Do You Want to Know a Secret? (32 page)
Read Do You Want to Know a Secret? Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
“Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”
Bill hadn’t known that he was supposed to answer Amen, so Father Alec said it for him.
“Bill, give me your hands.”
They had trembled as the priest anointed them.
“May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”
Bill had looked into the priest’s eyes and said, “Amen.”
Looking back at it, Father Alec wondered if Bill would have committed suicide if he hadn’t been anointed. For all intents and purposes, the anointing of the sick was the same as the last rites. On the one hand, the priest felt comforted knowing that Bill had died in the state of grace. He was trying to console, trying to ready Bill for the Lord. He had said and done what he thought to be the right thing at the time. But feelings of self-doubt, of not having said something that would have prevented the suicide, ate at the young priest.
Thank God, they
hadn’t found the key ring.
It was hard to think of a way that things could have gone any better than they had. All the reports on the television had virtually the same spin. Karas was the victim of the street violence that was so prevalent in today’s society.
Police were leaning heavily toward the robbery theory. Dr. Karas’s body was found on East Eightieth Street, between Park and Madison Avenues. A somewhat inebriated gentleman, coming home from an evening at a nearby posh eatery, quickly sobered up when he found the doctor lying on the sidewalk. The man called 911. Police and a paramedic team were there within minutes. It was already too late for Dr. Karas.
No wallet was found on the body, nor was there a watch or any other jewelry. The doctor was primarily identified by the
L. KARAS
written indelibly into the neck of his shirt in launderers’ ink.
A jogger catching an early morning run in the southern part of Central Park found Dr. Karas’s discarded wallet, credit cards intact, money gone.
And so, the reports concluded, a prominent member of society, a contributor to the betterment of the human condition, had lost his life in a senseless act of violence.
How eager the police were to close out a case! Didn’t anyone suspect some other sort of foul play? An irate patient would be so obvious a possibility, or a disgruntled business partner. Oh well, the New York Police Department’s overwork was just pure good luck. Or better yet, God’s sign of approval. Clearly, God must be showing that the right thing had been done in getting rid of Dr. Leo Karas.
The doctor certainly had been a hard worker. It had been after one in the morning when anyone who wanted to hear could have overheard the doorman say to the psychiatrist, “Good night, Dr. Karas.”
“Good night, Juan. See you tomorrow.”
Thank you very much, Juan, for identifying him.
The streets were quiet. As Karas crossed Park Avenue, it seemed as good a time as any. There wasn’t anyone to be seen. Seize the moment. Karas was just a few steps ahead. He was an easy target.
He never even heard the shots.
Detective Colburn read
the
Daily News
and
New York Post
accounts of the murder of Dr. Leo Karas. He noted with satisfaction that the police press information officer had done as instructed and withheld the part about the elephant doorknocker found next to the dead man’s body.
The last thing they needed was someone coming up with a
SERIAL DOORKNOCKER MURDERER
theory.
And if the press knew that the knocker was the one stolen from Bill Kendall’s townhouse, they’d really go to town with that!
Louise could tell
by the position of the sun that it was time to get inside. She had been lying by the pool for an hour and a half, thinking about dinner with Range.
Just about everything was ready. The townhouse was immaculate, the result of yesterday’s thorough going over by the cleaning man. The small round table on the terrace was set with a hot pink cloth and napkins and splashy, glazed Mexican pottery. The refrigerator was stocked with a marinating shrimp appetizer and the club steaks that she planned to grill. Two bottles of Vernaccia di San Gimignano were cooling in a glass ice bucket, and a Chianti Riserva sat on the counter. Louise made a mental note to open it when she got back from the farm.
She pulled her cotton sundress over her head, slipped her feet into matching canvas espadrilles and gathered up her sunbathing paraphernalia. The towel, sunscreen, water bottle and the paperback novel she was unable to concentrate on were shoved into her straw bag. She remembered that her wallet and car keys were in the bag as well and she decided not to bother stopping back at the house. She’d go straight to her car and drive to the farm.
She made her way around the pool smiling and saying hello to other residents lounging in their deck chairs. That was about as far as it ever went. People here liked their privacy and respected the privacy of others residing in the complex. There wasn’t much cup-of-sugar borrowing.
Stopping in the ladies’ room in the Bears Nest clubhouse, she looked in the lighted mirror. Whoa! You better get going, sweetheart, there’s work to do on you. Best to get everything else out of the way first.
Louise drove down Spring Valley Road, windows open, breeze blowing. Demarest Farm, in neighboring Hillsdale, was less than five minutes away. She pulled into the long, curving driveway to the huge red barn abutting the Garden State Parkway. At one time, not too long ago, Demarest Farm had sold its produce at a tiny roadside stand. Now, like so much in northern New Jersey, the small-time atmosphere was gone, even though the Demarests tried hard to maintain their personal touches.
The help at the farm was courteous and hardworking, the stockboys offering to carry purchases out to the customers’ cars. Louise thought back to Mrs. Demarest giving William many polished red apples to chomp over the seasons the Kendalls had patronized the farm. Now daughter-in-law Marsha ran things. Marsha was unfailingly cheerful and eager to answer any questions.
Louise made her way to a bushel basket of fresh green beans, and filled a plastic bag with the best-looking specimens. Next, a head of romaine, some radicchio and a couple of juicy red tomatoes were heaped into the shopping basket hanging from her arm. She decided to cheat a little and go to the salad bar for the rest of the ingredients. She spooned sliced mushrooms, shredded carrots, and some sugarsnap peas into a plastic container.
She hoped that there would still be some good bread left this late in the day. The bakery section did not disappoint her. A long loaf of french bread went into the basket.
Dessert? Better not go for the pie. Some sliced fresh strawberries would do just fine.
At the counter by the cash register was a big metal can full of bunches of snapdragons. The red, yellow, orange and pink blossoms would look great with the Mexican pottery. Marsha wrapped the bunch Louise selected with green tissue paper.
“Having a party tonight?” asked Marsha, eyeing the overflowing shopping basket.
“A small one.”
As Louise left the barn, Marsha thought that Mrs. Kendall looked happier than she had seen her in a long, long time.
