Stillwatch (30 page)
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
that picture.
” She didn’t mean the one of her and Francey.He put his arms around her, clumsily patted her back and realizedwith the dullness of a long-accepted pain that he was nothing more toher than a railing to grab when your feet gave way underneath you.“If anyone really studies the pictures! Toby, look at
that
one.”“Nobody’s going to bother.”“Toby, that girl—that Pat Traymore. How did she happen to leasethat house? It can’t be a coincidence.”“The house has been rented to twelve different tenants in the pasttwenty-four years. She’s just another one of them.” Toby tried to makehis voice hearty. He didn’t believe that; but on the other hand, Phil stillhadn’t been able to uncover the details of the rental. “Senator, yougotta hang in there. Whoever made those threats to Pat Traymore . . .”
how do we know there were threats?
How do we know thisisn’t a calculated attempt to embarrass me?”He was so startled he stepped back. In a reflex action she pulledaway from him, and they stared at each other. “God Almighty, Abby,do you think she
engineered
this?”The ring of the telephone made them both jump. He looked at her.“You want me . . .”“Yes.” She held her hands up to her face. “I don’t give a goddamnwho’s calling. I’m not here.”“Senator Jennings’ residence.” Toby put on his butler’s voice. “MayI take a message for the Senator? She’s not available at the moment.”He winked at Abby and was rewarded by the trace of a smile. “ThePresident. . . . Oh, just a minute, sir.” He held his hand over themouthpiece. “Abby, the President is calling you. . . .”“Toby, don’t you dare . . .”“Abby, for chrissake, it’s the
President!
”She clasped her hands to her lips, then came over and took thephone from him. “If this is your idea of a joke . . .” She got on.“Abigail Jennings.”Toby watched as her expression changed. “Mr. President. I’m sosorry. . . . I’m sorry . . . Some reading . . . That’s why I left word. . . .I’m sorry. . . . Yes, sir, of course. Yes, I can be at the White Housetomorrow evening . . . eight-thirty, of course. Yes, we’ve been quitebusy with this program. Frankly, I’m not comfortable being the subjectof this sort of thing. . . . Why, how kind of you. . . . Sir, you mean . .. I simply don’t know what to say. . . . Of course, I understand. . . .Thank you, sir.”She hung up. Dazed, she looked at Toby. “I’m not to tell a soul.He’s announcing his appointment of me tomorrow night after theprogram. He said it isn’t a bad idea the whole country gets to knowme a little better. He laughed about the
Mirror
cover. He said hismother was a big gal too, but that I’m much prettier now than when Iwas seventeen. Toby, I’m going to be Vice President of the UnitedStates!” She laughed hysterically and flung herself at him.“Abby, you
did
it!” He lifted her off her feet.An instant later her face twisted with tension. “Toby, nothing canhappen . . . Nothing must stop this. . . .”
swear
nothing will keep this from you.”She started to laugh and then began to cry. “Toby, I’m on a rollercoaster. You and that damn Scotch. You know I can’t drink. Toby—
Vice President!
”He had to ease her down. His voice soothing, he said, “Later on we’lltake a ride over and just kind of cruise past your new house, Abby. You’refinally getting a mansion. Next stop Massachusetts Avenue.”“Toby, shut up. Just make me a cup of tea. I’m going to take ashower and try to collect myself. Vice President! My God, my God!”He put the kettle on and then, not bothering with a coat, walked tothe roadside mailbox and flipped it open. The usual collection of junk—coupons, contests, “You may have won two million dollars”. . . . Ninety-nine percent of Abby’s personal mail went through the office.Then he saw it. The blue envelope with the handwritten address.A personal note to Abby. He looked at the upper left-hand corner andfelt the blood drain from his face.The note was from Catherine Graney.
Probable
cause, pilot error. It always ends up like that when wecan’t come up with other answers. It was a fairly new Cessna twin-engine, so their engineers were around to prove the plane was in greatshape. Willard Jennings’ widow cried her eyes out about how she’dhad a horror of small charter planes, that her husband had complainedabout rough landings with Graney.”“Did the possibility of foul play ever come up?”“Congressman, the possibility of foul play is
always
investigatedin a case like this. First we look for how it might have been done.Well, there are plenty of ways that are pretty hard to trace. For example,
more
than valid.”
” She didn’t mean the one of her and Francey.He put his arms around her, clumsily patted her back and realizedwith the dullness of a long-accepted pain that he was nothing more toher than a railing to grab when your feet gave way underneath you.“If anyone really studies the pictures! Toby, look at
that
one.”“Nobody’s going to bother.”“Toby, that girl—that Pat Traymore. How did she happen to leasethat house? It can’t be a coincidence.”“The house has been rented to twelve different tenants in the pasttwenty-four years. She’s just another one of them.” Toby tried to makehis voice hearty. He didn’t believe that; but on the other hand, Phil stillhadn’t been able to uncover the details of the rental. “Senator, yougotta hang in there. Whoever made those threats to Pat Traymore . . .”
how do we know there were threats?
How do we know thisisn’t a calculated attempt to embarrass me?”He was so startled he stepped back. In a reflex action she pulledaway from him, and they stared at each other. “God Almighty, Abby,do you think she
engineered
this?”The ring of the telephone made them both jump. He looked at her.“You want me . . .”“Yes.” She held her hands up to her face. “I don’t give a goddamnwho’s calling. I’m not here.”“Senator Jennings’ residence.” Toby put on his butler’s voice. “MayI take a message for the Senator? She’s not available at the moment.”He winked at Abby and was rewarded by the trace of a smile. “ThePresident. . . . Oh, just a minute, sir.” He held his hand over themouthpiece. “Abby, the President is calling you. . . .”“Toby, don’t you dare . . .”“Abby, for chrissake, it’s the
President!
”She clasped her hands to her lips, then came over and took thephone from him. “If this is your idea of a joke . . .” She got on.“Abigail Jennings.”Toby watched as her expression changed. “Mr. President. I’m sosorry. . . . I’m sorry . . . Some reading . . . That’s why I left word. . . .I’m sorry. . . . Yes, sir, of course. Yes, I can be at the White Housetomorrow evening . . . eight-thirty, of course. Yes, we’ve been quitebusy with this program. Frankly, I’m not comfortable being the subjectof this sort of thing. . . . Why, how kind of you. . . . Sir, you mean . .. I simply don’t know what to say. . . . Of course, I understand. . . .Thank you, sir.”She hung up. Dazed, she looked at Toby. “I’m not to tell a soul.He’s announcing his appointment of me tomorrow night after theprogram. He said it isn’t a bad idea the whole country gets to knowme a little better. He laughed about the
Mirror
cover. He said hismother was a big gal too, but that I’m much prettier now than when Iwas seventeen. Toby, I’m going to be Vice President of the UnitedStates!” She laughed hysterically and flung herself at him.“Abby, you
did
it!” He lifted her off her feet.An instant later her face twisted with tension. “Toby, nothing canhappen . . . Nothing must stop this. . . .”
swear
nothing will keep this from you.”She started to laugh and then began to cry. “Toby, I’m on a rollercoaster. You and that damn Scotch. You know I can’t drink. Toby—
Vice President!
”He had to ease her down. His voice soothing, he said, “Later on we’lltake a ride over and just kind of cruise past your new house, Abby. You’refinally getting a mansion. Next stop Massachusetts Avenue.”“Toby, shut up. Just make me a cup of tea. I’m going to take ashower and try to collect myself. Vice President! My God, my God!”He put the kettle on and then, not bothering with a coat, walked tothe roadside mailbox and flipped it open. The usual collection of junk—coupons, contests, “You may have won two million dollars”. . . . Ninety-nine percent of Abby’s personal mail went through the office.Then he saw it. The blue envelope with the handwritten address.A personal note to Abby. He looked at the upper left-hand corner andfelt the blood drain from his face.The note was from Catherine Graney.
Probable
cause, pilot error. It always ends up like that when wecan’t come up with other answers. It was a fairly new Cessna twin-engine, so their engineers were around to prove the plane was in greatshape. Willard Jennings’ widow cried her eyes out about how she’dhad a horror of small charter planes, that her husband had complainedabout rough landings with Graney.”“Did the possibility of foul play ever come up?”“Congressman, the possibility of foul play is
always
investigatedin a case like this. First we look for how it might have been done.Well, there are plenty of ways that are pretty hard to trace. For example,
more
than valid.”
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