The last night they were at dinner on the cruise Zach asked her about the night Betsy died. He had overheard his father telling Sonya all about it and had googled it.
Regina had then told him about the note.
Was I wrong to tell him about it? she wondered now. I needed to talk to someone about it. I was always worried I had made a mistake by not showing it to my mother.
Don’t dwell on it, Regina thought as she helped herself to a second glass of wine.
It was eight o’clock when she landed at Westchester. The driver who met her introduced himself as Mr. Powell’s chauffeur, Josh Damiano. He told her that Mr. Powell wanted to ensure her comfort.
It was hard not to laugh out loud. When he opened the door of the Bentley for her, she could not resist commenting to him, “I guess Mr. Powell has outgrown the Mercedes?”
“Oh no,” Damiano answered with a smile. “He has a Mercedes wagon.”
“I’m so glad.” Shut your mouth, Regina warned herself as she stepped into the car.
They were barely leaving the airport when her cell phone rang.
It was Zach. “We’re about to board, Mom. Wanted to be sure you landed safely.”
“Oh, Zach, how sweet of you. I miss you already.”
Zach’s tone changed. “Mom, the note. You told me you were tempted to shove it in Powell’s face. Have you got it with you?”
“Yes. I have it, but don’t worry. I won’t be that crazy. It’s in my suitcase. I promise you, no one can find it.”
“Mom, tear it up! If anyone found it, you could be in big trouble.”
“Zach, if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll tear it up.”
No I won’t, she thought, but I can’t let him get on that plane upset about me.
In the front seat, Josh Damiano had not expected to record Regina because she was traveling alone. When he heard her phone ring, he quickly turned on the recorder. Maybe I’ll get lucky, he thought.
You couldn’t be too careful when you worked for a man like Mr. Powell.
15
It had been a long day. Sitting in her office with Jerry and Grace, Laurie had gone over a myriad of details to ensure everything was in order for the first day of shooting.
She finally leaned back and said, “That’s it, the die is cast, we can’t do anything more now. The graduates are all here, and tomorrow we meet them. We start the day at nine A.M. Mr. Powell said that the housekeeper will have coffee and fruit and rolls prepared.”
“It’s amazing. They claim that not one of them has been in touch with the others all these years,” Jerry observed, “but I bet they google each other once in a while. I would if I were one of them. My aunt always googles to see what her ex is up to.”
“I would guess this meeting will be awkward for at least the first few minutes,” Laurie said, a worried note in her voice. “But they were close friends for years, and they all went through hell being interrogated by the police.”
“Nina Craig once told a reporter every one of them was accused of having been part of a plan to murder Betsy, and that the detective told her she’d better turn state’s witness to get a lighter sentence,” Jerry recalled. “That must have been pretty scary.”
“I still don’t get why any one of the graduates would have wanted to kill Betsy Powell,” Grace said, shaking her head. “They’re celebrating their graduation at a lavish party. They have their whole lives in front of them. They all look happy in the films of the party.”
“Maybe one of them wasn’t as happy as she looked,” Laurie suggested.
“This is the way I look at it,” Grace declared. “Betsy’s daughter, Claire, certainly didn’t seem to have any reason to kill her mother. They were always very close. Regina Callari’s father lost his money in one of Powell’s hedge funds, but even her mother admitted that Powell had repeatedly warned him that while he might make a lot of money, he should not invest more than he could afford to lose. Nina Craig’s mother was dating Powell when he met Betsy, but unless you’re really crazy you don’t suffocate someone for a reason like that. And Alison Schaefer married her boyfriend four months after graduation. He was already a football star with a multimillion-dollar contract. What reason would she have had for putting a pillow over Betsy Powell’s face?”
As she was speaking, Grace held up her fingers one by one to illustrate the point she was making. “And that sour-looking housekeeper had been hired by Betsy,” she continued. “My guess is it was as simple as a burglary gone wrong. The house is big. There are sliding glass doors all over the place. The alarm wasn’t on. One door was unlocked. Anyone could have gotten in. I think it was someone who was after the emerald necklace and earrings. They were worth a fortune. Don’t forget, one of the earrings was on the floor of her bedroom.”
“Someone in the crowd may have been a party crasher,” Laurie agreed. “Some of the guests asked to bring friends, and there are a couple of people in the films that no one could identify positively.” She paused. “Well, maybe this program will bring that out. If so, Powell, the housekeeper, and the graduates will certainly be glad they participated.”
“I think they’re already glad,” Jerry observed. “Three hundred thousand dollars net is a pretty nice number to put in your wallet. I wish I had it.”
“If I did, I’d treat myself to a new apartment that’s only a four-story walk-up,” Grace said with a sigh.
“But if it turns out that one of them did it, she could always hire Alex Buckley to defend her,” Jerry suggested. “With his fees, that three hundred thousand dollars would go up in smoke.”
Alex Buckley was the renowned criminal lawyer who would be the host of the program and would conduct separate interviews with Powell, the housekeeper, and the graduates. Thirty-eight years old, he was a frequent guest on television programs discussing major crimes.
He had become famous by defending a mogul accused of murdering his business partner. Against tremendous odds Buckley had secured a not-guilty verdict, which the press had deplored as a miserable miscarriage of justice. Then, ten months later, the business partner’s wife committed suicide, leaving a note saying that she had murdered her husband.
After watching countless videos of Alex Buckley, Laurie had decided he would be the ideal narrator of the Graduation Gala program.
Then she had to convince him.
She had called his office and made an appointment to see him.
A moment after she was ushered into his office he had taken an urgent phone call, and sitting across from his desk Laurie had had a chance to study him closely.
He had dark hair, blue-green eyes accentuated by black-rimmed glasses, a firm chin, and the tall, lanky build that she knew had made him a basketball star in college.
Observing him on television, she had decided that he was the kind of man people instinctively liked and trusted, and that was the quality she was looking for in a narrator who would also be on camera. That instinct was reinforced as she heard him reassuring the person he was speaking to that there was no reason to worry.
When he finished the phone call, his apologetic smile was warm and genuine. But his first question-“And what can I do for you, Ms. Moran?”-warned her not to waste his time.
Laurie had been prepared, succinct, and passionate.
She thought back to the moment when Alex Buckley leaned back in his chair and said, “I’d be very interested in taking part in the program, Ms. Moran.”
“Laurie, I was sure you were going to get turned down flat that day,” Jerry said.
“I knew that the money I could offer Buckley for being on the program wasn’t enough to compensate him, but my hunch was he might be intrigued by the unsolved Graduation Gala case. Thank heaven it turns out that I was right.”