The Second Time Around (32 page)

He walked along the path through the woods until he emerged into the English garden. The pool was beyond it.

Suddenly he stopped. What was that? he wondered.

The shades were pulled down in the guest house, but light was coming from underneath them. There was somebody in the house.

It couldn't be the people who worked here, he thought. They would have tried to put their car in the garage. Keeping in the shadows, he passed the pool, went around the row of evergreens, and inched his way toward the guest house. He could see that one of the shades on a side window was raised a little bit. Keeping as silent as he had when he used to wait in the woods for the squirrels, he edged up to that window and bent down.

Inside he could see Lynn Spencer sitting on the couch, a drink in her hand. The same guy he had seen running down the driveway that night was sitting opposite her. He couldn't hear what they were saying; but from the expressions on their faces, Ned could see that they were worried about something.

If they had looked happy, he would have gone right back for his rifle and finished them off right there, tonight. But he liked the fact that they looked worried. He wished he could hear what they were saying to each other.

Lynn looked as if she was planning to stay there
awhile. She was wearing slacks and a sweater, the kind of country clothes that rich people wore. “Casually dressed”—that was the expression. Annie used to read about “casual” clothes and laugh: “My clothes are
real
casual, Ned. I have casual uniforms to carry trays. I have casual jeans and T-shirts for when I clean. And when I dig in the garden, I have nothing
but
casual clothes.”

That thought made him sad again. After the house in Greenwood Lake was gone, Annie threw her gardening gloves and tools into the garbage. She wouldn't listen when he kept promising that he'd get her a new house. She had just kept on crying.

Ned turned from the window. It was late. Lynn Spencer wasn't going home. She would be here tomorrow. He was sure of it. It was time to go to Greenwood Lake and take care of tonight's business.

The garage door didn't make a sound when he opened it, and the gate at the service entrance opened noiselessly. The people in the guest house had no idea he had been there.

*   *   *

When he returned three hours later, he put the car away, locked the garage, and lay down on the divan, his rifle next to him. The rifle carried the smell of burned powder, a nice smell almost like smoke from a fireplace when there is a fire blazing. He put his arm around the rifle, pulled the blanket up, and tucked it around him and the rifle, cuddling until he felt safe and warm.

R
eid and Susan Barlowe lived in a Federal-style white brick house, situated on a lovely piece of property that borders Long Island Sound. Casey drove up the circular driveway and dropped me off in front of the house at exactly five o'clock. He was going next door to visit his friend, Vince Alcott, while I was talking to the Barlowes. I was to walk over there when I was finished.

Reid Barlowe opened the door for me and greeted me courteously, then said that his wife was in the sunroom. “It's a pleasant view looking over the water,” he explained as I followed him down the center hallway.

As we walked in, Susan Barlowe was setting a tray on the coffee table with a pitcher of ice tea and three tall glasses. We introduced ourselves, and I asked them to call me Carley. I was surprised that they were so young—surely not more than their late fifties. His hair
was salt and pepper, hers still a dark blond sprinkled with gray. They were a handsome tallish couple, both on the thin side, with attractive features dominated by their eyes. His were brown, hers, a bluish gray, but both held a kind of lingering sadness. I wondered if the remnants of grief I saw there were for their daughter who died eight years ago, or for their former son-in-law, Nicholas Spencer.

The sunroom was well named. The afternoon sun was filtering in, brightening even more the yellow flower pattern on the upholstery of the wicker couch and chairs. White oak walls and floors, and a low planter that ran along the floor-to-ceiling windows, completed the sense of having brought the outdoors inside.

They insisted I sit on the couch that offered a panoramic view of Long Island Sound. The two nearest armchairs formed a conversational group, and they settled in them. I was happy to accept a glass of ice tea, and for a moment we sat quietly, taking each other's measure.

I thanked them for letting me come and apologized in advance for asking any questions that might seem either prying or insensitive.

For a moment I thought I was going to have a problem. They exchanged glances, after which Reid Barlowe got up and closed the door to the foyer.

“Just in case Jack comes in and we don't hear him, I'd prefer that he not pick up scraps of our conversation,” he said when he sat down again.

“It's not that Jack would deliberately eavesdrop,”
Susan Barlowe said hastily, “it's that he's so bewildered, poor kid. He adored Nick. He was grieving for him and handling it pretty well, and then all those stories broke. Now he wants to believe he's alive, but that's a doubleedged sword because that brings up the question of why Nick hasn't contacted him.”

I decided to start from square one. “You know that Lynn Spencer and I are stepsisters,” I said.

They both nodded. I could swear that a look of disdain came over their faces at the sound of her name, but then maybe I thought I saw it because I was anticipating it.

“In truth, I have met Lynn only a few times. I am neither her advocate nor her detractor,” I said. “I'm here as a journalist to learn everything I can of your perception of Nick Spencer.” I eased my way into discussing how I first met Nick, and I described my own impression.

We talked for well over an hour. It was obvious that they loved Nicholas Spencer. The six years he'd been married to their daughter Janet had been ideal. The diagnosis that she had cancer had come at the very time he planned to fold his medical supply company into a research pharmaceutical firm.

“When Nick knew that Janet was sick and her chances weren't good, he became almost obsessed,” Susan Barlowe said, her voice almost a whisper.

She reached in her pocket for her sunglasses, saying something about the sun getting quite strong. I think she didn't want me to see the tears that she was struggling to hold back. “Nick's father had been trying to
develop a cancer vaccine,” she continued. “I'm sure you know that. Nick had taken his father's later notes and had begun to study them. By then his own great interest in microbiology had made him very knowledgeable. He felt that his father had been on the verge of a cure and decided to raise the money to fund Genstone.”

“You invested in Gen-stone?”

“Yes, we did.” It was Reid Barlowe who answered. “And I would do it again. Whatever went wrong, it was not because Nick set out to cheat us or anyone else.”

“After your daughter died, did you stay close to Nick?”

“Absolutely. If there was any strain, it began to appear after he and Lynn were married.” Reid Barlowe's lips tensed into a narrow line. “I swear to you that Lynn's physical resemblance to Janet was the compelling factor in his attraction to her. The first time he brought her up here was like a body blow for my wife and me. And it wasn't good for Jack, either.”

“Jack was six then?”

“Yes, and he had a very clear memory of his mother. After Lynn and Nick were married, and Jack would come up here to visit, he became more and more reluctant to go home. Finally Nick suggested that we enroll him in school here.”

“Why didn't Nick just split with Lynn?” I asked.

“I think eventually it would have come to that,” Susan Barlowe said, “but Nick was so involved with developing the vaccine that concerns about his marriage—or lack of one—were put on hold. For a while he
became terribly worried about Jack, but once Jack started living with us and was obviously happier, Nick concentrated only on Gen-stone.”

“Did you ever meet Vivian Powers?”

“No, we did not,” Reid Barlowe said. “Of course, we've read about her, but Nick never mentioned her to us.”

“Did Nick ever indicate that he felt there was a problem at Gen-stone that went beyond the fact that many promising drugs fail in the final stages of testing?”

“For the last year there is no doubt that Nick was seriously troubled.” Reid Barlowe looked at his wife, and she nodded. “He confided to me that he had been borrowing against his shares of Gen-stone because he felt further research was needed.”

“Borrowing against
his
shares, not against company funds?” I asked quickly.

“Yes. We are financially secure, Miss DeCarlo, and the month before his plane crashed, Nick asked if he could arrange a personal loan for further necessary research.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“Yes, I did. I will not tell you how much, but that is why I believe that if Nick took all that money from the company, it was because he was spending it on research and
not
because he planned to put it into his own pocket.”

“Do you believe he is dead?”

“Yes, I do. Nick was not a dissembler, and he never would have abandoned his son.” Reid Barlowe held up
a warning hand. “I think Jack just came in. He was being dropped off after soccer practice.”

I heard feet running down the hall, then stopping at the closed door. The boy looked in through the French windowpanes, then raised his hand to knock. Reid Barlowe waved him in and jumped up to hug him.

He was a skinny kid with spikey hair and enormous gray-blue eyes. When we were introduced, his wide grin for his grandparents became a shy, sweet smile for me. “I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss DeCarlo,” he said.

I felt a lump in my throat. I could remember Nick Spencer saying, “Jack's a great kid.” He was right. You could tell he was a great kid. And he was the age my Patrick would be now if he had lived.

“Gran, Bobby and Peter asked me to stay overnight with them. Is that okay? They're having pizza. Their mom says she really wants me to.”

The Barlowes looked at each other. “If you guys promise not to stay up too late fooling around,” Susan Barlowe said. “Don't forget, you have early practice tomorrow.”

“I really,
really
promise,” he said earnestly. “Thanks, Gran. I told them I'd call right away if you said yes.” He turned to me. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss DeCarlo.”

He walked quietly as far as the door, but once he was in the hall, I could hear him begin to run. I looked at his grandparents. Both of them were smiling now. Reid Barlowe shrugged. “As you can see, it's the second time around for us, Carley. The joke is that Bobby and Peter
are twins, but their parents are only a couple of years younger than we are.”

There was an observation I felt I had to make. “Despite everything that has happened to him, Jack appears to be a well-adjusted kid, which certainly is a tribute to both of you.”

“He has really down days, of course,” Reid Barlowe said quietly. “But how could he not? He was very close to Nick. It is the uncertainty of everything that could destroy him. He's a smart kid. Nick's picture and the stories about him have been all over the newspapers and television. One day Jack's trying to cope with his father's death, the next he hears he's been seen in Switzerland. Then he starts to fantasize that Nick might have parachuted out of the plane before it crashed.”

We talked for a few minutes more, and then I got up to leave. “You've been very kind,” I said, “and I promise that when I see you on Sunday, I'll simply be another dinner guest, not a journalist.”

“I'm glad we had this time to talk quietly,” Susan Barlowe said. “We felt it absolutely necessary that our position be known publicly. Nicholas Spencer was an honest man and a dedicated scientist.” She hesitated. “Yes, I'll call him a scientist, even though he didn't have a Ph.D. in microbiology. Whatever went wrong in Genstone was
not
his fault.”

They both walked with me to the front door. As Reid Barlowe opened it, his wife said, “Carley, I just realized, I haven't even asked about Lynn. Is she fully recovered yet?”

“Just about.”

“I should have contacted her. Truthfully, I resented her from the beginning, but I shall always be grateful to her. Did she tell you that Nick was planning to take Jack with him on the trip to Puerto Rico, and she was the one who persuaded him to change his plans? Jack was so terribly disappointed at the time, but if he had been with Nick that day, he would have been on the plane when it crashed.”