Stillwatch (12 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch
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At a quarter to five, a secretary timidly knocked on the door ofAbigail’s office. “A call for Miss Traymore,” she whispered.It was Sam. The reassuring heartiness of his voice boosted Pat’sspirits immediately. She had been unsettled by the unpleasant episode,by the abject misery in the young woman’s face.“Hello, Sam.” She felt Abigail’s sharp glance.“My spies told me you’re on the Hill. How about dinner?”“Dinner . . . I can’t, Sam. I’ve got to work tonight.”“You also have to eat. What did you have for lunch? One ofAbigail’s hard-boiled eggs?”She tried not to laugh. The Senator was dearly listening to her endof the conversation.“As long as you don’t mind eating fast and early,” she compromised.“Fine with me. How about if I pick you up outside the Russellbuilding in half an hour?”When Pat hung up, she looked over at Abigail.“Have you reviewed all the material we gave you?—the films?”Abigail demanded.“No.”“Some of them?”“No,” Pat admitted. Oh, boy, she thought. I’m glad I don’t workfor you, lady.“I had thought you might come back to my place for dinner andwe could discuss which ones you might be interested in using.”Again a pause. Pat waited.“However, since you haven’t seen the material, I think it would bewiser if I use tonight for some reading I must do.” Abigail smiled.“Sam Kingsley is one of the most eligible bachelors in Washington. Ididn’t realize you knew him so well.”

 

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Pat tried to make her answer light. “I really don’t.” But she couldn’thelp thinking that Sam was finding it hard to stay away from her.She glanced out the window, hoping to hide her expression. Outsideit was almost dark. The Senator ’s windows overlooked the Capitol.As the daylight faded, the gleaming domed building framed by theblue silk draperies resembled a painting. “How lovely” she exclaimed.Abigail turned her head toward the window. “Yes, it is,” she agreed.“That view at this time of day always reminds me of what I’m doinghere. You can’t imagine the satisfaction of knowing that because ofwhat I did today an old woman will be cared for in a decent nursinghome, and extra money may be made available for people who aretrying to eke out an existence.”There was an almost sensual energy in Abigail Jennings when shespoke about her work, Pat thought. She means every word.But it also occurred to her that the Senator had already dismissedfrom her memory the girl she had fired a few hours earlier.

 

Pat shivered as she hurried down the few steps from the Senateoffice building to the car. Sam leaned over to kiss her cheek. “How’sthe hotshot filmmaker?”“Tired,” she said. “Keeping up with Senator Jennings is not therecipe for a restful day.”Sam smiled. “I know what you mean. I’ve worked with Abigailon a fair amount of legislation. She never wears down.”Weaving through the traffic, he turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue.“I thought we’d go to Chez Grandmère in Georgetown,” he said.“It’s quiet, the food is excellent and it’s near your place.”Chez Grandmère was nearly empty. “Washington doesn’t dine atquarter to six.” Sam smiled as the maître d’ offered them their choiceof tables.Over a cocktail Pat told him about the day, including the scene inthe hearing room. Sam whistled. “That was a rotten break for Abigail.You don’t need someone on your payroll to make you look bad.”“Could something like that actually influence the President’sdecision?” Pat asked.“Pat,
everything
can influence the President’s decision. One

 

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mistake can ruin you. Well, figure it out for yourself. If it weren’t forChappaquiddick, Teddy Kennedy might be President today. Then, ofcourse, you have Watergate and Abscam, and way back, vicuña coatsand home freezers. It never ends. Everything reflects on the man orwoman who holds the office. It’s a miracle Abigail survived thatscandal about the missing campaign funds, and if she had tried tocover up for her aide, it would have been the end of her credibility.What was the girl’s name?”“Eleanor Brown.” Pat thought of what Margaret Langley had said.“
Eleanor couldn’t steal. She’s too timid.
”“Eleanor always claimed she was innocent,” she told Sam now.He shrugged. “Pat, I was a county prosecutor for four years. Youwant to know something? Nine out of ten criminals swear they didn’tdo it. And at least eight out of nine of them are liars.”“But there is always that one who is innocent,” Pat persisted.“Very occasionally,” Sam said. “What do you feel like eating?”It seemed to her that she could watch him visibly unwind in thehour and a half they were together. I’m good for you, Sam, she thought.I can make you happy. You’re equating having a child with the way itwas when you were doing everything for Karen, because Janice wassick. It wouldn’t be that way with me. . . .Over coffee he asked, “How do you find living in the house?Any problems?”She hesitated, then decided to tell him about the note she’d foundslipped under the door and the second phone call. “But as you say,it’s probably just some joker,” she concluded.Sam didn’t return her attempt at a smile. “I said that one randomcall to the Boston station might not be important. But you’re sayingthat in the last three days you’ve had a second phone call, and a notepushed under the door. How do you think this nut got your address?”“How did
you
get it?” Pat asked.“I phoned Potomac Cable and said I was a friend. A secretarygave me your phone number and street address here and told mewhen you were arriving. Frankly, I was a little surprised they werethat casual about giving out so much information.”“I approved it. I’ll be using the house as an office for this program,and you’d be surprised how many people volunteer anecdotes or

 

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memorabilia when they read about a documentary being prepared. Ididn’t want to take the chance of losing calls. I certainly didn’t thinkI had anything to worry about.”“Then that creep could have gotten it the same way. By any chancedo you have the note with you?”“It’s in my bag.” She fished it out, glad to be rid of it.Sam studied it, frowning in concentration. “I doubt whetheranybody could trace this, but let me show it to Jack Carlson. He’s anFBI agent and something of a handwriting expert. And you be sure tohang up if you get another call.”He dropped her off at eight-thirty. “You’ve got to get timers forthe lamps,” he commented as they stood at the door. “Anybody couldcome up here and put a note under the door without being noticed.”She looked up at him. The relaxed expression was gone, and thenewly acquired creases around his mouth had deepened again. You’vealways had to worry about Janice, she thought. I don’t want youworrying about me.She tried to recapture the easy companionship of the evening.“Thanks for being the Welcome Wagon again,” she said. “They’re goingto make you chairman of the Hospitality Committee on the Hill.”He smiled briefly and for that moment the tension disappearedfrom his eyes. “Mother taught me to be courtly to the prettiest girls intown.” He closed his hands around hers. For a moment they stoodsilently; then he bent down and kissed her cheek.“I’m glad you’re not playing favorites,” she murmured.“What?”“The other night you kissed me below my right eye—tonight the left.”“Good night, Pat. Lock the door.”

 

Pat had barely reached the library when the telephone began toring insistently. For a moment she was afraid to answer.“Pat Traymore.” To her own ears her voice sounded tense and husky.“Miss Traymore,” a woman’s voice said, “I’m Lila Thatcher, yourneighbor across the street. I know you just got home, but would it be

 

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possible for you to come over now? There’s something quite importantyou should know.”Lila Thatcher, Pat thought.
Lila Thatcher.
Of course. She was theclairvoyant who had written several widely read books on ESP andother psychic phenomena. Only a few months ago she’d beencelebrated for her assistance in finding a missing child.“I’ll be right there,” Pat agreed reluctantly, “but I’m afraid I can’tstay more than a minute.”As she threaded her way across the street, taking pains to avoidthe worst of the melting slush and mud, she tried to ignore the senseof uneasiness.She was sure she would not want to hear what Lila Thatcher wasabout to tell her.

 

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A maid answered Pat’s ring and escorted her to the living room. Patdidn’t know what kind of person to expect—she’d visualized aturbaned Gypsy; but the woman who rose to greet her could bedescribed simply as cozy. She was gently rounded and gray-haired,with intelligent, twinkling eyes and a warm smile.“Patricia Traymore,” she said, “I’m so glad to meet you. Welcometo Georgetown.” Taking Pat’s hand, she studied her carefully. “I knowhow busy you must be with the program you’re preparing. I’m sureit’s quite a project. How are you getting on with Luther Pelham?”“Fine so far.”“I hope that continues.” Lila Thatcher wore her glasses on a longsilver chain around her neck. Absently she picked them up in herright hand and began to tap them against her left palm. “I have only afew minutes myself. I have a meeting in half an hour, and in themorning I have to catch an early flight to California. That’s why Idecided to phone. This is not the sort of thing I usually do. However,in conscience I can’t go away without warning you. Are you awarethat twenty-three years ago a murder-suicide took place in the houseyou’re now renting?”“I’ve been told that.” It was the answer nearest the truth.“It doesn’t upset you?”“Mrs. Thatcher, many of the houses in Georgetown must be abouttwo hundred years old. Surely people have died in every one of them.”“It’s not the same.” The older woman’s voice became quicker, athread of nervousness running through it. “My husband and I movedinto this house a year or so before the tragedy. I remember the firsttime I told him that I was beginning to sense a darkness in theatmosphere around the Adams home. Over the next months it wouldcome and go, but each time it returned it was more pronounced. Dean

 

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and Renée Adams were a most attractive couple. He was quitesplendid-looking, one of those magnetic men who instantly attractattention. Renée was different—quiet, reserved, a very private youngwoman. My feeling was that being a politician’s wife was all wrongfor her and inevitably the marriage became affected. But she wasvery much in love with her husband and they were both devoted totheir child.”Pat listened motionless.“A few days before she died, Renée told me she was going to goback to New England with Kerry. We were standing in front of yourhouse, and I can’t describe to you the sense of trouble and danger Iexperienced. I tried to warn Renée. I told her that if her decision wasirrevocable, she should not wait any longer. And then it was too late.I never again felt even a suggestion of trouble concerning your houseuntil this week. But now it’s coming back. I don’t know why but it’slike last time. I sense the darkness involves you. Can you leave thathouse?
You shouldn’t be there.
”Pat chose her question carefully. “Do you have any reason, other thansensing this aura around the house, for warning me not to stay there?”“Yes. Three days ago my maid observed a man loitering on thecorner. Then she saw footprints in the snow along the side of thishouse. We thought there might be a prowler and notified the police.We saw footprints again yesterday morning after the fresh snowfall.Whoever is prowling about only goes as far as that tall rhododendron.Standing behind it anyone can watch your house without beingobserved from our windows or from the street.”Mrs. Thatcher was hugging herself now as if she were suddenlychilled. The flesh on her face had hardened into deep, grave lines.She stared intently at Pat and then, as Pat watched, her eyes widened;an expression of secret knowledge crept into them. When Pat left afew minutes later, the older woman was clearly upset and again urgedPat to leave the house.Lila Thatcher knows who I am, Pat thought. I’m sure of it. Shewent directly to the library and poured a fairly generous brandy. “That’sbetter,” she murmured as warmth returned to her body. She tried not

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