Laurie couldn’t resist asking, “Does he spend much time in her room?”
Jane frowned. “I don’t think so, but that’s the kind of question I think you should ask Mr. Powell.”
Now the disapproval was evident in the housekeeper’s expression and tone of voice.
Oh boy, Laurie thought. I’d really hate to cross this one. “Thank you, Jane,” she said soothingly. “We’re all leaving now. We won’t be back over the weekend. We’ll see you Monday morning. And let me reassure you we will absolutely be finished on Wednesday after lunch.”
It was nearly noon, which meant Robert Powell expected the crew from the production company to clear out. It was also a Friday, the day he worked from home. He had been in his office with the door closed since they’d arrived.
Three days, Laurie thought later that day in her office as she went over her notes with Jerry and Grace, who were with her every day of the shoot in Salem Ridge.
It was Grace who voiced what all three of them were thinking. “That place is gorgeous,” she said. “In one way it makes me never want to come home to my five-story walk-up apartment that’s not big enough to take three steps in without bumping into a wall.” She paused, her expressive eyes even more mascaraed than usual, then finished, “On the other hand, it gives me the creeps. My grandmother used to say that a pigeon flying into the room was a sign of death coming to the house. Laurie, were you in Betsy Powell’s bedroom today when a pigeon was flying around outside, trying to find a way to get in?”
“Oh, come on,” Jerry said. “Grace, that’s a stretch even for you.”
Of course it’s a stretch, Laurie told herself.
She was not about to admit to Grace and Jerry that the magnificent home where Betsy Powell had died also gave her the creeps.
12
At noon on Sunday Josh picked up the first arrival, Claire, at the Westchester Airport. Although she knew Josh, who had been hired shortly before Betsy’s death, she gave him only a brief hello and did not engage in any conversation with him. As he drove her to the Westchester Hilton, she reflected on the plans for the next three days. On Monday they would meet for the first time over breakfast. They would be free for the rest of the day to reacquaint themselves with the house and the grounds. The individual interviews would take place on Tuesday. They had all agreed to sleep at the house Tuesday night in the same rooms they had been in twenty years earlier. Wednesday morning would be Robert Powell’s interview, followed by their being photographed at the luncheon table. They would then be driven to their departing flights.
“While we are certainly aware of how painful this will be for all of you, by your willingness to appear on the program, you each are making a forceful statement to clear your names,” was the conclusion of Laurie’s letter.
Clear our names! Claire Bonner thought bitterly as she checked into the Westchester Hilton.
She was wearing a light-green summer pantsuit she had bought at an expensive boutique in Chicago. In the three months since the first letter had come from Laurie Moran, she had let her hair grow and had lightened it so that now it was a shining mane around her shoulders. But today she had it tied in a ponytail with a scarf over her head. She had also practiced using makeup, but was wearing none today. With makeup and hair combed as her mother had worn it, she knew she bore a startling resemblance to her. She did not want Josh to see that resemblance and tell Powell until she met with him face to face.
“Your suite is ready, Ms. Bonner,” the clerk said, and waved to the bellman. Claire caught the long glance he gave her and the hint of excitement in his voice.
Why not? It would be almost impossible to miss all the newspaper articles about the upcoming program. The gossip magazines were having a field day digging up everything they could find about Betsy Bonner Powell. USHERED TO A FATAL NEW LIFESTYLE was a particularly grating one that had appeared on the front page of the Shocker, a sensational weekly. The article detailed the first meeting of Betsy Bonner and Robert Powell. Betsy had taken her daughter, Claire, to lunch at a restaurant in Rye for her thirteenth birthday. Robert Powell, a widower, had been seated across the room with Claire’s friend Nina and her mother. As Betsy and Claire were leaving, Nina had called to them. They walked over to Powell’s table, where Nina introduced Betsy and Claire to the Wall Street hedge fund multimillionaire.
“The rest is, as they say, history,” was the trite introduction to the final columns of that story. Robert Powell claimed it was love at first sight. He and Betsy Bonner were married three months later.
“Actress Muriel Craig put up a brave front, but insiders say she was furious and blamed her daughter, Nina, for making it a point to call out to Claire in the restaurant.”
I know that’s true, Claire thought as she followed the bellman to the elevator. Poor Nina.
The suite consisted of a large bedroom and living room, a full bath, and a powder room furnished in pastel shades. It was both attractive and restful.
Claire tipped the bellman, phoned room service, and unpacked her one suitcase. It contained the three outfits she had selected to bring with her, as well as her supply of new cosmetics.
In one of her e-mails, Laurie Moran had requested Claire’s size and height, saying that she would have wardrobe changes available.
Wardrobe changes! Claire had thought when she read the e-mail. Why on earth would I need changes?
But then she had understood. Moran would provide gowns similar but not identical to the ones they had worn twenty years ago at the Gala.
They would reenact a few of the scenes in the films, like the one of the four of them clinking glasses or with arms around one another, posing for the cameras. And individually being questioned by the police.
I know I look good, Claire thought. Now I’m so like my dear mother.
A light tap at the door told her that room service had arrived with the chicken salad and iced tea she had ordered.
But as she nibbled at the salad and sipped the tea, Claire realized that she was not as brave as she had thought.
Something was telling her not to go forward with her plan.
Just nerves, she tried to reassure herself. Just nerves.
But it was more than that.
Like a drumbeat in her head, her inner voice was saying, Don’t do it. Don’t do it. It is not worth the risk!
13
It had been a long trip from Cleveland to Westchester Airport. A heavy rainstorm had caused their plane to sit on the tarmac for two hours, and even though they were flying on a small private jet, there was little space to move around. This made it very difficult for Rod’s back. At one point, she suggested they just forget the whole thing.
“Alie, this is your chance to get the degree you always wanted. Between Powell and the production company, you’ll net three hundred thousand dollars. It will pay for medical school and all the other expenses, but every cent counts. You know how desperately you have always wanted to be a doctor and then go into medical research,” Rod had said in refusal.
Even if I can commute to school, I will have to be studying all the time. Where does that leave Rod? Or if I have to go away to school, does he leave his job at the pharmacy and come with me but then have nothing to do? she wondered. But if that happens, then the pharmacy loses both him and me, and we have to hire two new people. I don’t know how that’s going to work.