“You still feel that way?”
“How could I not? This last year alone there were two major articles in syndicated newspapers about the case. I can always tell when a new one comes out. Someone comes into the pharmacy and buys something insignificant like toothpaste and looks at me as though I were a bug under a microscope.”
“Alison, that’s an interesting comparison. Have you been feeling like a bug under a microscope all these years? You had hoped to earn a medical degree, didn’t you?”
Be careful, Alison warned herself. “Yes, I did.”
“You had every expectation of being awarded a scholarship, isn’t that true?”
“I was in contention,” Alison said evenly. “I came in second. It happens.”
“Alison, I’ve done some research. Isn’t it a fact that just before your graduation, Robert Powell pledged some ten million dollars to your college for a new dormitory to be named ‘The Robert and Betsy Powell House’?”
“I know he did.”
“Is it true that the recipient of the scholarship was the daughter of a friend of Betsy Powell’s?”
Alison, you’re bitter. You can’t let the bitterness show.
It was as though Rod were shouting in her ear.
“Of course I was disappointed. I earned that scholarship and everyone knew it. Throwing it to Vivian Fields was Betsy’s way of getting into the club Vivian’s mother ran.
“But you see, all regret stopped right there. Rod had just signed a big contract with the Giants, and the first thing he did was to propose to me. We were engaged, and his wedding present to me was going to be sending me to medical school.”
“Then why didn’t you invite Rod to the Gala, if you were engaged to him?”
Alison attempted a smile. “Actually, it was just prior to our engagement. Rod thought I was very foolish to go to the Gala after what Betsy pulled on me.”
It sounds all right, she thought. I didn’t invite him because I wasn’t in love with him. But then when he signed with the Giants and promised to send me to school, I agreed to marry him… She fought to keep control of herself.
Alex Buckley’s eyes bored into her. “Alison, I would like you to close your eyes and visualize the moment you walked into Betsy’s room after you heard Jane screaming.”
His tone was almost hypnotic. Obediently, Alison closed her eyes.
She was in Betsy’s room. She stepped on the earring, and that startled her. She heard a door open and slipped into the closet behind her. She saw someone come in and take the other pillow from Betsy’s bed. Then that shadowy figure leaned over Betsy.
Through a crack in the door she watched as Betsy’s body twisted and turned as the pillow suffocated her. Her muted groans were quickly stifled.
Then the figure slipped away. Was I dreaming, Alison asked herself, or did I really see a face?
She didn’t know. Her eyes snapped open.
Alex Buckley saw the startled look on her face. “What is it, Alison?” he asked quickly. “You look frightened.”
Alison burst out: “I can’t stand this anymore! I absolutely can’t stand it. I don’t care what people think about me. Let them wonder if I killed Betsy. I did not, but I will tell you this: when I ran into that room and saw she was dead, I was glad! And so were the others. Betsy Powell was evil and vain and a whore, and I hope she’s rotting in hell.”
62
Jane was next. She was not a heavy woman, but her broad shoulders and straight carriage gave her a formidable appearance. Her constant uniform of black dress and crisp white apron seems almost a caricature, Alex thought. Except for during formal dinners, none of his friends had their help dressed like that.
She sat in the chair vacated by Alison. “Ms. Novak,” Alex began. “You and Betsy Powell worked together in the theatre?”
Jane smiled thinly. “That sounds very glamorous. I cleaned the dressing rooms and mended the costumes. Betsy was an usher, and when a play closed, we would both be transferred to another theatre.”
“Then you were good friends.”
“Good friends? What does that mean? We worked together. I like to cook. I’d ask her and Claire to dinner some Sundays. I was sure everything they ate was takeout. Betsy was no cook. And Claire was such a sweet child.”
“Were you surprised when Betsy moved to Salem Ridge?”
“Betsy wanted to marry money. She decided living in a wealthy community was her best chance. Turns out she was right.”
“She was thirty-two when she married Robert Powell. Wasn’t there anyone before that?”
“Oh, Betsy dated, but no one had enough money for her.” Jane smirked. “You should have heard what she said about some of them.”
“Was there anyone who was especially close to her?” Alex asked. “Someone who might have been jealous when she married?”
Jane shrugged. “I wouldn’t say so. They came and they went.”
“Were you upset when she asked you to call her ‘Mrs. Powell’?”
“Was I upset? Of course not. Mr. Powell is a very formal man. I have a beautiful apartment of my own here. A cleaning service comes in twice a week, so I do no heavy work. I love to cook, and Mr. Powell loves gourmet food. Why would I be upset? I came from a little village in Hungary. We had only the barest modern conveniences-running water, sometimes electricity.”
“I can see why you have been very content here. But I understand that when you rushed into Betsy Powell’s room that morning, you screamed ‘Betsy, Betsy!’ ”
“Yes, I did. I was so shocked, I didn’t know what I was doing or saying.”
“Jane, do you have any theory about who killed Betsy Powell?”
“Absolutely,” Jane said firmly, “and in a way I blame myself for her death.”
“Why is that, Jane?”
“It is because I should have known those young women would have been in and out, smoking. I should have stayed up and made sure the door was locked after they went to bed.”
“Then you think it was a stranger who came in?”
“Either through the unlocked door or else during the party. Betsy had two walk-in closets. Someone could have hidden in one of them. She was wearing a fortune in emeralds, and don’t forget, one of the earrings was on the floor.”
Behind the camera, watching and listening, Laurie found herself wondering whether Jane was right. Claire had suggested the same thing. And from what she could see, it was entirely possible that someone might have slipped upstairs during the party.
Jane was telling Alex that she had put a velvet rope across both the main and back staircases of the first floor. “There are four powder rooms on the main floor,” she concluded. “There would be no need for anyone to go upstairs, unless he or she was planning to steal Betsy’s jewelry.”
It’s as if they all put their heads together and decided on that story, Laurie thought.
Alex was saying, “Thank you for talking to us, Ms. Novak. I know how difficult it is to relive that terrible night.”
“No, you don’t,” Jane contradicted him, her voice even and sad. “To know how beautiful Betsy looked that night, then to see her face covered by that pillow and know she was dead, and to hear Mr. Powell moaning in pain… You don’t and can’t understand how hard it is to relive it, Mr. Buckley. You just can’t.”
63
Nina kept a frosty distance from her mother for the rest of the morning. When Alison went in for her interview with Alex Buckley, she joined Rod on the bench near the pool.
“Mind if I sit with you for a while?” she asked.
Rod looked startled, but then attempted a smile and said, “Of course not.”
“Are you and Alison sorry you got into this situation?” Nina asked as she sat next to him.
At Rod’s surprised look, she said, “Look, I got a tape, too, and so did Regina. I don’t know about Claire.