Ruth brought Mother up to date on her abbreviated trip while I listened jealously. Morning walks to the rice paddies, meditation, herbal steam baths-it sounded positively divine. After an hour, Daddy joined us, smelling like Ivory soap and having changed into a pair of freshly pressed khaki pants and a red plaid shirt. His hair was still damp. I listened impatiently while Ruth repeated it all for him, but Mother didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and asked questions as if it were the very first time she’d heard about colonic hydrotherapy.
Ruth’s Conduit Street cupboard had never been so thoroughly bare, so I made her come to our house for dinner. Carryout was on the menu again, a particular specialty of mine. Ruth happily joined Paul and me in the kitchen, where we heaped our plates high and dug in.
That was where Connie and Dennis found us a few minutes later, our teeth sunk into slices of garlic bread and our forks fully draped with spaghetti puttanesca from Cantina d’Italia.
I wiped tomato sauce off my chin. “Hi, you guys.”
Dennis removed his leather jacket and draped it over the back of a vacant chair. “Got something you’ve been waiting for, Hannah.” He laid a photocopy of a fax on the table. “It’s from the Waterville police department. Came in today.”
“You are amazing!” My dinner was forgotten. “But how are you able to show this to us?”
Dennis pulled a chair out for Connie, waited until she was seated, then sat down himself. “It was all part of the official court proceedings. Although Mrs. Voorhis’s note was never made public, the gist of it certainly leaked out.”
Connie wriggled out of her jacket, leaned forward to snitch a strand of spaghetti from my plate, and continued, “Small wonder, when you read what it says.”
I picked up the photocopy with both hands and held it in front of me. Paul leaned sideways and craned his neck to get a better view.
In a neat, looping hand, Fiona Voorhis had written:
I can’t go on living. Truthfully, I have been dying for years, a little bit every day, sick with the knowledge of what Mark has done to our daughter; hating myself for the part I played in his abuse out of simple ignorance and denial. Will anyone listen to me now?
Underneath, on the same piece of paper, was the photocopy of another note. Fiona had left a message for her daughter, too.
My darling Diane. Someday you’ll understand. Forgive me. I love you. Mother.
A dozen words that thirteen-year-old Diane Sturgis must have memorized and carried about with her in her heart.
Finally, all these years later, Diane had understood.
chapter 20
It had been two weeks since Dennis first showed us Fiona Voorhis’s last sad letters. Connie sat across from me at my kitchen table with a half-eaten piece of apple pie in front of her. “You did what?” Her voice cut through the air like a saw hitting a nail.
“I sent him a note.”
“What kind of note?”
“I got to thinking about that dumb movie I Know What You Did Last Summer.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“So I sent him a note saying, ‘I know what you did.’ And I stapled it to a clipping from the Sun about this guy who’s on trial for abusing his daughters.”
“Hannah, are you nuts?”
“It was anonymous. He won’t know who sent it.”
Connie laid down her fork and relaxed into her chair. “So what’s the point?”
Connie was going to hate what I was about to tell her. “Well, I suggested he meet me at All Hallows to talk about it. At seven tonight.”
I was right. Connie half rose from her chair with a murderous gleam in her eyes, then sat down abruptly.
“The way I figure it, Connie, if he’s guilty, he’ll turn up just to see what I know. If he’s not guilty, he’ll ignore it. Tear up the note and throw it away.”
“What reason would he have to show up? You can’t prove he abused his daughter.”
“I know that, but he doesn’t.” I avoided her eyes. “I lied. I told him I had evidence he might be interested in.”
Connie’s silver earrings bounced against her neck. “Oh, Lord! And I suppose you’ll want me to go along with you on this?”
“Well, yes. Why else would I tell you?”
She frowned. “Dennis isn’t going to like this.”
“I don’t suppose he will, but I’m counting on you to get him to come along.”
“What!” Connie spluttered, her face an alarming shade of pink.
“Don’t blow a gasket, Connie.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m panicking. You are dangerous to know.”
“I’ve got it all figured out. Georgina told me about the sound system they use at All Hallows to record the sermons. It’s installed in the fellowship hall somewhere, underneath the sanctuary.” I had been trying to remember if I had seen an AV closet the night I crashed the therapy session. It might have been behind any one of several closed doors.
Connie avoided me by closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the palm of her hand.
“If Voorhis shows up in the sanctuary, I’ll get him to confess and we’ll have it all on tape,” I argued.
“Hannah, I told you. Dennis will have no part of this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s got to be illegal, for one thing.”
“That’s just on TV.” I leaned over and tried to look up into her eyes. “Look, I swear to you. Dr. Voorhis came to my hospital room. I was not imagining it. And don’t forget what Dennis found out about Fiona Voorhis.”
“Hannah, have you ever stopped to consider that Fiona Voorhis might have been deranged?” Connie skewered me with her eyes. “Just like a certain sister-in-law I could mention.”
“I agree. Any one of these facts taken separately mightn’t amount to much, but put it together with what Stephanie Golden told me about her last session with Diane Sturgis and it all adds up.”
“To what?”
I felt for the plastic syringe cap, still in my pocket. Whenever I began to doubt myself, I’d wrap my fingers around that solid object and know I was completely sane. “It adds up to the fact that Voorhis killed Diane when she confronted him about his abuse. What’s more, he knows I know it.”
Connie studied me seriously. “Consider this. If Voorhis really visited your hospital room, then the man is dangerous.”
“Exactly! That’s why I need Dennis. If things get dicey, Dennis will leap out of the woodwork and make an arrest.”
“Dennis can’t do that! It’s not his jurisdiction. You’ll have to pull your own chestnuts out of the fire this time, Hannah.”
Connie was remembering how Dennis had raced to the rescue the last time I had a showdown with someone intent on murder. Now I’d stuck my neck out again. “Well, it’s too late now. Voorhis must have my envelope. If he comes, he comes.”
“Why don’t we just stake out the church, hide in the bushes or something, and see if he shows up?” Connie didn’t give in easily, but I was heartened to hear the “we.”
“That won’t do any good. We’ll know, but where’s the proof?” I shook my head. “Nope. We’ve got to get him to admit to everything on tape.”
Connie was close to tears. “What a mess.”
I smiled crookedly at her. “But, as you say, he won’t show up and we can all go out afterward for pizza and talk about how crazy Hannah is.”
Connie cocked her head to one side. “How are you going to get into the church? It’s Friday, for Pete’s sake.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the second object that I kept there. “I’ve got a key.”