All Around the Town (24 page)

SARAH WAS waiting for him in the reception area. He kissed her cheek. It was obvious to him that she'd been going through hell. Deep circles underlined her eyes. Her dark brows and lashes made her skin seem transparent. She immediately brought him in to meet Laurie's doctor.

Donnelly was gravely honest. "Someday Laurie may be able to tell us about those years she was missing and about Allan Grant's death, but as it stands now, she can't tell us in time to prepare her defense. What we're trying to do is to in effect go around her, to recreate a scene in which she had a dissociative reaction and see if we can learn what set her off. You've told Sarah and Detective Moody about the episode in your apartment a year ago---we'd like to recreate it.

"Laurie's agreeable to the experiment. We're going to videotape you with her. We need you to describe in her presence, what you were doing, what you were saying, where you were in relation to each other. Please, for her sake don't edit or hide anything. I mean anything."

Gregg nodded.

Dr. Donnelly picked up the phone. "Will you bring Laurie in, please?"

Gregg didn't know what to expect. Certainly it wasn't the attractive Laurie dressed in a short cotton skirt and T-shirt, a narrow belt cinching her slender waist, sandals on her feet. She stiffened when she saw him. Some instinct made Gregg decide not to get up. He waved at her casually. "Hi, Laurie."

She watched him warily as she took a seat next to Sarah, then nodded but said nothing.

Justin turned on the camera. "Gregg, Laurie came to visit you about a year ago and for some unknown reason, she panicked. Tell us about it."

Gregg had gone over that morning so often in his mind that there was no hesitation. "It was Sunday. I slept late. At ten o'clock Laurie rang the bell and woke me up."

"Describe where you live," Justin cut in.

"A rented studio over a garage a couple of miles from the campus. Compact kitchen, countertop with stools, convertible sofa bed, bookcases, dresser, two closets, decent-sized John. Actually it's not bad as these things go."

Sarah watched Laurie close her eyes as though remembering.

"All right," Justin said. "Did you expect Laurie to drop in?"

"No. She was going home for the day. Actually she had invited me to go with her, but I had a term paper due. She'd been to the nine o'clock mass, then stopped at the bakery. When I opened the door, she said something like, 'Coffee for a hot bagel? Fair trade?'"

"What was her attitude?"

"Relaxed. Laughing. We'd played golf on Saturday and it had been a close round. She'd beaten me by only a stroke. Sunday morning she was wearing a white linen dress and looked terrific."

"Did you kiss her?"

Gregg glanced at Laurie. "On the cheek. I'd get signals from her. Occasionally she could be pretty responsive when I'd start to kiss her, but I was always careful. It was like you could scare her away. When I kissed her or put my arm around her, I'd do it slowly and casually and see if she'd tense up. If she did, I quit right away."

"Didn't you find that pretty frustrating?" Justin asked quickly.

"Sure. But I think I always knew there was something in Laurie that was afraid, and that I would have to wait for her to trust me." Gregg looked directly at Laurie. "I'd never hurt her. I'd kill before I let anyone else hurt her."

Laurie was staring at him, no longer avoiding his gaze. It was she who spoke next. "I sat next to Gregg at the counter. We had two cups of coffee and split the third bagel. We were talking about when we could get in another round of golf. I felt so happy that day. It was such a beautiful morning and everything felt so fresh and clean." Her voice faltered as she said "clean."

Gregg stood up. "Laurie said she had to be on her way. She kissed me and started to leave."

"There was no sign of fear or panic at that point?" Justin interjected.

"None."

"Laurie, I want you to stand near Gregg just as you did that day. Pretend you're about to leave his apartment."

Hesitantly Laurie stood up. "Like this," she whispered. She reached out for an imaginary doorknob, her back to Gregg. "And he..."

"And I started to pick her up..." Gregg said. "I mean jokingly. I wanted to kiss her again."

"Show me how," Justin commanded.

"Like this." Gregg stood behind Laurie, pressed his hands against her arms and started to raise her.

Her body stiffened. She began to whimper. Instantly Gregg released her.

"Laurie, tell me why you're afraid," Justin said swiftly.

The whimper changed into stifled, childlike weeping, but she did not answer.

"Debbie, you're the one crying," Justin said. "Tell me why."

She pointed down and to the right. A frail, small voice sobbed, "He's going to take me there."

Gregg looked shocked and puzzled. "Wait a minute," he said. "If we were in my apartment, she'd be pointing to the sofabed ."

"Describe it," Justin snapped.

"I'd just gotten up, so it was still open and unmade."

"Debbie, why were you afraid when you thought Gregg was taking you to the bed? What might happen to you there? Tell us."

She had dropped her face in her hands. The soft childlike crying continued. "I can't."

"Why not, Debbie? We love you."

She looked up and ran to Sarah. "Sare-wuh, I don't know what happened," she whispered. "Whenever we got to the bed, I floated away."

Chapter
80

VERA WEST was counting the days until the term ended. She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up the calm facade that she knew was absolutely necessary. Now as she walked across the campus in the late afternoon, her leather zipbag bulging with final term papers clasped in her arms, she found herself praying that she would reach the sanctuary other rented cottage before she began to cry.

She loved the cottage. It was on a wooded cul-de-sac and at one time had been the home of the gardener of the large manor house nearby. She had taken the job in the English Department at Clinton because after going back to school for her doctorate at age thirty-seven and receiving it at forty, she'd felt restless, ready for a change from Boston.

Clinton was the kind of jewellike smaller college she loved. A theater buff, she also enjoyed the nearness to New York.

Along the way, a few men had been interested in her. At times she wistfully wished she could find someone who would seem special but had decided she was destined to follow in the footsteps of her unmarried aunts.

Then she'd met Allan Grant.

Until it was too late, it never occurred to Vera that she was falling in love with him. He was another faculty member, a very nice human being, a teacher whose intellect she admired, whose popularity she understood.

It had begun in October. One night Allan's car wouldn't start, and she'd offered him a ride home from a Kissinger lecture in the auditorium. He'd invited her in for a nightcap and she'd accepted. It hadn't occurred to her that his wife wasn't there.

His house was a surprise. Expensively furnished. Surprisingly so, considering what she knew to be his salary. But there was no sense of an effort having been made to pull it together. It looked as though it could stand a good cleaning. She knew that Karen, his wife, worked in Manhattan but didn't realize that she had an apartment there.

"Hi, Dr. West."

"What---oh, hello." Vera tried to smile as she passed a group of students. From the air of buoyancy about them it was obvious that the term was nearly over. None of these students would be dreading the emptiness of the summer, the emptiness of the future.

That first evening at Allan's home, she'd offered to get the ice while he prepared a scotch and soda for them. In the freezer individual packages of pizza, lasagna, chicken-pot pies and God knows what else were piled together. Good heavens, she'd wondered, is that the way this poor guy eats?

Two nights later, Allan dropped off a book at her place. She'd just roasted a chicken, and the inviting aroma filled the cottage. When he commented on it, she impulsively invited him to dinner.

Allan was in the habit of taking a long predinner walk. He began to stop by occasionally, and then more often on the nights Karen was in New York. He would phone, ask if she wanted company and if so, what could he bring? Calling himself the man who came to dinner, he'd arrive with wine or a wedge of cheese or some fruit. He always left by eight or eight-thirty. His manner toward her was always attentive, but no different than if the room had been filled with people.

Even so, Vera began to lie awake at night wondering bow long it would be before people started to gossip about them. Without asking, she was sure that he did not tell his wife about their time together.

Allan showed her the "Leona" letters as soon as they began to arrive. "I'm not going to let Karen see these," he said. "They'd only upset her."

"Surely she wouldn't put any stock in them."

"No, but underneath that sophisticated veneer, Karen is pretty insecure, and she does depend on me more than she realizes." A few weeks later he told her that Karen had found the letters. "Just what I expected. She's upset and worried."

At the time, Vera had thought that Karen sent some pretty mixed signals. Worried about her husband but away so much. Foolish lady.

At first, Allan seemed to deliberately avoid any kind of personal discussion. Then gradually he began to talk about growing up. "My dad split when I was eight months old. My mother and grandmother... what a pair. They did anything to make a dollar." He'd laughed. "I mean just about anything. My grandmother had a big old house in Ithaca. She rented rooms to old people. I always said I was raised in a nursing home. Four or five of them were retired teachers, so I had a lot of help with my homework. My mother worked in the local department store. They saved every penny they could for my education and invested it wisely. I swear they were disappointed when I won a full scholarship to Yale. They were both good cooks. I can still remember how great it was to get home on a cold afternoon after I finished my paper route, open the door, feel that blast of warmth and breathe in all the good smells from the kitchen."

Allan had told her all that a week before he died. Then he'd said, "Vera, that's the way I feel when I come here. Warmth and a sense of coming home to someone I want to be with and who I hope wants me." He'd put his arm around her. "Can you be patient with me? I've got to work something out."

The night he died, Allan had been with her for the last time. He'd been depressed and upset. "I should have spoken to Laurie and her sister first. I jumped the gun by going to the dean. Now the dean has as much as said that my manner with these kids is too friendly. He flat out asked me if Karen and I were having problems, if there was any reason she was away so much." At the door that night, he'd kissed her slowly and said, "It's going to change. I love and need you very much."

Some instinct had warned her to tell him to stay with her. If only she'd listened to it and to hell with the gossips. But she let him go. A little after ten-thirty she'd phoned him. He sounded remarkably cheerful. He'd spoken to Karen and it was all out on the table. He had taken a sleeping pill. Again he had said, "I love you," the last words she would ever hear from him.

Too restless to go to bed herself, Vera had watched the eleven o'clock news and started tidying up the living room, fluffing pillows, straightening magazines. In the wing chair she'd noticed something gleaming. The ignition key to Allan's car. It must have slipped out of his pocket.

She was filled with unreasoning worry about him. The key was an excuse to call again. She dialed his number, letting the phone ring and ring. There was no answer. The sleeping pill must really have taken effect, she'd reassured herself.

Today, suddenly reminded again of her loneliness, Vera hurried, head down, along her cobblestone walk, Allan's face filling her mind. Her arms ached for him. She reached the steps. "Allan. Allan. Allan."

Vera didn't realize she'd spoken his name aloud until she looked up into the keen eyes of Brendon Moody, who was waiting for her on the porch.

Chapter
81

SEATED AT a corner table in Villa Cesare in Hillsdale, a few miles from Ridgewood, Sarah wondered why in heaven's name she had let herself get talked into having dinner with the Reverend Bobby and Carla Hawkins.

The couple had shown up at her door five minutes after she returned from New York. They'd been just driving around, they explained, getting to know their new neighborhood, and she'd passed them on Lincoln Avenue.

"You looked as though you needed a little help," the Reverend Bobby said. "I just felt the Lord telling me to turn around, drop by and say hello."

When she'd reached home at seven o'clock after leaving the clinic and saying goodbye to Gregg Bennett, Sarah had realized she was tired and hungry. Sophie was out, and the minute Sarah opened the door of the empty house she knew she didn't want to stay there.

Villa Cesare was a longtime favorite restaurant, a great place to eat. Clams casino, shrimp scampi, a glass of white wine, cappuccino; that always-friendly, welcoming atmosphere, she thought. She was walking out the door when the Hawkinses arrived; somehow they ended up joining her.