A Wrongful Death (23 page)

"There are two," Elizabeth said. "Terry and I stayed in one by a little lake. That one doubles as a bathhouse. The bigger one was where his parents stayed. I just saw it from a distance. But Grandfather Diedricks couldn't get his wheelchair to either of them. The property's on a slope, with some terracing, the main house higher than the rest of it, and most of it's in woods. There are at least two sets of stairs going down to the lower levels. Not many steps, five or six, but still impassable for a wheelchair. There's a narrow gravel driveway connecting the two houses, and he couldn't manage that either. Sarah used a closed-in golf cart to go back and forth."

"He wasn't in a wheelchair when he worked with Dr. Knowlton," Barbara said. "Tell me about his injuries, what you know about them."

"Not much, I'm afraid. I didn't ask questions, but what I could see was that his right arm was useless, paralyzed. And he must have hurt his hip, or his back, or something that put him in a wheelchair. And, of course, he's blind."

"But you said his mind's sharp and he uses a ham radio."

"Oh, yes. He's sharp. His mind's fine, it's his body that's a mess. He listens to audio books, history, biography, books on science and poetry for the most part. And Shakespeare. He can quote more Shakespeare than anyone else I ever met. And he likes opera, and Hoagy Carmichael. He has a complete collection of Hoagy Carmichael. Other jazz, too. He said it's music from the good old days. He listens to the news on the radio, BBC, NPR, a lot of different stations. He talks to people all over the world by ham radio."

"Where does he have the ham radio set up?"

"There's a little room off his bedroom. Maybe it used to be a dressing room, but now he uses it for the radio, and his music and books." She regarded Barbara with curiosity. "Why are you so interested in him?"

"I'm not sure. Would you say his memory had been impaired, from what you saw of him?"

"No way. He could recall things that I think of as ancient history — the dust bowl, when penicillin was introduced, names of jazz musicians I never heard of. All sorts of things."

"Okay. What about Lon Clampton? Where does he fit in that household?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I couldn't quite figure him out. He acts as general manager, tells the cook what to make for dinner, bosses the gardener around and runs errands for the family, or did then. Terry hated him. I think at one time he was afraid of him because he's so big, over six feet and broad, strong and a little rough in his manner. Not the perfect English butler, although he does what a butler would do, I guess. I had very little to do with him, I just met him a couple of times. He lives in the main house. And he has his own assistant, a man who was in charge when Lon went to New York with Sarah and Toe. I didn't actually meet him, but they called him Bud."

"Anyone else up there?"

"The live-in cook, who's also the housekeeper, and she answers to Clamp ton. And a man named Gary Swarthmore, who goes in for a few hours every day to help Grandfather Diedricks. I guess to help him bathe, dress, whatever. I think he does physical therapy. Grandfather can stand up, he just can't walk, so he isn't totally helpless. Gary takes him out in the wheelchair around the upper part of the grounds, or out in the car for a drive. Grandfather Diedricks said he'd outlived everyone he ever knew, but he likes to get out of the house. I don't know if Gary is a nurse or what his official title would be. He seemed nice."

"If I called the house, who would answer the phone?"

"Either Lon or Bud, or you'd get voice mail."

"What did you mean that Sarah uses a golf cart to go back and forth? Does she actually live in the guesthouse?"

"Maybe /guesthouse/ is exactly right. We were there for eight days and she and Joe had dinner at the main house every night that we did, and she had a bridge club meeting there that week. So I think she used the main house as if she lived there, but they slept in the guesthouse."

Barbara had a few more question about the living arrangements in the main house, and then they went out to her car to go to the bank and shop.

After Elizabeth got in the car and fastened her seat belt, she said, "You seem to have a giant clamshell in your backseat."

Barbara laughed and explained its purpose. "That's what I want to set up. It would really be neat if I could fill it with water and birds, but in the living room that could be a mistake. Anyway, birds are hard to catch. Don't you find it so?"

"I do," Elizabeth said. After a moment, she added, "If there's a craft store near any place we'll be, I'll catch you some birds." It sounded as though there was a catch in her throat as she continued. "Those weeks crossing the states with Jason we stopped in toy stores a lot, and several times in a craft store. You know, things to entertain him in the evenings before bedtime. Take me to a craft store and I'll fix your birdbath for you — my contribution to Christmas."

She turned her head away and gazed out the side window, and they both remained silent as Barbara drove to her bank. When they finished the chores on her list, she drove to Michaels craft shop, where the aisles were almost impassable with late shoppers. After a glance around, Elizabeth went to the art department and picked up a large sky-blue poster board and from there across the store to where there were tree decorations, decorations for flower arrangements, items Barbara couldn't even guess a use for. And there were life-sized faux birds on thin skewers. Elizabeth picked up two cardinals, a bluebird and a robin and said she was done.

"Lunch," Barbara said. A few minutes later, with salads in place, she asked, "Tell me something about the work you do. You're a book editor?"

Elizabeth talked about some of the books she had edited with evident pride and pleasure. "I didn't have to take a job, but I wanted to. I found that being a full-time stay-at-home mom wasn't quite enough, but I did a lot of the work at home. Since there were two of us to take turns, there was never a shortage of maternal care for Jason. It worked out well. Leonora had a sort of go-nowhere job with an auto insurance agency. She could take off pretty much whenever she wanted to and so could I. It was a good arrangement."

When she pulled up in front of the condo apartment, Barbara asked if Elizabeth wanted help getting the laptop up and running.

"No. It won't be a problem, and it gives me something to do. That's the hard part, not having anything to do. Maybe I can find Leonora's passwords. She isn't — she wasn't very computer savvy. Barbara, thanks. For today, for everything. I'll see you tomorrow before noon at your father's house."

She took her laptop into the apartment building and Barbara drove back to Frank's house. She had not looked for a follower a single time, and didn't now. She hoped the guy had followed them into the craft store, certain he would have loved it just about as much as she had.

She left the poster board and birds in the car in Frank's driveway a few minutes later, and thought that on the whole it had been a successful morning. It was two-thirty and the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Shelley's return, was not likely to be quite as successful. Inside the house, the fragrance of chocolate was intoxicating. Frank had made his Sacher torte. He always made Sacher torte for Christmas.

He came from his study before she had her jacket off. "Terry Kurtz is looking for you," he said. "He called the office and tried to get a cell phone number from Patsy first, then he called me. I told him I'd let you know."

"Now what? I'll have to see him, but where? Not the office. No one's there, heat's turned down and besides, I don't want to meet any of that crew alone. Not here. Shelley will come..." She thought, then said, "Martin's. I was going to drop in tomorrow with a gift for him and Binnie. I'll do it today."

She had found a pair of cloisonné peacocks, the cock in full magnificent display with a multicolored tail spread wide. The peahen at first glance was almost drab, but her colors, muted gold and silver, a faint peach hue, green-tinged in places, blue-gray, made her every bit as gorgeous as the male.

She called Terry's number. "I have from three until four" she said crisply. "Another appointment at four, I'm afraid. Or next week sometime."

"Where? I'll be there."

She gave him Martin's address. Then, blowing Frank a kiss, she left again, this time to go to her apartment, pick up the box and head for Martin's.

Martin and Binnie were as delighted with the gifts as she had known they would be. Martin threatened to break her ribs when he embraced her, and Binnie's eloquent expression made up for her silent thanks. Martin stroked the peacock and said, "Girl, you been watching me strut my stuff?"

"You've got it," she said, laughing. Binnie was stroking the peahen almost reverently, her beautiful smile heartbreaking.

Martin vanished into the kitchen and returned with his own box. "That Soave you like," he said. "Thought it might be nice for you to have now and then even if you don't come here to drink it."

"My God, Martin! Not six!"

"Just six. Ought to last a little while. Want me to put it in your car?"

She handed him the keys, and presently he came back in with a puzzled look. "You know you have a clamshell in the backseat of your car?"

"No! No way! Get out of here, I'm expecting company any minute. And that clamshell happens to be a birdbath," Barbara said, laughing.

"You want me to put up your In sign?"

"Nope. Just one customer and he's by appointment. I won't give him coffee or anything else, and when you let him in, make sure he's alone, will you?"

Martin's eyes narrowed and the merriment vanished. "I sure will," he said. He and Binnie picked up their birds and went to the kitchen. He came back seconds later when the doorbell rang.

Terry Kurtz was alone. He looked about the restaurant warily, as if to make certain he was in the right place, then took a chair opposite Barbara at her usual table and Martin vanished into the kitchen once more.

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," he said.

"What's on your mind?" She was studying him closely, not quite sure what had changed, but something had. Although he was not haggard, he did not look like a college boy now, and there were shadows under his eyes.

"I read that piece in the newspaper today," he said. "It's not true, Ms. Holloway. They weren't like that, what the article says. I don't know anything about Leonora Carnero, but I know Elizabeth wasn't like that. She was a fine, wonderful person without a mean bone in her and she adored Jason. Can I.. .can I tell you about her, about us?"

She nodded. "Please do."

"That year we had together, it was heaven. She loved me, Ms. Holloway. I know she did. That wasn't pretense or conniving to get pregnant. She really loved me, exactly the way I loved her. You can't pretend that, no one could pretend that. She was happy when she learned she was pregnant, but she was happy for both of us. And I blew it. Not Elizabeth. I was the one who blew it. I was jealous and afraid and I wanted us to go on the way we were forever. I blew it." He was looking at his hands on the table and clenched them both into fists. "I can't believe now how I did that. I didn't want a baby to come between us, and I thought she would choose the baby over me, freeze me out the way my own mother had always done. I ran away while she was pregnant."

His hands opened, clenched over and over. His fingers were long and shapely, like his mother's, but although he appeared to be looking at them, she thought he was not even aware of what they were doing. He was looking inward.

"When I went back, Jason cried and she picked him up to nurse him, and it hit me again, there was no room in her life for me. She had a child. Seeing him at her breast was like a knife stabbing me. Like a jealous boy."

He stood abruptly, looked around the restaurant, then sat down again. "Sorry. I should save it for a shrink. I keep looking at that picture of Jason, and I see her. He has her eyes, the same kind of teasing, mischief-making look about him. He looks so much like her. God! I was so goddamn dumb! So stupid!"

He stopped again and shook his head. "What I really wanted to say to you is that my mother can't have him. If Elizabeth said he's safe, he is. She wouldn't have left him with anyone who wasn't able to provide for him, to care for him. But whoever that is is under a lot of pressure, and it will get worse with the Amber Alert and the FBI, police everywhere watching for him. Whoever has him will hand him over, or they'll find him sooner or later and Mother will get him. She has that big reward out for information, his return. But she doesn't want him anymore than she wanted me. She'd farm him out to strangers, keep him out of sight. Please, Ms. Holloway, if you know who has him, please don't let that happen."

His voice had changed as he spoke, had become ragged, breaking in strange ways. It was almost as if he was having trouble breathing. "I'm begging you not to let that happen. I want my son. I want to be his father, take care of him, keep him with me. I want him to know he's loved very much." He shook his head. "He looks so much like her. Those beautiful eyes. Just like hers." It was little more than a whisper when he repeated it.

He stood again. "I guess that's what I really wanted to say. Just to beg you not to let my mother have my son."

Barbara stood, too. "Mr. Kurtz, are you staying here in town?"

"Mother and Lon left this morning. I'll stay here until they find him. You can call my cell phone any time, day or night, and I'll be here within minutes. Ms. Holloway—" He looked as if he wanted to make his plea again, to elaborate, explain, but he added nothing, perhaps realizing that he had said it all. He closed his eyes briefly. "Nothing. Thanks for seeing me."

"Mr. Kurtz, will you answer a question? You said you overheard a conversation that convinced you that Elizabeth and Leonora were lovers. Did you hear anything like that?"

He shook his head. "Reading that newspaper today brought it home to me. I'm responsible for that. I said she had what she wanted and didn't need me anymore. Like a spoiled, jealous child, making excuses. Then I went along with it when Mother put her own interpretation on what I said. Spite, jealousy, a streak of meanness, I don't know what it was that made me say it, then go along with it."