Remember Me (22 page)

Dear Scott,

I just heard about the inquest and welcome the chance to let the world know how happy you and Vivian were that beautiful afternoon when you were looking at Remember House. You enjoyed the view so much I wanted you to have this picture to remind you of it.

Yours,
Elaine.

A
t ten o'clock on Thursday morning, as the breakfast service was winding down, Tina Aroldi used her fifteen-minute break to rush into the office of the Wayside Inn. The secretary was there alone.

“Jean, what was that detective doing looking under my car yesterday?” Tina demanded.

“I don't know what you mean,” the secretary protested.

“You sure do know what I mean. Don't bother to lie. A couple of the busboys saw him through the window.”

“There's nothing to lie about,” Jean stammered. “The detective asked me to point out your car, then he came back and wanted to know if you ever answered the phone for reservations.”

“I see.”

Preoccupied, Tina went back to her station in the dining room. A few minutes after one, she was not pleased to see Scott's lawyer, Adam Nichols, come in with Elaine Atkins, the real estate broker, who often brought clients to the inn.

She saw Nichols gesturing toward her. Great. He wanted to be sure she was their waitress. The hostess seated them at one of her tables, and reluctantly, pad in hand, Tina went over to greet them.

She was surprised at the warm smile Nichols gave her. He sure is attractive, Tina thought, not drop-dead handsome, but there was something about him. You got a feeling he'd be a pretty exciting guy to be with. And you could tell he was smart.

Well, he might be smiling today, but the other morning when he came in with Scott, he sure hadn't been smiling, Tina reflected. He was probably one of those guys who was nice when he needed you.

She responded coolly to his greeting and asked, “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

They each ordered a glass of chardonnay. When she left them, Elaine said, “I wonder what's with Tina today?”

“I suspect she's nervous about being dragged in to testify at the inquest,” Adam responded. “Well, she has to get over that. The district attorney is certainly going to subpoena her, and I want to make sure she creates a favorable impression.”

They ordered hamburgers and shared a side order
of onion rings. “It's a good thing I don't have lunch with you often,” Elaine said. “I'd put on twenty pounds. I usually have a salad.”

“This is like the good old days,” Adam told her. “Remember how after our summer jobs we'd all load up on junk food, pile into that wreck of an outboard motorboat I had and call it our sunset sail?”

“I haven't forgotten.”

“The other night, at your house with the old gang, I felt as though fifteen or twenty years had disappeared,” Adam said. “The Cape does that to me. You do too, 'Laine. It's nice to feel like a kid sometimes.”

“Well, you've had a lot to worry about. How is Menley doing?”

He hesitated. “She's doing okay.”

“You don't look or sound as though you mean it. Hey, this is your old buddy you're talking to, Adam. Remember?”

He nodded. “I always could talk to you. The doctor thinks it would be wise to bring Menley back to New York and hospitalize her.”

“You don't mean a psychiatric hospital, I hope.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Adam, don't jump the gun. She seemed great at the party and at dinner the other night. Besides that, when I spoke to John, he said that Amy was going to be over at your place all day from now on.”

“That's the only reason I'm able to be here. Menley told me this morning that she wants to work on her book, and she knows I'll be busy getting ready for the inquest, so she wanted to hire Amy for the entire day for a while.”

“Then don't you think you should leave it at that? You're home in the evening.”

“I guess so. I mean, this morning, Menley was herself. Relaxed, funny, enthusiastic about her book. You'd never think she's been experiencing post-traumatic
stress—hallucinations, actually. Yesterday she told the doctor that she thought she heard Bobby calling her. She left Hannah screaming while she searched the house.”

“Oh, Adam.”

“So for her own good and for Hannah's safety, she has to be hospitalized. But as long as Amy can be there and I have to prepare for the inquest, I'll wait. After that, however, I'll take Menley back to New York.”

“Will you stay there yourself?”

“I simply don't know. From what I understand, Doctor Kaufman wouldn't want me to visit Menley for a week or so. New York is damn hot, and our regular baby-sitter is away. If Amy helps out, minding Hannah during the day, I can certainly take care of her myself at night, so I may come back up here for at least that week.”

He finished the last of the hamburger. “You know, if we really had wanted to make this like old times, we should have been drinking out of beer cans instead of wine glasses. No matter, I think I'll settle for coffee now.”

He changed the subject. “Since the inquest is a public hearing, I can give a list of the people I want called to testify. That doesn't mean the district attorney won't frame his questions to try to put Scott in a bad light. Let's go over the sort of thing you might be asked.”

They finished the coffee and had a second cup before Adam nodded in satisfaction. “You're a good witness, Elaine. When you're on the stand, emphasize how lonely Vivian seemed when she bought the house, how happy she was at her wedding reception; and talk about when she and Covey were house hunting, and all their plans for a baby. It's okay to let them know that Vivian had more than her share of New England
thrift. That would help to explain why she didn't buy new diving gear right away.”

When he was paying the check, he looked up at the waitress. “Tina, you finish work at two-thirty. I'd like to talk to you for about fifteen minutes after that.”

“I have an appointment.”

“Tina, you're going to receive a subpoena to appear in court next week. I suggest you discuss your testimony with me. I can assure you that if the judge rules unfavorably, it will be because he thinks you were the motive for Vivian's murder and maybe he'll even suspect you were involved. Being an accessory to murder is pretty serious.”

Tina paled. “I'll meet you at the soda place next to the Yellow Umbrella Bookshop.”

Adam nodded.

He walked down the block to the real estate agency with Elaine. “Hey,” he said, looking in the display window, “where's the picture of my house?”

“Your house?”

“Well, maybe. Just keep in mind I have an option that I may decide to exercise.”

“Sorry. I sent the picture over to Scott. I have to hedge my bets. If you don't buy it, there's a good chance he might. And Jan Paley could use the sale. She and Tom sank a lot of money in that renovation. I'll have another copy made up for you. I'll even throw in a really nice frame.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

*   *   *

Tina was clearly on the defensive when she spoke with Adam. “Listen, Mr. Nichols, I've got a nice boyfriend. Fred isn't going to like my having to testify in this thing.”

“Fred has nothing to say about it. But he could help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could verify that you two had dated for a while last summer, then broken up over Scott; that you got back together and now you're getting married.”

“We didn't get back together right away. I dated other guys last winter.”

“That's all right. The point is, I'd like to talk to Fred and decide whether he'd be a good witness.”

“I don't know . . .”

“Tina, please get this straight. The faster Scott's name is cleared, the better it will be for you.”

They were sitting at one of the small tables outside the soda shop. Tina toyed with the straw in her soda. “That detective is making me very nervous,” she burst out. “Yesterday he was looking under my car.”

“That's the sort of thing I need to know,” Adam said quickly. “What was he looking for?”

Tina shrugged. “I don't know. I'm getting rid of it soon. Damn thing leaks like a sieve.”

When they separated, Adam took Fred's phone number but promised he would wait to call until this evening, after Tina had a chance to explain what was going on.

He got in the station wagon and sat for a few minutes, thinking. Then he reached for the car phone and dialed Scott Covey's number.

When Covey answered, Adam said abruptly, “I'm on my way over.”

P
hoebe had had a restless night. Several times a nightmare caused her to cry out in her sleep. One time she had screamed, “I don't want to go in there,” another time she'd moaned, “Don't do that to me.”

Finally, at dawn, Henry had managed to coax her into taking a strong sedative, and she had settled into drugged slumber.

Over his solitary breakfast, Henry tried to figure out what might have upset her. Yesterday, she had seemed relaxed when they walked on the beach. She appeared to enjoy the visit with Adam and Menley at Remember House. She'd been glad to see her files there, and had sounded absolutely lucid when she told Menley that the answer was in the Mooncusser file.

What answer? What did she mean? Clearly some aspect of her research had surfaced in her mind and she was trying to communicate it. But she'd also been clear when she talked about the sketch Menley had made of Captain Freeman and Mehitabel.

Henry brought his coffee into Phoebe's study. He'd received a letter from the director of the nursing home, suggesting that he select some mementos for Phoebe to have in her room when she went to live there. The director wrote that familiar objects, particularly those
involving long-term memory, helped increase awareness in Alzheimer patients. I ought to start deciding what to pack for her, he thought. This is the place to look.

As always, sitting at Phoebe's desk brought back with knifelike sharpness the reality of how different things were for them now, as compared to a few years ago. After Phoebe retired from teaching, she'd spent every morning in here, happily absorbed in her research, working much as he imagined Menley Nichols worked.

Wait a minute, Henry thought. That picture of the captain and his wife Phoebe talked about yesterday was in the extra-large folder. That wasn't with the data I gave Menley. I didn't know another picture of them together existed. It seems to me that folder had a lot of other material on the Freemans and Remember House. Where would Phoebe have kept it? he wordered.

He looked around the room, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the end table by the sofa. Ther he thought—of course, the corner cupboard.

He walked over to it. The open shelves of the fine antique held rare samples of early Sandwich glassware. He remembered how Phoebe had collected each of them lovingly, and he decided that a few of the pieces should be among the items she had with her in the nursing home.

The cabinet under the shelves was jampacked with books and papers and folders. I didn't realize she had all this stuff in here, Henry mused.

In the bewildering hodgepodge, he did manage to find the folder he was looking for, and in it the sketch of Captain Freeman and Mehitabel. The billowing of her skirt and the sails suggested a strong, cool wind. She was standing a little behind him rather than alongside, as though he were sheltering her. His face was
strong and firm, hers soft and smiling; her hand was resting lightly on his arm. The unknown artist had caught the chemistry between them. You can tell they were lovers, Henry thought.

He glanced through the folder. Several times the word “mooncusser” caught his eye. This may be what Phoebe intended Menley to read, he decided.

“Oh, is that where I left the doll?”

Phoebe was in the doorway, her hair disheveled, her nightgown stained. Henry remembered that he had left the bottle of liquid sedative on the bedside table. “Phoebe, did you take more medicine?” he asked anxiously.

“Medicine?” She sounded surprised. “I don't think so.”

She stumbled over to the cabinet and crouched beside him. “That's where I put the Remember House doll,” she said, her tone excited and pleased.

She pulled papers from the deep bottom shelf, letting them scatter on the floor. Then she reached into the back of the cabinet, and pulled out an antique doll dressed in a long yellowing cotton gown. A lace-edged bonnet with satin streamers framed the delicately beautiful china face.

Phoebe stared at it, frowning. Then she handed it to Henry. “She belongs in Remember House,” she said vaguely. “I meant to put her back, but I forgot.”

A
fter lunch, Amy sat in front of the baby swing, playing with Hannah. “Clap hands, clap hands till Daddy comes home. Daddy has money and Mommy has none,” she singsonged as she patted Hannah's hands together.

Hannah gurgled in delight, and Menley smiled. “That's a pretty sexist nursery rhyme,” she said.

“I know,” Amy agreed. “But it sticks in my head. My mother used to sing it to me when I was little.”

Her mother's on her mind a lot, poor kid, Menley thought. Amy had arrived promptly at nine that morning, almost pathetically glad to be back. Menley knew her attitude reflected more than a desire to earn the baby-sitting money. She seemed genuinely happy to be there.

“My mother claims she tried to avoid singing to us,” Menley commented as she scrubbed the sink. “She's tone deaf and didn't want to pass it on to my brother and me. But she did.” She swished water in the sink.

“Honestly, Hildy isn't very much use,” she complained. “That cleaning woman who was just leaving when we arrived here left this place spotless. I wish she had come back.”