I'll Be Seeing You (32 page)

She wasn't sure exactly what she would ask the priest. She did know from the brief eulogy he'd delivered at the memorial mass that he'd known and liked Helene Petrovic.

She heard his footsteps on the stairs. Then he was in the room, apologizing again for keeping her waiting. He chose a chair opposite hers and asked, “How can I help you, Meghan?”

Not “What can I do for you?” but “How can I help you?” A subtle difference that was oddly consoling. “I have to find out who Helene Petrovic really was. You're aware of the situation at the Manning Clinic?”

“Yes, of course. I've been following the story. I also saw in this morning's paper a picture of you and that poor girl who was stabbed. The resemblance is quite remarkable.”

“I haven't seen the paper, but I know what you mean. Actually, that's what started all this.” Meghan leaned forward, locking her fingers, pressing her palms together. “The assistant state attorney investigating Helene Petrovic's murder believes that my father is responsible for Helene being hired at Manning and for her death too. I don't. Too many things don't make sense. Why would he
want to see the clinic hire someone who wasn't qualified for the job? What did he have to gain by placing Helene in the lab in the first place?”

“There's always a reason, Meghan, sometimes several, for every action any human being makes.”

“That's what I mean. I can't find one, never mind several. It just makes no sense. Why would my father have even become involved with Helene if he knew she was a fraud? I know he was conscientious about his job. He took pride in matching the right people to his clients. We used to talk about it often.

“It's reprehensible to put an unqualified person in a sensitive medical situation. The more they investigate the lab at the Manning Clinic, the more errors they're finding. I can't understand why my father would deliberately cause all that. And what about Helene? Didn't she have any conscience in the matter? Didn't she worry about preembryos being damaged or destroyed because of her sloppiness, carelessness or ignorance? At least some stored embryos were intended to be transferred in the hope that they'd be born.”

“Transferred and born,” Fr. Radzin repeated. “An interesting ethical question. Helene was not a regular churchgoer, but when she did come to mass, it was always the last one on Sunday and she would stay for coffee hour. I had the feeling there was something on her mind that she couldn't bring herself to talk about. But I must tell you that if I were applying adjectives to her, the last three that would come to mind are ‘sloppy, careless and ignorant.' ”

“What about her friends? Who was she close to?”

“No one I know of. Some of her acquaintances have been in touch with me this week. They've commented on how little they really knew Helene.”

“I'm afraid something may have happened to her niece, Stephanie. Did you ever meet the young man who is her baby's father?”

“No. And neither did anyone else from what I understand.”

“What did you think of Stephanie?”

“She's nothing like Helene. Of course she's very young and in this country less than a year. Now she's alone. It may just be that the baby's father showed up again and she decided to take a chance on him.”

He wrinkled his forehead. Mac does that, Meghan thought. Fr. Radzin looked to be in his late thirties, a little older than Mac. Why was she comparing them? It was because there was something so wholesome and good about them, she decided.

She stood up. “I've taken enough of your time, Fr. Radzin.”

“Stay another minute or two, Meghan. Sit down, please. You've raised the question of your father's motivation in placing Helene at the clinic. If you can't get information about Helene, my advice is to keep searching until you find the reason for
his
participation in the situation. Do you think he was romantically involved with her?”

“I very much doubt it.” She shrugged. “He seems to have been sufficiently troubled trying to balance his time between my mother and Annie's mother.”

“Money?”

“That doesn't make sense either. The Manning Clinic paid the usual fee to Collins and Carter for the placement of Helene and Dr. Williams. My experience in studying law and human nature has taught me that love or money are the reasons most crimes are committed. Yet I can't make either fit here.” She stood up. “Now I really must go. I'm meeting Helene's lawyer at her Lawrenceville house.”

Charles Potters was waiting when Meghan arrived. She had met him briefly at Helene's memorial service. Now as she had a chance to focus on him, she realized that he looked like the kind of family lawyer portrayed in old movies.

His dark blue suit was ultraconservative, his shirt crisp
white, his narrow blue tie subdued, his skin tone pink, his sparse gray hair neatly combed. Rimless glasses enhanced surprisingly vivid hazel eyes.

Whatever items from the house Stephanie had taken with her, the appearance of this room, the first they entered, was unchanged. It looked exactly as Meghan had seen it less than a week ago. Powers of observation, she thought. Concentrate. Then she noticed that the lovely Dresden figures she'd admired were missing from the mantel.

“Your friend Dr. MacIntyre dissuaded me from immediately reporting Stephanie's theft of Helene's property, Miss Collins, but I'm afraid I cannot wait any longer. As trustee I'm responsible for all of Helene's possessions.”

“I understand that. I simply wish that some effort could be made to find Stephanie and persuade her to return them. If a warrant is sworn out for her arrest, she might be deported.

“Mr. Potters,” she continued, “my concern is much more serious than worrying about the things Stephanie took with her. Do you have the note she left?”

“Yes. Here it is.”

Meghan read it through.

“Did you ever meet this Jan?”

“No.”

“What did Helene think about her niece's pregnancy?”

“Helene was a kind woman, reserved but kind. Her only comments to me about the pregnancy were quite sympathetic.”

“How long have you handled her affairs?”

“For about three years.”

“You believed she was a medical doctor?”

“I had no reason not to believe her.”

“Didn't she build up a rather considerable estate? She had a very good salary at Manning of course. She was paid there as an embryologist. But she certainly couldn't have made very much money as a medical secretary for the three years before that.”

“I understood she'd been a cosmetologist. Cosmetology can be lucrative, and Helene was a shrewd investor. Miss Collins, I don't have much time. I believe you said you would like to walk through the house with me?
^I
want to be sure it's properly secured before I leave.”

“Yes, I would.”

Meghan went upstairs with him. Here too nothing seemed to be out of order. Stephanie's packing had clearly not been rushed.

The master bedroom was luxurious. Helene Petrovic had not denied herself creature comforts. The coordinated wall hanging, spread and draperies looked very expensive.

French doors opened into a small sitting room. One wall was covered with pictures of children. “These are duplicates of the ones at the Manning Clinic,” she said.

“Helene showed them to me,” Potters told her. “She was very proud of the successful births achieved through the clinic.”

Meg studied the pictures. “I saw some of these kids at the reunion less than two weeks ago.” She picked out Jonathan. “This is the Anderson child whose family you've been reading about. That's the case that started the state investigation of the lab at Manning.” She paused, studying the photograph on the top corner. It was of two children, a boy and girl, in matching sweaters with their arms around each other. What was it about them that she should be noticing?

“I really have to lock up now, Miss Collins.”

There was an edge in the attorney's voice. She couldn't delay him any longer. Meg took another long look at the picture of the children in matching sweaters, committing it to memory.

Bernie's mother was not feeling well. It was her allergies. She'd been sneezing a lot, and her eyes were itchy. She thought she felt a draft in the house too. She wondered if
Bernard had forgotten and left a window open downstairs.

She knew she shouldn't have let Bernard drive that car to Chicago, even for two hundred dollars a day. Sometimes when he was off by himself too long, he got fanciful. He started to daydream and to want things that could get him in trouble.

Then his temper started. That's when she needed to be there; she could control an outburst when she saw it coming. She kept him on the straight and narrow. Kept him nice and clean, well fed, saw that he got to his job and then stayed in with her watching television at night.

He'd been doing well for such a long time now. But he'd been acting kind of funny lately.

He was supposed to call. Why didn't he? When he got to Chicago he wouldn't start following a girl and try to touch her, would he? Not that he'd mean to harm her, but there'd been too many times when Bernard got nervous if a girl screamed. A couple of girls he'd hurt real bad.

They said that if it happened again, they wouldn't let him come home. They'd keep him locked up. He knew it too.

The only thing I have really established in all these hours is the number of times my husband was cheating on me, Catherine thought as she pushed the files away late Friday afternoon. She no longer had any desire to go through them. What good would knowing all this serve her now? It hurts so much, she thought.

She stood up. Outside it was a blustery November afternoon. In three weeks it would be Thanksgiving. That was always a busy time at the inn.

Virginia had phoned. The real estate company was being persistent. Was the inn for sale? They must be serious, she reported. They'd even named the price at which they'd start negotiating. They had another place in mind if Drumdoe wasn't available, or so they said. But it might be true.

Catherine wondered how long she and Meg could twist in the wind like this.

Meg. Would she close in on herself because of her father's betrayal as she had when Mac married Ginger? Catherine had never let on that she knew how heartbroken Meg had been over Mac. Edwin was always the one their daughter had turned to for comfort. Natural enough. Daddy's girl. It ran in the family. I was Daddy's girl too, Catherine thought.

Catherine could see the way Mac looked at Meg these days. She hoped it wasn't too late. Edwin had never forgiven his mother for rejecting him. Meg had built up a wall around herself where Mac was concerned. And great as she was with Kyle in her own way, she chose not to see how hopefully he was always reaching out to her.

Catherine caught a glimpse of a figure in the woods. She froze, then relaxed. It was a policeman. At least they were keeping an eye on the place.

She heard the click of a key in the lock.

Catherine breathed a prayer of gratitude. The daughter who made everything else bearable was safe.

Now maybe for the moment she could stop being haunted by the pictures that had run side by side in the newspapers today, the official publicity head shot of Meg from Channel 3 and the professional head shot Annie had used for her travel articles.

At Catherine's insistence, Virginia had sent over all the papers delivered to the inn, including the tabloids. The
Daily News,
besides using the pictures, had printed a photocopy of the fax Meg had received the night Annie was stabbed.

The headline of their article read: DID THE WRONG SISTER DIE?

“Hi, Mom. I'm home.”

For reassurance, Catherine took one more glance at the policeman at the edge of the woods, then turned to greet her daughter.

*   *   *

Virginia Murphy was the semiofficial second in command of the Drumdoe Inn. Technically hostess at the restaurant, and reservation clerk as needed, she was in fact Catherine's eyes and ears when Catherine was not around or when she was busy in the kitchen. Ten years younger than Catherine, six inches taller and handsomely rounded, she was a good friend as well as a faithful employee.

Knowing the financial situation at the inn, Virginia worked diligently to cut corners where it wouldn't show. She passionately wanted Catherine to be able to keep the inn. She knew that when all this terrible publicity died down, Catherine's best chance to get on with her life began here.

It galled Virginia that she'd aided and abetted Catherine when that crazy interior designer came in with her violently expensive swatches and tile samples and plumbing-supply books. And that after the expense of the much-needed renovation!

The place looked lovely, Virginia admitted, and it certainly had needed a face-lift, but the irony would be to go through the inconvenience and financial drain of renovating and redecorating only to have someone else come in and buy Drumdoe at a fire-sale price.

The last thing Virginia wanted to do was to cause Catherine any more concern, but now she was getting worried about the man who had checked into room 3A. He'd been in bed since he arrived, claiming he was exhausted from running back and forth from Long Island to New Haven, where his mother was in the hospital.