The other was from the much more gentlemanly Dr. Mayhew of Brookline. “Hello, Miss Higgs. This is Dr. Douglas Mayhew, former headmaster of the Wharton Alternative School, responding to your message.” He left his phone number.
Down at the city desk, Jared Conneely was making exaggerated waving signals, urging Liz to approach the desk. Liz raised one finger to indicate she’d be there in a minute. Then she dialed the Brookline telephone number.
After introducing herself, Liz quickly realized why the headmaster had referred to her as “Miss Higgs.” He was hard of hearing. While Jared changed his wide-armed signal to a one-fingered, schoolmarmish scolding motion, Liz said loudly, “I’m writing an article about New Year’s resolutions and whether they actually lead to a genuine kind of resolve in young people. I thought I’d call on you, hoping your years of experience with troubled young people would help to anchor my article.”
“I’m flattered that you ask. I suppose I could make myself available, but I’m not good on the phone. I’m going deaf, you see.”
After arranging to meet Dr. Mayhew in two hours, Liz phoned Father James, Department of Youth Services chaplain, and set up an interview and photo shoot of the girls in his care for an hour after that. Then she rushed down to the city desk.
Before Jared could whine or Dermott could bark at her, she told the city editor, “Thanks to Jared, who gave me a heads-up about the New Year’s resolution piece, I’ve already gotten a jump on the article. I’ve arranged to talk to a long-time teacher of troubled teens. Then, I’ll interview a group of adolescent girls who are Department of Youth Services detainees to get their take on whether New Year’s resolutions are a setup for failure or the occasion for truly resolving to take charge of some aspect of living.”
“But we had in mind a celebrity piece. Didn’t Conneely tell you?”
“Great idea for a sidebar!” Liz exclaimed. “And a byline for Jared, if he can afford the time,” she smiled, knowing how difficult it was to get celebrities to respond to such questions on short notice. “I’m sure the ‘Here’s the Buzz’ gals or the society editor would be glad to give him some contact info.”
Like every editorial assistant in the newsroom, Jared lived for such opportunities. While he might have been the first to admit celebrity chasing was not his cup of tea, a byline was not a thing to turn one’s back on, and he knew it. Even his customary pallor disappeared as, smiling broadly, he piped up, “I’m on it!” and made a beeline for the Buzz gals’ office before Dermott could object.
Returning to her desk to write up photo assignment sheets, Liz found her phone ringing. The caller was Olga Swenson. “I’ve gotten my hands on Ellen’s book list,” she said. She sounded shaken. “There’s something else I should tell you, too. The police have had the walls in Veronica’s room stripped.”
“Stripped?”
“They’ve taken down the wallpaper.”
“Did Erik tell you when they did this?”
“No. I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday morning. I’m sure he would have mentioned it if it had occurred before then.”
“Then, how do you know it was done?”
“I’m here at the house now.”
“May I meet you there in about three quarters of an hour? I’d come sooner but I’m waiting for another person to help me with the case.”
“I don’t like to sit here alone. It gives me the willies. I feel so useless, Liz!’
“Don’t be silly. Think about all you’ve accomplished today. I have an idea. You know where the copy shop is in Newtonville?”
“Yes.”
“Take that list there and make a couple of copies of it. Then I’ll meet you back at Ellen’s. You could wait in the car if you like and we could go back in together.”
Olga agreed and ended the conversation just in time for Liz to turn and see Cormac Kinnaird, sporting a visitor’s badge, enter the newsroom. He was carrying a ribbon-wrapped vase filled with red tulips.
“I didn’t know if the newsroom ran to vases,” he said, giving Liz a peck on the cheek. He picked up the plastic bag of cigarette butts.
“Not a very fair exchange,” Liz said, smiling. “I’m afraid I can’t take you up on the lunch offer,” she said, and told the doctor about her appointments with Olga and Dr. Mayhew. “But I could offer you a very quick cup of coffee in our cafeteria.”
“You have too much on your plate. You go take care of those appointments and tell me about them this evening at dinner. We’ll make it on the late side, so you have time to dress up. I’m taking you to a rather nice place, if that’s all right with you. Do you know the restaurant, Upstairs at the Pudding? Shall we meet there at eight?”
Riding the escalator to the newsroom’s lobby, side-by-side with the doctor, Liz remembered the redhead in the bar.
Apparently, Cormac was not put off by Liz’s perplexed expression.
“Deadlines become you,” he said.
Chapter 17
Olga Swenson was sitting in her car when Liz startled her by tapping on the older woman’s steamy window. Without a word, Olga led Liz into the house on Fenwick Street. Standing aside to let Liz enter first, she let out a sigh. With some surprise, Liz noticed the smell of alcohol on Olga’s breath.
Olga did not take off her coat but led Liz straight up to Veronica’s bedroom. A scrap of yellow “CRIME SCENE” tape provided the answer to Liz’s unasked question: “How did Mrs. Swenson know the stripped wallpaper was the work of the police?”
Inside the room, everything was in disarray. Plastic sheeting covered a bed heaped with stuffed animals and dolls, while trash bags appeared to be stuffed with other trinkets and toys.
“Veronica loved her Madeline wallpaper,” Olga said. “We purchased it for her when she was five. I’m not sure we could find it again if we tried. Hasn’t she suffered enough without having her room vandalized by the authorities?” She sat down heavily on the only available piece of furniture in the room, a child-sized wooden chair. “Why would they do this?” she nearly sobbed.
As Liz moved to crouch down beside Olga, she realized she must have set this destruction in motion by reporting Veronica’s unusual request: “Please, Santa, bring me new wallpaper.” The police must be grasping at straws to regard that report as significant.
Crouching, with tears in her eyes, Liz took Mrs. Swenson’s hands in her own but could not admit she knew the answer to the question. “I will do everything I can to find more of that wallpaper for you,” she promised. Standing, she pulled the older woman to her feet, then picked up a sizeable scrap of the paper from the floor. “Let’s make some tea and look over that book list,” she suggested.
In the kitchen, Olga seemed to gather herself together, as she prepared coffee rather than tea. “I just can’t think of using those teacups,” she said. She did not take off her coat.
Meanwhile, Liz studied the list, which recorded three months of Ellen’s borrowing records. Most titles were followed by the author’s name, a call number, and two dates, presumably indicating the date borrowed and date returned. In four cases, there was no return date. And, in the case of the children’s book, there were three renewals. Liz turned her attention to the titles and authors:
The Friends of the Environment New Car Buying Guide by Harold Gold
The Consumer Guide to New Car Ratings 2000
Silent Knights by Josephine Henshaw
Private Schools in Massachusetts: 1974 by the Private Schools Consortium