Stillwatch (22 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

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

BOOK: Stillwatch
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At nine-fifteen on Christmas morning, Toby was standing at the stovein Abigail Jennings’ kitchen waiting for the coffee to perk. He hopedthat he’d be able to have a cup himself before Abby appeared. True,he’d known her since they were kids, but this was one day he couldn’tpredict what her mood was likely to be. Last night had been somemess. There’d been only two other times he’d seen her so upset, andhe never let himself think of either of them.After Pat Traymore left, Abby and Pelham and Phil had sat aroundfor another hour still trying to decide what to do. Or, rather, Abby hadshouted at Pelham, telling him a dozen times that she still thoughtPat Traymore was working for Claire Lawrence, that maybe Pelhamwas too.Even for her, Abigail had gone pretty far, and Toby was amazedthat Pelham had taken it. Later Phil supplied the answer: “Listen,he’s the biggest TV news personality in the country. He’s mademillions. But he’s sixty years old, and he’s bored stiff. Now he wantsto be another Edward R. Murrow. Murrow capped his career as headof the U.S. Information Agency. Pelham wants that job so bad he cantaste it. Tremendous prestige and no more competing for ratings. TheSenator will deliver for him if he delivers for her. He knows she’s gota right to scream about the way this program is going.”Toby had to agree with what Pelham said. Like it or not, the damagewas done. Either the program was produced from the angle ofincluding Apple Junction and the beauty contests or it would seemlike a farce.“You can’t ignore the fact you’re on the cover of
The NationalMirror
,” Pelham kept telling Abby. “It’s read by four million people

 

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and handed away to God knows how many more. That picture isgoing to be reprinted by every sensational newspaper in this country.You’ve got to decide what you’re going to tell them about it.”“Tell them?” Abby had stormed. “I’ll tell them the truth: my fatherwas a lush and the only decent thing he ever did was die when I wassix. Then I can say that my fat mother had the viewpoint of a scullerymaid and her highest ambition for me was that I’d be Miss AppleJunction and a good cook. Don’t you think that’s exactly thebackground a Vice President is supposed to have?” She had criedtears of rage. Abigail was no crybaby. Toby could remember onlythose few occasions. . . .He had said his piece. “Abby, listen to me. You’re stuck withFrancey’s picture, so get your act together and go along with PatTraymore’s suggestion.”That had calmed her down. She trusted him.He heard Abby’s steps in the hall. He was anxious to see whatshe’d be wearing. Pelham had agreed that she should show up atChristmas services at the Cathedral and wear something photogenicbut not too luxurious. “Leave your mink home,” he’d said.“Good morning, Toby. Merry Christmas.” The tone was sarcasticbut under control. Even before he turned around he knew Abby hadrecovered her cool.“Merry Christmas, Senator.” He swung around. “Hey, you look great.”She was wearing a double-breasted bright red walking suit. Thecoat came to her fingertips. The skirt was pleated.“Like one of Santa’s helpers,” she snapped. But even though shesounded crabby, there was a sort of joke in her voice. She picked upher cup and held it out in a toast. “We’re going to bring this one offtoo, aren’t we, Toby?”“You bet we are!”

 

They were waiting for her at the Cathedral. As soon as Abigail gotout of the car, a television correspondent held up a microphone to her.“Merry Christmas, Senator.”

 

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“Merry Christmas, Bob.” Abby was smart, Toby reflected. Shemade it her business to know all the press and TV people, no matterhow unimportant they were.“Senator, you’re about to go into Christmas services at the NationalCathedral. Is there a special prayer you’ll be offering?”Abby hesitated just long enough. Then she said, “Bob, I guesswe’re all praying for world peace, aren’t we? And after that my prayeris for the hungry. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we knew that everyman, woman and child on this earth would be eating a good dinnertonight?” She smiled and joined the people streaming through theportal of the CathedralToby got back into the car. Terrific, he thought. He reached underthe driver ’s seat and pulled out the racing charts. The ponies hadn’tbeen too good to him lately. It was about time his luck changed.

 

The service lasted an hour and fifteen minutes. When the Senatorcame out another reporter was waiting for her. This one had somehard questions to ask. “Senator, have you seen
The National Mirror
cover this week?”Toby had just gotten around the car to open the door. He held hisbreath, waiting to see how she’d handle herself.Abby smiled—a warm, happy smile. “Yes, indeed.”“What do you think of it, Senator?”Abby laughed. “I was astonished. I must say I’m more used to beingmentioned in the
Congressional Record
than in
The National Mirror
.”“Did the appearance of that picture upset or anger you, Senator?”“Of course not. Why should it? I suppose that, like most of us, onholidays I think about the people I loved who aren’t with me anymore.That picture made me remember how happy my mother was when Iwon that contest. I entered it to please her. She was widowed, youknow, and brought me up alone. We were very, very close.”Now her eyes became moist, her lips trembled. Quickly she benther head and got into the car. With a decisive snap, Toby closed thedoor behind her.The recorder light was blinking when Pat returned from the

 

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morning service. Automatically she pressed the rewind button untilthe tape screeched to a halt, then switched to playback.The first three calls were disconnects. Then Sam came on, hisvoice edgy. “Pat, I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m just boarding aplane for D.C. See you at Abigail’s this evening.”How loving can you get? Sam had planned to spend the weekwith Karen and her husband. And now he’s rushing home. Abigailhad obviously summoned him to be one of her close and intimatefriends at her Christmas supper. There
was
something between them!Abigail was eight years older, but didn’t look it. Plenty of men marriedolder women.Luther Pelham had also phoned. “Continue to work on the secondversion of the storyboard. Be at the Senator ’s home at four P.M. Ifyou are called by newspapers about the
Mirror
picture, claim youhaven’t seen it.”The next message began in a soft, troubled voice: “MissTraymore—er, Pat—you may not remember me. [A pause.] Of courseyou will; it’s just you meet so many people, don’t you? [Pause.] Imust hurry. This is Margaret Langley. I am the principal . . . retired,of course . . . of Apple Junction High School.”The message time had run out. Exasperated, Pat bit her lip.Miss Langley had called back. This time she said hurriedly, “Tocontinue, please call me at 518/555-2460.” There were sounds oftremulous breathing. Then Miss Langley burst out, “Miss Traymore,I heard from Eleanor today.”The phone rang only once before Miss Langley answered. Patidentified herself and was interrupted immediately. “Miss Traymore,after all these years I’ve heard from Eleanor. Just as I came in fromchurch the phone was ringing and she said hello in that sweet, shyvoice and we both started to cry.”“Miss Langley, where is Eleanor? What is she doing?”There was a pause; then Margaret Langley spoke carefully, asthough trying to choose exactly the right words. “She didn’t tell mewhere she is. She said she is much better and doesn’t want to behiding forever. She said she is thinking of turning herself in. Sheknows she’ll go back to jail—she did violate her parole. She said thatthis time she’d like me to visit her.”

 

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“Turning herself in!” Pat thought of the stunned, helpless face ofEleanor Brown after her conviction. “What did you tell her?”“I begged her to call you. I thought you might be able to get herparole reinstated.” Now Margaret Langley’s voice broke. “MissTraymore, please don’t let that girl go back to prison.”“I’ll try,” Pat promised. “I have a friend, a Congressman, who willhelp. Miss Langley, please, for Eleanor ’s sake, do you know where Ican reach her?”“No, honestly, I don’t.”“If she calls back, beg her to contact me before she surrenders.Her bargaining position will be so much stronger.”“I knew you’d want to help. I knew you were a good person.” NowMargaret Langley’s tone changed. “I want you to know how happy I amthat that nice Mr. Pelham phoned and invited me to be on your program.Someone is coming to interview and tape me tomorrow morning.”So Luther had taken that suggestion too. “I’m so glad.” Pat triedto sound enthusiastic. “Now, remember to tell Eleanor to call me.”She lowered the receiver slowly. If Eleanor Brown was the timidgirl Miss Langley believed her to be, turning herself in would be atremendous act of courage. But for Abigail Jennings, it could bemortally embarrassing if, in the next few days, a vulnerable youngwoman was marched back to prison still protesting her innocence ofthe theft from Abigail’s office.

 

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23

 

 

 

As he walked down the corridor of the nursing home, Arthur sensedthe tension and was immediately on guard. The place seemed peacefulenough. Christmas trees and Hanukkah candles stood on card tablescovered with felt and make-believe snow. All the doors of the patients’rooms had greeting cards taped to them. Christmas music was playingon the stereo in the recreation room. But something was wrong.“Good morning, Mrs. Harnick. How are you feeling?” She wasadvancing slowly down the hall on her walker, her birdlike frame bentover, her hair scraggly around her ashen face. She looked up at himwithout raising her head. Just her eyes moved, sunken, watery, afraid.“Stay away from me, Arthur,” she said, her voice aquiver. “I toldthem you came out of Anita’s room, and I know I’m right.”He touched Mrs. Harnick’s arm, but she shrank away. “Of courseI was in Mrs. Gillespie’s room,” he said. “She and I were friends.”“She wasn’t your friend. She was afraid of you.”He tried not to show his anger. “Now, Mrs. Harnick . . .”“I mean what I say. Anita wanted to stay alive. Her daughter, AnnaMarie, was coming to see her. She hadn’t been East for two years.Anita said she didn’t care when she died as long as she saw her AnnaMarie again. She didn’t just stop breathing. I told them that.”The head nurse, Elizabeth Sheehan, sat at a desk halfway downthe corridor. He hated her. She had a stern face, and blue-gray eyesthat could turn steel gray when she was angry. “Arthur, before youmake your rounds please come to the office.”He followed her into the business office of the nursing home, theplace where families would come to make arrangements to jettisontheir old people. But today there weren’t any relatives, only a baby-faced young man in a raincoat with shoes that needed a shine. He hada pleasant smile and a very warm manner, but Arthur wasn’t fooled.

 

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“I’m Detective Barrott,” he said.The superintendent of the home, Dr. Cole, was also there.“Arthur, sit down,” he said, trying to make his voice friendly.“Thank you, Nurse Sheehan; you needn’t wait.”Arthur chose a straight chair and remembered to fold his hands inhis lap and look just a little puzzled, as though he had no idea whatwas going on. He’d practiced that look in front of the mirror.“Arthur, Mrs. Gillespie died last Thursday,” Detective Barrott said.Arthur nodded and made his expression regretful. He was suddenlyglad he’d met Mrs. Harnick in the hall. “I know. I was so hopingshe’d live just a little longer. Her daughter was coming to visit herand she hadn’t seen her for two years.”“You knew that?” Dr. Cole asked.“Of course. Mrs. Gillespie told me.”“I see. We didn’t realize she’d discussed her daughter ’s visit.”“Doctor, you know how long it took to feed Mrs. Gillespie.Sometimes she’d need to rest and we’d just talk.”“Arthur, were you glad to see Mrs. Gillespie die?” Detective Barrott asked.“I’m glad she died before that cancer got much worse. She wouldhave been in terrible pain. Isn’t that right, Doctor?” He looked at Dr.Cole now, making his eyes wide.“It’s possible, yes,” Dr. Cole said unwillingly. “Of course one never knows. . . .”“But I wish Mrs. Gillespie had lived to see Anna Marie. She and Iused to pray over that. She used to ask me to read prayers from her

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