Close to You (19 page)

But how would the word get out? Keith surely wasn't going to tell anyone. Eliza decided that she would talk to him about the whole episode at work in the morning. They would clear the air and take it from there. She was willing to drop the matter as long as it never happened again.

The limo gilded to a stop in front of her house and the driver unloaded her suitcase from the trunk and carried it to the front entrance. Eliza unlocked the door and the chauffeur deposited the bag in the hallway and left.

It wasn't quite dark yet, but Eliza flipped on the light anyway. She kicked off her shoes and went directly to check the mail Mrs. Garcia had left neatly stacked on the hallway table. She casually sorted through the pile as she walked into the dimly-lit living room and took a seat in the wing chair by the window. She recognized the handwriting on the thin airmail envelope. She switched on the lamp next to her chair to be able to better read Mack's letter.

It was then, as her eyes swept the room, that Eliza noticed that all of her precious pictures were gone.

A day late and a dollar short, the crew from Advantage Alarm Systems arrived Monday morning to install the safety electronics and change the locks.

Eliza had downplayed the missing television and VCR to Janie when she arrived back home from her weekend with her grandparents. She had promised that Mrs. Garcia would go out and buy another set in the morning while Janie was at school. But after her in-laws had left and a mollified Janie was tucked into bed for the night, Eliza had made a detailed inventory of all that had been taken. It made her weep.

All the sterling flatware, eighteen place settings, given as wedding presents to her and John. Her jewelry, including her diamond solitaire engagement ring and the simple gold wedding band her husband had lovingly slipped on her finger. The diamond studs that had been John's first-anniversary gift. An emerald bracelet that had been in the Blake family for three generations, which Katharine and Paul had given her when Janie was born. Her University of Rhode Island class ring. The watch her parents had given her as a graduation present. Things that had been lovingly bestowed upon her, representing the milestones of her life.

If she could have just one thing back, it would be the sapphire-and-diamond pin John had bought before he died, to be given to his wife after the birth of their child. He had known he wouldn't see the expression on her face as she opened the velvet jewelry box. Eliza treasured that pin. It linked them between this world and, she hoped, the next.

As far as Eliza was concerned, the sentimental value of the stolen items far exceeded their monetary worth. She would gladly write a check out to the thief if she could buy back the things he had taken from her. She could easily replace a camcorder or a DVD player. She could order another beta-tape playback machine. She couldn't replace pieces of her life.

And the pictures. To take all the personal pictures for their ridiculous frames! It was cruel and Eliza felt raped.

Someone had come into her home and callously taken what was hers. He shouldn't get away with that. But so far he was. The police had taken their report and mumbled something about being on the case. They had seen it all before.

No sign of forced entry. Someone with a key had just come in and helped himself.

Eliza didn't want to allow herself to suspect that Mrs. Garcia could be involved in this, but Larson's virulent warning sprang to her mind. She dismissed it. Carmen Garcia had worked for her previous family for years and they had had nothing but glowing reports about her. If they had had doubts about her honesty, they surely wouldn't have kept her on.

But, come to think of it, with the locks unchanged until today, Larson Richards himself could still have a key to the house. Had he never given her the combination for the safe so that her jewelry wouldn't be locked up?

Once Eliza got to the Broadcast Center Monday morning, she had little time to dwell on the burglary. Her schedule was packed, starting with an eleven-thirty interview booked with a Nobel Prize winner up at Columbia University who was doing research on Fragile X syndrome. Keith asked Eliza if she would mind if Farrell Slater, another
Evening Headlines
producer, accompanied her. The “Bowl” wanted to move up the commuter-relationships piece to air this week, and with only two days to get it together, Keith wanted to screen the tapes they had shot over the weekend and get working on a script.

“Sure, Keith. That's fine.”

The producer was chewing a cuticle as he stood in her office doorway. There was no good purpose in letting Keith squirm. Eliza decided to go ahead and let him off the hook.

“Keith, come in for a minute, and close the door.”

Obediently he followed her instructions and took a seat in the chair she offered him.

“I think we have to clear the air here, Keith.”

He nodded silently, keeping his eyes averted downward. His hands gripped the armrests and Eliza noticed the bitten fingernails.
Poor guy.

“Look. What happened was wrong. You know that and I know that, Keith. But you are a strong producer and have worked very hard to make sure that our stories are solid. On a professional level, I value you very much. But that's it.”

He raised his head and looked up at her pathetically.

“God, Eliza, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I didn't sleep at all last night worrying about it. I don't know what I was thinking. Something like that will never, ever happen again. I swear to you,” he said solemnly.

The lines of Eliza's mouth were set firmly as she stared at Keith, assessing the sincerity of his words.

“All right, then. Let's move on.”

She had agonized about it all weekend and finally made up her mind. Abigail was going to go ahead and give the Victoria's Secret gift to Eliza. But she didn't have the courage to bestow it face-to-face.

She kept the small pink shopping bag tucked beneath her desk all day and waited. After the
Evening Headlines
were over and the studio and offices on the second floor cleared, Abigail took the back staircase that led from the tiny hallway next to the Fishbowl up to Eliza's office. The door was closed and locked, so she looped the shopping bag handles over the knob and prayed that it would be safe there until morning.

Abigail walked swiftly down the long corridor toward the elevator, her heart pounding, feeling heat rising to her face. She didn't realize hallway security cameras were recording her every move.

It was a cool, crisp September morning, the first that felt like autumn was coming. Paige welcomed the opportunity to wear the knee-length red leather skirt and new black turtleneck she had gotten on sale at T. J. Maxx for next to nothing. She stopped in the restroom as she got off the elevator. She checked herself in the mirror and rearranged the cloud of curly dark hair that framed her face, twisting it up and clipping it to the back of her head.

I'm feeling more comfortable in my job,
Paige thought with satisfaction as she strode down the hallway, past the producers' empty offices. She had her routine established, getting in between nine and nine-thirty, before most of the staff wandered in about ten. By the time Eliza arrived, her messages had been checked, the mail had been sorted and there was fresh coffee brewing in the little kitchen.

As she neared the office door, Paige spied the pink bag, recognizing its provenance immediately. Paige took it from the doorknob and let herself into the office, placing the shopping bag on her desk. It would be cool if it was a present for her.

But the small envelope that was taped to the box was marked
Eliza.

Paige put the box back into the bag and carried it into her boss's office, leaving it on the desk.

After starting the coffee, Paige punched in the numbers on the phone to get messages.

“Hello. This is Samuel Morton. Sarah's dad. I will be in New York next week and I was wondering if I could come by at some convenient time to express my thanks in person and to drop off a small gift from Sarah.”

 

Eliza's heart sank as she read the gift card, inscribed in block letters.

You are bright, beautiful and I wish that we could get to know each other more fully. I hope you will be open to hearing from me.

There was no signature.

Eliza lifted the lid of the box and looked with alarm at the silk slip. It was such a personal gift. So inappropriate from someone she didn't know.

Or did Eliza know the gift-giver?

She buzzed out to Paige and asked her to get Keith Chapel on the telephone.

“Keith, there was something waiting for me when I got to work this morning.”

“Yes?”

“Do you know what it was?”

“No. Should I?”

“I certainly hope not. Are you sure you didn't leave a gift for me?”

“Yes, I'm sure, Eliza,” he promised fervently. “I didn't leave anything for you.”

If Keith hadn't, who had? Someone had been able to come right to her office and drop off the bag. It must have been a KEY employee.

As she played with her charm bracelet, Eliza shivered at the thought that occurred to her.
What if someone from the outside had gotten into the Broadcast Center?

 

“Hi, Eliza. What's up?”

“Joe, I feel a bit ridiculous calling you with this, but with everything that's been happening, I thought I should.”

“What is it?”

“Someone left a gift for me here at the office last night.”

“What was it?” asked the security chief.

“A silk slip.”

“Great,” he responded sarcastically. “Any card?”

“Yes, but it's not signed.”

“Okay. Ask Paige to bring it all down to me, and please don't worry, Eliza. It's easy enough to find out who it was. We'll just check our tapes.”

After lunch, Susan Feeney pulled out the contents of the curbside mailbox, recognizing with pleasure the plastic-wrapped October issue of
Martha Stewart Living.
With the exception of Christmas, Halloween was Susan's favorite holiday and Martha was always good for another creative idea or two.

Susan loved to sew, and the attic held her extensive collection of outfits she had made for the children and for James and herself to wear to masquerade parties they had attended, starting even before they were married. The carefully marked cardboard boxes held the costumes of a monk and a nun, a pirate and a harem girl, Dracula, Zorro, a French maid, a go-go girl and Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty. Susan and James had won the prize for best couple's costume when they wore those patriotic outfits to a local Halloween party the year before. She would always dress up and trick-or-treat around the neighborhood with the kids. One year she had gone as a pregnant clown and nobody knew who she was.

She was having fun planning what this Halloween would bring. Last year Kelly and Kimberly had been a pair of little yellow Twinkies, while James had insisted on being
Batman. This year, Kelly would be a bumblebee, while Kimberly was going as a ladybug. Susan had both of their costumes almost done. She had suggested that, in keeping with the insect theme, James could be a spider. But James had a mind of his own. He didn't want to be a spider or a devil or prizefighter, the other options his mother suggested. Susan was trying to be patient, but if he didn't decide soon, she was going to make the decision for him. There was a thin line between allowing and encouraging a son to steer his own course and raising a spoiled brat.

Turning from the mailbox, Susan heard a child's voice call from across the street.

“Mrs. Feeney, can James come over to play?”

Janie Blake, buttoned up in a bright red sweater, was standing in her driveway holding a leash with her golden puppy pulling on the end. Mrs. Garcia was standing guard behind her.

“James is inside watching a video, Janie. If it's all right with Mrs. Garcia, you're welcome to come over to our house for a while.”

Janie turned to her caretaker and handed her Daisy's leash. In the child's mind, the decision was made, but she went through the polite motions. “It's okay, right, Mrs. Garcia?”

The housekeeper nodded. “Yes,
muñequita.
It's all right. I come over for you in a while and pick you up and walk you back home.”

She held the child's hand and escorted her across the street.

James was engrossed in the
Popeye
video when Susan brought Janie downstairs to the playroom. The little girl took a seat on the sofa beside him. With both daughters upstairs napping, Susan decided to take a few minutes and sit down and relax. She flipped through the pages of her magazine, noting a recipe for Boston baked beans she would try, and another for Halloween lollipops, if she got ambitious enough and found the time.

That was the thing about Martha Stewart. It was fascinating
to watch her television show or read her magazine and see all the things that could be done to make life nicer and more gracious, but Susan wondered if more people might be living vicariously through Martha's projects than actually had the time or inclination to do them.

She looked up as she heard James and Janie laughing at Robin Willams's antics as Popeye on the television screen. The hairless sailor with the bulging biceps and contorted face was eating his spinach and getting out of an improbable jam and the kids loved it.

“Hey, James! I have a good idea. How about being Popeye for Halloween?”

Her son burst from his seat on the couch. “Yeah!”

Janie sat quietly.

“Do you know what you're going to be for Halloween yet, Janie?” asked Susan.

Janie shook her head silently.

“Would you like to be Olive Oyl? You can ask your mom and if she says yes, I'll make your costume, too, and you and James can trick-or-treat together.”