The Shadow of Your Smile (31 page)

After they were gone, Monica protested, “Mrs. O’Keefe, I didn’t help Michael get better.”

“You certainly did. You recognized what it was. You told us straight out to get other consultations, but that he was terminal. That was when I knew I needed to beg for a miracle.”

“Why did you choose to pray to Sister Catherine in particular?”

“My great-aunt was a nurse in one of her hospitals. I remember her telling me when I was a little girl that she had worked with a nun who was like an angel. She told me that you would think every child
she held in her arms was her own. She would comfort them and pray over them. My great-aunt was convinced that Sister Catherine had been gifted from God with a special power of healing, that she had an aura about her that words couldn’t describe, and that everyone who was in her presence felt it, too. When you told us that Michael was going to die, my first thought was of Sister Catherine.”

“I remember,” Monica said quietly. “I felt such pity for you because I knew there was just no hope for Michael.”

Emily O’Keefe smiled. “And you still don’t believe in miracles, do you, Monica? In fact, didn’t you come here believing that no matter how well he seems, and no matter how clean his tests, that the tumor could come back someday?”

‘Yes, I did,” Monica said, reluctantly.

“Why can’t you believe in miracles, Monica? What makes you so certain that they don’t happen?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to believe, but as I testified to the beatification committee, I know from my medical training that throughout history events have occurred that seem to be miracles, but in reality they have a scientific explanation that just wasn’t understood at the time.”

“Have any of those events ever included a little boy whose massive and malignant brain tumor completely disappeared?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Monica, Dr. Jenner is one of several respected neurosurgeons who are testifying that there is no medical or scientific explanation for Michael’s recovery. I don’t know whether you realize it, but it will be a long time before the Church itself concludes that this was a miracle. They will follow Michael’s medical status for many years.” Then Emily O’Keefe smiled. “We had pretty much this same conversation yesterday with Dr. Jenner. He told us he believed that in twenty years or fifty years there will still be no scientific explanation for Michael’s cure.”

She reached for Monica’s hand and held it, gently. “Monica, I hope that you don’t think I’m overreaching, but I do very much sense that you are conflicted. And also that you are ready to accept the possibility that Sister Catherine intervened, and that because of her, our only child is with us now.”

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Esther Chambers devoured the newspapers over the weekend with a combination of shock and disbelief. The fact that Peter Gannon had been arrested for the murder of his former girlfriend seemed to her absolutely incredible. Greg is the one who has a nasty temper, she thought. I’d believe it of him, but never of Peter. And the fact that Peter was the father of a baby girl who was in the hospital, a baby Peter had never seen, sickened her.

Poor little tyke, she thought. Her mother’s dead, her father’s in jail, and if these articles can be believed, none of her mother’s relatives are looking to claim her.

Greg’s public relations firm had issued the statement to the press saying that the family was standing behind Peter and believed he would be vindicated. I hope so, too, Esther thought. Peter spends the foundation money like water, but he’s basically a decent human being. In my wildest dreams I cannot imagine him strangling that woman and stuffing her into a garbage bag.

She deliberately went to work early on Monday to avoid having to face the other employees and hear the gossip that she knew would be sweeping the office. But when she settled at her desk, Esther realized that her hands were trembling. She knew that by now Arthur Saling must have read the warning she had mailed to him. Would Greg
suspect her of having written it? If Saling decided not to invest, she was sure Greg’s whole house of cards would collapse within weeks.

Did I have the right to do that? she asked herself. The people from the Securities and Exchange Commission would probably be furious if they found out. But Greg was drawing in Mr. Saling, and I felt so sorry for him and his family. If Saling
does
invest, his money will be wiped out when the SEC closes in on Greg. Bad enough for the dozens of people who are going to lose everything—I just couldn’t let one more person get hurt, not when I could prevent it, she told herself.

Through the glass doors that opened into the area where the rest of the office staff worked, she saw Greg Gannon approaching. Help me, Lord, she prayed. I don’t know what he would do if Saling shows him that letter, and he thinks I wrote it.

With a hard push that sent the door flying open, Greg came into the suite and walked straight to Esther’s desk. “I assume you’ve read the newspapers and seen the television stories,” he said abruptly.

“Of course. I’m so very sorry. And I know it’s all a terrible mistake.” Esther was glad that she was able to keep her voice quiet and convincing.

“There’ll be plenty of phone calls from the media. Refer them to Jason at the PR firm. Let him earn his money for a change.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately.”

“I’m not available for calls. I don’t care if it’s the Pope on the line.”

He surely wouldn’t be calling
you
, Esther thought.

Greg Gannon started toward his private office, then stopped. “But if Arthur Saling phones, put him right through. I expect to be meeting with him later today.”

Esther swallowed hard. “Of course, Mr. Gannon.”

“All right.” Greg took a few steps away from Esther’s desk, then stopped again. “Wait a minute,” he snapped. “Haven’t we got a foundation
meeting with the Greenwich Hospital group scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, at eleven o’clock.”

“Cancel it.”

“Mr. Gannon, if you’d allow me to offer a suggestion, that’s not a good idea. They’re very upset that the grant the foundation promised them hasn’t come through. I think it’s really necessary for you to meet with them and give them some reassurance. Otherwise, if they get the press involved, it could be ugly. You don’t need more pressure right now.”

Greg Gannon hesitated, then said, “You’re right as usual, Esther. Remind Hadley and Langdon to be here. It’s obvious my brother won’t be available.”

“Will you tell Mrs. Gannon yourself or shall I remind her, sir?”

Astonished, Esther watched Greg Gannon’s face darken with rage. “Mrs. Gannon is very busy these days,” he snapped. “I doubt she’ll be available.”

Oh boy, Esther thought, as she watched Greg stride into his office. Maybe there’s something to that rumor that Pamela has a boyfriend, and now Greg has heard about it. I wonder who the guy is?

If it really
is
true, Pamela won’t be making any more trips to Cartier.

She’ll be doing her jewelry shopping in a bargain store basement.

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After he had lunch with Doug Langdon at the St. Regis, Dr. Clayton Hadley spent the rest of the weekend in a state of near panic. The memory of holding the pillow over Olivia Morrow’s face haunted his every waking moment. How did I let myself get into this? he wondered, frantically. I had a good practice. I was being paid well for my job at the foundation. I actually did steer money from the foundation into cardiac research. That, at least, would stand up, if anyone ever investigates where the foundation money really has gone . . .

When the money from Alex Gannon’s patents was still flowing in, it was easy for me to set up phony research centers that were little more than rented rooms with a so-called lab technician, Clay thought. Doug got me started on that. Now I have a fortune in my Swiss bank account.

A lot of good that will do me if I’m indicted for murder.

How about Doug? For the last ten years, since we’ve been on the foundation board, he’s been funneling small grants into worthwhile mental health projects, as well as pots of money into storefront clinics with one part-time attendant. The money flowed out the back door of those places, and straight into Doug’s pockets.

The Gannons were oblivious, Clay thought. They gave the okay to anything Doug or I proposed. They were too busy scooping out the
foundation money themselves to maintain their own extravagances. They rubber-stamped us, and we rubber-stamped them.

Then, when Doug introduced Pamela to Greg eight years ago, Greg fell for her like a ton of bricks, divorced his wife, married her, and made her a member of the foundation board. For eight years, Pamela’s been playing Lady Bountiful all over Manhattan. If Greg wasn’t available to take the bows at any of those dreary dinners honoring the foundation for its legitimate grants, she was there doing it for him.

Greg’s spending has been out of control ever since he married Pamela, Clay thought nervously. And these past four years, Peter’s been boasting about his grants for his off-Broadway projects, while he’s been pouring foundation money into his own musical fiascos.

All these thoughts were torturing Clay as he sat trying to read the papers in his comfortable Gramercy Park apartment. Like Doug, he had been divorced for years, but as a welcome guest in the social world, he never lacked for female company. His solicitous manner, as well as his ability to make small talk, made him an excellent extra man, the kind hostesses were always trying to find. Unlike Doug, who escorted any number of different and very attractive women, Clay found his current status absolutely satisfactory. It’s taken me more than fifty years to realize that I’m a loner, he thought.

Olivia Morrow. I actually have the nerve to miss her. Olivia and I were friends. She trusted me. How many times over the years did we go out for dinner or to the theatre together? I knew her for such a long time. Her mother, Regina, was my patient. I’m sorry that her mother told us about Alex’s granddaughter, and gave Olivia that file. If only Olivia had buried it with her mother . . . If only! But what good does that do?

But
did
Olivia destroy it at the end? I’m almost sure she did. It wasn’t anywhere in the apartment, and her safety deposit box hasn’t been opened for years. If she hadn’t received that call from Monica
Farrell Tuesday night, she’d have died and it would all be over. But instead Olivia saw that phone call from Catherine’s granddaughter as a sign from Catherine, of all things.

Now with Peter all over the newspapers, will it put the foundation in the spotlight? If they ever start digging into the finances, it’s all over. Doug seems to think that Greg can doctor up the paperwork to show that because of the present economic climate and some unwise investments, it’s necessary to close the foundation. Doug doesn’t believe that too many questions will be asked. But I’m not so sure it would be like that at all. I think I’m going to self-diagnose a heart condition, close down my practice, and get out of the country.

That decision made, Clayton Hadley felt somewhat better. At seven o’clock, he sent down for dinner from the in-house restaurant in his upscale condominium. As usual, he ate heartily, then managed to abolish Olivia Morrow’s face from his consciousness and fall into a deep sleep.

On Monday morning, he arrived at his office at nine thirty, as usual. His secretary reported that a Ms. Sophie Rutkowski had phoned and would call back in fifteen minutes.

Sophie Rutkowski, Clay thought. Who’s she? Oh, I know who she is—Olivia’s cleaning woman. Olivia left her five thousand dollars in her will. She probably knows about it and is waiting to get her hands on it.

But when Sophie phoned back, it was not about the money. “Dr. Hadley,” she began, her voice respectful. “Did you take the pillowcase with the blood on it from Ms. Morrow’s apartment? You see, if you did, I’d like to get it from you and wash it so that the complete set is in the linen closet just the way Ms. Morrow would like it to be. “Would that be all right with you, Doctor?”

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