Robert was saying, “I think we’d better order.”
Throughout the dinner, he skillfully intermingled compliments with subtle questions. “I was so flattered to hear that you blamed Nina for calling Claire and Betsy to the table that day, Muriel.”
“I could have killed her,” Muriel admitted, her voice thick and a little loud. “I was so in love with you.”
“And I often thought of you over the years and wondered how stupidly carried away I was, and how much I came to regret it.” He paused. “And then, when Betsy was mercifully off my hands, I wish I could have known who to thank.”
Muriel looked hesitant, then glanced around the dining room to be sure that the occupants at the surrounding tables were absorbed in their own conversations. Satisfied, she bent forward and leaned across the table as far as she could, getting a smear of butter on the lapel of her new suit.
“Robbie, do you mean you were glad when Betsy was smothered?”
“Promise not to tell anyone that,” he whispered.
“Of course not. It’s our secret. But you know how close my daughter, Nina, and I have always been?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, she was so upset with what Betsy wrote on my invitation, you know, how she wanted me to see how happy you two were and how glad she was that Nina had introduced you…”
“I learned about it later, and I was shocked.”
“I was hurt, but Nina was furious at her. She knew how much I loved you. Rob, I think Nina was the one who killed Betsy. She did it for me so that I would have another chance with you.”
“Are you sure, or are you guessing, Muriel?” Robert Powell’s eyes were suddenly alert, his tone of voice sharp.
Muriel Craig looked at him, vaguely aware of the change in his manner. “Of course I’m sure, Robbie. She called me. You remember, I was in Hollywood and she was crying over the phone. She said, ‘Mommy, I’m scared. They’re asking so many questions.
“ ‘Mommy, I did it for you.’ ”
Jane checked the bedrooms for the last time before they all got back. She had opened the bar in the den and laid out a platter of hors d’oeuvres just as she had done the night Betsy was murdered. She thought, Oh, to be rid of all of them at last!
After several days of all this activity, she was unused to the blessed silence in the house. Mr. Rob had taken that impossible Muriel Craig out to dinner. No question, she looked beautiful, but there was no doubt she already had a few under her belt.
And there was a faint smell of smoke in her bathroom.
Mr. Rob scorned anyone who drank too much or smoked.
Mr. Rob was toying with Muriel. Jane knew the signs. It was similar to the way Betsy had toyed with Regina’s father, until she got him to sink every nickel he had into the hedge fund.
Oh, they were quite the pair of experts at cheating people, she thought with admiration. Plus, Betsy was a two-faced fraud. She had skillfully hidden her little dalliances from Mr. Rob.
That was why Betsy had slipped me little gifts to keep my mouth shut, Jane thought.
But she was worried now. She had missed the fact that Josh had been playing his own little game, blackmailing people he taped in the car.
If Mr. Rob knew she had covered for Betsy, she would be fired at once. He must never know. But who would tell him? Not Josh. He’d lose his job, too.
I still have the jewelry that George Curtis gave Betsy, Jane thought as she turned down the beds for the visitors and lowered the shades in their rooms, a job she hadn’t done in twenty years-except, of course, for Mr. Rob. Sometimes she put a chocolate on his pillow, just as they did in hotels.
Mr. Curtis had been here this afternoon. Boy, he must have been squirming, she thought, talking to Alex Buckley about the Gala.
After the Gala, Jane had fixed the platter of hors d’oeuvres for the girls and brought them to the den. I was in and out for the first half hour or so and listened to all of them until they really let go on Betsy. Then they started to look at me and I said good night.
If push came to shove, I could make a case against any one of them, she told herself.
She laid her head on Mr. Rob’s pillow, just for an instant. Then she pulled herself up and with rapid fingers plumped it again.
Tomorrow night at this time she and Mr. Rob would be alone again.
83
“It’s time to get back,” Alex said reluctantly. For the last ninety minutes, in between thoroughly enjoying chatting with Laurie over an excellent dinner, he had found himself telling her stories of his own background-how his mother and then his father had died when he was in college, how at age twenty-one he had become his seventeen-year-old brother’s guardian.
“He became my ‘little guy,’ ” he said, and then, appalled at his own words, said, “Laurie, I’m sorry. There’s no comparison with your situation.”
“No, there isn’t,” Laurie said matter-of-factly. “But I hate it when people weigh and measure every word they say to me. It’s a continuing factor of my life. But your brother grew up and is a successful lawyer, and someday Blue Eyes will be captured and this awful burden will be gone. My one comfort is that Blue Eyes swore he’d get me first.” She sipped a taste of champagne. “I can drink to that!” she said.
“Put down that glass,” Alex said forcefully. “Let’s drink to Blue Eyes being captured and rotting in prison for the rest of his life.” He did not add, Or being shot between the eyes in cold blood, as he murdered your husband, Dr. Greg Moran.
Reluctantly, Alex signaled for the check.
Fifteen minutes later they were driving toward Westchester on the Henry Hudson Parkway.
Alex could see that Laurie was struggling to stay awake. “Look, why don’t you close your eyes?” he suggested. “You told me you didn’t sleep last night because you were worried about your dad, and I doubt you’ll sleep much tonight, either.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Laurie sighed. She closed her eyes and in less than a minute Alex heard the sound of her soft, even breathing.
He glanced over at her from time to time. From the outside lights of the parkway he could see her profile, and then was pleased when, in her sleep, her head turned toward him.
He thought about how worried Leo Farley was about her being under the same roof as these people, one of whom was surely a murderer-but which one?
And there was something familiar about that gardener. What was it? He had snapped his picture yesterday when he was out on the patio and sent it to his investigator. He had also called Perfect Estates. He had told the person answering the phone that, for security reasons, he was just verifying the names of everyone on the property.
Robert Powell’s speech at lunch was clearly an attempt to frighten one of them into making a move, Alex thought, and whoever that person is may take a last, desperate chance to stop him.
Thirty minutes later he tapped Laurie’s arm. “Okay, ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ ” he said briskly. “Time to wake up. We’re here for the night.”
Bruno was in the office at the camp. The counselor on night duty had been summoned from his cabin.
Toby Barber was twenty-six years old, a good sleeper, an early-to-bed type. Rubbing his eyes, he came into the office to confront Bruno, authoritative in his police uniform, a concerned look on his face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Barber,” he told Toby, “but it’s very, very important. Commissioner Farley has had a major heart attack. He may not make it. He wants to see his grandson now.”