After their conversation he had googled her. The fact that she was the widow of the doctor who had been shot in the playground and that she had an impressive background as a producer intrigued him. Her picture showed her to be a very attractive woman. I’m not too old to appreciate that, Rob thought.
There was a tap on the door, and Jane, who had been his housekeeper from the time he married Betsy, opened it and stepped into the room, followed by Laurie Moran.
“Thank you, Jane,” Rob said, and waited until Jane had left, closing the door behind her, before he got up. “Ms. Moran,” he said courteously. He extended his hand to Laurie and indicated the chair on the other side of the desk.
Robert Powell could not know that Laurie was thinking, Well, this is it, as with a warm smile she settled in the chair. The housekeeper had taken her coat when she arrived. She was wearing a navy pin-striped pantsuit, white shell blouse, and navy leather boots. Her only jewelry was a pair of small pearl earrings and her gold wedding band. She had pulled her hair back and pinned it into a French knot, a style that made her feel more efficient.
Within five minutes she was sure that Robert Powell had already decided to go ahead with the program, but it took him ten minutes before he confirmed that fact.
“Mr. Powell, I’m thrilled that you are willing to let us re-create the night of the Graduation Gala. Now, of course, we will need the cooperation of your stepdaughter and her friends. Will you help me persuade them to participate?”
“I’m happy to do that, although obviously I can’t speak for any of them.”
“Have you stayed close to your stepdaughter since your wife died?”
“No. Not that I haven’t wanted to stay close. I was and am very fond of Claire. She lived here from the time she was thirteen until she was twenty-one. Her mother’s death was a terrible shock for her. I don’t know how much you studied her background, but her mother and father were never married. He took off when Betsy became pregnant with Claire. Betsy was doing bit parts on Broadway and when she wasn’t acting she worked as an usher there. It was hardscrabble for her and Claire until I came along.”
Then he added, “Betsy was beautiful. I’m sure she could have easily married someone along the way, but after her experience with Claire’s father, I know she was gun-shy.”
“I can understand that,” Laurie said, nodding.
“I can, too. Never having had children, I thought of Claire as my own daughter. It hurt when she moved out so quickly after Betsy’s death. But I think that between us there was too much grief to hold under one roof, and she sensed it immediately. As I’m sure you know, she lives in Chicago and is a social worker there. She never married.”
“She never came back here?”
“No, and never accepted my offer of generous financial help. She returned my letters torn up.”
“Why do you think she did that?” Laurie asked.
“She was fiercely jealous of my relationship with her mother. Don’t forget, it was just the two of them for thirteen years.”
“Then do you think she’ll refuse to take part in the program?”
“No, I don’t. Every so often an enterprising reporter has written about the case, and some of them have quoted Claire or one of the other girls. What they have said has been uniform. They all feel as though people look at them with questions in their eyes, and they’d all like an end to it.”
“We’re planning to offer each of them $50,000 for being on the program,” Laurie told him.
“I’ve kept track of all of them. There isn’t one who couldn’t use financial help. In order to ensure that they accept, I authorize you to say that I am prepared to pay each one of them a quarter of a million dollars for their cooperation.”
“You would do that?” Laurie exclaimed.
“Yes, and tell me anyone else you will want to interview on your program.”
Laurie said, “Of course, I will want to interview your housekeeper.”
“Give her the $50,000 you’re giving the others and I’ll give her another $50,000. I’ll make sure she does it. It is not necessary that she be paid the same as the others. I am seventy-eight years old and have three stents in the arteries leading to my heart. I know that, like the girls, I am under suspicion-or do you call it a ‘person of interest’ these days? Before I die, I want to sit in a courtroom and see Betsy’s murderer sentenced to prison.”
“You never heard any sound from her room?”
“No. As I’m sure you’re aware, we shared a suite. The sitting room was in the middle, our bedrooms on either side. I confess I am a heavy sleeper and snore very loudly. When we said good night, I went to my bedroom.”
That evening Laurie waited until Timmy was deep in his Harry Potter book before she told her father about her meeting with Powell.
“I know I shouldn’t make any judgment yet, but I heard the ring of truth in Powell’s voice when he was talking,” Laurie said. “And his offer to pay the girls a quarter of a million dollars is wonderful.”
“A quarter of a million dollars plus what you pay them,” Leo repeated. “You say that Powell knows all four women could use the money?”
“Yes, that’s what he said.” Laurie realized that she sounded defensive.
“Has Powell helped any of them out along the way, including his stepdaughter?”
“He indicated that he didn’t.”
“I think it’s a question you should look into. Who knows what his real motive may be to hand out all that money.” Leo couldn’t help but question these people’s intentions. It was the cop in him. And the father. And grandfather.
With that, he decided to finish his coffee and go home. I’m getting too jumpy, he thought, and that won’t do either Laurie or Timmy any good. Even the way I shouted at that guy on skates. I was right, he could have hurt someone; but it was the fact that he actually brushed against Timmy that scared me. If he’d had a gun or a knife, even with my hand in Timmy’s, I couldn’t have protected him from an attack fast enough.
Leo knew the grim reality that if a murderer had a grudge against someone, no order of protection or vigilance could keep them from satisfying his need to kill his target.
4
Claire Bonner settled at a table in the Seafood Bar of The Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach. She was facing the ocean and watched with detached interest as the waves crashed against the retaining wall directly below the Bar. The sun was shining but the winds were stronger than she had expected in Florida on an early spring day.
She was wearing a newly purchased zippered jacket in a light shade of blue. She had bought it when she noticed that it carried the name of THE BREAKERS on the breast pocket. It was part of the fantasy of spending this long weekend here. Her short ash-blond hair framed a face that was half-hidden by oversized sunglasses. The glasses were seldom off, but when they were, Claire’s beautiful features were revealed, as well as the tranquil expression that had taken her years to achieve. In fact, a discerning observer might have realized that the expression was caused by the acceptance of reality rather than peace of mind. Her slender frame had an aura of fragility as though she had been recently ill. The same observer might have guessed her to be in her mid-thirties. In that case he would have been wrong. She was forty-one.
In the past four days she had had the same polite young waiter and now was greeted by name as he approached her table. “Let me guess, Ms. Bonner,” he said. “Seafood chowder and two large stone crabs.”
“You have it,” Claire said as a brief smile touched the corner of her lips.
“And the usual glass of chardonnay,” he added as he jotted down the order.
You do something for a few days in a row and it becomes the usual, she thought wryly.