certain she’d seen the woman somewhere before, but still unable to place her. Had the woman been fol— Then, as her mind once again began responding to the seductive advances of the paranoia that had held her in its grip only a moment ago, she forced the thought aside, and turned back toward the Academy. She could have seen the woman a thousand times before—she’d lived in the neighborhood for more than ten years, and the other woman had probably been here for twice that long. Why shouldn’t she look familiar? By the time she stepped into Ralph Winthrop’s office—blessedly cool after the heavy warmth outside—she had her roiling emotions firmly in check.

Then she saw Ryan sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the headmaster’s office, his face stormy, his eyes glittering with anger, a swollen bruise on his forehead.
I can’t deal with this,
she thought, knowing even as she silently spoke the words to herself that she had no choice. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to get in any more fights,” she said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Ryan said. “Justin Fraser called me an idiot.”

“So you hit him,” Ralph Winthrop said softly. When Ryan started to say something, he held up his hand as if to physically block whatever words the boy might utter. “Don’t try to deny it—Mr. Williams and Mrs. Wennerberg both saw it. You hit him, and he hit you back. The fact you got the worst of it doesn’t mitigate the fact that you hit first.” He turned to Caroline. “I know that the policy about fighting is less stringent in the public schools than here, but I believe I made a special point of reminding Ryan of it when we agreed to take him back, given his record after he left us last year.”

Caroline’s heart sank.
They’re kicking him out. After just one day, they’re kicking him out.
“But—”

But Ralph Winthrop was already on his feet. “I’ve never before seen any reason to bend the policy. In fact, the policy has worked so well that I’ve only had to enforce it once.” Caroline felt a flicker of hope. “I’ve gone over Ryan’s records, and I’ve had talks with all his teachers. We all agree that given the—” he hesitated, searching for the right word, then found it: “—given the difficulties your family has experienced over the last year, we should make every accommodation we can for the boy.” The flicker of hope in Caroline glowed brighter. “But I’m afraid we can’t simply ignore it.” As Caroline waited, she saw Ralph Winthrop’s gaze fix appraisingly on Ryan, and his fingers drummed on the desktop. Finally, apparently coming to a decision that Caroline knew would be final, he stopped drumming his fingers on the desk and turned his eyes back to Caroline. “Two weeks’ suspension,” he said. “Beginning now. If there is another infraction of the fighting policy, I won’t even call you in—I shall simply send him home. And I’m sure I needn’t remind you that tuition is not refundable in the event of expulsion.” He stood up, came around the desk, and moved toward the door, leaving no doubt in Caroline’s mind that the meeting was over. But as they were leaving, he suddenly spoke one more time. “You might want to get him some counseling, Mrs. Fleming. He seems to think the building you live in is haunted, and that his stepfather hates him.”

Her face burning, Caroline led Ryan out of the building onto the street.

“I didn’t do anything, Mom—” Ryan began as they crossed Amsterdam and started toward the park. But Caroline didn’t let him finish.

“Not one word,” she said, her hand tightening on her son’s arm hard enough so that he winced. “Do you understand? Not one single word! What are you trying to do? How dare you tell anyone that Tony hates you? Since the moment he’s met you he’s done everything he can to be your friend! He’s taken your side, letting you do things I never would have. He hasn’t tried to take your father’s place, but he’s let you know he’ll be there for you, any time you need him, even though you’re barely even polite to him. Who do you think paid so you could go back to the Academy? And this is the thanks you give him? Getting yourself suspended on the second day of school?”

“But—”

“But nothing!” Caroline interrupted. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Not one single word!”

CHAPTER 25

Tony emerged from his study as Caroline and Ryan came through the front door. “I trust it wasn’t anything too seri—” Tony began, but his words died on his lips as he saw the bruise on the boy’s forehead. Then: “May I assume you gave as good as you got?”

Ryan glowered at his stepfather. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“And you can go up to your room and think about it until you decide to take responsibility for what you did,” Caroline cut in.

“Aw, Mom,” Ryan moaned, but Caroline shot him a look that warned him not to push any further, and he scooted up the stairs.

Caroline dropped her bag on the table by the study door, glanced at the clock, and sighed heavily. “It feels like it should be six instead of barely four.”

“Was it that bad?” Tony asked. “A little arnica will take care of his bruise, and it hardly seems like something as simple as a schoolyard tussle should have made them call you over there.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Where have you been lately? Ever heard of a zero-tolerance policy?” As they started toward the kitchen, Caroline glanced into the vast livingroom, and as she multiplied the amount of work waiting for her in that single room by the total number of rooms in the apartment, she suddenly felt even more exhausted than she had when she woke up that morning. Pausing just long enough to pull the two heavy pocket doors closed so at least she wouldn’t have to look at it, she followed her husband into the kitchen.

“Want me to fix you something?” Tony offered. “The sun’s got to be over the yardarm somewhere.”

Caroline shook her head. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee.”

“Sit. I’ll do it—you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

Sinking onto a chair, Caroline nodded, then started telling him what had happened as she was walking over to the school. “I kept thinking about Andrea and Brad and I got this horrible feeling that there’s some kind of plot going on.”

“You’re just tired,” Tony said, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, then sitting down across from her and taking one of her hands in his. “After what you’ve been through it would be surprising if you weren’t getting a little paranoid. Maybe you should just take a long rest—tell Claire you won’t be working for awhile.”

“I’ve got to finish Irene Delamond’s apartment,” Caroline sighed, shaking her head. “And I’m in the middle of three other projects, just in this building. Not to mention this place,” she added, balefully surveying the outdated kitchen. “What is it with this building? Didn’t anyone ever modernize anything?”

“I guess we were waiting for you,” Tony replied.

“I would have thought Lenore would have done something with . . .” her voice trailed off as she saw the look that came over Tony’s face at the mention of his former wife, and she quickly squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I—”

“No, it’s all right,” Tony said, recomposing his features. “If you can talk about Brad, I should be able to talk about Lenore.”

“Or we can talk about something else altogether,” Caroline said firmly. “For instance, where am I going to get a babysitter?” When Tony only looked blank, she remembered that she hadn’t told him about the meeting with the headmaster. “More bad news: Ryan’s home for two weeks. Suspended for starting the fight.”

“Suspended?” Tony echoed. “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I were.”

Tony listened in silence as she recounted the conversation she’d had with Ralph Winthrop, but when she was done, his eyes narrowed angrily. “Maybe I should have a talk with your Mr. Winthrop. If a couple of eleven-year-olds can’t have it out without getting suspended from school—”

“Not a good idea,” Caroline cut in before he could finish what he was saying. “All that would do is get Ryan expelled right now, and I really don’t want to have to deal with that. So I’m going to have to get someone to stay here while I go to work.”

“I can do it,” Tony offered.

Caroline was already shaking her head. “Not a good idea, either—not until he gets a lot better adjusted to having you as a stepfather. I’ll just start going through my list, and see what I can come up with.” But an hour later, after she’d called everyone in her address book that she’d ever used before, she’d come up empty. “Everyone’s booked,” she said. “Except Mrs. Jarvis, whose son put her in a nursing home three months ago.”

“What about one of the neighbors?”

Caroline stared at him. “The neighbors? You didn’t see Ryan in the lobby the other morning—he’s terrified of them.”

“Well, there must be someone,” Tony went on. “What about Virginia Estherbrook?”

“Virginia
Esther
brook?” Caroline echoed. “Tony, she’s a star! She’s not going to want to baby-sit an eleven-year-old.”

“She
was
a star,” Tony replied. “Come on—she hasn’t worked in years—most people think she’s dead, for God’s sake. I bet she’d do it. Let me call her.” Before Caroline could object, he’d picked up the phone and dialed a number.

The phone was picked up on the third ring. “Estherbrook residence.” Though the voice was similar to Virginia Estherbrook’s, it had a slight Southern lilt to it.

“Virginia?” Tony asked.

A musical laugh came over the line. “This is her niece. But we do sound alike, don’t we?”

“Her niece,” Tony repeated. When Caroline’s brows rose questioningly, he gave her an uncertain shrug. “What time will Virginia be back?”

“Not until spring, at least,” the voice at the other end said. “She and my mother have gone to Italy. Is there something I can help you with?”

Tony hesitated. “I don’t think so. This is Mr. Fleming—” He glanced at Caroline whose expression had grown even more curious. “One of your aunt’s neighbors,” he went on. “I was just hoping Virgie might be able to help me out with something.”

“Tony Fleming?” the woman at the other end of the line said. “I was going to call you this evening. Or at least I was going to call your wife. Caroline, isn’t it?”

“Yes. We—”

“Aunt Virgie said I’d love her, and I was hoping maybe we could have lunch together or something. I don’t know a soul, and I’ve got nothing to do.” She paused for only a split second. “Oh, Lord, that makes me sound pathetic, doesn’t it? What I mean is, I just got into town last night, and I haven’t had a chance to make any plans yet.”

Tony hesitated, then: “Could you hold on a minute?”

“Of course.”

He put his hand over the receiver and repeated what the other woman had just said to Caroline. “I was thinking maybe I should ask her down for a drink or something. And if she doesn’t have anything to do—” He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Caroline to get the idea.

“Tony, we don’t even know her!”

“So let’s size her up—it might be perfect.”

“I still think this is crazy,” Caroline said an hour later when the doorbell rang. “We don’t even know the woman and—”

“And nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Tony cut in. “All we’re doing is being neighborly. Let’s just see what happens, then make up our minds.”

As he pulled the front door open, Caroline felt her jaw start to go slack, but tried to catch herself before she was left simply gaping in surprise.

Too late. The woman standing in the hall was already laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, extending her hand. “I should have warned your husband that I look just like my aunt—it’s weird, because my mother doesn’t really look like her at all.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Actually, there are times when I suspect I’m really Aunt Virgie’s daughter, but she didn’t want to marry my father. Then I have to start wondering who my father might have been, and when I think of all the men Aunt Virgie—” She stopped short, reddening slightly. “Lord, just listen to me. Why don’t I ever learn to just shut my mouth? I’m Melanie Shackleforth.”

Taking the other woman’s hand and finally finding her voice, Caroline drew Melanie Shackleforth inside. “I’m Caroline Ev—” Now it was she who reddened. “Caroline
Flem
ing,” she finished, still unable to take her eyes off the woman who had just introduced herself. It was as if she were looking at Virginia Estherbrook herself, except that Melanie Shackleforth was slightly taller—perhaps an inch or maybe a little more—and forty years younger. Along with her aunt’s looks, she seemed to have inherited Virginia’s sense of style as well; she was wearing an emerald green pantsuit that showed off her figure without over-accentuating anything, and was the perfect complement for her auburn hair. If she was wearing any makeup it was so expertly applied as to be invisible, and her smile was so utterly genuine that Caroline was certain she was either unaware of how beautiful she was, or simply didn’t care. “This is my husband Tony, who talked to you on the phone.” As she led Melanie toward the kitchen, she found herself apologizing for the apartment. “I know it looks awful, but I’ve been working on so many others that I just haven’t had time to get to ours yet.”

“I love what you’re doing with Aunt Virgie’s,” Melanie said. “And I promise not to get in the way of the workmen. Just tell me what to stay out of, and I’ll make myself invisible. I didn’t really want to come at all, but when Mother and Aunt Virgie suddenly ran off to Italy, she insisted I stay.”

They settled into the kitchen and an hour later, when they finally decided it was late enough to open a bottle of wine, Caroline felt as if she’d known Melanie for years. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” she asked as Tony poured them each a glass of a bone-dry Chablis.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” Melanie began, but Caroline brushed her words aside.

“You won’t be intruding, believe me. After everything the neighbors did for us when we got back from our honeymoon, it’s the least we can do.” Then, as she thought of Andrea Costanza—and all the paranoid thoughts that would fill the evening if she couldn’t find some kind of distraction—she added a single, plaintive word. “Please?”

“My Lord, how on earth did it ever get this late?” Melanie asked as the clock in the hall struck nine. The three adults were still sitting around the dining room table, though Laurie and Ryan had excused themselves an hour ago and vanished up the stairs to their rooms. Now Melanie started clearing the plates off the dining-room table, and when Caroline tried to stop her, she waved her away. “Go up and tuck those two perfect children of yours into bed.”

“Hardly perfect,” Caroline replied, though Ryan had mercifully decided to behave himself tonight. The arnica Tony had given him earlier had taken care of the bruise on his forehead, and the swelling was mostly down, and apparently his suspension from school had taken the effect Ralph Winthrop was hoping for, at least temporarily. He’d shaken Melanie Shackleforth’s hand after only a moment’s hesitation, and sat through dinner quietly, barely saying a word but responding politely whenever he was spoken to. Caroline caught him looking at Melanie out of the corner of his eye a few times, but at least he’d stopped short of openly staring at her. Laurie had been quiet, too, though she hadn’t eaten much.

“Well you might not think they’re perfect, but from what I’ve seen of modern children, they’re a lot better than average. You ever need a baby sitter, you just let me know, all right?”

Caroline, following her into the kitchen with the last of the chicken casserole they’d put together for dinner, eyed her suspiciously. “Did Tony talk to you while I was upstairs before dinner?” When Melanie only looked blank, she relaxed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that—” She hesitated, then decided to make a clean breast of it. “We were actually calling your aunt tonight to see if she might be willing to sit for us for the next couple of weeks.” As they scraped the dishes and began loading them into the washer, she told Melanie what had happened at school that day. “I can’t leave Ryan at home alone, and I can’t take any more time off work. But I certainly can’t ask you to watch him for two whole weeks.”

“Of course you can,” Melanie replied. “Consider it done. Now go up and tuck them in, and let me finish up down here. Then I’m out of here, I promise. I can’t believe I came to say hello and stayed the whole evening. That’s terrible!”

“Actually, it’s wonderful. I’d been having a truly miserable day until you showed up. Now I’m starting to think I might survive.”

“New friends,” Melanie said, giving Caroline a quick hug. “We can all use them, right?”

A little more of the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders, Caroline returned Melanie Shackleforth’s hug, then went upstairs to say goodnight to Laurie and Ryan.

“How are you feeling?” Caroline was perched on the edge of Laurie’s bed, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair away from the girl’s forehead.

“I’m okay,” Laurie replied, but there was a note in her voice that belied her words.

“Think you’re going to be well enough to go to school in the morning?”

Laurie shrugged. “I guess.”

Frowning at the listlessness in her daughter’s voice, Caroline laid her wrist against Laurie’s forehead. Cool and dry—no sign of any fever at all. “Is there something else that’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked.

Laurie hesitated, and when she finally spoke her eyes avoided her mother’s. “I’m just—I don’t know. I’m just—” She fell silent again, then finally met her mother’s eyes. “Do you think something’s happened to Rebecca?”

“Rebecca Mayhew?”

Laurie nodded.

“Why would something have happened to her? Did you talk to her today?”

Again Laurie hesitated, but then she shook her head. “I went up to see her, but she wasn’t there.”

“Not there? Where was she?”

“Mrs. Albion said she went to New Mexico.”

“New Mexico? Why on earth would she have gone to New Mexico?”

“Mrs. Albion said she went to visit Mr. Albion’s brother. She said they thought the desert might be good for her. But . . .” Again her voice trailed off.

“But what?” Caroline prodded.

“I don’t
know
,” Laurie said unhappily. “She didn’t tell me she was going anywhere, and I just saw her yesterday. And then last night I had a dream.” She looked up at her mother, her eyes glistening. “I—I dreamed she was dead, Mom.”

As a tear overflowed and ran down Laurie’s cheek, Caroline hugged her daughter close. “Oh, honey, that doesn’t mean anything—dreams are just dreams. The things we see in them don’t really happen.”