Close to You, page 17
“They should be flying south somewhere soon, shouldn’t they?” asked Eliza.
Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like they stay around forever. They’re pretty to look at when they’re in the water, but I can’t stand all the mess they leave behind. Speaking of mess, have you heard anything from the police about the robbery?”
“Nada,” Eliza replied. “And to tell the truth, I’m not really expecting to. The patrolmen who came that night weren’t too encouraging.”
“What do we pay our taxes for?” asked Susan angrily. “They should be doing something about this.”
Eliza hesitated before going further with the conversation. She didn’t want to throw around accusations, but for the last week she had been nagged by her suspicions about Larson Richards. She would explode if she didn’t confide them to her neighbor.
“Gosh, Eliza,” Susan answered when she heard Eliza’s worry that Larson still had a key and could have let himself into the house. “I know Larson is desperate for money, but I can’t believe he would resort to burglary.”
“What do you mean, he’s desperate for money?” Eliza pressed.
“I told you about that pizza-business deal of his.”
“Yes.”
Susan looked at Eliza. “I shouldn’t really be breaking this confidence, but I guess it doesn’t matter now that the Richardses are dead.”
“What ‘confidence’?”
Susan began slowly at first and then her story poured out. “The Richardses had lent Larson a great deal of money to keep his business afloat. Mrs. Richards was quite worried about it and asked him to sign notes for the loans. But as he came back for more and more, she finally told him that they didn’t want to pour any more cash down the rathole.”
“How did Larson take it?”
“Not well. Mrs. Richards was crying one day when she came over and told me about it. You wouldn’t believe the horrible things Larson said to his own mother. He told her that if she didn’t help him, he would never speak to her again. That she and Mr. Richards would be dead as far as he was concerned.”
“Nice son,” Eliza observed.
Susan’s eyes welled with tears as the sun glistened on her dark hair. “Mrs. Richards said she didn’t want to lose her only child and was reconsidering giving Larson more money.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t know. Right after that, that damned gas heater backed up and the Richardses were killed by the carbon monoxide.”
Chapter 86
“A Mr. Morton is in the lobby to see Ms. Blake.”
“Tell Mr. Morton I’ll be right down.”
Paige hung up the phone. An interview with one of the presidential candidates had opened up and Eliza had hastily taken the morning shuttle to Washington. Paige hadn’t been able to reach Samuel Morton to cancel his appointment.
Not bothering to take the elevator, Paige rushed down the stairwell and the long corridor that led to the Broadcast Center lobby. Waiting at the guard desk was a tall, attractive man with dark hair and graying sideburns, carrying a medium-sized shopping bag. Paige knew her clothes and would bet that was a Zegna suit he was wearing, a suit that cost over two thousand dollars.
“Mr. Morton,” greeted Paige, extending her hand, “I’m Ms. Blake’s assistant, Paige Tintle.”
“Nice to meet you.” The man shook her hand firmly.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Ms. Blake had to go out of town unexpectedly this morning. She is very sorry, and told me to tell you she hopes you can reschedule another time to meet.”
Paige could see the disappointment on Samuel’s face.
“If you’d like, I could give you a little tour of our operation now,” Paige offered.
Samuel was very pleasant and showed a lot of interest over the half hour that Paige escorted him through the news facility. When they got upstairs to Eliza’s office, Samuel gazed through the windowed wall down at the newsroom.
“I wish Sarah could have seen this,” he murmured wistfully. “She would have loved it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morton.” Paige couldn’t think of anything else to say.
As they exited the office to go back down to the lobby, Samuel suddenly remembered the shopping bag he carried. He extended it to Eliza’s assistant.
“I’ll be in town all week, and I would very much appreciate a chance to see Ms. Blake personally, if her schedule permits. But just in case we can’t get together, would you please give her this for me?”
Chapter 87
The weekend dinner conversation had stuck with him and Range was not giving up on his story idea. As executive producer it was his prerogative to assign any piece he wanted. After the morning editorial meeting, he called Keith Chapel down to the Fishbowl.
“See what you can find out about the disappearance, about five years ago, of a Garden State Network anchor-woman named Linda Anderson.”
Keith scribbled on his notepad. “Are you thinking about this as a FRESHER LOOK?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Range answered. “See what you come up with. Let me know and then we’ll talk to Eliza about it.”
Keith nodded and turned to leave the office.
“Wait a minute, Keith.” Range pulled open his desk drawer and extracted a black videocassette box. “I searched around and found this audition tape that Anderson submitted when she was trying to get a job here. Take a look and see what you think.”
Later, the producer popped the cassette into the viewing machine. The woman who appeared on the screen delivering dated New Jersey news reminded Keith of the woman who appeared on the dozens of other videotapes scattered around his office.
Chapter 88
That guy was loitering across the street from the Broadcast Center again.
By rights the security chief knew he should call the police and have them talk to the man, but Joe Connelly itched to get out there and confront him face-to-face. There had been more letters and still no response from the FBI. Connelly was tense, and determined that nothing would happen to Eliza Blake on his watch.
Taking two uniformed security guards along with him, Connelly pushed through the revolving door, waited for a break in the traffic and jaywalked across the wide street. The sweatshirt-clad man stared at him defiantly as he approached.
“Excuse me, sir. I’d like to know your name and why you’ve been hanging around here.”
The man looked at him disdainfully. “I don’t have to tell you my name, and the last time I looked, this is a free country and these are public sidewalks.”
“Listen, clown. Move along and don’t come back. Do you hear me? If I see you out here again, I’ll call the police.”
“Oh. I’m scared.”
Connelly felt like slamming the sarcastic son-of-a-bitch in the face. Instead he motioned to one of the guards, who speedily pulled a camera from his pocket and snapped off a couple quick shots of the tough mug.
“Hey! You can’t do that,” the loiterer protested, lunging for the camera.
The guard pulled back, the camera safely out of Meat’s reach.
“Why not call a policeman?” Connelly dared triumphantly. “Now get the hell out of here and, I’m warning you, don’t come back.”
Chapter 89
What a lucky little boy!
Sure, he had something called Fragile X syndrome and he was forced to live a life with mental retardation, speech problems and anxieties. He might never drive a car or learn to read or write, and it was a cinch he was never going to learn to do long division, but, just because he had some lousy genetic condition, he got to be close to Eliza.
It was heartwarming to watch Eliza talking so gently to the boy as he flapped his hands up and down. No wonder the kid was flapping. Being near her was damned exciting.
The thought of having pictures together with Eliza to watch over and over on the television screen at night would ensure sweet dreams. But then again, there were those pictures together with Linda Anderson and watching them over and over again didn’t lead to peaceful nights. If only Linda hadn’t resisted. It was her own fault, really. Linda had only herself to blame.
All that time spent working to get closer to Linda. Slowly bringing her to the point where she could be comfortable and confide her hopes and fears.
Fear. That was the problem. When Linda had sensed she was being followed, she had called the police, confiding that she had done so to a person she had thought she could trust. A person not content with the existing contact between them. A person who knew her schedule and hid in wait for opportunities to see her more.
Of course, when the police were escorting Linda, nothing happened. The stalker lay low until Linda cried that the cops were off the case.
The wait to be with her again had been excruciating, that October five years ago. The pressure had mounted until it was unbearable. At Linda’s door, that last night, her mouth had quivered and her eyes bulged in frightened recognition.
It didn’t have to have ended the way it did. If only she had been able to accept the love she was offered, she wouldn’t have been dragged, struggling, through the woods. If only she had listened and been open to the life they could have had together. Instead she had begun to scream. There had been no choice but to silence her. The sound of the snapping of her neck was still haunting.
Linda’s body had had to be stowed in the car trunk until provisions were ready to get rid of it . . . taking it to a place that would be deserted on an early-November night.
It wasn’t supposed to end that way.
It could be different with Eliza. It could be wonderful between them.
Eliza wouldn’t make the same mistake Linda Anderson had.
If she did, she’d suffer the same fate.
Please, God, don’t let it be that way.
Chapter 90
Eliza turned the pages of the blue leather–bound scrapbook, reading the letters that had been neatly mounted on each thick page. In spite of his grief Samuel Morton had taken the time to organize all the letters that Eliza had penned his daughter, and had written sensitively about what he remembered of Sarah’s response to receiving each one.
What that man must be going through!
“Paige,” Eliza called through the intercom, “will you see if you can get Samuel Morton on the phone for me, please?”
As she waited for the buzzer to ring, Eliza stroked the cover of the scrapbook, looking at the picture of the smiling young girl with braces on her teeth, wearing a yellow soccer uniform.
“Mr. Morton is on line three, Eliza.”
She took a deep breath and pressed the button on the telephone console.
“Mr. Morton? This is Eliza Blake. I wanted to apologize for not being here when you came in earlier this week. And I want to thank you so much for this wonderful remembrance of Sarah. That was so thoughtful of you.”
“I’m so glad if you like it. It was a therapeutic thing for me to work on and, please, don’t worry about having to cancel our meeting, Ms. Blake. I know how busy you must be.”
She liked the sound of his deep voice.
“How are you doing, Mr. Morton?”
“Please, call me Samuel.”
“Fine, if you’ll call me Eliza.”
“Done,” he agreed. She could sense a slight smile on the other end of the telephone line. “Actually, I’m doing a bit better now that I’m here in New York. I needed to get away from home for a while.”
“I can certainly understand that. Do you know people here?”
“Yes, actually, I do. I used to live up here, so I’m looking up some old friends.”
“That’s good. Sometimes it helps to just go through the motions of getting out with people and socializing a little bit, even though you really don’t feel like it. If you sit in by yourself and think too much, it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
“That’s certainly the truth,” Samuel agreed. “But you know, even the best of friends are busy and have lives of their own. Plus they only have so much patience for a man who may break out in tears at any moment.”
Eliza remembered well the dinners with friends after John died and the embarrassing knowledge that they—no matter how loving and well-meaning—were somehow uncomfortable being with her. She wished there was something she could do to help this man.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out to dinner with me, Eliza. It would be a great pleasure.”
She thought for a moment about making a lame excuse, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She rubbed the leather scrapbook. What would it hurt to take a couple of hours and spend it with a man who could sorely use a little company?
“Sure, that would be lovely. I have to ask that we keep it an early evening, though.”
“Wonderful.” She heard the enthusiasm in his voice. “You just name the time and place.”
“How about tomorrow night, right after the broadcast? I could meet you somewhere at seven-thirtyish?”
“Fine. And the place?”
“Why don’t I leave that to you, Samuel? Just call my assistant tomorrow and let Paige know.”
Eliza hung up the receiver and thought about Mack. She hadn’t been out to dinner alone with a man since Mack had left for London. While she didn’t think dinner with Samuel qualified as a date, Eliza wished Mack knew that she would be dining with someone else.
Chapter 91
Florence Anderson was only all too happy to talk to Keith Chapel when he called. No one wanted to hear her talk about Linda anymore. The police no longer paid attention to her. Nor were they doing anything, as far as Florence could see, to find out what had happened to her daughter. She could tell they thought she was a nuisance by the tone in their voice when she called the station house. She hated that they were resigned about the case.
She was angry. If it had been any one of their daughters, they wouldn’t be giving up. Those cops stuck together like white on rice. If one of their own had disappeared, you could bet your sweet life, they would have found out what had happened by now. She vented her frustrations to the KEY News producer, unaware that he was thinking how good all her rage would be on television.
“The police started out all right,” Florence admitted. “In the days right after Linda disappeared, they searched all over the place, with dogs and helicopters and boats. They kept saying that they hoped they wouldn’t find anything. They hoped she was alive.”
The woman paused. “Well, they didn’t find anything. Now, all these years have gone by and I know in my heart Linda is dead. I would be satisfied just to know what happened to her. I would just like to find whatever is left of my daughter and bury her in peace. You can’t imagine what it’s like, not knowing. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You’re right. I can’t imagine,” Keith answered quietly. “Mrs. Anderson, would you be willing to be interviewed if we came out to you with a camera crew?”
“Mister, I’d stand naked on Broadway if it would help find out what happened to my Linda.”
Chapter 92
“You must have connections. What did you have to do to get a dinner reservation here on such short notice?”
Samuel smiled but did not answer Eliza’s question as they sat in the neutral-toned dining room at Jean Georges, the four-star restaurant in the luminous Trump Hotel. The austerity of the dining room, while comfortable, was lowkey, putting the focus on food. Tables were reserved weeks in advance. The waiters bent over the tables, carving and pouring, intent only their guests’ pleasure.
The last touch was put on each dish after it arrived at the table. Eliza ordered the young garlic soup which arrived as a delicate bowl of purple chive blossoms. When the waiter ladled the soup over the blooms, the intoxicating aroma of garlic wafted into the air. Samuel’s asparagus arrived looking tender but naked. But as the waiter dressed the spears with creamed morels, the stalks were transformed.
“I’m sure you’ve eaten here many times before,” Samuel said.
“Actually, no, I haven’t. I’ve been meaning to, but just haven’t gotten around to it.”
Samuel nodded. “I know how it is. A fabulous place can be in your own backyard and you never get around to going there.”
“Something like that. I try not to go out to dinner too often, you know, with a young child at home. I like to get home to her after work.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, Eliza could have bitten off her tongue at the thoughtlessness of her remark. Here she was, prattling on about her daughter, when Samuel had just lost his.
He was gracious in his response. “Of course. Your time with your daughter must be very precious to you. I apologize for keeping you from her tonight.”
“Please, this is my pleasure,” Eliza insisted. “Janie is quite happy tonight. She just got a new Disney DVD and at this moment she is most likely happily munching away on popcorn, content that Mrs. Garcia will let her stay up a little later tonight.”
“Mrs. Garcia is your nanny?”
“Nanny-slash-housekeeper. She’s wonderful.”
“Good help is hard to find. I remember when Sarah was little, after her mother died, I went through a slew of caretakers. I soon realized that one was stealing from us. Another actually had her boyfriend come over and sleep in my bed while I was away on business.”
“How did you find that out? Did Sarah tell you?”
Samuel’s face reddened. “I’m embarrassed to tell you. You’ll surely think less of me.”
Eliza waited and, finally, Samuel continued.
“I had a funny feeling about this young woman. Call it instinct or intuition. But I was leaving Sarah with her all day long and a few times I had gotten home earlier than I was expected and found the boyfriend there. One afternoon, I even thought I smelled marijuana.”
