You belong to me (24 page)

In the drawing room, she paid special attention to the portraits of his mother and father. "Hmmm, they didn't smile very much, did they?" she said.

Alex considered the question. "Let's see-I think I remember my father cracking a smile when I was ten. My mother wasn't quite that lighthearted."

"Well, from what I understand, they certainly were very charitable people," Dee said. "And looking at the two of them, I can see where you get your good looks."

"I think the proper response to that is that flattery will get you everywhere. It's getting late. Do you have dinner plans?"

"If you do"

"I don't. I'm just sorry that Susan is too busy to join us." Deliberately he added, "But I'll be seeing her on Saturday, and on a lot of other evenings I'm sure. Now let me see about getting us a reservation. I'll be right back."

Dee smiled to herself as she pulled out a compact and touched up her lip rouge. She had not missed the sidelong glance Alex had given her as he left the room.

He's getting interested in me, she thought, very interested. She glanced around the drawing room. A bit drab; I could do a lot with this place, she told herself.

69

Yonkers Detective Pete Sanchez was beginning to worry that they might not be able to pin the Tiffany Smith murder on Sharkey Dion. It had seemed like an open-and-shut case, but now it was becoming apparent that if they didn't find the knife used to kill Tiffany and trace it to Dion, or if he didn't break down and confess, their case was actually very weak.

A big problem was that Joey, the bartender from The Grotto, could not be one hundred percent sure it was Sharkey he had seen disappearing in back of the gas station. As it stood, if the case ever came to trial, the defense would annihilate his testimony. Pete could imagine the scenario:

"Isn't it a fact that Mr. Dion simply asked Miss Smith for a date? Is that a criminal offense?"

Joey had described how Dion had made a pass at Tiffany, then had grabbed her hand and tightened his grip when she tried to shake him off. "He made her yell, and he wouldn't let go when she tried to pull away," he said.

Sanchez shook his head. It makes a good case for a harassment charge maybe, but not for murder, he thought. A squad was presently sifting through the mounds of garbage in the Dumpster they had hauled from The Grotto parking lot. He was keeping his fingers crossed that they would find the murder weapon there.

His other great hope was that someone would call in on the hotline with something more concrete than suspicions. The owner of The Grotto had put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the conviction of Tiffany Smith's killer. He knew that, to the kind of scum who hung around with Sharkey, ten thousand bucks was big money. Half of them were crackheads. Most of those bums would sell out their own mothers for a fix, Pete thought, let alone for ten grand.

At six-thirty P.M. he received two calls within moments of each other. The first one was from an informant known as Billy. Speaking in a hoarse whisper, he told Pete that after being thrown out of The Grotto, Sharkey had gone to a place called The Lamps. There he reportedly had downed a couple of quick ones and told the bartender and another guy that he was going back to take care of the bimbo who dissed him.

The Lamps, Pete thought. A rough joint. And only five minutes from The Grotto. "What time did he leave there?" he snapped.

"Five of twelve. He said the bimbo got off work at midnight."

"You're my boy, Billy," Pete said happily.

A moment later the head of the squad assigned to sift through the contents of the Dumpster called. "Pete, remember that turquoise ring you told us to look out for? We have it. It landed right in the middle of a hunk of lasagna."

So what? Pete thought. It's for sure Sharkey didn't give it to Tiffany. But at least I can let Susan know we have it.

70

After reaching Justin Wells at the hospital and arranging to meet him at his apartment, Susan stopped to grab a hamburger, french fries, and coffee at the counter of a luncheonette near her office. My least favorite way to eat, she thought, wryly thinking of the wonderful dinners she had enjoyed recently with Alex Wright and Don Richards. And I'll bet dollars to donuts that Dee manages to get Alex to take her out to dinner tonight.

She picked up a french fry, dabbed it in ketchup, and nibbled slowly. Satisfactory, she thought, and it also takes away some of the sting of knowing that my big sister once again is making a play for a gay who showed interest in me.

It isn't about having any strong feelings for Alex, she thought as she took a bite of hamburger. It's much too soon for that. No, it's about fairness and loyalty and all those old-fashioned virtues that seem to have gone out of fashion in our family, she thought in assessing the hurt she felt at her sister's behavior.

Sensing a growing lump in her throat, and knowing that in another moment she would have tears in her eyes, she shook her head and scornfully said to herself, Okay, crybaby, knock it off.

She took a big gulp of coffee, then quickly grabbed the water glass. Nothing like a second-degree burn to get your mind off self-pity, she thought.

It really isn't the Dee scene that's bothering me, she told herself as she ate. It's Tiffany, that poor, sad kid. She was hungry to be loved, and now she'll never get the chance. And unless Pete Sanchez can show me a signed confession from the guy they have arrested, I will swear that her death had to do with the turquoise ring, and not with some guy being thrown out of the restaurant because he made a pass.

You belong to me. Tiffany said her ring had that inscription. So did the one Jane Clausen found in Regina's effects. So did the one Carolyn Wells promised to give me, Susan thought. Neither Captain Shea nor Pete Sanchez had shown much interest in the rings, but these murders and probable murders and attempted murders were all tied somehow to those rings, and to those cruises Regina and Carolyn took. Of that she was sure.

Susan checked her watch, then accepted a refill of coffee and asked for the check. Justin Wells had agreed to meet her at his Fifth Avenue apartment at eight o'clock. She had just enough time to get there.

. . .

Susan didn't know what she had expected Wells to look like. Pamela Hastings, Captain Shea, and Don Richards had all portrayed him as being excessively jealous. I guess I thought he would look sinister somehow, she realized as he opened the door to his apartment and she found herself looking into the troubled eyes of an attractive man in his early forties. Dark hair, broad shoulders, athletic build-he was downright good-looking, she decided as she studied him. If looks were any criterion, certainly he was the last person whose appearance would indicate a man given to bouts of jealous rage.

But then I, of all people, should know appearances deceive, she thought as she extended her hand to him and introduced herself.

"Come in, Dr. Chandler. Pam is here as well. But before we say another word, I'd like to apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier."

"It's Susan, not Dr. Chandler," she said. "And no apologies necessary. As I indicated, I think you're absolutely right that your wife's call to my program is the reason she's in the hospital tonight."

The living room clearly reflected the feet that an architect and an interior designer lived there. Narrow, fluted columns separated the room from the foyer, and the room itself had crown moldings, an intricately carved marble fireplace, satiny parquet floors, a delicately beautiful Persian carpet, comfortable-looking couches and chairs, and antique tables and lamps.

Pamela Hastings greeted Susan warmly. "This is very kind of you, Susan," she said. "I can't tell you what your coming here means to me personally."

She feels as though she's betrayed Justin Wells, Susan thought as she listened to Pamela's words. She gave the other woman a reassuring smile, then said, "Look, I know how spent you both have to be, so I'll get to the point. When Carolyn phoned me on Monday, she said she would come to my office and bring with her a turquoise ring and a picture of the man who gave it to her. We know now that she may have changed her mind and decided to mail those things to me instead. What I hope is that there are perhaps other things-souvenirs or whatever-that she kept from her cruise that would give us some indication of the mystery man she mentioned, the one who tried to convince her to leave the ship to go to Algiers. Remember she said that when she tried to phone him at the hotel where he was supposed to be staying, they said they'd never heard of him."

"You can understand that Carolyn and I didn't dwell on that trip," Justin Wells said flatly. "It was a terrible time, and we were both anxious to put that separation behind us."

"Justin, that's exactly the point," Pamela said. "Carolyn hadn't shown you the turquoise ring. She certainly hadn't shown you the picture of that man. What Dr. Chandler hopes is that there might have been other souvenirs that she kept from you as well."

Wells's face flushed. "Doctor," he said, "as I told you on the phone, you are welcome to look for anything here that will help us to find the person who did this to Carolyn."

Susan noted an ominous quality in the tone of his voice. Don Richards is right, Susan thought. Justin Wells might be capable of killing anyone who harmed his wife.

"Let's get started," she suggested.

Carolyn Wells kept an office in the apartment, a large room complete with a spacious desk, a couch, a drafting board, and files. "She has a business office in the Design building also," Wells explained to Susan. "But, in fact, she does most of her creative work here, and certainly this is where she takes care of all of her personal mail."

Susan caught the strain in his voice. "Is the desk locked?" she asked.

"I don't know. I never touch it." Justin Wells turned away as though overwhelmed by emotion at the sight of the desk where his wife usually sat.

Pamela Hastings put her hand on his arm. "Justin, why don't you wait for us in the living room?" she suggested. "You don't need this."

"You're right; I don't." He got as far as the door before he turned. "But I insist on this; I want to know anything and everything you find, good or bad, that may be useful," he said, his tone almost accusatory. "Do I have your word?"

Both women nodded. When he turned to go down the hall, Susan turned to Pamela Hastings. "Let's get started," she said.

Susan went through the desk, while Pamela rifled through file drawers. How would I like this to happen to me? Susan wondered. Other than my patients' files, which would be protected by confidentiality, what would I be embarrassed for someone else to find, and perhaps to discuss?

She came up with a ready answer: the note Jack had written after he told her that he and Dee were in love. Some of it she still remembered: "The great sadness I have is that I have hurt you, something I would never willingly do."

It's time to burn that letter, Susan decided.

She realized she felt very much a voyeur, going through the personal papers of a woman she never had met. Carolyn Wells had a touch of the sentimentalist in her makeup, she decided. In the bottom drawer of the desk she found files with names written on them: "Mom"; "Justin"; "Pam."

Susan glanced in them just enough to see that they contained things like birthday cards, personal notes, and snapshots. In the file marked "Mom" she saw a death notice that was three years old. Skimming it, she saw that Carolyn had been an only child and her father had predeceased her mother by ten years.

Her mother had been dead only a year when she separated from her husband and went on that cruise, Susan thought. Chances are she would have been emotionally fragile and extremely vulnerable to an apparently caring person.

Susan tried to recall exactly what her own mother had said about meeting Regina Clausen once at a stockholders meeting. She remembered it was something like how excited Regina was at the prospect of going on a cruise and how Regina's father had died while he was only in his forties, and before that, he had talked about regretting the vacations he'd never taken.

Two vulnerable women, Susan thought as she closed the last of the files. That much is clear. But there's nothing helpful here. She looked up and saw that Pamela Hastings had almost finished examining the three-drawer file. "How is it going?" she asked.

Pamela shrugged. "It isn't. From what I can see, Carolyn kept a mini-file here of her most recent jobs: personal notes from the clients, pictures of completed rooms, that kind of thing." Then she paused: "Wait a minute," she said. "This may be it." She was holding a file marked "Seagodiva." "That's the cruise ship Carolyn sailed on."

She carried the file to the desk and pulled up a chair. "Let's hope," Susan murmured as they both began to go through it.

But the file seemed useless. It contained only the sort of information people save as mementos of a trip, things like the itinerary, the Seagodiva's daily bulletins listing the activities of the day, and information about the approaching ports of call.

"Mumbai, that's the new, or at least the old and restored name of Bombay," Pamela said. "Carolyn boarded the ship there. Oman, Haifa, Alexandria, Athens, Tangier, Lisbon-those were her ports of call."

"Algiers is where Carolyn almost went sightseeing with the mystery man," Susan said. "Look at the date. The ship was scheduled to stop in Tangier on October 15th. That's exactly two years ago next week."

"She arrived home on the 20th," Pamela Hastings observed. "I remember because it was my husband's birthday."

Susan glanced through the bulletins. The last one described possible excursions from the ship. The headline was, SEE THE MARKETPLACE IN OLD ALGIERS.

That's a line in the song - "You Belong to Me," she thought. Then she noticed that there was something written lightly in pencil on the last page. She bent down to examine it closely. It read, "Win, Palace Hotel, 555-0634."

She showed it to Pamela. "I think we can be sure that Win is the man she was meeting," she said quietly.

"Dear God, do you think that means she is calling for him now?" Pamela asked.