Stillwatch (32 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch
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At the door, he held her once more. “When I’m seventy, you’ll beforty-nine.”“And when you’re one hundred and three, I’ll be eighty-two. You’llget a trace on Toby and you’ll let me know when you hear anythingabout Eleanor Brown?”“Of course.”When Pat left, Sam phoned Jack Carlson and quickly told himwhat Pat had confided.Jack whistled. “You mean that guy’s been back? Sam, you reallyhave a loony. Sure we can check this Toby character, but do me afavor. Get me a sample of his handwriting, can you?”

 

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Detective Barrott was kind. He believed she was telling the truth.But the older detective was hostile. Over and over Eleanor answeredthe same questions from him.How could she tell them where she was keeping seventy thousanddollars that she’d never even seen?Was she angry at Patricia Traymore for preparing the programthat might force her out of hiding? No, of course not. At first she wasafraid and then she knew she couldn’t hide anymore, that she’d beglad if it were over.Did she know where Patricia Traymore lived? Yes, Father hadtold her that Patricia Traymore lived in the Adams house inGeorgetown. He’d shown her that house once. He’d been on theambulance squad of Georgetown Hospital when that awful tragedyhad happened. Break into that house? Of course not. How could she?In the cell she sat on the edge of the bunk wondering how shecould have thought she was strong enough to go back into this world.The steel bars and the insulting intimacy of the open toilet, the senseof entrapment, the haunting depression that like a black fog wasbeginning to envelop her.She lay on the bunk and wondered where Father had gone. It wasimpossible that they seemed to be suggesting he would deliberatelyhurt anyone. He was the kindest man she had ever known. But he hadbeen terribly nervous after Mrs. Gillespie died.She hoped he wouldn’t be angry that she had given herself up.They would have arrested her anyway. She was sure Detective Barrottwas planning to investigate her.Had Father gone away? Probably. With growing concern Eleanorthought of the many times he had changed jobs. Where was he now?

 

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Arthur had an early dinner in a cafeteria on 14th Street. He chosebeef stew, lemon meringue pie and coffee. He ate slowly and carefully.It was important that he eat well now. It might be days before he hada hot meal again.His plans were made. After dark he would go back to PatriciaTraymore’s house. He’d slip in through the upstairs window. He’d settlehimself in the closet in the guest room. He’d bring cans of soda; he stillhad one of the Danish pastries and two of the rolls from this morningin his pocket. He’d better pick up some cans of juice too. And maybehe should get some peanut butter and rye bread. That would be enoughto hold him over until he saw the program the next night.He had to spend ninety of his precious dollars on a miniature black-and-white TV with a headset. That way he could watch the programright in Patricia Traymore’s house.On the way to her house, he’d buy caffeine pills in the drugstore.He couldn’t take the chance of crying out in his sleep. Oh, she’dprobably never hear him from her room, but he couldn’t risk it.Forty minutes later he was in Georgetown, two streets from PatriciaTraymore’s home. The whole area was quiet, more quiet than he wouldhave liked. Now that the Christmas shopping was over, a strangerwas more likely to be noticed. The police might even be keeping awatch on Miss Traymore’s house. But the fact that she had the cornerproperty helped. The house behind hers was dark.Arthur slipped into the yard of the unlighted house. The woodenfence that separated the backyards wasn’t high. He dropped hisshopping bag over the fence, making sure that it slid down onto asnowbank, and then easily climbed over.He waited. There wasn’t a sound. Miss Traymore’s car wasn’t inthe driveway. Her house was totally dark.It was awkward getting up the tree with the shopping bag. Thetrunk was icy and hard to grasp; he could feel its rough coldnessthrough his gloves. Without the tiers of branches, he could not havemade it. The window was stiff and hard to raise. When he steppedover the sill into the room, the floorboards creaked heavily.For agonizing minutes he waited by the window, ready to bolt outagain, to clamber down the tree and run across the yard. But therewas only silence in the house. That and the occasional rumble of the furnace.

 

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He began to organize his hiding place in the closet. To hissatisfaction he realized that the shelves were not attached to the walls.If he spread them out just a little, they would look as though theywere touching the walls and no one would realize how much spacehe had in the triangular area behind him.Carefully he began to set up his secret place. He selected a thickquilt and laid it on the floor. It was large enough to use as a sleepingbag. He set up his supplies of food and his television set. There werefour king-size pillows on the lowest shelf.In a few minutes he was settled. Now he needed to explore.Unfortunately, she hadn’t left any lights on. It meant he could movearound only by holding his flashlight very low to the floor so nogleam could show out the window. Several times he practiced goingback and forth between the guest bedroom and the master suite. Hetested the floorboards and found the one that creaked.It took him twelve seconds to make his way down the hall fromhis closet to Pat’s room. He crept into her room and over to the vanitytable. He had never seen such pretty objects. Her comb and mirrorand brushes were all decorated with ornate silver. He took the stopperfrom the perfume bottle and inhaled the subtle fragrance.Then he went into the bathroom, noticed her negligee on the backof the door and tentatively touched it. Angrily he thought that thiswas the kind of clothing Glory would enjoy.Had the police gone to Glory’s office to question her? She shouldbe home now. He wanted to talk to her.He made his way over to the bed, found the phone on the nighttable and dialed. After the fourth ring he began to frown. She hadtalked about turning herself in to the police, but she would never dothat after having promised she’d wait. No, she was probably lying inbed, trembling, waiting to see if her picture was shown on the programtomorrow night.He replaced the phone on the night table but sat crouched by Pat’sbed. Already he missed Glory. He was keenly aware of the solitaryquiet of the house. But he knew that soon his voices would come tojoin him.

 

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“That was fine, Senator,” Luther said. “Sorry I had to ask you tochange. But we did want the look of a single working day, so you hadto be wearing the same outfit coming home as going out.”“It’s all right. I should have realized that,” Abigail said shortly.They were in her living room. The camera crew were packingtheir equipment. Toby could see that Abigail had no intention ofoffering Pelham a drink. She just wanted to be rid of him.Luther was obviously getting the message. “Hurry up,” he snappedat the crew. Then he smiled ingratiatingly. “I know it’s been a longday for you, Abigail. Just one more session in the studio tomorrowmorning and we’ll wrap it up.”“That will be the happiest moment in my life.”Toby wished Abigail could relax. They’d gone for a drive andpassed the Vice President’s mansion a couple of times. Abby hadeven joked about it: “Can you imagine what the columnists wouldsay if they saw me casing the place?” But as soon as the camera crewarrived, she’d tensed up again.Pelham was putting on his coat. “The President has called a newsconference for nine P.M. in the East Room tomorrow night. Are youplanning to be there, Abigail?”“I believe I’ve been invited,” she said.“That makes our timing excellent. The program will run betweensix-thirty and seven, so there won’t be a schedule conflict for the viewers.”“I’m sure all of Washington is fainting with anticipation,” Abigailsaid. “Luther, I really am terribly tired.”“Of course. Forgive me. I’ll see you in the morning. Nine o’clock,if that’s all right.”“One minute more and I’d have gone mad,” Abigail said when

 

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she and Toby were finally alone. “And when I think all this isabsolutely unnecessary . . .”“No, it’s not unnecessary, Senator,” Toby said soothingly. “Youstill have to be confirmed by Congress. Sure, you’ll get a majority,but it would be nice if a lot of people sent telegrams cheering yournomination along. The program can do that for you.”“In that case it will be worth it.”“Abby, is there anything more you want me for tonight?”“No, I’m going to bed early and read until I fall asleep. It’s been along day.” She smiled, and he could see she was starting to unwind.“Which waitresses are you chasing now? Or is it a poker game?”

 

Pat got home at six-thirty. She switched on the foyer light, but thestairs past the turn remained in shadow.
Her father ’s angry words suddenly echoed in her ears: “Youshouldn’t have come.”That last night the bell had run insistently; her father had openedthe door; someone had brushed past him, that person had been lookingup—that is why she was so scared; Daddy was angry and she wasafraid she’d been seen.
Her hand shook as she placed it on the banister. There’s no usegetting upset, she thought. It’s just that I’m overtired and it’s been arough day. I’ll get comfortable and fix some dinner.In her bedroom she undressed quickly and reached for the robe onthe back of the door, then decided she would wear the brown velourcaftan instead. It was warm and comfortable.At her dressing table she tied back her hair and began to creamher face. Mechanically her fingertips moved over her skin, rotatingin the pattern the beautician had taught her, pressing for an instantagainst her temples, touching the faint scar near her hairline.The furniture behind her was reflected in the mirror; the posts of thebed seemed like tall sentinels. She looked intently into the mirror. Shehad heard that if you picture an imaginary dot on your forehead andstare into it you can hypnotize yourself and retreat back into the past.For a full minute she concentrated on the imaginary dot, and had theodd sensation of watching herself walking backward into a tunnel . . .and it seemed she was not alone. She had a sense of another presence.

 

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Ridiculous. She was getting lightheaded and fanciful.Going downstairs to the kitchen, she fixed an omelette, coffeeand toast and forced herself to eat.The kitchen had a cozy, calming warmth. She and her mother andfather must sometimes have eaten together here. Did she have a vaguerecollection of sitting on her father ’s lap at this table? Veronica hadshown her their last Christmas card. It was signed Dean, Renée andKerry. She said the names aloud, “Dean, Renée and Kerry” andwondered why the cadence seemed wrong.Rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher was a reasonfor delaying what she knew must be done. She had to study thatnewspaper article and see if it divulged any new facts about Deanand Renée Adams.The paper was still on the library table. Opening it to the centerspread, she forced herself to read every line of the text. Much of itshe already knew but that did not help to deaden the pain . . .” Thegun smeared with both their fingerprints . . . Dean Adams had diedinstantly from the bullet wound in his forehead . . . Renée Adamsmight have lived a short time. . . .” One column emphasized the rumorsher neighbors had gleefully picked up at the party: the marriage wasclearly unhappy, Renée had urged her husband to leave Washington,she despised the constant round of receptions, she was jealous of theattention her husband attracted from other women. . . .That quote from a neighbor: “She was clearly besotted with him—and

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